Why are baths primarily advocated for when you're a child, but not as an adult?
Secondly, why are tubs not made in an adult size?
As I set the scene for a blissful evening of time spent drifting away, crucial components began to go awry. Was the water hot enough you ask? Absolutely not. Did I boil water and pour pots of it into the tub in a veil attempt to raise the collective temperature? Absolutely.
By the time the water boiled, the at first lukewarm water was hovering on the cusp of room temperature, but room temperature in an old farmhouse, on the lake, in the dead of winter, with lake effect snow whipping through the trees (if you know, you know). By the time I entered the tub (a first-time entrance into this particular tub), I quickly realized, I did not fit. My knees cast in the air like mountains and my boobs like bobbers in the middle of a lake.... As the reality of my "perfect night" dissipated before my eyes, I decided to sit with it. Literally sit IN it and see what was there for me. This is what I discovered.
“We're hot and we're cold, we're yes and we're no, we're in and we're out, we're up and we're down.”
The temperature will never be right to dip your toe into the waters. *Do it anyway.
I will be too hot for some and too cold to others. *I can not control their reactions to me.
I'm a total yes, until I'm a no. *Know your boundaries.
There's a time to submerge and there's a time to diverge. *The trick is knowing the difference.
When I stand up, what is left? When I sit down, what holds the space. *A concept of creation.
The force of water flows through us all. I hear it in my veins and in between each cell, shifting the tides within me. It floods me with feeling and washes me clean. It is all around me, but will I choose to float or sink? Do I know I even have a choice?
As I stood up quietly dripping, giving back to the tub the water it gave to me, I was flooded with the memory of being a kid, freezing after being submerged and my mom quickly wrapping me in a towel, snuggling me close and rubbing my back to warm me up. The warmth was provided less from the towel drying my sopping limbs and more from the furnace of unconditional love that radiated from my mom (and still does). So, as I stood up tonight, allowing the air to lick my skin dry, I wrapped myself in a fresh towel and engulfed myself in the fire of my soul. This is what deep love feels like. A cold bath and a warm heart.
And yes, when I grow up, my first adult purchase will be a tub big enough to submerge my whole being, with water hot enough to heal.