The Slow Return to Self
A short walk south and the quiet work of coming back to myself
It has been over three months since the upheaval of late summer, and I still feel myself slowly returning, though each time it’s never quite in the same way. Every time I go through something like this, I tell myself I have already come back only to realize that I am fooling myself. Later I realize the return is always slow, subtle, and best understood from a distance. I want to believe that healing is quick and tidy, yet integrating these experiences takes time: what happened, what I sensed coming toward me, and the parts of my soul I had not been honoring.
This season makes that truth easier to see. As the days shorten, I feel the familiar pull inward. The darkness becomes an invitation to tend to the matters of my soul, the territories of my shadow, and the grief I have carried for a long time. When I add the recent upheaval to this yearly turning, the pull becomes even stronger.
Yet over the years I have practiced staying connected within these shifts. I can go inward without disappearing. I can remain in relationship with my responsibilities, with the people I love, and with the world that keeps moving whether I feel ready or not. There is more alignment now between my inner and outer life, and I am more able to speak honestly from both places. Still, the tension is real and it’s not only a shift for me but also for the people closest to me.
Part of me wants to retreat completely and close the door behind me. The difference is that I rarely act on that urge anymore. I name what is happening instead of letting it spill out with projections, anger, and self doubt…… mostly. I also understand that not everyone needs to hear my reflections about darkness, the shadow, or the alchemy of re-connection that lives here. This is deeply personal and deep care must be taken if and when I share. An incubation period of sorts.
And then there is the school. Four days a week I step outside my home, turn south, and walk a short distance to greet the kids. They arrive with the usual light that all seems a little brighter from within this space and during this time of year.
My school is not a typical childcare program. It lives on several acres next to my home in a beautiful natural location just outside a progressively minded city. My relative comforts are staggering and foundational to how I relate to my experiences. At times it feels like a bubble inside another bubble, protected from the larger unraveling world.
Rain or shine, steady or shaken, I make that short walk south and show up. It still surprises me. Even in seasons when I feel pulled underground, I can enter that space with a clear presence. More than ever, I understand what the children offer me and how they keep me from falling to far. So in some ways I am more eager to connect with the kids during these moments within the darkness, understanding that a pack of little healers who love me await.
They make the inwardness bearable. During the time of year when I want to withdraw, they gently pull me back into connection without asking me to ignore what is happening inside. They remind me that the childlike part of my soul, the part that knows how to wonder and soften and start again, has never left.
My way of showing up also changes during this season. My presence feels more grounded. I lean into the tough side of love a little more with clear intention. I am more honest and direct with those around me. And myself! The children’s response to this shift says, “we like you like this.” There is a steadiness and clarity that the children sense immediately, as if they can hear a quiet hum inside me that is usually hidden.
Some years this season feels like a descent with no clear bottom. This year feels different. In the middle of the heaviness I can sense small signs of my own return: the ease that moves back into my chest as the kids settle in each day, the way a child’s laughter opens something in me, the simple realization that I am not as far from myself as I thought.
Maybe this is what healing looks like now. Not a clean return, but a steady balancing of inwardness and service, shadow and light, solitude and community. A slow re-emergence. A quiet, gradual unfurling toward myself again.
Or, maybe , there is still much more to go within this decent and return, and I’m just fooling myself again. I’ll keep you posted.
Much Love!
The Mad Preschool Teacher (He/Him)