how my son taught me to love myself

Last week I had a moment that probably changed me for good. 

Unlike much of my dramatic life, it was quiet and it was soft. 

The sun was going down and I was putting Jude down to bed. He’s 2 and bedtime involves a book and some cuddling, but this night I stood up and held him to my chest to rock him to sleep. 

He barely fits any more. Now when his head is on my shoulder his feet kick me square in the nuts--and he’s heavy. It’s like strapping on a fully loaded backpacking rig. It takes either a bunch of muscle engagement or a big backwards lean to do it comfortably. 

He was tired and he immediately went limp in my arms. Sack-of-potatoes limp. His arms were around my neck and he was nuzzled in all the way. 

I paced slowly and swayed gently. 

It got quiet. I could hear and feel his breath. 

And then that magical thing happened.

My heart burst. 

____

I remember the first time I had a child-induced heart burst. It was in one of the first few days of my oldest boy’s life. He was on my chest and fell asleep. 

I imagine that this team of little creatures in my brain that run my neurochemicals were in there saying, “alright guys, this is the big one. Let’s give him all we got. “

They brewed up a bomb of oxytocin and whatever else magic potion shit is mixed in, and they dropped it like a depth charge into the center of my heart and let it explode. 

Ka. Boom.

It’s the best drug I have ever been on. 

I couldn’t have forecast the actually physical bliss that would come with fatherhood. It certainly makes sense from a bonding and survival standpoint, but I had absolutely no clue.

____

So anyway, here I am with Jude last week. He’s falling asleep and we’re as close as we ever have been, and a love bomb goes off in my chest. 

I wasn’t expecting it and it overwhelmed me. I felt it run through me. I just soaked it up.

Then the first of three clear thoughts emerged,

“This is as good as human life gets.” 

I was sucked into the moment completely and I hung with it as long as I could.

I laid him down asleep, and then the next thought arrived:

“What if you loved yourself that completely, that viscerally? What if you had actual heart bombs exploding for yourself?”

Saying that time stopped might feel dramatic. 

But it did. 

I saw an image of myself at Jude’s age, and I let it happen. I let the heart bombs continue to drop. Then I saw my dorky 13 year old self and a slide show kept playing as I saw different moments of my life. Then I saw myself today and I felt the intensity of the love continue.

Then the third thought came in:

“Self love is just consciousness recognizing itself.”

Whoa.

____

I can’t shake the feeling I’ve had since, and I don’t want to.  I feel I lived something simple and profound and true. 

I feel some new sense of grounding or security. I feel at ease. I feel appropriately dissolved. 

In all the many thousands of hours that I have taught and facilitated and guided and coached and written, I can’t remember a single moment where I spoke the phrase “self love.” It wasn’t in my purview or vocabulary. It was missing. This is still quite fresh for me, I have no idea where it will go or what will come of it. 

But I know I experienced something very, very important. 

And it was soft and quiet.