it didn't fit.

 

i tried to crawl back into my old skin a few nights ago.

i sat on my bed and grieved.

i grieved for a time that was easier,

 less painful and wasn't defined through the lenses that i am currently wearing.

 

i was missing an old friend who has parted ways with me

for her reasons. for reasons i can't control and i was missing her, feeling abandoned by her, and yet, understanding that part of the cost of chronic illness includes loss of relationships.

 

i was remembering the days that flowed easily, that i felt i could control, days where i knew where my children were and what they were doing and i rested in the assurance that we were all alright.

and always would be.

i cried hot tears, and i wrote a letter that will never be mailed to that friend and then asked Owen to read it just so someone could witness my pain.

and he didn't want to but he did because he loves me and helps burden share with me,

even when the burdens are mine alone and he can't lift them.

 

i wept for the days of innocence, of casualness, of ease.

and i came to the place again of remembering

 that i couldn't go back there.

i accepted

that i can't turn back the hands of my

 personal clock

and that forward is the only direction

 worth moving.

 

but oh i tried.

for a few moments

 i tried to squeeze myself back into who i was,

who they were,

who i though we were all becoming.

the vision i had created for our futures together.

 

and i wrestled and squirmed

  feeling an emotional roller coaster rip through my body

and then i surrendered.

{again}

 

trust and surrender are my badges these weeks.

 

and i accepted the realization that

i am not that person,

they are not those people,

she is not that friend

 

and i don't fit that skin anymore anyhow

and even if there were some magical way to return,

i would be a stranger.

too different to belong in my past.

i have grown new skin.

i have been shedding

 and it is time to notice the newness

 of who i am and feel safe here.

 

as a child

(and still, truth be told)

when i would stumble upon a snake's paper thin, too small skin

i felt a hush. a holy hush of wonder.

that process is a miracle

in my eyes and i am in awe.

 

new skin.

the celebration of new growth,

through the humble letting go of our old container.

discarded and left.

 not displayed somewhere as precious,

not carried on our backs..

just left as it fell,

 to return to what it was.

allowing us to be free to be who we are.