Friends Like the Moon

Content Warning: grief, loss of a parent, parts work

I’ve had a lot of meaningful relationships in my life, and I’m grateful for each one. A few, though, have evolved in ways I never could have predicted and turned into these unique, incredible shapes I wouldn’t have had a word for a few years ago.

Today, I got to see one of those people. They’re so deeply rooted inside of me, I don’t even know how I’d ever pull them out…even if I wanted to. We only see each other every few months. And every single time, the safety they provide me helps be process, grieve, and just “be” in ways that aren’t my default. There’s something about their presence, and the unconventional connection we have, that takes the pressure off of me to perform. It feels like those few hours, every 4-6 weeks, have become a ritual and routine my parts can depend on.

My dad died in November, and there were moments of grief and connection in the hospital, but I didn’t feel safe enough to actually grieve when I was there. I also hadn’t yet made sense of what I was actually grieving. His funeral definitely wasn’t a place for me to do any of that. Instead, I met my friend for coffee a week later and finally got to “feel” the loss. 

Our time has become a rhythm I can count on, and pockets of safety that feel like a reprieve.

I told them I needed to rest tonight, because the New Moon was on Thursday and I never sleep on it or around it. As I’ve worked on my relationship with Hope, the New Moon has become just as meaningful as the Full Moon, and I know they both impact my sleep. They asked me if I thought it was just the Moon doing that, or could it be the anxiety of knowing what’s to come that keeps me up?

I thought about that for a second, and confidently answered, “I think it’s both and that feels empowering for me.”

It’s not a secret that I run a little anxious and I spend most of my energy trying to predict what thing to be afraid of next. Anxiety doesn’t usually scream “It’s me! Anxiety.” Fear doesn’t shout “You’re afraid!” They just show up and take the wheel. Sometime after I can say, “Oh…that was out of fear.” 

So yes, I’m sure my body gets anxious about not being able to sleep which then keeps me awake. I’m not near as afraid of the quiet as I used to be, so there’s less fear, but it’s always there in the background. 

I also believe the Moon can shift the tides, and we are made of water, and it’s reasonable to me that we can feel the Moon, just as strongly as the sea.

But what matters far more to me, is the routine, the ritual, that’s become another safe container for me. I thrive on routine and I’m not great at creating it for myself. Instead, I create predictable patterns of anxiety or compulsions to feel safe. 

The Moon though, reminds me that twice a month…I’ll have a little more space to process. To grieve and release, or to hope, dream and plant. The Moon shows up every few weeks and nudges, “do you have time to believe in something better?” Most days I’d say no…I’m too busy making it through today. But inevitably, immediately after, one of my Virgo protector/manager parts pops up to say “just another thing you’re not doing.” Hope becomes something I avoid because it feels like something I’ll fail at. I’ll get distracted or disassociate or promise myself I’ll do it in a few minutes, even though I know the failures adding up paralyze me by the end of the day.

The Moon’s there reminding me, “There’s time for that. I always make a space for that.”

I can tell all of my parts, “It’s okay if we can’t do that today…we’ll be able to do that in a few days.” It gives my nervous system something to depend on and a way to take off a little bit of pressure. My body and my parts believe me, because the Moon always does her cycle. She always shows up. And that tiny bit of trust makes today, and everyday, easier.

“I have a container for that,” I can tell myself and actually believe it. 

Maybe I stay awake from anxiety about staying awake. Maybe I stay awake because we’re part of the universe and the universe is part of us, and we’re cosmically connected to the cycles of the moon. Or maybe I stay awake because my parts know…every few weeks…”Haley will be here, awake, and she’ll have the space to listen.”

My “journey into the underworld,” where grief and fear and all of my exiles and shadows live, has taught me that the only person I actually need is myself. But the friends that show up like the Moon make the journey more human, more full and more grounded. 

Sometimes they shine bright in the sky and their hug wraps me up and their texts feel like a little gift I want to keep safe. Sometimes they’re hidden and we both move through our worlds…doing the things we need to do and caring for the ones who need us today.