The largest part of who I am is needing to have my kids feel safe. In the beginning of our coronacation, I have fussed and hovered like I did when we would take our littles on vacation and I would worry they wouldn’t sleep. I’d be the sleepless one while the kids would pass out happily. They have done well, broken down and cried on and at me. But their feelings have been honored and I feel successful that they feel safe. However, it is exhausting to care for people this hard. Especially dramatic redheaded daughters.
Truth is, I can see how we Moms have a perfect excuse to not pursue our own personal creative goals. I have long struggled with what I “really want to do”. Even as it seems I’m doing “it”, I’m not feeling like I am. I realize it’s all about considering myself as not enough. Not enough of a good parent or a committed creative. So many ways I can look right at my life and deem it a failure.
I found this poem that I wrote a while back and I really think it sums up the inner battle I have with my expectations to succeed and what is enough.
I chatter at it and
Batter at it and
still it is not fixed.
The ages old self-diatribe
I am not enough, I am not enough
I tell everyone, I’m OK, I’m fine
But in my mind there’s a line
And I’m on the wrong side.
The impossibility of moving on
Tethered to a ghost.
I trust no one, even myself
And so I remain lost
I crave the ease
The easy squeeze
that will fill my future full
Of gratitude and tenderness
of purposed hours filled.
I write at night
with all my sight
that I might
win this fight.
I have come a long way from where I was when I wrote this poem. I am more convinced that I am on my path just taking a more leisurely stroll along it. The medication was a wonder as it allowed me to use all of the education and hard work I had done prior. But the viral disruption that is 2020 has thrown all of us off balance and I am busy figuring out where my children stop and I begin.
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