Free Therapy
A less-than-gentle hammer banged on the left side of my head on my drive home with The Child. It was after an hour of Chicago traffic. It was after learning my child care would be cancelled (again) on Thursday. It was after a Tornado Watch notification. It was after being maniacally screamed at for putting on Shania Twain’s ‘That Don’t Impress Me Much’ instead of enduring Moana (again). It was after days of my husband being sick. It was after another day of being stuck in an office, which every nerve ending on my body has been growing more and more rebellious of.
The hammering always happens when a storm is coming. The build up of life-plaque makes it pulse harder.
I turned off Shania and Moana, and for the rest of the drive home, I enjoyed the dulcet sounds of my child sobbing that it was her turn for music. The volume control didn’t work. As I parked and got out of the car, I mustered up what I hoped would be enough emotional regulation to talk kindly with her about big feeling and taking turns, asked if there was anything else on her mind, and wrapped my arms around her.
She seemed to feel better. But my hammer was falling harder. I think I needed my own hug. I walked into my house to my sick husband along with the standard chaos of a dancing dog and The Child now repeatedly asking for a treat. The choreography of getting shoes and jackets off and put away was an amateur production.
Sick husband gave me a hug. Though comforting, it wasn't what I needed. It brought up concern and mental load and more caregiving.
A voice more self-aware and wiser than my own came out of my mouth, “start thinking about what you want for takeout, I don’t think I have it in me to cook.”
Then I took The Child out to the back garden. For her, there was delight in hunting for worms. For me, I could achieve a regulated self in less than five minutes. I crouched down to plant-level and my heart-rate slowed, my jaw unclenched, my shoulders dropped, the hammer vanished.
It’s hard to fathom how the garden can play the role of therapist so efficiently. Should I drop $150 in the soil somewhere? It almost even feels like the garden is up to something illegal. Do I add another $75 for a little something extra?
My guess is that it’s something simpler than all that: literally just filling in the void that modern living carves out of my being.
I think of it as a finger in the peanut butter jar situation. We are the peanut butter, our ancient lineage has been churned together to fit a modern mold. The finger is all of the demands and stress of modern life, what our DNA is still struggling to adapt to - things that were making the hammer fall. The finger takes what it wants from us and leaves behind a sizable chasm. We are now no longer whole.
The only thing that could fill the void is adding back in whatever it was you came from. For peanut butter: more churned peanuts. For humanity: more of the natural world.
Basically, what I’m saying is that a garden is like peanut butter. This is an odd analogy because I can’t stand peanut butter, but let’s continue.
My garden is the closest thing I can quickly get to that resembles the natural world. As soon as I step into the garden, I can feel the peanuts churning. Their bodacious nutty fatness fills in the void. A couple of minutes later, I am whole again.
Earth Day is this week. Celebrate by letting Mother Earth fill the void. Visit a garden, go on a walk outside, sit in quiet on your balcony, dive into a cold-ass lake. And when you feel whole again, turn around, and thank the Mother.
Climate action initiatives to support the Mother who supports us:
@savethebcwa
@earthjustice
@livinglandsandwater