As I’ve been getting a little more into my work and spending a little less time with Aru, I’ve been observing changes.
And they aren’t just wardrobe changes.
I feel like when you’re a mother, you have very little ego.
And it’s not just because a little person is wiping their snot on your tee and because you’re hiding unshaven legs in everyday denims.
You’re at the beck and call.
Of someone. A little person.
And it simply doesn’t feel important.
No matter how you call it, wiping poos and feeding little mouths just doesn’t feel as hefty as leveraging your contacts to find the perfect talent for a client or walking into a building on Collins Street with a shift dress, mascara and talking to men in suits.
It just doesn’t. To me.
And I know this is about perception, society and media at work.
I know it is the most important, fundamental, incredible role I can ever play in my life.
As I’ve worked more, I’ve earnt more. And I’ve watched my ego grow.
I sometimes find it in my hips, the confidence, the sass. Resting on each curve. Right there.
And I asked an aunt of mine.
What do I do? When that ego rests on my curves? When it feels heavy with power and influence?
To the point where it starts cutting in.
When my curves get sharp.
Knifed and cruel.
Painful and edged.
She said to me.
Acknowledge it’s there.
The simple acknowledgement acts like a security guard.
Saying, “I’m here. And I’m watching you.”
So I’m starting here.
Trying to be mindful of the arrogance.
Mindful of the ego.
Wary of the way it changes me.
My tone. My words. My sass.