I feel more at home in my body when the leaves change. The trees and summer flowers release what they no longer need on sighs of wind. They are bare and strong without the urge to justify who they are, or why.
I pull on a familiar sweatshirt, stolen from my husband years ago when we started dating, and pour myself a coffee. Soft slippers wait for me in my corner of the couch, or hide in an obscure location thanks to children who shuffle around in them or stuff tiny cars inside. With delight I dig out my oversized sweaters and pull them on over dresses. Socks cover my feet as they slide into the hug of boots. An exhale of relief floats across my lips.
Here I am, at last.
Layers are like lovers, tender and warm, knowing your limbs need an embrace against the contrast of vulnerable summer skin.
The bin of fall and winter clothes for my children is pulled down as I sift through what will be needed and what is too small.
This is it. Pieces of us, of me, letting go like the trees.
I find myself gazing at my 3 boys. Their tousled hair and personalities emerging more every day. The big emotions and neurodivergence and “I do it’s” of my almost 2 year old. Hearing my oldest read. Watching my second born fall asleep as I lay beside him, his arm splayed across me so that I’ll have to slip out from under it like an eel - which my body has perfected after several years of practice.
They were once being shaped inside my body, and now they are extensions of it.
My breath slows in the subtleties of slanted sunlight, within the open hand of darker evenings.
As a kid and teenager, before I had children, I would have curled up with books for an entire day. In this season I hardly ever find space to be alone. My soul craves it desperately, the nurturing of me’s inside: the writer, baker, deep conversationalist, gardener, narrator, artist, the deep feeler, the wife, friend, daughter, sister, and mother.
A line from Walt Whitman’s poem, Song of Myself (51), came to mind this week:
“(I am large, I contain multitudes.)”1
For so many years I told myself instead: I am small. I contain what others need from me.
But as the days add up, I want to stop this practice of self-minimalism. Letting go of these versions of me. Making way for the new growth in the months of gray ahead can only create space for my vastness.
The vastness that has always been there, waiting for recognition.
As the trees begin their own cycle of loosening, I unmoor my multitudes.
I hold them close and whisper — you are safe here — before letting them unfurl, just as my oak extends her limbs, without the need to justify why.
reading/listening/learning
is one of my favorite subscriptions. Last week, she mentioned assembling a “Harvest Kit” for the shift in seasons. Hers contained things like Vitamin D (good reminder for me), cozy pastimes, and candles. This encouraged me to reflect on my own.
A daily yoga practice to ground my often buzzing mind.
Pulling out the knitting I tried to start last year. Having something to do with my hands was quite soothing, and I enjoyed listening to audiobooks or watching old Julia Child shows while I did so.
Baking bread on the weekends with an extra loaf to give to a friend or neighbor. Pots of soup that simmer all afternoon.
Cozy traditions with my children, like afternoon popcorn and hot chocolate with a holiday cartoon. Baking cookies together. Snuggling under blankets and dozing off as they clamber on top of me.
Solo walks in the crisp air.
What items would be in your Harvest Kit? Please share in the comments or chat. I love getting to know my readers.
My October holds nature groups, writing accountability with a friend as I crack open a middle grade novel I’ve been chipping away at for years, audiobook narration coaching and auditions (narration newsletter coming soon), and a weekend away with my Mom in the mountains.
Also, chocolate chip cookies.
As always, thank you for being here. If this resonates with you, please share, subscribe, or comment below.
Warmly,
Jess
“I feel more at home in my body when the leaves change. The trees and summer flowers release what they no longer need on sighs of wind. They are bare and strong without the urge to justify who they are, or why.”
This spoke straight to my soul. As much as I love summer, fall is really my soul season. Love the idea of a harvest kit! Daily yoga in mine, too, for sure!
This really spoke to me. We do all contain multitudes, but often certain roles can take over. Or we think we need to be a certain way to be a mother etc. But the multitudes within us need space to breathe and be nurtured. It can be hard to know how to do this effectively. How to fit it all in amongst the busyness of life. I’m trying to give space for some creativity each week. Find a balance that works.
I do like the idea of a Harvest Kit. Mine would contain; hot chocolate, looking for conkers with my son, cosy film afternoons, building our Lego gingerbread house together, crocheting pumpkins and walks in the woods.🍁🍂✨