I was in a yoga class this Sunday, the precious 2.5 hour ritual that only exists because of the generosity of Jason (his golf game is suffering, but you should see my crow-to-headstand transition). My teacher (my guru, Zoe) had us do a series of asanas designed to open the upper spine and loosen "the tightness behind the heart."
She might have meant my rhomboids, my lattisimus dorsi, a more open crescent moon pose. But I kept thinking about the tightness behind my heart. The clenched place that makes me short with Lu, mad at the people at the post office and generally annoyed with you just for taking up space. This fist of a heart is ready to set you straight, mister! And I'm happy to give you the finger!
The tightness behind my heart is both literal and figurative. I wish I could come to that conclusion more poetically. At least I've been stretching a lot.
Lu, for better or worse, can dial into the frequency of my heart. "Mom, when I stay in my bed at night, it makes you very, very happy." Making her mother happy is something she will be worrying about for years to come, and I hope I don't make that any harder for her. Yet the thought of her asleep in her bed makes my heart unfurl a little. I should see how long I can hold this pose.