getting it

Sweetpea has been learning to ride her bike since the summer. She got the mechanics of it in early fall - feet on pedals, forward locomotion. She was a reluctant rider and didn't particularly want to learn, but like swimming, it's one of those essential skills you just gotta have. So we took the pedals off one day and sent her down a grassy hill over and over again to learn balance. She hated it at first but after 20 or 30 times got the hang of it. But even after successfully negotiating empty parking lots with a few bruising stops against curbs, with us cheering her on, she didn't really enjoy it. We had to drag her out on weekends to practice at the schoolyard, and she never initiated it as a family activity herself. I remembered my own days as a child - jumping on my bike first thing in the morning, tuna sandwich crammed in my pocket, spending the entire day with my sister and my cousins riding over half the city, coming home only when it was dark. I wanted her to have that same experience of freedom and adventure.

A few weeks ago we dragged our reluctant cyclist out once again - it had been a while. It was an unusually sunny day and we awoke that morning in good moods, listening to music and dancing while making breakfast. We made a stop while out running errands to let her practice. English hubby ran along beside her, holding her seat and helping her get going. There was frustration and impatience and not listening, and he finally fell back and stood with me while she went it alone. We watched her from a distance, shouting at herself when she couldn't do it, tears of frustration in her eyes.
But then.
She got it. And again.
And soon she was riding around in big circles. We held our breaths and let her go. As she circled past us every few minutes, we noticed that she was singing. Later she told us that if she sang as she pedaled it helped her rhythm. That day she figured out not only HOW to ride, she figured out that it was FUN. She discovered the joy.

I've been doing a lot of work recently surrounding my melancholy. I still prefer to call it that, rather than depression. It somehow is a friendlier word although I don't mean to downplay what depression is and how it effected me this past year.

I think I had been numbing myself for so long, trying not to sink down to that dangerous level where my emotions overwhelm me, that I numbed the good bits too.  I successfully made it so that not only couldn't I experience grief or anger or sadness, but couldn't feel the highs.  Joy and excitement and exuberance were too often absent.  I don't mean to say I was like this all the time - it would hard to be a functioning mother and partner, sister and friend.  In fact, it was primarily because of those very people that I had moments of joy and love at all.

So what has changed?  Tenderness toward myself.  And when I have trouble finding it, listening to my daughter tell me "you're a good mummy".  Watching her joyful pursuit of life, and realizing that I stopped practicing it myself a while back.  Asking for help.  Relying on my own instincts surrounding what makes me happy and acting on them.  Saying what I need and meaning it.  Nurturing my soul.  Small steps among many.

And like magic, I'm pedaling my bike and I'm singing.  There will be hills and there will be deep valleys and I'm embracing them both.