It’s 8 x 10.
The smallest room in the house.
Before the last baby was born, I began dreaming about it.
Until then, my Tuesdays were spent in a large room, chairs for ten. Hundreds of thousands of words filled the air as dreams of the heart, and faces in the mirror, met in raw authenticity that’s hard to find out there.
There’s an intimate bond left unspoken.
A tender balance between laughter and heart-share.
The chair is a sacred space.
I feel honored to stand behind it, because when she sits down, for just a few minutes, the weight of the world falls to the floor.
Warm water rinsing away the sting of disappointment and deep ache of betrayal.
Dreams for days in white, hopes for pink or blue, abrupt meetings draped in black.
Each time, a unique blend of color and shape.
Each time, a search for balance.
Each time strands of life part and make way for rare connection.
Each time, beauty in the mirror as a heart takes shape.
To my Tuesday girls – you should know you give me hope. I see your beautiful scars. I feel the depth of your dreams. I watch as you steady your foot when the path is rocky. I cheer when you reach soft green ground. I breathe deep when you have moments of rest. I break in two when your heart spills out. And I am profoundly honored when you join me in the sacred space of becoming.