Baby Giggles and Sitting Shiva

As soon as I pressed send on my newsletter last week, shame literally became me. Exposed, broken open, too much feeling but frozen. Did I share too much? I shared too much. I started spinning — as the younger versions of me started judging, too much Olivia. I was often thought of as too much. Breathing, I quieted my inner critique. En route to the airport at 6AM, I edited again before sending, perfecting, worried that my words were too political or tone deaf. I read it once again out loud while my boyfriend was driving, before surrendering. I’ll be in the air, auto send for 10am, my words heavy, but the world felt heavy, and writing is cathartic, my therapy. We are our own best healers, undoubtedly.

Upon landing for my Uncle’s funeral, “I just read your post.”
“It was heavy.” I replied.
“Yes, heavy. I just hope the family doesn’t read it and think … “
—Pain, shame, blame, pain, shame … Not my own.

I cued my imaginary mute button, a tool I’ve learned to use instead of allowing others feelings to cloud my own. I can’t make anyone feel anything. But my words can trigger—unfelt feelings, unhealed wounding. I used to react, to defend me but I’ve learned to take a moment to ground and breathe, and stay in my integrity, without censoring or people pleasing. Using my voice, my words is essential in taking back what was taken from me, my voice especially.

When I arrived at my childhood home, even in my power, I froze actually, tired- early flight, but instead of resting, I took upon doing, distracting, the onset of grief and my family grieving, and the fear that my words were too much, too dark, too deep, exposing the cracks in my being, revealing the hurt parts of me still lingering under the shiny veneer I’ve long spent costuming, by admitting that nope, I’m not fine all the time. Shouldn’t honesty be easy? Sure— but we’re conditioned by fear, disintegrated, ego layered protecting, without even realizing that our plastered on smiles are just hiding how we really feel. If only at birth we were given a big red EASY button and some instructions. Maybe we are.

I ruminated while making dinner for my family, still distracted, Do people think I’m crazy because I feel so openly? Eventually I settled into sleep in my childhood bed, awakening the next morning to the giggling of my one year old niece, fully in her feelings. There is nothing more beautiful than waking up to a baby giggling.

Babies and puppies: I want both. Baby first — another reason I’ve focused on healing, because I want to bring babies into my world, healed, not from a place of searching, but knowing. Spending the weekend with my niece was freeing. Her tenacity and new energy flooded me. After waking, new day, I laced up my shoes to move out of my way before my Uncle’s funeral. Running, like writing allows me to process while moving, taking up more space. My usual route, over the highway to yoga for more grounding, on my mat is where I bring my mind into my body. At the end of class, my legs up the wall vertically, my nervous system finally released, my perspective shifted, heart opening — no more distraction, I welcomed my grief.

I felt deep sadness for the loss of my uncle: a father, husband, friend, co-worker, human, whose body could no longer defend from the cancer taking over,
For the Uvalde school children and their families, 
Not enough regulation for weapons,
And too much regulation on our bodies,
For our country,
For the collective,

For me. For the grief I haven’t grieved over the past year of uncovering my story.
Shame revisited me momentarily, deep resistance to going to the funeral, as a desire to run away instead of facing those I haven’t seen since I started sharing publicly “what happened to me…”
But that is the older version of me, the one who worries what other people think, who runs away or edits out what might be too much, or mutes herself to people please instead of choosing honesty, who sugar coats or worse, self soothes with sugar, knowingly. But that older version still creeps up sporadically — the scared little girl in me shows up as fear or anxiety trying to protect me. I am constantly reminded to stay in my integrity because I’m safe, here. I’ve worked hard to get to this place of seeing myself, clear. And I’m grateful to be alive, breathing, because everything can change in a moments time. Life is just a series of moments. And our choice to be or not to be present for it.

So, I stood up to my fear and threw on a dress, felt beautiful in my skin, with acknowledgment that sharing is setting me free and perhaps also helping others in their own suffering. With clarity that wellness is the way I see me, and illness is what eats at our hearts, minds and bodies when we limit ourselves, instead of living. After shame, sadness washed over me, en route to the cemetery where my Grandma Honey was buried. The last time I was three years prior at her funeral, before my life changed entirely. The same day I left her memorial service to fly back to NYC and open my dream box + flow studio that never opened due to Covid, actually.

I grabbed my Dad’s hand as we walked to the grave site and held my youngest brother as he wept quietly. I hugged my family a beat longer than I do usually. And listened to some speak,
“A renaissance man, loved a Tanqueray martini.”

“At the end of each day he’d sneak into my office and say a silly joke, just to break up the intensity. I loved him for that.”
“We worked really hard, building. And arguing, for the past eight years. I wish I hadn’t fought with him…”

Guilt, sadness, honoring a life: If only we shared all these feelings before the ending. I love you, you’re beautiful. I feel you. I honor your feelings. I’m angry. If only we just sympathized before waiting for someone to die, saying what we felt while they were alive. I see you. Everyone just wants to be seen.

I rode home with my older brother and listened intently as he shared stories, present, entirely — even asked him to stop and buy me a gatorade, forgot my wallet, a small ask but simply craving to tap into those nearly forgotten moments shared as best friends playing.

We sat shiva at my childhood home briefly. A Jewish tradition post funeral to pay respect and mourn collectively over food mostly: bagels, lox and ice cream scoops of cream cheese. Platters of white fish and chive cheese, cookies, more food then I’d ever want to see. Stuffing feelings, filling, eating is another way to avoid connecting. All the making pretend had me overwhelmed and simultaneously so lonely, so I did my own thing, and found random connection with my Mom’s friends or cousins I rarely see. I found my own celebration, and levity again with my giggly niece Baby Kay. Kay is short for Kennedy Adele Young, named after my Grandma Adele “Honey,” who we visited at the ceremony and also visited, as a honey colored butterfly during as the Rabbi sang the Mourner’s Kaddish.

Baby Kay likes the same foods as me: apples, peanut butter, and berries. What she doesn’t like, she throws on the floor mischievously, which is why the dogs wait under her highchair patiently. Babies and puppies. I’m taking life cues from both — accordingly. Both non-verbally tell you what they need and are unconditionally loving.Yes, Please. Her nonchalance reminded me of how my boyfriend eats, but he drops food less purposely. Maybe that’s why he bought the Robot floor vacuum we call Dobby. Spending time with Kay felt easy, no red button needed, her presence invited mine to be present entirely. Experiencing the joy her innocence brings my family reminded me that like she, WE are all worthy, simply because, we are. Kay still lives in her feelings — laughs when she’s happy, and cries when she’s hungry. And at bed time, she falls asleep, void of thought, she listens to her body. Beautiful. She is, we are all beautiful. Life is but a gift, an opportunity to live or just exist.

We had dinner the next eve after a day at the beach — seven Youngs and a little lady, before my parents dropped me at the airport to leave. I soaked it all in, absorbed their love through hugs stamped on my skin, the softness and sweetness of my mom’s grapefruit scent, and the smell of fresh baby lingering on the sweatshirt I wore home on the plane. I got out of the car and felt my dad’s wisdom and deep love reverberating, as he repeated, you don’t have to leave yet, stay. But I got what I needed: love, nourishment, home, heart, grounding. Heart full, but still left yearning… And the baby gave me a revitalized feeling, and freedom from fear I had of one day becoming a parent — fear of not being ready. I am and will meet my life where my life meets me, with joie de vivre.

An ending and a beginning.
A death and a new baby.
Joy and grief.
Duality.

We are all different but same, because we are all worthy — And even if my shame still appears sporadically, instead of stuffing it down or running away, I honor it now, and thank it for teaching me, before asking it to leave, with gratitude for revealing that I am exactly where and who I’m meant to be.

Love Always,
Olivia