The Body Keeps the Score. I like the title of that book because it shows how our bodies store memories that we consciously don’t access. And then one day, they wake up inside of us and come to the surface, asking to be reconciled and resolved.
I think I’m in the midst of that kind of a crisis right now. I’m not sure if crisis is the right word for the situation. I’ve spent so much time in therapy, at this point it’s like standing on the platform watching the train go by. It’s a standard life experience. Like spring cleaning, I’m simply re-entering an old space and clearing out the dust that settled over a long winter.
My mom sent me flowers for my birthday. I hated them. They were big and pink and had a really strong smell. The last time I was in Ohio it felt strange to be in the house I grew up in. There was so much stuff. I never thought of my mom as a hoarder but the amount stuff in the closets and around the house was noticeable. I think I’ve felt that way before too, when I was younger, but it never consciously registered. When things weren’t the sweetest at home I remember I would sit on the couch and feel swallowed by the furniture, the cushions, the throws, the wall art. Everything was decor, everything was meant to be chic, but it always felt suffocating.
I think the flowers felt like the energy of her home trying to enter mine. They were so big and pink, it was the nicest arrangement she had ever sent me. They smelled too, I know they’re meant to be pretty and smell good but I despised them. They were first in my bedroom, and then quickly moved to the kitchen. It felt like they were mangling the bright energy in there, so I shifted them again, this time to my spare bedroom. The flowers now sit on the floor abandoned and awaiting death.
Another strange anecdote about my mom and plants: the last time she visited me in New York she bought me a hanging plant that I kept on top of the cupboard in my kitchen. I kept having dreams that there was a cockroach in the kitchen, and one day I went to water the plant and it crawled out. I told my friend about the incident later that day “that sounds like a bad omen” she murmured while we stood over pastries and charcuterie.
It’s weird to describe my mother’s energy as an infection, like a strange disease that hovers in the air asking to swallow you whole. I feel perpendicular to my family unit. Some people are lucky to find alignment in their homes, but I found dissonance in mine. It’s a strange thing to reflect on. I was listening to Sophia Amoruso’s interview earlier this week and when she talked about her personality she kept it very simple “I was just born this way.” Sometimes we come into the world with an energy far different from the hands that greet us. So much of maturity and adulthood is standing on platforms early in the morning, half awake and waiting for the train to arrive, quietly unraveling the dissonance in our minds that has caked over time.
a soft death 