Words

What an ugly space this is.

But you know that. I know, you know.

I want to hear what I’ve missed as I open my heart up to your words.

Speak into me and I will listen and share your honesty with my children.

Please don’t think I am trying to speak for you.

I wouldn’t begin to assume I know how heavy your words weigh on your tongue.

For too long we have tiptoed around what’s uncomfortable.

Discomfort for me, means you are suffering and I’m so sorry.

I am so very sorry.

I hope others listen up and change.

My God, there needs to be so much change.

I can be better, do better.

My words can be my privilege; to listen, to amplify, to speak up.

But words are just words and a black screen is just that.

We are nothing without action.

I won’t always get it right, but please know that I care.

I see your beautiful color and hear your justifiable rage.

Enough from me now. I’m listening.

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“Emerge”

‘They try to break us. Silence us. Erase us. But through it all, we still emerge.’

Morgan Overton is an artist in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. For more of her collection >>Support Artists of Color<<

An Important Distinction

My husband and I are sitting in bed, recounting the day. I jump straight to the point.

“So, I was thinking it would be fun for the girls, if we fostered some kittens during lockdown.”

Faster and more reactionary than a sneeze, “No. No, no way.”

“But it would be temporary and the girls would love it so much.”

In his defense, we have a dog who chases cats, 2 growing tadpoles, 10 newly-hatched butterflies, and 3 daughters under 6.

We went back and forth for a while. But one of his points made me pause.

“I’m worried that you are losing it a little bit. The fact that you think this is a good idea, is actually worrying me.”

Early on during shelter-in-place, a friend of mine with 4 kids under 7 adopted a puppy. I asked her why she felt the urge to add more feces into her life. She immediately played the insanity card.

I didn’t get it then, but I do now.

There is an important distinction to be made:

You cannot be placed in the insanity pool, if you willingly dive in.

I posted the following on a Mom’s Group Facebook page—being in AA, I’m no stranger to the healing nature of seeking support through strangers with similar struggles. Yes, I have a network of family and friends I am able to reach out to—however what’s exceptionally challenging about this time, is our inability to embrace one another. I stand just over 6-feet tall. Never did I ever think I’d have to use my own body as a measuring device to keep me separated from those I love. I have kept this distance from my own mom, even after the passing of my grandad, her father. Kneeled 6-feet from my best friend, as she endured a miscarriage. I am rendered helpless; unable to comfort either of them with anything but words. Even for me, words aren’t enough.

Sometimes by sharing out into the void, we can let down our defenses without expectation or agenda.

And so I shared this:

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There were 3.8K likes and over 800 comments from women sharing the ways they are overwhelmed and various locations they choose to cry regularly, unabashedly or alone.

The explanation is simple:

Right now, mothers everywhere are not OK.

There, I said it.

We aren’t throwing in the towel, complaining, or presenting a problem asking for a solution—this too is an important distinction. The raw sentiments shared, had nothing to do with comparing war wounds; labeling someone’s experience or ranking sacrifices. Simply hundreds upon hundreds of mothers acknowledging their pain with no place to put it.

These past months have presented us with uncomfortable feelings of powerlessness and relinquishing control. Our lives are already upside down—whether it’s fostering kittens or crying in my car alone; these are at least things I am choosing. And right now, I am intentionally choosing to bring some joy into our house.  

There is power in admitting vulnerability and strength in solidarity.

As a collective we said,

“I know these feelings—we share them. We can carry this load together.

These beautiful strangers and I, we didn’t try to solve this unsolvable problem, we simply acknowledged its existence, in order to allow ourselves grace.

Of course, we will rise from the closet floor and probably grab a laundry basket on our way out, because mothers are capable of all things, that’s just what we do.

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A Mom’s Guide to the Stages of Quarantine Continued

Oh hey, it’s me again. Still home, following guidelines because I’m not an expert, a doctor, or a total lunatic (well that last one is debatable at this point).

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Week 4-6: Ritual burnings and perpetual snacking

2020 calendars have been burned, along with schedules, summer plans and bathroom scales. Virtual everything sucks: school, happy hours, and meetings. Many have gotten creative with social distancing. Moms gather in trunks of minivans circled around Target parking lots, trying to find our center of gravity.

We limit our news, social media, and Twitter intake—like the price of toilet paper, it can be too absurd to fathom.  

Small discoveries are being made—eyebrows don’t really need to be plucked, global warming has been momentarily paused, and no one is actually saving money because online shopping still exists. Grocery bills account for 110% of paychecks, for those lucky enough to still have them, because our children ask for snacks every time someone in the household blinks.

Many extroverts have crawled out of their skin and introverts are happily volunteering to crochet the sheddings into face masks for everyone.  

Like sourdough starter kits, Zoom has lost its allure.

 

Week 7-8: You first, I insist

Somehow a public health emergency has been politicized. People seem to be confusing the economy with a giant wheel run by a single hamster, instead of actual human beings.

True colors are flying everywhere.

Some places are starting to dip their toe back into society. Don’t worry everyone, golf is back! Photographs emerge of certain states treating social distancing like a rave, only with less ecstasy and more mullets. In that vein, “The Tiger King” is getting his own clothing line.

People are starting to itch and twitch. We no longer post memes about nervous breakdowns—every day our homes look like an open casting call for “American Horror Story”.

Tik-Tok has taken hold of the internet and the only thing funnier than watching clips of ex-Bachelorette contestants “dancing” is trying to explain the premise of the app to our grandparent’s generation.

The Egyptians left hieroglyphics; we have Randy Rainbow.

 

Week 9-Current: Misdirected anger and puppies for all

Since we cannot direct rage towards an “infective agent that consists of a nucleic acid molecule in a protein coat”, many still in lockdown, have turned on anyone helping and attempting to save lives. Fury mimics a false sense of productivity.

Virtual learning is being proposed again for the Fall, with parents being the last to hear, since we all stopped opening emails and lesson plans from schools around week 4. Parents have opted to direct pent-up anger towards Common Core Math--a much more justifiable cause for frustration, than say, being asked to wear a mask in public.

Animal shelters are now empty, because every guinea pig, kitten, and 3-legged dog have been adopted. Moms are so shell-shocked, they have deceived themselves into believing a puppy is the answer to quarantine.

Scientists worry about repopulation because no household already containing children have attempted sex, for fear of procreation.

The Freshman 15 has nothing on the COVID 19.

Children now have fears of: other children, leaving the house, and their parents as their teachers. Luckily kids are known for their resiliency and our hope is they will look back fondly on all of the quality family togetherness—that one spring/summer they learned to play Scrabble and how to effectively use four letter words.

Hope for the future: Don’t forget the why

While so much has changed, the hope for our future remains the same. Let’s not forget the purpose behind those who sacrificed their lives and why we are being asked to remain at home. We are forming the grooves in the sand; the undercurrent that will forever be etched into our history. What remains, should be what matters most.

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