There is something about becoming a mom to two instead of one which makes it feel more permanent to me for some reason. I realize this makes zero sense, but the idea of further responsibility, for another human being, feels exponentially heavier. Almost as if 1 + 1 equals a million. I have never been good with numbers, but in the images my mind curates to describe feelings I tend to trust. Enters the parachute.
Long before this version of my life took form (the married+ in the burbs and a solid job), I had fantasized about what it would be like to feel so incredibly rooted and stable; I imagined myself a “mama earth” type, growing vegetables, peaceful to the point of indifference, so sure and calm in my path. It was a version of myself I had so longed to be. Mainly it was a stark opposite of the turbulence I experienced internally which I assumed was due to a more artistic and single lifestyle fueled by trauma and poor choices . It has been a rude realization to recognize that the turbulence may have been fueled by trauma, but it was also a part of myself I clung on to for safety. How do turbulence and safety go together? Enters the parachute, for real this time.
Though I may have outwardly claimed that settling down was what I ultimately wanted (important to state that I believed myself as well), I had no idea what stability actually felt like, not just as a concept. Stability, or consistency, is apparently way more terrifying to me than turbulence; I know how to act in crisis, in a rush, in a pinch. I am the person you want to call when things turn to shit. My survival instincts are ally cat-like and I am quick on my feet. I know how to be when turbulence hits. Perhaps because I am always living in preparation for the other shoe to drop. I am good in the air, darting dangers and always on the move. You put me on the ground and what I thought would be a a welcomed relief from the constant moving, is actually terrifying. I am the parachuter who can do really cool air stunts but apparently is not great at being on land.
Two kids feels like a whole lot of land. I drag myself up from the ground, dressed and weighed down with combat parachute attire, and drag my heavy feet slowly and begrudgingly. Where is this “mama earth”? Does she make an entrance after a few sulking teen miles? How do I convince my body I am not in captivity and that landing is safe, even wanted? This is what I wanted for so long; the earth underneath my feet, solidity. For now I walk slowly, helmet still on, cautious heavy steps searching for a safe space to grow vegetables.
Filled with your beautiful, complex soul , on the verge of double motherhood. Love you, Doda Bo
I absolutely love your work. I feel you. For you. I get you. This is fabulous!! Keep going! ❤️❤️