On the seasons of life
And other musings
Content warning: Towards the end of the essay there is mention of pregnancy loss. I know this can be painful when encountered unexpectedly, so (with love) please be advised.
It is officially the season of Lent.
For those unfamiliar with this Christian faith tradition, Lent begins the day after Mardi Gras (the last day to get all your crazy party vibes out of your system) and takes place the 40 days leading up to Easter (this year, Lent started on March 5). The season is typically a time of reflection and looking inward, mirroring Jesus’s own wandering in the wilderness for the same amount of time. The season culminates in the crucifixion of Jesus and his miraculous resurrection three days later.
It’s a spiritual holiday that explores themes of life and death, and invites those who observe to do the same. The churches I was part of in high school and early adulthood encouraged members to participate in fasting, a spiritual practice that entails giving up something for some period of time in order to connect with God.
Fasting, like many things, exists on a spectrum. If I’m remembering correctly, there was a year in high school when I gave up R-Rated movies for Lent – I’m sure the Lord felt extra glorified that I abstained from cuss words and sex scenes. Another year I gave up coffee, blessing everyone around me with my extra charming not-a-morning-person self for over a month. My last big fasting attempt was when I tried – and failed epically – to give up candy. What I thought would be relatively easy turned into a disaster of sugar withdrawals: I got headaches, was super irritable, and couldn’t stop thinking about all the different sweet treats I could buy so easily across the street. I lasted a mere week.
It’s been over five years since that last fasting attempt; at some point along the way, it just didn’t feel like something worth doing (gasp! blasphemy!). If the point of fasting was self-reflection and connecting with a higher power, it just wasn’t effective for me.
However, there are multiple people in my life – not all who practice a Christian faith tradition – who have found fasting to be a beautiful, soulful experience. I’ve been surprised at their willingness to fast, especially of their own volition and not at the prompting of someone else. And since I’ve been craving a deeper connection with my faith, I thought: why not give fasting a try again? My hope was that in the days leading up to Easter, I could fast as an intentional way of dipping my toes back into something bigger than myself. I committed to fasting from the social vortex, staying off social media platforms and the mindless scrolling that comes with them. And in their place, I would intentionally use that time to reflect or choose other activities that might rejuvenate my spirit.
Little did I know that within a few days of starting this fast, I’d be put to the test. Our two-month-old baby decided to do what babies do: grow. And for the blissfully uninitiated, when babies go through growth spurts, you better buckle up for a wild ride. These little spurts result in days of erratic sleeping, nonstop feeding, extra fussiness, and wanting to be comforted 24/7. Last weekend, I found myself trapped in a dark bedroom with a tiny human (literally) attached to me for nearly seven hours. As my fingers itched to grab my phone, I felt myself growing more and more irritated. I was bored, helplessly trapped, and looking for anything to distract me from my discomfort. Just a little bit of vortexing wouldn’t hurt, right?
Instead, I turned inward. I took slow, deep breaths. I noticed the whirlwind of emotions inside me and started to reflect on them. Slowly, I settled into a place of peace. I prayed, meditated, and practiced gratitude. I took in the chubby cheeks of my growing little girl, her sleeping face calm and relaxed against me. When did she get so big?
Did I emerge from my nap trap revitalized, having just experienced a spiritual awakening? No. My butt hurt like hell and I immediately told my husband that we needed a better system so one of us doesn’t get stuck like that again (lol). But even in that discomfort, I did feel more connected to the world around me in all its complexity. Over the past few weeks, I’ve found myself taking long walks, reading books that uplift me and make me think, and not defaulting to my screen every time I’m bored. It’s been refreshing.
While I’m still in my early days of this fast, I feel like my heart is in a better place than past attempts. Rather than using fasting (let’s be honest) as an opportunity to give up a vice of some sort, it’s instead created space in my life to tend to a part of myself that felt neglected. The ideas in my head and heart are so messy when it comes to spirituality, and trying to articulate it all feels both overwhelming and awfully vulnerable. But by stepping into that uncertainty, my faith has the room it needs to expand and evolve.
This week, I want to try something new. Jess and I are both professional writers and journalists, and yet we rarely show the more “creative writing” sides of ourselves that also exist. As I’m writing this, I’m once again trapped beneath my little babe in the darkness of my room. But I’m allowing my mind to wander, to think about all that is this life and my place in the universe. And for some reason – probably due to the recent birth of my daughter and overall motherhood journey – I’ve been thinking a lot about Easter’s themes of life and death. To close out today’s issue, I wanted to share a bit of what I’ve been reflecting on during my quiet times. A little bit poetry, a little bit freeform, a little bit random and wild. Enjoy.
Her little breaths puff against my collarbone. First slow and steady, then suddenly fast and earnest. What causes her to stir, leaving her downy hair sweat slicked against my chest? What dreams occur behind her fluttering eye lids? What does she see when her life has consisted of nothing more than milk and my beating heart against her own?
May she feel safe.
May she feel loved.
May she move mountains.
I walk and walk the familiar path, praying whatever is on my heart. The big and the small. I find myself standing on a rock outcropping, looking at the water. This spot is significant to me, a holy and sacred place. I stood here with each of my children and looked for peace in the surface below. My first, who would only ever experience the warmth of my womb on this side of heaven. After his loss, I returned to this rock in grief, tears flowing down my cheeks, an anguished cry trapped behind clenched teeth. The thought of opening myself to such loss again was unfathomable.
Seasons passed and I came back, pregnant with my son. I remember the taste of fear on my tongue, the bitter tang of hope as I pressed my hand to my belly. When I returned to this spot with him in my arms – vibrant and full of life – I felt . . . what? Not quite healed. I knew in my bones that what comes today isn’t guaranteed to stay until tomorrow. Yet today is all we have, another dawn uncertain still.
Now to this place I bring my daughter. I too walked this path when my belly was about to burst and the promise of snow filled the sky. Here we are, our breaths mingling in the space between our hearts. What a mystery, this precious life. What an absolute blessing to take this air into my lungs and exhale, to create and give this gift to another. There is beauty in returning to this place. Here is where I remember that to live life is to confront death, a reality that terrifies and grants agency in equal parts.
May I feel safe.
May I feel loved.
May I move mountains.
Small victories 🏅
Speaking of new life and the changing of seasons, our dear friend Jess will soon be tying the knot with the love of her life! Join me in giving the biggest congrats to Jess and Dylan 🥂
Given that we’ll be celebrating this beautiful occasion together in DC, we’ll be taking a break from publishing in two weeks. We’ll catch you again in April.
Hot mess recs 🔥
Motherhood is complicated. One recent book that moved me was Leslie Jamison’s Splinters: Another Kind of Love Story (you can also find an excerpt in The New Yorker, titled “The Birth of My Daughter, the Death of My Marriage”). Her book left me laughing and in tears. If you’re interested, I also interviewed her when her book came out last winter.
The Journal podcast doesn’t often do episodes on motherhood. But this one from 2023 really hit the mark for Jess, even if she isn’t a mom herself. It’s about the painful reality of postpartum depression, and focuses on two mothers who struggled with it after giving birth. Listen with care, but Jess says it’s worth it.
Another parenting related rec: I’ve really been enjoying the new podcast Not Gonna Lie with Kylie Kelce. I was intrigued when it made headlines for beating Joe Rogan’s podcast on both Apple and Spotify when the trailer launched. I’m not a huge sports fan so didn’t think I’d be that into it, but Kylie’s raw honesty is just so fun to listen to and I’ve loved the conversations she’s had with some pretty amazing women. Give it a try!
Share with a friend 💌
Thank you for continuing to read The Mess. We’ve heard from so many of you that you really enjoy this space. We’d love to continue inviting more people into our community, so share your favorite Messay with a friend and tell them why you keep coming back for more.
Until next time,
Sam