French Onion Chicken + Orzo

and stillness

I’ve been thinking a lot about my last post for Substack (and the fact that the wrong draft, complete with an abundance of unedited rambling and typos, I’M SORRY, was sent out) and how the idea of Standing Your Ground doesn’t equate to hardness. In fact, I think it’s the opposite. It feels soft, actually. Really soft.

I’ve lacked boundaries in a lot of areas the majority of my life and when I find that I can have a boundary these days, I feel nothing but softness.

soft

/sôft/

adjective
easy to mold, cut, compress, or fold; not hard or firm to the touch: 
"soft margarine"
Similar
mushy, squashy, pulpy, pappy, slushy, ... more
Opposite
hard, firm, hard

I keep coming back to softness.

When Maddox is pulling too hard on my clothes (or face or hair or whatever) I look down and tell him, “soft.”

When Scarlett begins to lose patience with something and her voice starts to raise its, “soft.”

And when I’m feeling scared or hurt or frustrated in conversation with Anaya, the very edges of his mouth turn up, not in a smile but in a way that nudges me, and simply says, “soft.”

In all the ways I am a perfectionist, and while I talk a lot about softness, it’s something I have to edge into sometimes.

There’s softness in letting go of perfectionism, setting things down when it’s time, knowing when to pivot and shift, creating space for new life to be breathed into something.

There is softness in boundaries.

And damnit, there is softness in rest.

rest

/rest/

noun

• 1.
  an instance or period of relaxing or ceasing to engage in strenuous or stressful activity: 
  "you look as though you need a rest"
  Similar
  repose, relaxation, leisure, ease, inactivity, ... more

• 2.
  an interval of silence of a specified duration.

I am trying, y’all.

In all the ways that I shout R E S T from the rooftops, tell my babies it’s time for it, encourage my partner and friends to lean into it, I am, shocking to nobody, terrible at rest.

It has been two years of allowing myself to really consider the act of rest as a revolution, as joy, and as necessity for not just everyone around my but for myself as well.

It takes time and effort, contradictory I know. 

If I’m not being forced into it by way of sickness or injury, I have to be so intentional with the ways in which I am going to allow myself to rest. It’s a work in progress, I say.

One that is rooted in liberation, anti-capitalism, community, and our grounding.

Market season has officially ended, meaning the season for stillness specifically regarding Butter Moon has arrived. After two years of hustling hard, I’ve decided to let it rest for a minute, only doing the occasional pop-up and holiday orders, and seeing where the wind takes us both. 

I’m not scared.

Perhaps I don’t have all the answers but it doesn’t feel like a challenge to hustle things along, quick to make more and different and bigger moves.

More writing.

More cooking.

More community-centered projects.

More rest.

It’s no coincidence to me that we are entering the season of rest as a collective. With the days turning cooler and the nights staying longer, I find myself pulling the kids closer inward, allowing stillness of body and mind, even if it means the four of us are piled in bed eating popcorn while a movie plays most nights. I’m stretching myself creatively, digging around in parts of my brain that I often keep hidden, and doing the same with my heart space in an effort to be a better mother, partner, and friend.

I’m beginning EMDR with my therapist in just another effort to set some things down and create space for more heart and rest. One of the exercises in preparation for EMDR requires you to tap into a space in your mind, one that you feel safe and still in. Immediately I went to place that was set in the mountains, surrounded by tall pines that were blanketed in the quiet snow that was falling. I’m sitting near a fire, looking out a floor-to-ceiling window, stretching my legs out as far as they’ll go in front of me. My therapist asks me how I feel and all I say is, “cozy.”

The next day I entered my kitchen with the chicken breast nobody wanted (I grabbed the wrong package, it was self inflicted) and set out to put cozy into a pot and the results were divine.