Since the last time I wrote to you in this space, I’ve been hearing better – and I don’t mean with my ears; I mean with my heart.I think maybe it’s because…
I’ve drastically reduced my time on social media.
There’s an indentation on Scott’s neck from where the tumor was removed, reminding me time is precious.
Natalie’s college had to shut its doors; not even a 168-year history and outpouring of support could save it.
Or maybe I’m listening to myself better now because…
I found out I am a Dog Person!
My “baby” Avery started visiting colleges and can’t wait to go.
I am tired of rejecting my body, and I want to find out how to nurture her.
I got my first bird feeder for Mother’s Day, and the first bird finally visited this week!
Truthfully, it’s probably a combination of all those factors that are helping me pay attention to what matters and not miss it.
The revelation that I am a Dog Person (in addition to being a tried-and-true Cat Person) came when I followed a strong nudge on my heart in January. I’d learned that many dogs never see the light of day once they are placed in a shelter, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that. Also, my “nest” will be empty in less than a year when Avery goes to college. I thought having this volunteer role in place could help to offset my sadness.
Come to find out, walking shelter dogs is helping me far sooner than expected. Take Dorothy, a young Goldendoodle, for example. I was warned by the shelter staff she wasn’t a great walker, and it was true. After a fifteen-minute romp around, she just wanted her ears scratched while in a reclined position.
The old me would’ve been frustrated not to “get my steps in” – but that thought came and left quickly. I recognized that Dorothy was listening to her body, and I was all for it.
We sat there for forty-five peaceful minutes with the breeze blowing back our hair. In my gentlest voice reserved for babies and animals, I assured Dorothy she was the best girl and would make someone very happy.
I think about the things I am learning from Dorothy and Peppered – the stout dog who feigned something was wrong with his paw just to get frequent belly rubs. I think about big Zeus and tiny Sissy, who looked back constantly during our walks to make sure I was still there. I know I would’ve missed these experiences to offer and receive love had I not listened to the guidance of my heart.
As I wrapped up a walking session the other day with Betsy the Beagle, I realized I’m going into summer in a way I haven’t before: More Comfortably… more Contently… more Carefree.
Truth is, my relationship with summer has always felt Complicated. A few that really stick out are:
Summer of 1984 – The summer of stretch marks and the beginning of self-scrutiny
Summer of 1992 – The summer of irresponsible risk taking in a misguided pursuit of acceptance
Summer of 2005 – The summer of surgeries and hospital stays resulting from prioritizing productivity over wellness
Summer of 2021 – The summer of deep parental pain from missing clues that would have kept my second-born daughter safe
Summer 2022 and 2023 – The summers of healing and repairing from the aftermath of Summer 2021.
As the first day of Summer 2024 nears, I find myself wondering if I can trust the full breath I am finally taking.
The birds at my bird feeder tell me I can.
The dogs at the shelter tell me YES.
The bell on my bike and the hydrangea bushes planted in Ben’s memory tell me it’s time.
The day after school let out for the summer, Avery, who is now seventeen, came to my room and sat on my bed.
She told me that she and her two friends had gone to the park the night before to look at the stars. The friends suggested they go to the open field where there were no lights, so they could see the stars even better.
Seeing that would require walking through a wooded area, my daughter sensed that was a bad idea.
“I heard this voice inside me say NO… don’t do that,” Avery explained. “And, Mom, it was your voice.”
Fighting back tears, I hugged my daughter tightly and told her how proud I was of her for keeping herself and her friends safe.
My daughter’s inner knowing had come through for her.
She, too, was learning to listen to the guidance of her heart.
The fact it sounded like my voice was a bonus gift, as well the confirmation I needed to continue choosing a quieter path.
I’ve listened to the loud, demanding world long enough to know it doesn’t know what I need to thrive or where I must go to be fulfilled.
Birdsong, panting tongues, tinkling bells, my very own breath… I hear the guidance clearly now, and I like where they are leading me.
🌳 JOIN ME IN THE TREEHOUSE…
The bulleted items at the top of this post are topics I have written about in Rachel’s Treehouse over the past six months. My beloved treehouse is housed on Substack, a quiet space for writers to share meaningful work with their readers without the vitriol, advertising, and controlling algorithms of social media. My essays are delivered via email, and I hold monthly live gatherings on Zoom that members find greatly fulfilling. If you’d like to climb the treehouse ladder and be part of a special community nourishing the roots of what matters most, click here.
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“What have you done to me, friend? My soul has certainly shifted. I am at my drawing table drawing and writing at the same time. I’m dictating into my phone as I create my painting. The dreamer girl in me is so happy, and the wise woman I am is so encouraged.” -A.S
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