How I’m Learning to Embrace the Quiet Magic of the Season

"Love and magic have a great deal in common. They enrich the soul, delight the heart. And they both take practice." ~ Nora Roberts

This month, my mom tested positive for COVID. Thankfully, she had a mild case, but I had to quarantine—again. I had a headache and became paranoid. Did I have it? I did not, but my pounding headache continued for three days. 

I had no choice but to wait it out. 

I know my soul needs peace and quiet, especially this time of year, and this turn of events gave me the chance to be still and patient.

I decided to use the time to prepare for Christmas, but when it came time to decorate my tree, my daughter was busy with other things. At first, I was mad at Elyse for not being present. This wasn’t my vision of holiday togetherness.

Then, since I was doing it by myself, I wondered how I could make it fun, rather than a chore. 

In the quiet of my own company, I was flooded with memories. I recalled so much joy around Christmas when I was a child. Our whole family would go get the tree. After we set it up inside, we would be eager to decorate, but my dad would always say, “We need to let this tree settle. It’s too frozen.”

We thought this was just him being too tired to decorate the same night. 

Now I appreciate the idea of slowing down, not rushing through things. I spent time with that little girl inside me, making my home feel safe and loving and recapturing the magic and innocence of the holidays. 

When my quarantine was over, I went to a swim class and, remembering my idea of making things feel fun instead of chore-like, I decided to stay in the water after class. As a child, I loved the water. I loved playing Jaques Cousteau. As I swam, I felt that same sense of magic that comes with being in the belief and spirit of Christmas. 

It’s so important to give ourselves permission to converse with our innocent inner child, to ask: What feels magical? What sounds fun?

For me, it was swimming, pretending I was a whale, and making my house look beautiful. 

When I could visit my mom again, I took her to get her nails done. It turned out to be exhausting. She has dementia and has trouble articulating what she means. Her thoughts are jumbled. This inability to communicate triggers my own deafness and feelings around not being heard. Growing up, I would try to speak and no one would understand me. They assumed I wasn’t listening. They would snap at me to speak up! 

At the nail salon, I started to worry: Is this how it is for others to be with me? Is it this exhausting? People have to look at me, make eye contact, and be present in order for me to understand what they’re saying. 

But isn’t that how we should always be with one another? 

I realized that my mom was always so patient with me. And now that the tables are turned, the two of us have to rely on non-verbal communication. We have to connect heart to heart. In my reflective time this year, I see my mom as a mirror of myself. 

In my practice, I use breathwork to awaken an awareness of the part of me that hasn’t been heard, the part that wants to speak to me and be held. When I connect this way with my inner child, I have so much more patience with her. 

Now that she is more childlike, she teaches me patience. 

This year, my mom, my daughter, and I will have dinner and go to a candlelight service at Unity. Rather than grieving the changes in my mom and daughter and having feelings of loss, I want to embrace the possibilities of the season. 

I know that if I can accept the present moment and let my mom be in her disease, it has the power to teach me so much. 

There’s magic in that.  

Have a wonderful holiday season!

“May you never be too grown up to search the skies on Christmas Eve.” ―Unknown