We talk a lot on this Curvy blog about changing the way we eat. We are becoming more mindful of what we take into our bodies and the ways in which we burn it off. This blog has brought about some positive changes for those who write it- it certainly has for me- and hopefully for those who read it. However, change is hard. And change is inevitable. But it isn't all about the curves...
Change, to me, is scary. It can be exciting and can really charge me. It can make me self reflect which I am not always willing to do. Change can be sad. But as a rule, it can be rather overwhelming. In a good way. In a bad way. In the way it just is.
I am watching a family change before my eyes. My own. Not the one I made, but the one I was brought into.
We are tripping over each other with change.
We are biting tongues with this change.
Different people are taking the helm.
This change, for me, comes in the form of listening and holding my tongue.
Change comes in the youngest, me, no longer being the baby of the family with rash and exaggerated reactions.
Change comes in siblings looking to each other for answers to questions that are continuously...changing.
Absolutely no one can control what is going on, and of the 7 of us in this family, only one is good with that. One zen brother in a family of control freaks and angst ridden criers.
This situation reminds me of a huge and powerful ocean wave.
When I was little, my brothers and I would spend all day in the ocean. The days before storms reached the shores were the best swimming days with warm waters and huge waves. Sometimes those waves were too much, but we rarely got out. We just dove under the big ones and made it to the other side of them- bobbing, spitting, grinning...
But now and again, the wave would hit and I would get crumpled, pushed, and held under the water. Panicked, I would stiffen and push against it. Try to get up. Try to stand, try to regain control. And I finally would regain control and would stand up when the wave was over. I would breath frantically at what I survived. Cry out a bit at the relief that it is over and at the panic I went through.
One day, there were multiple waves like that in a row and I made a decision when pinned under the 2nd one. Go with it. Be like seaweed. Be the fish under the waves. Just go. And it would toss me, but more gently. It wasn't as jarring. I wasn't stiffening. I was bending. And I was twirling. I would find my feet, stand and take a deep breath before the next one came. Back under, calmly talking in my head- this wave will pass, this cannot go on forever. When finally the run of waves subsided, I smartly left the water and sat on the beach, breathing deeply. I watched the waves, now less threatening, from the shore and appreciated their power.
This time, when the crashing wave of change is over, when I sit at the beach and look out, the waves will be gone altogether. I think that will be the most scariest change of all. The battle will be over and never fought again.
Change. Can it be deflected? Does it help to stiffen against it? I have bouts of crying out. Bouts of tight shoulders and kicking feet. But more often I am going with it, like the fish and seaweed, because there is no stopping this wave. I have to bend before I break.