When My Hands Find Their Way

When my hands find their way to you, they are instantly home. Words cease to matter since I can feel you now. Your words are beautiful though.  When you speak, they hang thick in the air and wash over me like the fog pouring over the bridge in the crisp dark of night.

They envelope me.

They seep into my pores and come to rest within my soul and every piece of light that shines within my darkest corners. And yet, even with the force with which you bring me to my stillness, the words are unnecessary, really.

Once my hands are on you, I know everything I need.

Your breath and warmth speak more into the soft of my palms, than your syllables upon my ears ever could.

I feel you. I hear you. I understand.

You are home.

hands

Yours truly,

Miss Erin Terese

Mothers are a Gift

I remember a time as a child when I asked my mother if I was an “oops baby”.  If I had been a surprise.  If I was the baby that so fondly found her, instead of her finding me.  I was not asking out of concern, as if there was anything wrong with it, but more out of curiosity.  More because I am the kind of person that is always curious. Curious about who I am and why I am here.  About why you are here, we are here, life is here. Just a natural born curious soul… It’s how I roll – now and always.

The way in which she answered me was quite unexpected.  My mother is a very kind and loving person.  She is the type of woman one would describe as greatly generous while being entirely selfless.  She radiates positivity and has a softness is her eyes and in her embrace that sets people at ease.  You know that she is someone whom you can be yourself around and that you will not be judged.  She is loving in a very natural and accepting way; evident by her actions more than her words or efforts.

She speaks softly and with care towards others sensitivities.  Her words are rarely abrupt and never harsh; her tone radiating joy and compassion.  She is not serious or heavy in her conversation, but rather keeps her words to those which are soft and light, packed with hope and the promise of something greater.

Because of this, I was surprised by her response to me.  She quickly stopped what she was doing and turned to meet my gaze.  Her smile dropped and she gave me a serious look.  One I had not seen before.  It wasn’t the look of anger or disappointment or regret, but a look that let me know that what she was about to say was something that I needed to hear.

All of a sudden, I felt silly for asking and became grounded in the moment.

Her voice became soft and stern as she told me that I was planned. That I was wanted.  That she and my father knew they wanted another child and had very deliberately tried to have me. As she stood there explaining this to me, I knew how true it was.  It was a brief conversation, but a powerful one.  She took time and care discussing it with me since she knew it was important that I truly hear what she was saying.  And in a way, it was.

motherdaughter

Babies are blessings however they come.  They are.  Whether it is recognized at the time of their birth or years later or never – they are.  We are all gifts and lucky to be here.  Life is a gift, and we are lucky to live it.  We all know this.  We do. Whether we choose to recognize it now or later or never – it is.

The way in which my mother told me that I was wanted and loved and planned helped me realize early on just how lucky I am.  How incredibly amazing life is and how beautifully it can be designed.  There is beauty in the chaos, but there is a profound beauty in the design.  The planner in me loves this.

Just this morning, my mother told me that I have always been a “plotter and a planner”.  We were discussing my next life move and how she hopes I find a career that allows me to “plot and plan” since I love it so much.  How poetic then that I was “plotted and planned” for.  Perhaps it is why I am that way, or perhaps it is why I needed to know if I was planned or not.  But her response was beautiful. It was exactly what I needed to hear.   Exactly what I needed to know.  Exactly what I needed to understand.

Mothers so often have a way of doing that.  Not all women that bear children are true mothers, but for those of us that are lucky enough to be born unto women that are loving mothers, we know what a gift it is.  One that should be honored and cherished and never taken for granted.

I love you, Mom.  Happy Mother’s Day!

Yours truly,

Erin Terese

Are you openly affectionate?

There is something that intrigues me.  I am not quite sure when or why this happens, but I feel like most of us are victims of this.  We fear showing too much affection.

Why is this? Why do we hold back? When did it start?

Although most adults ration their affection, there is an exception I have noticed: people love to love on babies.  It is common for strangers to walk up to babies and speak to them.  To tell them how pretty they are. To ask if they can hold the baby.  Okay, maybe not everyone shows so much affection toward just any baby, but imagine the baby is your child.  Your niece or nephew.  Your grandchild. Your best friend’s baby.  Do you hesitate to hold the baby?  Do you tell the baby how beautiful and smart they are?  Do you pet, cuddle and coo with the baby?  For most people, there is little hesitation.  Most people are much more openly affectionate with babies and young children than other adults in their lives.

While showing affection to children is wonderful, absolutely necessary and a very beautiful thing, why don’t we show that same amount of love and affection to everyone in our lives?  Why don’t we tell our friends, family and lovers how beautiful and smart and perfect they are? Yes, I know we say it, but not as openly, freely or frequently as we do with young ones.

It has taken me years to get comfortable with being openly affectionate.  I regularly tell my friends and family members how much I love them, why I love them and how greatly I appreciate their presence in my life.  I hug them.  I touch their arm when I speak to them.  I gently rub their back when they cry.  Yet I know that sometimes I still hold back.  The fear grips me that it might not be reciprocated.  That it may be perceived as insincere if I say it too often or show it too much.  That it might be mistaken as romantic interest rather than the simple affection I intended to convey.

When did simply showing affection become so complicated and convoluted?

Regardless of the fear. Regardless of the assumptions others may make.  Regardless of the outcome.  I vow to be openly affectionate.  I will try my best to show my affection for others as freely as I do to that of young cooing, cuddling, adorable, perfect little babies.

What do you think?  Do you hold back?  Do you know why?

Curious.

Yours truly,

Erin Terese