womanhood

a work in progress

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Steady Love

I’m glad you’re here.

I’m glad it’s you.

I’m glad I can dish it and you can take it.

I’m glad you know how to talk about your feelings and feel ok to be vulnerable with me.

It’s the safest place in the world my sweet.

I’m glad we’re both broken.

I’m glad you feel it and I do too.

I’m glad our love is the ordinary, mortgage and kids type of love.

Let me tell you, that’s the luckiest type of love in the world.

I’m glad you take flight and take risks.

Both of us bearing the burn.

But never living a life unfulfilled.

Stand by me.

And I’ll stand by you.

I’m glad.

You chose to be glad with me.

Because one day.

They’ll write about us.

One day.

We’ll make history.

We’ll change minds, as we do now.

You and I.

Always.

Lifetime after lifetime.

I can hear you chuckle.

Stuck with me.

Over and over.

You have my heart.

x

 

(April, 2018)

Dear Aru (May, 2018),

Oh my darling.

Sweet sweet boy.

You are growing up so very fast.

Becoming such an incredible human.

So persistent when you want something or when you need a question answered.

I admire that you in. Although I appear exasperated often.

You are cautious, it is in your core.

Perhaps it came from a past life, perhaps from your time in the womb, perhaps from your star sign.

Just know, it is ok to take a risk every now and then.

It is ok to fall and hurt.

Your friend is right by you, and he won’t let the cut be too deep.

Dearest Aru.

I may or may not choose to have another one.

Are you ok with that?

Some part of me dies with the thought that you might not have a sibling.

But do I really, truly, madly, deeply, want another?

I just don’t know.

I simply don’t know.

I want one for you.

That’s for sure.

But for me?

I don’t know.

Could I bear more sleepless nights?

More crying?

More whining?

Could I bear the emptiness of being a mum?

Yes.

For me, those early years often felt empty.

Empty of a cause.

Empty of an end point.

It’s who I am.

Seeking the next step.

Tick. Tick. You have arrived.

Motherhood isn’t like that.

It’s about being okay in the all day, every day.

There is no acclaim, no accolades.

It sucks, but there is some part of me that cares about that stuff.

We’ll see sweet pea.

We’ll see.

Maybe I’ll change.

Maybe I won’t.

I love you the same.

But learn from me.

A life lived for someone else, even if it is you,

Isn’t a life lived truly.

X

Pages

We were always on the same page.

You were always as deep.

Running alongside me.

Catching my thoughts from where they left off.

I accepted and understood your limitations.

But maybe I’ve found a new limitation.

One of feeling a little less.

A little less than me.

And now I know.

Why when a child dies,

It’s rare for a couple to stay together.

To stick it through.

Because.

You simply.

Feel.

Less.

X

K

 

(April,, 2018)

Ghosts

I guess in some ways, we all have ghosts from the past.

As we get older.

Things we did.

Things we wonder about.

And they pile up.

Sometimes, so high, we forget, they were buried there.

A long time ago.

 

Then one morning, you wake up.

With a memory.

Maybe it came from the sound track in the background.

Maybe it came from a thought.

A familiar moment.

 

There was a girl.

She used to work for me.

She once said, “I’ve never met a boss who sings along to the music”.

That made me smile.

There came a time when we had to retrench her.

And her friend too.

It was cutting.

For all of us.

But I’ll always wonder.

If I did them right.

They were young, flowers blooming in the wild and I’ll always feel,

I took away some part of their innocence, even if I, myself was innocent at the time.

x

K

Dear Aru (April end, 2018),

You’re the sweetest thing, but I don’t know why, I’m grumpy all the time.

I’m trying to ease off at work.

Maybe meditate more, maybe get back into yoga.

You’re my sign.

You’ve always been my sign.

My sign posts.

The one person in the world, whom I mistreat the most.

You just asked me to read to you and I said no.

You haven’t had your dinner and I’m so disappointed.

I’m sorry sweetheart.

I wish I could be loving all the time.

Or at least a little more.

Instead of filling you with my neutral / nothing vibes.

I’m sorry.

Xx

K

The nerve centre.

It had been dead.

Unloved.

Broken.

I’d seen blood and body rush out.

Forming rivers in a shower.

Fusing and departing.

I’d seen a life.

It breaks you in so many ways.

We think the worst of it is in the womb.

Or in the mind.

But it’s also there.

From where it leaves.

And so.

For nights, for days on end.

I’d sought something.

To fill the void.

The doctors said six weeks of no sex.

But they were happy to stick up a plastic cold probe up my vagina and wiggle the shit out of it.

And I had no idea.

My vagina.

Had been through a trauma of it’s own.

And now I realise.

How fucking insensitive and unaware we are.

Of course it feels.

Of course it breathes.

It is life.

It is the creator of life.

And when it was finally loved.

I wept.

And wept.

And wept.

In the dark of the night.

Finally maybe, I could begin to feel anew.

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

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