Holding Space

I’ve been tired this week. At first I wasn’t sure why, but I could tell my body was craving rest and comfort. I think it’s my body’s way of grieving the loss of my preschooler, if I had to guess. She starts kindergarten tomorrow morning, she is ready, and she can’t wait.

I’m grateful for that...but in an odd way, not having her first day anxiety to focus on has forced me to be the witness to my own feelings. Rarely have I been so aware of myself. Grief lingers just below the surface, threatening to overwhelm me at the slightest provocation. With motherhood comes exquisite joy, deep loss. I am holding space for the grief.

I’ve had to be careful not to make myself wrong for feeling so much sadness over the start of kindergarten. But I realize it’s more than that, it’s a symbolic chapter of our lives ending, of her irrevocable step closer to independence, of what will be required of me in order to let her go, over and over again. It is tender, and it’s terrifying.

Tomorrow we’ll walk her to school, and give her over to the care of a teacher she already loves after meeting her once. She will be so excited to tell us all about her day as a big kid, and we’ll move forward, learning our new routines and ways and challenges.

But tonight I’m lingering, holding a kind of vigil, processing through writing. Secretly hoping like a little kid that if I don’t go to sleep, everything will stay the same. ❤️