Our weekend ended with us twisted into a spiral.
We were standing there, all of us connected, beating, a throbbing mass of female possibility.
I wept, tears falling onto hands that were not mine.
I hadn't been sure how to let them go.
We'd been standing there in a circle and I didn't know what to do.
One of us said, "I have an idea. Emily, you spin into the middle."
All of our hands were still connected.
"And then we're all going to spiral in around her and then around each other."
When the movement stopped, I was surrounded. They all squeezed in.
"Em, you can rest your head on my head if you want."
I let my head settle onto someone else's head and if we'd had the time I could have napped there, standing and squeezed, for hours.
Sometimes it feels like if you talk about holy things, they'll disappear.
And here's the real truth: I don't want to tell you about what happened in our room.
Because ten women came together and shed every layer of bullshit they could bear to part with. We told each other things we'd never fully told ourselves. We wrote things down in little notebooks and when we read the words aloud- the feelings that'd been sitting in the dank shadows for so long they'd nearly become immobile - we had to remember to breathe.
I haven't been able to describe how it felt to walk myself down the aisle at my wedding.
I haven't written my children's birth stories.
Some moments are alive.
They change you and shape you and then drop you back into the world, rubbing your eyes.