I am-have-been wearyboned.
The kind of weary-boned that feels like giving up.
Just now, the words came tumbling, and I ran to catch them and arrange them on paper.
I felt the heartsong. It's the song of the woman who came before me (and before me). The woman who tenderedcare to others and with grace, seemed to fade. Who felt little and alone and unseen. Who felt small and yet large at the same time. That woman (and before-her woman) who is still with us and when we shushlisten, we can hear her sing.
I've been thinking about what it means to be a woman. A woman who stands for other women, and feels the age old call to be a voice for the voiceless. Thinking about how my own expectations and sacrifices aren't the same as others. Thinking about the pain of knowing more than my heart wants to know and holding more than my heart seems capable of holding.
But I'm feeling more myself today. (Thank you Jenny for the hug). After hearing Laurie Halse Anderson speak yesterday about being broken open, about needing to shout the truth, it reminded me of Wordsworth: "The world is too much with us." The world's pain has been with me too much, too close, almost smothering me. I'm doing the only thing I know how to do when I break: I'm releasing the words.
If you have felt the world is too much with you, then this letter is also you.
A letter to myself and you, GirlWoman:
You, soft-scared, despair-destroyed, and heart-sad.
Walk with me (with me).
Dear girl.
You are soft.
The places where others
razors bite and you bleed,
You sidestep,
swipe,
move to the right.
Afraid.
You drop the light to hide.
Light subsides, slow,
like slurred words to ended speech.
Dear girl,
I (outside-in)
See-you: See-me
Where you
Hide in the dark.
Cornercrouched.
Beyondcloset.
Underbed.
Where you bury your uglycryface
away
from a world that
snarls
and hisses-
a world that is
Scratchfist and
poundloud with misplaced desires.
So you judgeblame,
expecting it to mimic the
silentlong sojournsacrifice
that resides in you.
Shushlisten.
You will not hide, now, child.
Up.
Get up.
Standshaky on those two feet.
Be willing.
Bewillingtoletlove
b r e a k you inward.
Throw you oPEn.
s t r e t ch you together.
Bend.
Bend and bend,
like the birch in your yard you swung on at 6,
at 8, at 10,
until at 12
It moment-sways,
supporting your weight,
you scratchknees,
you scrapetoes,
your inner thighs hugging trunk so tight,
Squeezedeyes shut,
waiting for butterfly belly flutters,
as you had once been lofted into the air and
catapulted.
But my girlchild,
you are growing.
That tree is no longer yours to climb.
It can no longer offer, under your weight, the joy of a younger you.
It bends and bends and breaks.
Snaps, cracks,
open boned,
bearing blood and you,
knucklewhite,
groundtossed,
where gravity sucks you
down and down.
And down.
You, headjarred,
you, heartjarred.
Up.
Damn you.
Girl,
get
UP.
Babywalk,
step.
StEp.
s t e p.
Let the tearfall
Let the ragefall
Let the bitterapple d i e.
S t e P.
You,
follower of moons
whose waters have surged and withdrawn,
follower of feetpounds and fleshsliced.
Girl,
You,
Woman.
The tree and
the forest, inyou
the sisters before
(and before) (and before)
Sang
handjoined,
heartwoven,
Shushlisten to your Sisters They sing Now,
proudloud,
beatheart,
You, sharedblood,
Girl, Shushlisten,
Your sisters proclaim:
Woman:
You
Will
RISE.
Saturday, October 19, 2019
Wednesday, November 21, 2018
You Have My Permission: An open Letter to Step-Moms Everywhere
A Letter to the Other Mother of my daughters.
Dear D------,
Your blood, guts, face. I testified daily so many years ago that those things I hated. More dangerous than any poison, I was a sullen, bitter and hardened woman, desperate to lay blame. I hated you for a hundred different reasons, none of which now matter. I couldn't see beyond the pain that a mother knows who feels that she has lost her most important full time job. For too long I hated. I wanted you to die, melt, become a puddle of whatever mush a body becomes when seething invisible-mama daggers gouge out eyes and teeth and all soft spots then watch them liquefy as volcanoes erupt into the hell fire I would send.
I used to think:
How could you be anything like me? I am their mother. The one that gave them life? The one that carried them and birthed them through screams and terror of my own near death? How could you replace me? How could you read them bed time stories, know their favorites to put into their lunches, teach them to measure when baking cookies, play Chutes and Ladders? How dare you rub their cheeks and back when they were sick, color, make play-dough animals, sing at the top of your voice and play dance party?
Too many holidays I sat alone, lonely, watching leaves fall or snowflakes whirl while my girls sat on your lap eating apple pie or unwrapping gifts. You heard their sweet tot voices as they squealed with delights I desired to witness. I cried into empty pillows and cradled bottles of wine, instead of my darling girls.
But now:
I thank God every day that nearly five years ago I became a step-mom, myself. For one, I have three beautiful children to love. But that's not the only why.
When I became a step-mom, I began to understand how blame can be erased. How mistakes can be forgiven, and how deep wounds can heal.
As I lay at night, singing, "I'll give you a daisy a day, dear" to my darling step-daughter, and then tell her "Good-night" with a kiss to the forehead, I think of you. When she begs me back for one more song, or one more story, I think of you. When we hold hands in the grocery store, or she falls and I bandage a not so terrible boo-boo, I think of you. When she cuddles into my lap and tells me that I'm not going anywhere because we are "cuddlin'" I think of you. When I go to her Halloween parades, thanksgiving celebrations, shop for her Christmas gifts.... When I braid her hair, curl it, let her put make-up on me.... When she asks me to put love into the cookies before she mixes them... I think of you.
I think of all the times you have been there for my daughters. All the tears you've soothed, all the whispered, "I love yous." I think of the worries, fears, joys, sadness, pride you have for my girls. I think of how lucky they are to have you in their lives. Someone that holds them to a standard as high as I do, wants their happiness and success as much as I do.
And, so today, I want you to know, you have my permission. You have my permission to be their mother just as much as I am their mother. You didn't give birth to them, but that doesn't make your love for them or your hopes for them less than my own.
You have my permission to have an opinion about whether or not they should get that shot, should attend the event, college, or buy that certain car. You have my permission to stand beside me someday when they go to prom, get married, have their own children. You have my permission to continue loving them with the depths of the love a mother has for a child, because since I became a step-mom, I know that you do.
This Thanksgiving I want you to know I am thankful for you. Because without you, my girls would not be who they are. And for that, I am so very thankful.
Sunday, December 31, 2017
Not Only Lovers Betray... How to Forgive when Loving Kindness feels Flawed.
Loving kindness.
That's what I praise and that's what I believe in. But what happens when the real world gets in the way and there is a serious transgression? A true breach of trust? A feeling that you have been betrayed and that a relationship mutually built in which you placed your heart, soul, sweat and tears, becomes one that you question?
I find myself wondering is forgiveness and practicing loving kindness something that means that I have condoned the behavior of another?
I find myself wondering does loving kindness mean that I "look the other way" and that my own sense of betrayal is not important?
Do I compartmentalize those feelings, wrap them into a little box, where they could quite possibly fester and poison me?
How does one reconcile this situation?
At what point does another's actions which impact me cross a line (however honorably they think they have been motivated). Do they ever cross a line if you practice loving kindness?
This is where I'm at. I have always been a believer that we choose to decide how we react to a situation. And our reactions define us as people as much, if not more, than any other singular facet of our being.
Yet, I find myself questioning. I feel myself steering away from my own practice of compassion towards others and closing off. I feel little and threatened and angry. I know this anger is holding me down, but where do I put that anger? How do I manage it?
Will time be the great equalizer and slowly, with moments that become days, that become years, I will find balance moving baby steps forward, deciding that my won story and the well being of my community is more valuable than my anger?
Will I ever choose to invest my time and energy into another kindred relationship with so much spirit, warmth and compassion? Is my little light diminished because of my experience with what I perceive to be a betrayal?
Can I call on compassion and wisdom of experience to allow a special place that was once in my heart for someone to be filled by another? Can that place be filled again by that same person?
Loving kindness is about sending the one who has wronged you the acceptance and gratitude of life. It is not jealous; it is not proud, it is not angry.
It is the turn the other cheek mentality.
I write this today, because I am searching. Searching for that place in my heart to be consumed by kindness and compassion, not bitterness and reluctance.
So I write this story and perhaps it will help you as I believe it is helping me.....
There once was a girl who lived in the forest. It was a beautiful forest with tall pines all around. There was never a lack of food, nor did she ever feel lonely. Always there were creatures, bunnies, mice and birds, with whom she would sing and speak.
She spent many years in that solitary spirit, unworldly, the forest an umbrella, beyond a great unknown.
It so happens that a traveling saleswoman, with shiny wares and trinkets, enticed her. She had nothing to trade except for her own labor, which she reluctantly agreed she would work for this woman for three years, in trade for a bright sparkling ring. The girl left the forest and entered a world of color and sound. A world that pressed in close and showed her the brightest of lights and the darkest of darks. She met new people and she learned new things. The traveling saleswoman befriended her, and she placed all her trust in this woman, who was wise, trusting, and worldly. The girl, now a woman in her own eyes, knew that everything she had learned, all her knowledge of business, the arts, what it means to be human, good and evil, and of the cities, came from her friend, whom she now called her mentor.
The mentor never asked for anything, but that the girl keep her word. The mentor offered solace, sage advice, food and a warm place by her fire and in return she expected the girl to honor her commitment.
One evening, the last of their stay, when the girl was investigating the city, she encountered a fountain. A swan gracefully arched its neck to the sky, where water spouted.
The girl stood, staring, until two older girls approached with sketch pads in hand. They exchanged polite courtesies and the girl explained how dazzled she was by the swan, that she had never seen such a sight.
The girls offered her a once in a lifetime chance. They were employed by the sculptor who had designed this swan. He was right now in the city, and she could meet him, and travel also with him. they grasped the young woman's hand, and she pulled back slightly, reluctant to go, her mentor had given her only this night to alone ponder the pathways and search the sights.
Yet the girls spoke so smoothly and their stories were so sordid of their travels to exotic places, where giants roamed jungles, that she acquiesced. She indeed felt her actions were wrong, but the thirst for adventure was so great in her now, she pushed those aside. She did not think of time in years, she was in this moment.
Her mentor waited all night for the young woman, who did not show. By daybreak, she was frantic, as the girl had never left her side for so long before.
She searched, calling out to the girl whom she had come to love with all her heart, in whom she had placed her affection and revealed her secrets.
She soon found the place of the swan, and, calling out the girl's name, was approached by a boy had had been spying when the girl had left with her companions. In return for a small craved wooden horse, he explained what he had seen.
The mentor denied the girl had abandoned her. She refused to believe she would go without even a kind word of parting.
Yet, she could only wait so long in the city before moving on.
She never saw the girl again, nor was she the same person she had been before she met the girl.
With grief, she piled her bags, thrust them over her shoulder, and placed one foot in front of the other, heading away, to a place for which she was destined, a road divided from the girl.
She saw time stretch like a rubber band and understood that her choices were her own, as were the girl's.
~May you find the ability to forgive as I am trying to forgive the girl.
With grace,
April
That's what I praise and that's what I believe in. But what happens when the real world gets in the way and there is a serious transgression? A true breach of trust? A feeling that you have been betrayed and that a relationship mutually built in which you placed your heart, soul, sweat and tears, becomes one that you question?
I find myself wondering is forgiveness and practicing loving kindness something that means that I have condoned the behavior of another?
I find myself wondering does loving kindness mean that I "look the other way" and that my own sense of betrayal is not important?
Do I compartmentalize those feelings, wrap them into a little box, where they could quite possibly fester and poison me?
How does one reconcile this situation?
At what point does another's actions which impact me cross a line (however honorably they think they have been motivated). Do they ever cross a line if you practice loving kindness?
This is where I'm at. I have always been a believer that we choose to decide how we react to a situation. And our reactions define us as people as much, if not more, than any other singular facet of our being.
Yet, I find myself questioning. I feel myself steering away from my own practice of compassion towards others and closing off. I feel little and threatened and angry. I know this anger is holding me down, but where do I put that anger? How do I manage it?
Will time be the great equalizer and slowly, with moments that become days, that become years, I will find balance moving baby steps forward, deciding that my won story and the well being of my community is more valuable than my anger?
Will I ever choose to invest my time and energy into another kindred relationship with so much spirit, warmth and compassion? Is my little light diminished because of my experience with what I perceive to be a betrayal?
Can I call on compassion and wisdom of experience to allow a special place that was once in my heart for someone to be filled by another? Can that place be filled again by that same person?
Loving kindness is about sending the one who has wronged you the acceptance and gratitude of life. It is not jealous; it is not proud, it is not angry.
It is the turn the other cheek mentality.
I write this today, because I am searching. Searching for that place in my heart to be consumed by kindness and compassion, not bitterness and reluctance.
So I write this story and perhaps it will help you as I believe it is helping me.....
There once was a girl who lived in the forest. It was a beautiful forest with tall pines all around. There was never a lack of food, nor did she ever feel lonely. Always there were creatures, bunnies, mice and birds, with whom she would sing and speak.
She spent many years in that solitary spirit, unworldly, the forest an umbrella, beyond a great unknown.
It so happens that a traveling saleswoman, with shiny wares and trinkets, enticed her. She had nothing to trade except for her own labor, which she reluctantly agreed she would work for this woman for three years, in trade for a bright sparkling ring. The girl left the forest and entered a world of color and sound. A world that pressed in close and showed her the brightest of lights and the darkest of darks. She met new people and she learned new things. The traveling saleswoman befriended her, and she placed all her trust in this woman, who was wise, trusting, and worldly. The girl, now a woman in her own eyes, knew that everything she had learned, all her knowledge of business, the arts, what it means to be human, good and evil, and of the cities, came from her friend, whom she now called her mentor.
The mentor never asked for anything, but that the girl keep her word. The mentor offered solace, sage advice, food and a warm place by her fire and in return she expected the girl to honor her commitment.
One evening, the last of their stay, when the girl was investigating the city, she encountered a fountain. A swan gracefully arched its neck to the sky, where water spouted.
The girl stood, staring, until two older girls approached with sketch pads in hand. They exchanged polite courtesies and the girl explained how dazzled she was by the swan, that she had never seen such a sight.
The girls offered her a once in a lifetime chance. They were employed by the sculptor who had designed this swan. He was right now in the city, and she could meet him, and travel also with him. they grasped the young woman's hand, and she pulled back slightly, reluctant to go, her mentor had given her only this night to alone ponder the pathways and search the sights.
Yet the girls spoke so smoothly and their stories were so sordid of their travels to exotic places, where giants roamed jungles, that she acquiesced. She indeed felt her actions were wrong, but the thirst for adventure was so great in her now, she pushed those aside. She did not think of time in years, she was in this moment.
Her mentor waited all night for the young woman, who did not show. By daybreak, she was frantic, as the girl had never left her side for so long before.
She searched, calling out to the girl whom she had come to love with all her heart, in whom she had placed her affection and revealed her secrets.
She soon found the place of the swan, and, calling out the girl's name, was approached by a boy had had been spying when the girl had left with her companions. In return for a small craved wooden horse, he explained what he had seen.
The mentor denied the girl had abandoned her. She refused to believe she would go without even a kind word of parting.
Yet, she could only wait so long in the city before moving on.
She never saw the girl again, nor was she the same person she had been before she met the girl.
With grief, she piled her bags, thrust them over her shoulder, and placed one foot in front of the other, heading away, to a place for which she was destined, a road divided from the girl.
She saw time stretch like a rubber band and understood that her choices were her own, as were the girl's.
~May you find the ability to forgive as I am trying to forgive the girl.
With grace,
April
Saturday, September 30, 2017
My Dad does not exist in my life-- Not the Way You Would Think
My Dad does not exist in my life. I can call him whatever dads are supposed to be called- Papa, Daddy, Dad, Father. None of those names are relevant and none exist for me. Not now, and not ever.
After 40 years, It took a 16 year old girl to teach me that I have spent all these years I've been waiting, hoping, wishing, praying, and looking for something that was never going to be.
What I wanted-
Someone who would sing to me,
pick me up and swing me around,
read me bed time stories,
give me piggy back rides
take me sledding.
Answer all
my Whys
Kiss my boo-boos
Tell me about how stupid boys are and how they'll break my heart.
Give me chicken noodle soup when I was sick
High five me when I brought my 100s home from school
teach me how to swim
climb trees
swing a bat.
Ask me "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
watch my soccer games,
listened to my awful saxophone solos.
explain how to do my physics homework.
In high school he'd proudly watch me
win all Northern in Soccer and Softball
earn certificates in academics
smile wistfully at me in my prom dress- remembering his little girl.
and when I walked across the stage that summery June evening
to take my diploma, a little tear would slip through.
And my wedding...
There he is, graying now, but still strong, watching me approach in a beautiful white dress...
his baby girl.
He would fold my arm under his, and hold back a river of tears that he has dammed.
The father daughter dance he would whisper in my ear about that time I
"accidentally" cut my hair on one side of my head- looking like I came straight from Mad Max movie
and say "You're so beautiful. I'm lucky to be your dad."
And even years later, he'd be waiting while I push and Push
waiting for that blissful moment
when he holds his granddaughter in his arms,
like he had his daughter.
And now, with the grandchildren growing,
I would call him with my sadness, my joy, and my fears, my disappointing and remarkable moments as a parent.
He would be a solace for me.
I would joke about how he's getting older and pretty soon,
I'll be taking care of him.
This is the dad I dream of... but he never happened.
What did happen were various father figures through my life- my grandpa Ronnie (my rock), my high school softball coach- Joe Jubinville, my advisor in college- Dr. Paul Johnston, my step dad Clayton (who is awesome step-dad and Papa), my father-in law- Mike Murtagh, who is a great father figure,
All these men have been father figures to me. They have filled the role that my real dad couldn't. They did all the dad things that a girl needs a father for.
They may not realize it, and I haven't until now- but I never needed that DAD because I've had many dads.... who took it upon themselves to care about me and for me. Just because I wasn't born their daughter, they've shown me the love I needed at the time I needed it. For all these men, thank you.
Thank you all for loving me like a dad should love a daughter...
After 40 years, It took a 16 year old girl to teach me that I have spent all these years I've been waiting, hoping, wishing, praying, and looking for something that was never going to be.
What I wanted-
Someone who would sing to me,
pick me up and swing me around,
read me bed time stories,
give me piggy back rides
take me sledding.
Answer all
my Whys
Kiss my boo-boos
Tell me about how stupid boys are and how they'll break my heart.
Give me chicken noodle soup when I was sick
High five me when I brought my 100s home from school
teach me how to swim
climb trees
swing a bat.
Ask me "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
watch my soccer games,
listened to my awful saxophone solos.
explain how to do my physics homework.
In high school he'd proudly watch me
win all Northern in Soccer and Softball
earn certificates in academics
smile wistfully at me in my prom dress- remembering his little girl.
and when I walked across the stage that summery June evening
to take my diploma, a little tear would slip through.
And my wedding...
There he is, graying now, but still strong, watching me approach in a beautiful white dress...
his baby girl.
He would fold my arm under his, and hold back a river of tears that he has dammed.
The father daughter dance he would whisper in my ear about that time I
"accidentally" cut my hair on one side of my head- looking like I came straight from Mad Max movie
and say "You're so beautiful. I'm lucky to be your dad."
And even years later, he'd be waiting while I push and Push
waiting for that blissful moment
when he holds his granddaughter in his arms,
like he had his daughter.
And now, with the grandchildren growing,
I would call him with my sadness, my joy, and my fears, my disappointing and remarkable moments as a parent.
He would be a solace for me.
I would joke about how he's getting older and pretty soon,
I'll be taking care of him.
This is the dad I dream of... but he never happened.
What did happen were various father figures through my life- my grandpa Ronnie (my rock), my high school softball coach- Joe Jubinville, my advisor in college- Dr. Paul Johnston, my step dad Clayton (who is awesome step-dad and Papa), my father-in law- Mike Murtagh, who is a great father figure,
All these men have been father figures to me. They have filled the role that my real dad couldn't. They did all the dad things that a girl needs a father for.
They may not realize it, and I haven't until now- but I never needed that DAD because I've had many dads.... who took it upon themselves to care about me and for me. Just because I wasn't born their daughter, they've shown me the love I needed at the time I needed it. For all these men, thank you.
Thank you all for loving me like a dad should love a daughter...
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