"I can do what I want."

I can feel what I want.

I’m floating in my parents’ pool, still shell-shocked after watching my two granddaughters last weekend. The filter is angled up just right, shooting small rapids across the water’s surface. The pool’s not big, above the ground, like the pools my parents have always had. In a tube, I reach the other side in a few seconds. And then push off the edge and let the water spin me around again.

Spinning. Moving, from edge to edge. These words have different meanings now.

The liner is so faded the water looks almost pale, like the sky fell in. And yet above me, there is a deep purplish hue. It’s like the sky and water have inverted themselves. And I take it in. Thinking.

I came out here to think about what I wanted to write. But my mind is mush. I’m tired of thinking, and yet, thoughts are all I care to entertain right now. I watch them float around in my mind as a bluejay whooshes by, and then a wren lands on the pool deck and whistles.

When the birds are out, this is my father’s yard. He knows their calls and communicates effortlessly. When I hear the pool and its filter, and notice the clear water and how it cascades, it’s my mother’s. But now, after the weekend with two little girls, it’s mine. Definitely mine.

My granddaughters, ages 2 and 6—let’s call them Actually and Definitely, have an incredible command over the English language (as well as over anyone who happens to be in their vicinity). They speak in perfect multi-syllable words and complete complex sentences. And know how and when to use them. I can’t help but get drawn in to their dialogues as they sit side by side, coloring, playing, debating.

“I’m actually going to do this,” Definitely says.

“No, I’m definitely, definitely, not doing that,” Actually responds.

And then they’re fighting, screaming, throwing. Language is weaponized. And guess who becomes the target?

Their words are intense. Raw. Immediate. Unfiltered. Just like their emotions.

Of course, that’s all of us at times. Actually. Definitely.

The two-year old (I should say three, she has a birthday soon) lassoes me with her tongue. As a grandparent, I do my best to accommodate her wishes. I have no interest in correcting or reprimanding, but eventually find I have no choice. Her sister joins the drama, then tries to end it. She’s both firestarter and peacemaker. It all shifts so fast it’s hard to track where the chaos started. And now, again at the end of the pool, I push off the ledge.

“I do whatever I want,” Actually stated to my husband, as we walked in the mall one afternoon. She swaggered next to him like she had two guns on her belt. Her sister didn’t need to announce anything. She just slips past the line figuring on forgiveness. And of course she gets it. We’re grandparents. We just want peace.

Several times during the weekend at our daughter’s house, my husband and I would find each other. We’d stand for a long hug and one of us would whisper: “Breathe.” As young parents of four children, we didn’t know about that tool. Often, we’d find ourselves turning on each other because the frustration was just too great to regulate. Long, deep breathing in a bear-hugging embrace feels like yoga to me. Nadi Shodhana. Alternate nostril breathing.

Now he’s gone—flown back home. I’m still here. Still breathing. Still floating. Considering the weekend and what was unsaid.

“Actually” may have the words but she still can’ t regulate herself. She doesn’t hear what her body is saying —she’s talking too much to listen. And then, on high alert, all she can do is cry or scream, throw or hit.

It’s like observing your heart on an EKG. Up down, up down. She wants what she wants but doesn't know what that is.

And yes, definitely, isn’t that us, too? We think we know what we desire, and yet actually… Do we really? Is what we desire really what we want?

My breath floats as I float. Here, it’s easy to listen. In the chaos of life, it is not. But I keep practicing. Practicing silence. Noticing. Feeling. Listening to my body’s signs.

When I feel that furry sensation on my lip, I know a migraine is on the way. When bee stings bloom on my upper arms, I know my peripheral nervous system is sending out a warning. And when my eyes begin to swell before the actual tears form, I know I can pause and ask, What is this?

I don’t know what Actually and Definitely will remember of their childhood. What will stay in their bodies. What will return again, someday. Or, how long it will take to learn how to regulate, and how long to forget again. They are two little girls in the world, and in between it.

Practice

Floating. Allowing your breath to float.

Breathing. Slowly. Following it through rapids and still waters.

Feeling. Feeling Everything. Where in your body do you land?

Listening. To every single thing your body needs to say.

Write:

When I allow myself to dysregulate_________________happens.

When I do exactly what I want, I feel________________.

When I allow myself to scream and cry out loud, I ______________.

Reflect

Notice the dysregulation or regulation of the people around you, or in the news. What did they desire? What did they actually need? Did they get it? Did you??

Thank

Thank you noise. Thank you dysregulation. Thank you bear hugs. Thank you forgiveness. Thank you my dear little granddaughters for all you help me learn.

Thank you for reading and listening.

Love,

Jackie

PS: Embodied: Memory begins this Wednesday. Check out my link for details!