comfortably conflicted

i am comforted
by the idea
of falling apart
my conflict

more on that tower card conflicting me & my trying to figure out what the fuck…. i am more comfortable falling apart than i am feeling whole. this is a conflict to my healing.

mommy & me

she feels them cold & wiggly under her warm blanket.
she feels them cold & wiggly under her warm sweater.
she feels them cold & wiggly against her warm belly…
her worn belly…
her stretched & saggy belly.
“stop or i will bite you.
“stop or i will break your little bones with my teeth.
“i will eat your fingers. snap & crackle.
“yum. yum. yum.
“stop it or i will tear them from you.
“i will devour you.”
comes the dark growl from the half asleep mama.
they just scamper
they are not afraid.

just another day in my house. for some reason i often threaten to eat my children. maybe i was the witch from hansel & gretel in a past life…. i do often threaten to leave them in the woods as well.

wild thing

i need to find a new way
of moving
portraying myself
identifying myself
as the struggling mother
working anymore
lighten my step
no more
as if i carry
the weight
of the world
i should be
wind at my back.

i like to look to the pains in my body as messages from myself &/or the universe. my right foot has been a mess for a few weeks now. i’m not sure what is happening. i think i might have sustained a yoga injury?
but now i am examining the way i move through life–both literally & figuratively.

know thyself

“knowing who you are
where you are
& what you are capable of
at the present time
is true wisdom”
says my tarot card
my conflict card
for today
good words
for me to remember
as i try to save the world
in the next ten minutes.

what am i capable of right now? fixing up an old house? being a published author? being a mother who embraces equanimity? one step at a time. some days are baby steps. some days are great big bounding steps. maybe i should start each day asking myself, “what am i capable of today?”


it’s not a body
torn apart
by four pregnancies
it’s the body
of a warrior
cut open twice
followed by two home births
my body
has stories to tell.

something that occurred to me in the shower one morning. i give my body such a hard time…but my body has always been there for me. it was not my body that failed me in childbirth–but the current medical system that does not allow for anything but a textbook birth (hence my being cut open twice because i dared to have 42 week pregnancies.) and after being assaulted by the medical system…twice…my body recovered and got me through two home births. kudos to my body. my warrior body. strong, dependable, magical.

i can do anything

if i can be a good mother
despite an abusive childhood
if i can find peace
amidst the chaos
if i can be happy
when it seems the world would prefer me
if i can learn to love myself
in this lumpy bumpy body
if i can let other love me
accept me
celebrate me even
despite my lifelong identification as a
then i can do

more of the epiphany as it unfolded for me while i lay face down on a chiropractor table. this idea amazes me. that i could do all the work i need to do even when i feel overwhelmed & outnumbered. that feeling overwhelmed & outnumbered could actually work towards my learning how not to feel overwhelmed & outnumbered.
wouldn’t that be fucking awesome?
i am feeling pretty fucking zen right now, y’all.

brain on fire

there are some days
when it is all i can do
to make it through
the day
brain on fire
skin as a prison
just make it through
the day.

i’m betting i’m not alone with this feeling. especially these days. but we do make it through. together. i’m here for you.

mother me

defeated by the creatures who sprung from me
paralyzed by four energies
crafted from my own
left incomplete by my creations
who only seem to be happy
when i am miserable.

ack! motherhood is so not easy. that’s a fucking understatement. i keep hoping i will figure it out & things will magically get easier, but i am starting to think the trick is to realize it is a fucking nightmare & still manage to find the joy.


i made it my impossible dream
living with only it in mind
& when i found it
i embraced it. made it my everything
got completely
lost in it
with time however & happenstance
i began to wear it
as my own crown of thorns. my misery
my impossible escape
then i began to push it away
to deny it like peter at the gate
not me
not this
sleight of hand. look over there
nothing to see here…definitely not me
not like this….
but now i see
it is yet another balancing act
a recipe
i have to be
a little of this. a little of that.
& every bit of me.

i tried for ten years to have a successful pregnancy. then bang bang bang bang…i was a mother of four. i have been on a roller coaster of identity crisis. i am sure the ride will continue the rest of my life, but now i am figuring out how to throw myself into the twist & turns, ups & down.

motherhood fail

if you’re all like “i’m gonna have babies & they are going to love & adore me & my partner will be my hero”
you should know
kids are dicks who will trade you for a candy bar
in a heartbeat
& your partner is secretly an escape artist.
(i might be jaded by personal experience, but, then again
i can’t be that special)

more motherhood issues. my kids can totally be dicks & sometimes i believe they would trade me for a candy bar…but other times they are awesome little monsters who do love & adore me. it’s not always though but often enough to keep me from jumping out a window. i just hope i haven’t broken them.

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