4 Decades of Life

Decade One: 0-10 Years Old

I sat on her hip holding a boy doll nearly my own size. “What should we name him?” she asked me. I shrugged unknowingly. I wonder why we named him Steven. When mom died, Steven remained. I tried so hard to make him come to life. Spinning him in circles by the arm with a ritual I believed so hard in that when it didn’t work, I’d crumple in a pile of frustrated tears. I tried so many times that now all that remains of Steven is his arm. I think I believed that if I could make a doll come to life, then maybe I could make her come back to life too.

Decade Three: 20-30 Years Old

I would learn that trusting people would mean they would see the broken sides of me. My identity was strength - so I didn’t trust many people. I would realize that heart break felt like death because I couldn’t regulate the difference. I would seek help and in doing so I would learn that change is possible. I would wrap myself in the warm, cozy, embrace of Maui and feel like I found my own home with my own two hands. Yoga would be a pathway to freedom. Maui would help me heal, redefine myself, and begin again and again and again. The trade winds slowly blew away the weight I kept lugging around. As I completed the cycle of putting some things to rest, I began a new cycle of creation, beginnings, and family. When they were born, I was reborn. No longer the broken child, but a complete mother.

Decade Two: 10-20 Years Old

I stood in the front yard, imprinting my feet into a space I’d never forget as I waved without smiling to my sisters as they both got into their car and drove away. The guilt on their faces matched the hollowness of my heart. They left. I stayed. Another three years. Alone. I found something I wrote from this time period. It wasn’t that I had forgotten but, I couldn’t finish reading what I’d written because I intentionally didn’t want to remember. I do choose to remember when I was 17 years old and looked down at my own two hands. They were palm up and I noticed the patterns and prints. I remember thinking: These are your hands. This is your life. Take your life into your own two hands. It wasn’t easy, but that is what I did. I would be the one to shape my own life from then on.

Decade Four: 30-40 Years Old

If I had known the whiplash that would last for years when leaving Maui and coming back to the rugged mountains my bones were built from, I’d have put up more of a fight. If I’d known the peace I’d crafted was built on the foundation of sand, sun, and warm water — I would have waded there awhile before plunging into the cold rushing waters of the winter rivers stumbling on uneven stones beneath my feet. I tried to navigate the storm for years, but the water kept churning and crashing. I got lost in the waves not knowing which direction to swim for air. When the storm settled, I put my feet back on solid ground. I stood up. I looked down at my own two strong hands once again - this time, I saw two smaller hands within them. I held tightly and lovingly to those two tiny hands in mine and promised them, “I’ve got you.”