I am a mom now and I have to take responsibility for myself.
This is not an isolated collection of years of raising my son then returning to myself. Who I was is gone of course. I was young and I was singular. I had not created nor nurtured life as intimately as I am now.
And this is intimate. Thoroughly I have shared my body to grow his. My priorities, focuses have all rearranged to make plentiful space for him. My insecurities and fears are carved open as he grows, grows into his own.
All this use of me will leave marks. Parts of me created for him never to be undone. It is up to me, just me to make those marks beautiful and those parts a gift.
How to become a mother and make it my own. I am always now his mother and that identity is wholly my own.
I believe it can be done.
And I believe it will take this moment here.
It felt impossible to pause. To bathe. To write. to be alone.
It also felt essential.
My fatigue is dangerous. My thoughts are foreign. I am not rooted. Or I am. I suppose if I am going to compare myself to a tree it is best to honor what a tree is. My roots then are present and unnourished. A tree gives so much life and home. But underneath, down below the roots support is all. Are they full and quenched. Are they richly fed. Mine aren’t. And I feel my limbs drying and my resources to use and share dwindling. the soil around me is depleted. But this drought isn’t caused by the world around me. It is me. I do believe it is up to me to nourish myself. With food, yes. And water too. With sleep, plenty of opportunity to sleep. With movement as well. And, hardest of all, time doing something just for me. Writing, bathing, sitting outside. Alone.
So here I am. And I hope to come again soon.
-El An Gilman-