Inspirational

I think the part of me that is beautiful

Is my mix

I love science

I love nature

I love crystals and magic

Witch craft if you will

And they are all connected. 

Somehow cells were chosen under certain circumstances

Just like atoms were stabilized to form crystals

And the science behind it all of the growth 

of both

And the magic that we are alive

Each with our own pulse

I stare at the beauty of the natural crystal. 

I wonder if it stares at me back. 

Both admiring the rock and the hard places 

that forced us to become who we are. 

Inspirational. 

7-14-2020

Grieving a childhood, wanting motherhood

Not long after I became a woman, I knew I wanted to be a mother.

I used to babysit all of the neighborhood children. I would watch all of my mom’s friend’s kids. I never minded. I was used to watching my sisters all the time. It was never a problem.

I took a bringing up baby class in high school. I had too much fun with pretending it was real. Instantly bringing the doll home to bathe, powder and make him smell like a real baby.

Most of the women in my family got pregnant as teenagers. I knew young I wanted children, but I also knew that, more than anything, I did not want to be my mother. I wanted to give my children more.

So I threw myself into school. I knew that would be my only way out. Until I got a boyfriend. I slipped and fell into this expectation of perfection that hoping and society had placed in my mind. He was supposed to be by my side through everything. We were both going to become doctors, have a grand house with a white picket fence, and lots of kids. But expectations are counting your eggs before they hatch. I was a mother hen, but all my eggs were filled with lies. When they cracked and broke I was left with eggshells to walk on.

I am so glad that I wanted to not be my mother enough that I did not have children with that man. Despite society pushing me because we were married. Despite society pushing me so we could get government assistance when we were poor. I knew that med school and kids didn’t mix. And kids with him were never that realistic when I imagined them. Divorcing him was hard because I felt like I was turning into my mother. He threw that in my face even. But I hadn’t mothered myself all these years to do that.

No, I have done so much more. I have made mistakes, but I have learned from them. Each slip up has been a chance to build footing so I don’t slip that far down again.

But what pains me the most is that I am now 31 years old. Society wonders why I am still single and still have no children. My own uterus hates me with a monthly stab of pain reminding me of another egg I am letting go. But it also reminds me that I am not my mother. Because despite my desire to be a mother, I know that I am still not quite ready.

I have been healing so many wounds. I used to think my brokenness made me not whole and ruined. But really I was just exposing the parts of myself that needed attention. I needed to grieve for a childhood that I never got. I was robbed of it by being forced to grow up. I never got to be a kid. I had to grow and be strong to carry the weight of my circumstances on my shoulders.

In my grieving for my childhood lost, I understand my draw to children. I love seeing how they think and wonder. I love to see them discover. I love their innocence and ability to learn. Their imagination is everything. To see them experience what I never had.

I do not want to be a mother to live through my children. Getting to help cause a child to be a child and grow in due time to be a functional adult is all I want.

I think being a mother will help me nurture the child inside myself that never got a chance to live. Experiencing the joys in life myself and knowing that I want to see my own kids grow into whoever they think their best self is. I will nurture my inner child and actual children to help with imagination and hopes and dreams, but never expectations.

That is why I do not expect to be a mother anytime soon. I still have some grieving and growing to do. But when I have moved up at my job, gotten a house, and become stable enough, I will have kids. My heart is big enough, that once I have filled it with self love, it will spill over instead of break, and it will fill as many other hearts as I can.

Statistics are a bitch

Statistics

Are a bitch.

Statistically, because I witnessed my dad beat my mom,

I would likely be abused.

And I was. I married an abuser.

But I got out.

Statistically, because I had to mother my mother

I would be a caregiver, and choose relationships where

I fix people and put their needs above mine.

and I did time and time again.

So statistically, I am my own person.

But I chose what I know

And what I have known is that

I don’t know what love is.

I just know that I don’t want to keep making the same mistakes.

I will not let statistics determine everything.

Chances are, I wasn’t supposed to even get where I am now.

But instead of letting my wounds define me,

Instead of letting statistics tell me I can’t win.

I rip open my wounds. I examine.

I recognize that while I was taught to value myself less.

I can relearn. I dig out the toxic.

It hurts. But I refuse to let anything else hold me back.

I have already grown so much farther than statistics deemed possible.

My apple tree was definitely on a hill, and I have rolled far, far away.

At my core, I know I am worth so much more.

Due to my rolling, I am a late bloomer.

But I am finally, slowly, becoming everything that I am supposed to be.

I am my own lottery.

Statistically, not likely.

But I will be the winner in my own life.

Anomaly

Statistics are a bitch.

But, this bitch, will defy all odds.

7-12-2020