Midwest Cold
It’s 7:50 am, the alarm won’t stop ringing and no matter how many times I turn it off, it wants my attention. It’s doing its job. I just don’t want to do it. I don’t want to get out of bed today where it is cold, not just because it is mid-October in upstate New York but because I feel cold inside. This type of cold runs so deep that I can feel it in my bones.
Being a midwest child, I can carefully recall memories of prolonged bus stop waits where, the icy wind would pierce into my mouth and nose literally taking my breath away. Those were suspended moments in time where everything stopped, frozen in place by the sharp jabs that came with each gust. To catch my breath, I would take fabric from my clothes and put them over my face leaving my eyes peeking out just enough to watch for the bus to arrive. Eventually, my eyes would become just as cold and they would sting, forcing tears to come out even though I wasn’t sad in the moment.
That is a coldness I will never forget but it is not the only one. There is a piece of my soul that holds onto childhood memories of cold midwest mornings, even the ones in the summertime. She holds on to anything cold really. The truth is, I don’t think this piece of me ever learned how to be securely warm and it’s easy to see how that translated into my adult life. This morning that young part of me who holds on to everything cold woke up with me. I know her well; she is the same one who despises my alarm clock because waking up to another cold morning feel impossible when the bed is warm and that is the only chance of warm there ever has been. This isn’t true at this point in my life, of course, but to her… it is very true.
I’ve spent much of my life despising this part of me and the painful memories she holds, often mistaking her for a girl, now adult, who is lazy and won’t get out of bed in the morning when the alarm rings. I have also recently discovered that I really don’t want to shame her and that I feel so sorry that I ever did. Through my own work in therapy, I am painfully learning that she is so beautiful and strong. She holds all this coldness so that I don’t have too. She protects me from stinging eyes that cry and an inability to breathe when the sharp jabs come. Much like my alarm, this part of me is doing her job and she will ring until my attention is exactly where she needs it to be.
Today, the coldest part of my being didn’t want to get out of bed where it felt warm and safe and so I honored her, and we stayed in bed to stay warm together. My honor to this small midwest girl was received and even with the pain of being cold, she was brave enough and safe enough to remind me that I have a small upstate girl who was leaving for the bus in 15 minutes and probably could use some of her mom’s warmth to protect her again the sting of mid-October.
Even the coldest parts of us are worth honoring.