I see you, turning on the shower and standing under the hot spray, hoping that waterfall of sound is enough to muffle the signs of your tears from the children outside.

I see you, holding up the weight of the world and trying so very hard and knowing, in your bones, that it just won’t be enough to keep it all from crashing down.

I see you there; arms stretched in asana, the mantra of your heart beating steady onward – Stay true. Stay true. Stay true.

I see you, loving so good and strong. And losing it all anyway.

I see you, being judged and found wanting.

I see you looking at her. I see your naked desire. I see your relentless need.

I see you, flawed and humble and road weary and proud and still in spite of the deep ache, somehow sure you’ve done all you can.

I see all you feel but cannot speak. I see the way the words grow and swell, expanding your chest and pressing against the confines in your throat until they form the most unbearable pain, and the air around you so heavy with the weight of words unsaid.

I see the way your chest caves in and your shoulders curl around and your arms hold your knees so tight that you circle in upon yourself.

I see how in spite of this you are expanding, even though others wish you small and in spite of your own efforts to keep peace. I see that you are a wild thing, not meant for containment.

I see you setting that boundary. I see you marking that line and choosing a side and I see that steely resolve that means you have found your way back to yourself.

I see how you want and want and want. I see the unceasing swell of your desire. I see how you look in those spaces, small and large, where you begin to know that desire as holy.

I see you there, in the moment that last burning ember of hope died. I see your face then, the way it went blank for a moment and the pain that flashed in your eyes. And then I see you pull it back together, because there is laundry to do and children to care for and a family that needs you – and what else is there to do but continue?

I see how you always continue. How survival is in your bones. How thriving is what you were born for. How you were meant to rise.

I see you rising, you beautiful phoenix. I see your wise heart. I see your hot tears. I see your bruised knees. I see your prayers rising like poems around you in the cold night air.

I see you in your spiraling doubt and I see you weaving in and out of the shadows and the demons and the ghosts of those gone but not forgotten. I see you dancing there, and it is beautiful.

I see your knowing and your not wanting to know and I see the way every plea you make sounds like that one name you’ll never stop calling out in your sleep.

I see you on your good days and I see you on your bad days. And I see what lives there, just beneath your skin, on the days when you know for sure that very few pay close enough attention to tell the difference.

I see you, in your fierce insistence on living as true as you can, in spite of all the breaking.

I see you, by the light of so many candles and the unmistakable glow of grief. I see you folding and refolding that handwritten note that once held the promise of all things.

I see the way you live every breath as redemption.

I see you in your grace and in your grit and in the way they meet in the very center of things.

I see you there, searching for that just sad enough song song that will release all that is bottled inside. I see you let it go and I see you go to ground with the sobs that look as if they will break you into pieces.

I see you take that breath. And inhale again. And I see your resolve settle in your bones. I see you rise again, still broken, and somehow always whole.

I see you, beneath the surface. I see your untamable wild. I see your billowing heart. I see your unshed tears and your not yet dreams and your devotion to spirit. I see you howl at the moon and call the ocean home and ground to earth and grow taller than the trees.

I see you.

You are not alone. You are not invisible.

You are seen. You are seen. You are seen.

And my god, you are beautiful.

x0,

The post You are seen. You are seen. You are seen. appeared first on Jeanette LeBlanc.

The seizures were threatening to kill him, her only son. There was no choice. When he was in the hospital – having his skull opened to remove the tumor and during the long recovery that followed- she wore her wonder woman panties every day. Until they were as frayed and thin and worn as her weary heart. Because they were proof of what she needed to remember. She was very, very strong.

~~~

The night – when he took from her what should only ever be freely given – she watched it happen from the ceiling. When she could not bear to be inside her body for a moment longer, she left it behind. Floated high above.

Later, she kissed him goodbye, her lips parched and hard against his, aware that they were watching. After the others had long since fallen asleep the silent, shuddering tears began. She crawled up the stairs, her legs refusing to hold her any longer. Her knees scratched on rough carpet as she crawled across the bedroom in the dark, searching desperately for her overnight bag.  She knew without looking that her pink lace panties – the first pair that had made her feel like a grownup – would be stained with blood. She closed her eyes, silent tears streaming down her face, and wished for a cape. Blue and red satin, she imagined, and powerful enough that she would not have to float next time – she could fly away and never return.

~~~

Afterwards, when it was done – when the choice was made and it was over and could never be taken back – she stood in the shower. Her frail shoulders curved around her grief stained soul. She held her body, one that so recently had held another,  and she felt as if the earth might just give way beneath her feet. She waited for the hot water to scald the memories from her skin. She pounded slick tiles with her bare hands, a primal keening rising from the deep well at the center of her grief.  She was broken open, cracked wide. It was not supposed to be this way. There is no superhero in the world strong enough to alter this one irrevocable thing that she had done. This time, she would have to rescue herself.

~~~

Lover, there will be days when there are no telephone booths to change in. Days when your own personal kryptonite has robbed you of your last bit of strength. Days when Wonder Woman panties and satin capes and scalding water don’t have near enough magic to transport you back to the core of your powers.

Indeed, there will be days when the most heroic act you can muster is changing the sheets on your bed. All of your energy focused on tucking and smoothing, as if meticulously formed hospital corners are the one thing that will save your life. It matters now at the close of the day, when everything in this world feels dirty and cloaked in shame, that your skin only be touched by something clean.

This is enough. This is more than enough. 

No, you cannot really fly. There will be no single bound building leaps. You will not win a race with a speeding bullet. There won’t be a man in tights and a cape swooping down to save you. It’s just you.  One person. Small and exquisitely mortal against the relentless pressing of the big, wide world.

But know this. Even without costume or talisman or amulet, you have power beyond comprehension.  You have brokered peace treaties. You have kept intact that which was bound for disaster. You have held the hand of the dying and brought life to the world. You have brought down empires and built them anew, the right way this time.

To live this life. To live it with wholeness and gratitude and trust. In the pain and the glory.  In the mess and the grace. In the sacred and the desperation. This is the stuff of which real superheros are born.

And you. I bow to your tender heart. Your fierce ownership of self. To the battles done in the name of health and wholeness and agency and truth. To the choices made that had to be made that nobody understands. To the judgement faced and the heavy grief cradled.  To the ways you have continued, even in the face of great loss and sacred things stolen and all that has threatened your hard won peace.

It is no small thing to survive this world.  And it is no small thing to stand tall and to claim this life and to thrive.

I bow to you, humble and awed.

Because you have been the saving grace of your own survival, again and again and again. 

And in the end, there is nothing more powerful than exactly that.

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