womanhood

a work in progress

We don’t know.

What the body goes through.

What the vagina goes through.

Heck, we don’t even use that word without cringing.

For weeks.

I have been seeking.

Love.

Solace.

Someone listen to me.

Someone cradle me.

Someone feel this pain that I feel.

Someone.

And I didn’t know it.

I sought it emotionally.

I sought it physically.

And slowly, slowly, conversation after conversation,

Some form of healing begins.

X

K

Note: I wrote this a long time ago. It was one of the first time we’d had sex after the miscarriage and I was in tears. In the middle of it all. And I couldn’t find the words to write “sex”. But I feel that. It is important. For us to know. Our skin feels things. Not just our mind. Like a knee hurts when we fall. A lower back hurts when we lift too heavy. Perhaps, a vagina hurts when it looses a baby. And maybe, we need to find the words to express these things. Because those words, as inappropriate or even as indecent as they seem, as so important. To express. X

The Accuser

Sometimes.

When you fight with me.

You let it all rip.

From the seams to the core.

And I know.

In that moment,

It just needs out.

It is not you.

It is not me.

So in that moment,

I let the words fly.

I swerve and let them float past me.

Far off.

Forgotten before they were fully spoken.

Heard barely.

Felt never.

And so I let you.

Get it out.

So we can.

Get on.

A Friendship

Hey.

You read my words and offered me an out.

When I told you.

Miscarriage.

You booked the place and made sure it was cozy.

It was just what I needed.

Pizza.

Leather upholstery.

Chocolate fondant.

I didn’t even notice the absent fireplace.

Woman to woman.

Mother to mother.

You just.

Listened.

And you just.

Felt.

Allowed me to fall apart in a paragraph.

Which turned into a short story.

And fall apart some more.

In the awkward way that I do.

But you felt.

And you didn’t say a thing.

To justify.

To accept.

To correct.

To adjust.

To fix.

To make it better.

All that bullshit.

You didn’t offer.

You just let it be.

And from one mother who has lost a baby,

To another mother who has lost a baby,

You were exactly what the universe prescribed,

For this hurting heart,

That can’t quite figure out,

Why.

But has to accept.

That it is.

For that.

I can only, ever thank you.

X

K

Dear Aru (April end, 2018),

It’s dawning on me.

That I made your life work around mine.

I wanted you to come along.

To be adulting.

To meet pattern makers.

Sit patiently in the office.

Play on your own, with whatever was around.

I made your life work around mine.

And that is a GOOD thing.

(Don’t you go trying to guilt trip me on this one).

But.

I also think.

It’s important for you to do things you want.

And for me to work around your life (a little).

A cricket class here.

A lego session there.

Reading an extra book.

Or just cuddling for a little longer.

That is so hard for me sweetheart.

So so so hard.

Especially when I could be ironing, tidying, cooking, emailing, photoshopping, insta-posting etc. You get the gist.

I have always, actually, not always, but often chosen productivity over you.

Productivity and Netflix.

So I’m going to try and be better.

Try and get it together.

And be a little less having it all together.

For you.

For me.

For us.

X

Mild

There is a mild depression.

It’s like nothing really.

It’s just a little harder to wake up.

A little harder to give a shit.

A little harder to love a little.

It’s a nothingness.

There was a baby inside of me.

And now there is nothing.

But nothingness.

And I’m resigned to being ok with it.

And yet not.

X

K

Dear Aru (Mid-April, 2018), 

It’s been a long time. 

A long, long time.

You’ve been patient with me, while I’ve been catty with you. 

It’s hard to explain to a 3 year old what a miscarriage is. 

Or even think it’s appropriate for them to know. 

Mummy had a baby in her tummy and then the baby died. 

So mummy is sad. 

Daddy is in struggle town as he assesses our drained finances. 

Contemplating whether to sell the apartment or get a loan. 

Mummy and Daddy can’t be there for each other, like they usually are. 

Because some major shit went down. 

Is that how it goes? 

And I know. The ship will turn. The winds will change. The sun will shine. 

But maybe one day. 

When you’re going through some shit of your own. 

You come here. 

You read this. 

And you trust. 

That.

You’ll make it through. 

Just like us. 

X

Your Maa. 

My Man.

Hey you. 

My lover, my man. 

The one who can’t shed a tear. 

When he needs it the most. 

Hey you. 

Sweet man. 

Is it all ok in there? 

Because I reached out at night. 

And your body wasn’t near. 

Because I tried to make it light, and your laughter wasn’t heard. 

Hey you. 

It’s ok. 

It’ll all be ok. 

It wasn’t you. 

It wasn’t me. 

It wasn’t all of this. 

It just had to be. 

X

K

Worth

I have spoken to countless women about this. 

Countless mothers. 

Countless friends. 

You know what they say? 

You know what you all say? 

Money is the determining factor. 

As a society, we use money to determine things. 

He earns more, so we thought he should work. 

There is no point in me working because it doesn’t make financial sense. 

He made the decision to buy the warehouse because he makes the money. 

We moved three times for his career. 

I conceived and so a career wasn’t an option.

It seems. 

Who earns more money, seems to call the shots. 

And women especially seem to feel this the most, once they have children. 

Because they aren’t earning money, their sense of worth plummets. 

They toss their power, their self worth and arguments out the window. 

Because. He earns. 

///

Using money to decide worth is the WORST call you can make. 

Your worth is in who you are. 

Is in how loving you feel towards yourself. 

How contented you are. 

And if that means, putting the kids in childcare at an additional financial cost, so you can get some hours away from the home and engage with the world and feel HAPPY, then, your family is going to see the benefits of that. 

Don’t let money be the only measure. 

There are so many more measures. We need to give them more priority. 

Or we’ll have more depression and damaged children. 

X

K

Instagram Responsibilities

I feel like this has just dawned on me lately.

The world is so obsessed with the physical appearance of things.

Weight. Make Up. Skin. Clothes.
We are so outward.
So concerned with the outward.

In the name of health, we go for runs, go to the gym, eat salads and get clean.
But is it in the name of health, or is it in the name of a good instagram photo?

Now the other thing I’ve realised.

Is that.

We have a responsibility.
By showing off our highlights, we are creating a portrayal of our lives.

Everything is good.
Happy.
Wealth.

blessed

We want to project this identity.
We want people to think this of us.

It’s no wonder I sometimes feel gross, sick and not-enough after I scroll through a feed.

In a way.
We became our own worst nightmare.

Beauty magazines full of slim women.
Looking sexed up with perfect skin.
We hated that.

But hey look.

Now we’re the ones making it.

I feel so much more responsible now for the content I make and share.

I ask myself, why are you sharing this?
How do you want to be perceived?
Does this make you feel good about yourself?
Or are you hunting down those likes that will make you feel good about yourself?

And I know I’m not there yet.
I haven’t tried Facetune, but I still jut my chin out, because you know. Angles.

But yes.

I’m a little more mindful.

And also realising.

This is exactly what we do at parties.

We don up, heel up and perfect up.
To create fake ideas of who we are.

When is this going to stop?

X
K

Basics.

We really, really, really. 

Need to LEARN. 

This. 

This simple thing. 

Your power is NOT in the money you earn. 

NOT in the status you keep. 

NOT in the business you run. 

Your power is NOT in the children you raise. 

NOT in the people you hire. 

NOT in the beauty you have. 

Your power is NOT in your home. 

NOT in the PRADA bag you own. 

NOT in the Instagram followers you have. 

Your power is in you. 

Seated within you. 

In the way you trust in yourself. 

In the way you believe in yourself. 

In the truth of yourself. 

In the beauty of who you are. 

That is where it lies. 

And when it comes from that truth, 

You will do no harm. 

X

KI

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