By Carolyn Riker
A full moon is approaching and Mercury remains in a retrograde.
I am barely skimming the surface by saying, my emotions are scattered and raw.
My normal sensitivity is heightened to new limits. I can feel the hair on my head wildly growing sunflowers, in a field by a pond.
The ever expanding moon is blinding me making it even more difficult to sleep. By day, I need to close my eyes just to see. I have the fatigue of a new mom minus the fact my kids are well into their teens.
Everything I eat doesn’t quench my hunger; instead it expands my middle even wider.
I am bloated, tired, frustrated and weepy—and that’s being kind. It is not a matter of celebrating my womanly moon cycle.
I’m in a soulful sort of shedding.
Nothing feels right and everything feels extreme. My cat is barking. A squirrel gave me a funny look and I cried.
My computer has sputtered and stalled. My phone reboots as if possessed. Computer files have disappeared. My son responds to my questions with, “Mom there’s an app for that.”
I believe there’s a black hole and I’m in it; the force field is collapsing around me.
Some folks are edgy and critical or super bouncy. I have to be careful just how much to take in. My tolerance is nil. It hurts to smile. My heart has been pierced by an imaginary arrow. Carpal tunnel afflicts my left wrist. Each sentence I write takes three times as long.
I cry (again) while in the shower.
This is not one of those articles that purports you will feel better by doing x, y or z. I’m only sharing my tiny semi-strategic thoughts to help when all-hell-breaks-loose.
I could only manage to list three.
1. Kindness matters. Be kind to yourself. Blankets and pillows, tea and a good book. Let go of critical as much as you can. Walk away from those are who are toxic. This is probably not the best time to engage in a debate. Eat a salad or chips. Carrots or cake. Whatever gets you through. It’s a process when in a personal enigma. I hold onto the question: Will this make me feel worse or better? I have to encourage myself to lean into the latter.
2. Less is more. Pairing down to the nitty-gritty of what must be done. What can I let go of? How much less can I do? Delegate some of the chores if you can. I’ve attached tiny dust cloths to my cat’s paws. The floor is amazingly sparkly. He hates me. But I know that is just my current warped perception.
3. Hide. It’s okay to create a hidey-hole of respite, even if those moments are locked in a bathroom, resting on the cold floor. Or five minutes of silence next to a tree. Child’s pose is reassuring. I listen to the sound of moss. Blanket forts and a mind-numbing movie are essential. Silence the washer and dryer buzzer. I avoid answering the door. I’m not even sure why I have a phone since it’s on mute; so please don’t text me.
Maybe it isn’t the pending full moon or Mercury’s fault. Maybe I’m just experiencing a lot of personal and emotional growth.
Processing the transitions and forging ahead. Worrying and questioning and sifting through the voices of “What’s next?”
Maybe I’ll practice a little more self-kindness and it’ll trickle in and ease the aches. Maybe I’ll let go of the worry—just a tiny bit more.
The moon is beautiful and glowing tonight. The owls have returned to a lovely hooting melody. My cat, no longer angry at me, reclines by the fan. The kids are out and about, independently engaged in a world of teen-hood.
And I’m slowly accepting, my super sensitivity. It isn’t a weakness. It is a unique part of me.
Editor: Dana Gornall
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