hypnotic tree thoughts
When I was heavily pregnant with my daughter, I had to go on maternity leave early for reasons (wonky pelvic joints, couldn’t walk properly anymore, blah blah blah). Anyway, I was laying in bed on a stormy, windy day, waiting for her arrival.
I’d been reading this book about hypnobirthing and read that it’s a good idea to have a strong image in your mind to focus on during labour to make you feel calm.
I stared at the tree swaying softly outside our window.
I tried to fix the image firmly in my brain.
I tried to imagine what it must feel like to be in labour.
(Side note: you can’t imagine it, it’s very much a time-wasting nonsense exercise.)
I lay there staring at the tree, feeling her wriggle around in my belly, pushing her spine up against me, her feet digging into my ribs.
I tried to slow down time for a minute.
Did the image of a gently swaying tree keep me calm during labour? NO. I tell you what would have made me calmer, and that is a properly-staffed hospital of generously paid and well-rested midwives. And an epidural. Still, it was worth a try.
Sometimes I look out at the tree even now. We’re in the same house. The tree has grown exponentially. It is largely a nuisance. And yet sometimes, I like it. When I’m washing up on a windy day, arms plunged into warm soapy water, I look up at the branches. I watch them move around. Hypnotic. And I think about the fact that nearly 8 years have passed since that day I lay listless on my bed waiting for my life to change.
The truth is, the tree does make me feel calm, just not in the way I thought it would. At this stage of my life, I thought I’d be a bit more settled in terms of who I am. I’d be in a well-worn groove. No career changes, no soul-searching. No life-changing world events. I imagined a bland but contented life. A small, happy life. (Which I do have.)
But I never realised that the internal stuff, at this point, would feel so monumental. I couldn’t have imagined going through such doubt and unknowing. I knew so much in my twenties! I knew everything. Now I’m convinced that I know almost nothing.
Maybe that’s not a bad thing though. Maybe, in the unknowing and uncertainty, there’s a lot of potential.
Also, maybe it doesn’t matter.
The tree helps me to feel calm. Because rather than stopping time, staring at it does the opposite. It reminds me of how quickly it goes. This tree was huge. It was here before me. It’ll probably be here after me.
I’m just a speck on the timeline.
I don’t know, maybe it’s just my state of mind or the events of the last two years. But I find that kind of comforting.
