Why are you trembling?

I wrote this for my Annie Belle and for me. I knew in my body it was time to put her to sleep, but it was so hard to make that decision. These words mean so much more now that we've said goodbye. We love talking about her and remembering the tremendous amount of beauty she added to our lives. We miss you, little buggie.

Why are you trembling? What is happening inside your body? The doctor says you are well. And you are still so cheerful when you get to eat….and you’re not eating as much. Your body gives out here and there. Are you in pain? Are you scared? Your desire and love is unnerving. It can feel like too much since we work from home together all day, every day. I get agitated if you’re shaking continues or you’re panting with stress, pain, insert unknown word here. I’m trying to figure you out. Trying to find language for what is happening. Desperate to know. Understand.

You continue to invite me to be with you. To know where you are and see you. Without words. Be close. Believe you. Trust how you love me. How you want to be loved. And how you feel and trust the safe space between us.

You’ve taught me so much over the last five years about trauma stored in a body. Your story has unfolded before my eyes. I see you, precious one. And you are loved. I feel you. You’ve not had much of a voice. No bite. Many years, days, hours, and minutes with your tail tucked or hiding away from the tense feeling in a room. In a person. And you chose me. You love me and your favorite place to be is close to me. Touching. This has been precious. Such a gift to me. And this has been too much on other days. I wanted to get away from your love and care toward me. Your need. Your pain, terror, uncertainty has been the most difficult to be with.

You continue to invite me to be with you. To know where you are and see you. Without words. Be close. Believe you. Trust how you love me. How you want to be loved. And how you feel and trust the safe space between us.

You invite me to be with my own pain. This is where I push you away or need space. I want the words of what has happened to my body. I want the story. I see and feel the story play out. And this feeling that I’ve never understood or wanted to feel….that is pain. Unnamed. Unknown. I do not want to look. I want words. I want to know the story that happened in this young place. Where does this fear come from? What will it cost me to feel this pain? The cost of NOT feeling this pain is evident through many of the stories and words I do have. Story after story of me disregarding me. Believing that I don’t matter. My story is not believable. I don’t get to have a voice, an opinion, take up space, have a different view than another. Being humiliated. Then agreeing. And then inviting others to humiliate me so the narrative continues.

You continue to invite me to be with you. To know where you are and see you. Without words. Be close. Believe you. Trust how you love me. How you want to be loved. And how you feel and trust the safe space between us.

This is okay to feel. Pain is okay to acknowledge. Regardless of how long the visitor stays. They are worthy to be with. Your pain matters. There is nothing to do here. You can be with and not be consumed. You have the strength to walk through this and not be swallowed. You are a good woman. You are believable. You can listen. You can look. You can trust that your body knows the story. Even without words.

You continue to invite me to be with you. To know where you are and see you. Without words. Be close. Believe you. Trust how you love me. How you want to be loved. And how you feel and trust the safe space between us.