The kiss of spring feels like a gentle haunting of days past that I somehow still hold onto.
When I came back to tarot a couple years ago, it was the perfect addition to my self-help toolkit; already containing depression tracking worksheets, DBT mindfulness exercises, an array of half scribbled through journals, and the ramblings of my sometimes chaotic mind. I attribute tarot to being the one tool that helped me save myself from a mentally abusive relationship. It led me gently, and sometimes harshly into a place where I believed I could love myself deeply.
Spring, the turn of the weather; the cold of snow at night and the warmth of sun on my cheeks in the day, takes me back to the spring of 17 years old. We dance under a tree, blossoms of a kind I cannot name. He looks at me, gently, lovingly, like I am the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Like my fiancé looks at me now. I am, at this time about five months away from finding out that I am going to be a mother. I am five months away from this boy, who will sire my child, going to prison. I am still 17 and only 6 weeks pregnant when he leaves.
At 20, I am starting nursing school, and have decided I’ve had enough of writing letters, planning trips to a prison 8 hours away, of pretending that 3 years of being the “one who waits” is all that I’ve ever wanted in life. My son is two, and while I’m trying my best to shape up my life, I’m having a really hard time. I jump into the aforementioned abusive relationship, to run away from a person that I loved, was a month away from marrying, but who I knew was not the healthy choice for me.
Never, during any of this did I allow my wings to unfurl.
The drastic need to just survive is now being compared internally with my need to thrive, and fly and grow. There is so much left over sludge sitting in my belly that I’m finding it hard to know where to go. I am nervous to ask my cards how I rid myself of the shame I hold onto, the memories that shaped me into the strong woman I have become, the pain of hurts that made me feel hate for a world that had never been kind, but that I had dreamed contained joy.
So, I start with sitting with the feeling of an oncoming spring.
It doesn’t have to equate to the memories I’ve always associated it with. I can even choose to stop the haunting. By forgiving myself for the shit choices that still affect me. By loving myself a little bit more tenderly in the weird conflicting emotions that make me feel like I do not deserve to be loved by a kind, respectful, and gentle man.
The birds sing in spring, did you know that?