Pulling Weeds

There’s something so satisfying about pulling weeds from the garden, or the flower bed, or from in between the cracks of cement, the places weeds like, but are always unwanted. I reach my hand down, deep down into the dirt and I grab a handful of the green, prickly leaves and I spin them all up in my hand together. Then with a twist and a flick of the wrist the roots spring up. If they are a particularly difficult weed, they may take a tug or two, but when they finally break, and if you listen close enough, you can hear a little popping sound when the root releases. I love that sound. I love the feeling of accomplishment, the way you are left with a clear, new space to see what you actually want to see, need to see. It’s the beginning of a clearing up of sorts. It’s the same way I feel after coming out of the fog of depression.

It’s never the same, this popping, clearing, new beginning. It’s always dependent on what I’ve been sad about, what time of the year it is, how my medicine has held up, how my therapist has held up, how my support system has held me up. It’s never the same, but it’s always sort of the same.

This time, for instance, I have wanted to spend all my time working on art projects, cleaning up old, rusty treasure I find at thrift stores. This time I have taken myself into the art of turning trash into treasure and it has helped immensely. Last time, though, it was just binge-watching Netflix shows about women in prison. It’s a system, trust me. This time I have been coming in, and going back out again. In and out, in and out. The fog lifts for a few days, then pulls me back in. It’s been the world that has done it to me this time. And the time of the year.

But today I was picking weeds. Pulling them up by their leaves, listening for the pop, waiting for the clearing. Today I felt the sun on my shoulders and the warm winds of late summer on my back. Today I felt rested and happy, so things were different. But tomorrow, who knows. Or the day after that. Or the day after that…

I’ve started looking out at to the garden more, thinking about my life. My roots, my dirt, my blooming flowers, and my even larger blooming weeds. I can’t help but take stock on some days. How grateful I am for what I have! How grateful and full I feel sometimes. But only sometimes.

I know there is a chemical off in my brain. I know there are reasons that I think how I do, and act how I do. I know there is something that triggers for me, the good days, the bad days, the big, wonderful days, and I am working on getting them all right. All aligned for the better. But even on those days, when I’m picking weeds just to hear the pop, I know there will be a day coming down the line where I will want to plant more flowers, move about in the world with others, and love myself a little more. Here’s to more of those days, friends.

As always, take care of others, but also take care of yourself.

M.

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