By Katherine Munter
“Cause I don’t want to let you down
No I want to make you proud
So I’m shining this out loud
We all need to feel the ground.”
-Elizabeth Landry
Nights with an infant stretched long, with nuanced and layered emotions. Some nights, the weight of exhaustion seemed unbearable. I wanted to crumple into the piles of laundry, to sink into a mountain of fabric as though it was a nest that would cradle my body so that I could rest. Instead, I sat and rocked my daughter back to sleep, her warm body on my chest, and I looked out the window to the full moon. My mind meandered through the glass, past my yard, traveling to the other mothers who sat under the same moon and nurtured their own little ones. In those quiet moments, I felt a thread of connection pulling taught between myself and mothers I’d never meet — bound not by place or even time but by love and nurturing.
While at a music festival this summer, I learned that one of those mothers was Elizabeth Landry. I sat with my feet in the grass, the sun warming my face as Elizabeth told the story of how the lyrics to her song unfolded in the middle of the night. Cradling her sleeping child in her arms, she started pondering the weight of motherhood. She contemplated what she wanted to say to her child and the mother she wanted to be. The lyrics to “Feel the Ground” started flowing, like water through a crack. Pinned under her child, she began typing the words into her phone with one thumb, capturing the thoughts before fatigue could carry them away. Those late night ponderings became a powerful song she could share with others.
I closed my eyes, let Elizabeth’s voice wash over me, and considered who I want to make proud. My thoughts first went to my paternal grandmother. I used to curl up on her bed in the evenings, her crocheted afghan wrapped around me. She offered wisdom and stories like bits of candy that I could hold in my heart, unwrap, and savor whenever I wanted. She was a powerful light, and her words helped shape the person I wanted to be in the world.
My thoughts then traveled to my own daughters — to the nights when both of their bodies could still fit across my lap at once, their breath syncing into a slow rhythm. Nostalgia blurred the lines between the past and the present, and emotions washed over me. I could almost still feel them in my lap, almost see countless versions of them over the years, even as I opened my eyes and spotted them, sitting in the grass at the festival with their friends. Love warmed my heart as tears traced lines of pride down my cheeks.
The arts heal us and connect us though our collective humanity. When I was a child, I’d sit and listen to relatives share stories and song over bonfires. I watched the flames dance in the sky, sending sparks up to the stars. They often sang folk songs from Eastern Europe. Even though I didn’t understand the words, the emotions carried me along, and my feet began to tap out a rhythm.
I’m still continually trying to find balance and carve out time to just be. I navigate wanting to be there for others while also being present for my children. Music festivals, often tucked into remote forests or fields, offer me time to unplug and be fully present in the moment. I’ve been attending festivals since before my children were born, and they’ve become an integral part of summer magic for my daughters. Certain things spark memory and instantly transport me across time: the smell of the campfire, the sounds of stories and instruments, the welcoming voices of friends we only see at these gatherings. In these pockets of creativity and connection, we’ve learned about others as well as ourselves. I’ve been humbled and inspired by the musicians who have taken the time to share their own stories and encourage my daughters to follow their dreams.
I unwrap and bask in some of my grandmother’s wisdom: our voices matter, we’re all connected, and hope can carry us through anything, if we welcome it in.
Who pushes you to be the best version of yourself?
Dr. Katherine Munter, clinical psychologist, art therapist, and founder of Creative Life Therapy, an Ann Arbor practice of art therapy and integrative wellbeing. Learn more at www.CreativeLifeTherapy.com.
