Incubation
Perhaps you are pregnant. Possibly in labour. Maybe about to miscarry.
Gestation: A decade? Maybe several.
You are weary and irritable. Full of soul aches and strained heart muscles.
You thought it was just a ‘stage of life’ thing:
Take one capable, smart, hopeful young person. Give them a hefty dose of adulthood – too much to swallow in one go – and then keep it coming. Fill in your own blanks: challenging relationship; challenging singleness; parenthood; lack of parenthood; job curveballs; health curveballs; faith fractures; societal upheaval; and all the rest. Of course that’s going to hurt.
But the realisation that this may be a pregnancy – the pains and fatigue and suspense and weight of incubating something – might be a relief for you. Perhaps more pressure, except that this thing to be born is its own being. If you can drink up (from somewhere) the strength to bear it.
What it will be, is an unknown. A mural? A programme? A book? A movement? A blog? A ministry? A song? One single friendship or contact that explodes into something bigger than the sum of its parts? Something else entirely?
Your well-meaning friends and whānau need not say, “This will pass.” You know it will.
They need not say “When are you due? What are you having?” You don’t know.
They need not say “You’re over-thinking things.” You need there to be purpose in the suffering.
They need not say “Treasure every moment.” That’s an impossible, burdensome thing to tell anyone to do.
They need not say “You’re lucky you HAVE [insert your traditionally-approved adulting achievements here].” It’s true. But it’s a gruelling journey at times.
They need not say “You’re already doing enough!” A life faithfully-lived is beautiful, and is enough. But you feel the gravity, the swelling, of something else.