out the window

some days
my son is so much
like his father
i want to jump
out the window
i can leave the man
but i cannot
abandon
the boy
some days
being a mom
is so painful
so challenging
that i catch myself
wishing
i’d made different
choices
fantasizing
about a life
i did not have
a life
i will never
know
some days
as hard as i hope
for peace
all i know
is
chaos
inside
& out.

i sit & suffer in silence as a mom. which is weird, since i am so quick to share all my other angst.
is it the taboo?
is it our instagram existence?
only show the smiling children. only show the confident moments. only show the clean faces. carefully crop out the crap.
i read kelly’s post yesterday about how we may be causing damage by only showing the positive stuff regarding people’s challenges and how we view neurodiversity.
it made me think, today, as i was struggling with my challenges as a highly sensitive person & mother of four highly sensitive children. we do this with all of life, don’t we? only show the good stuff to each other? hide away those moments where we feel weak or out of control or not good enough?
maybe we should just air out our dirty laundry. form an alliance of imperfection.
i know, i do it all the time with my anxiety & relationship issues, my imposter’s syndrome, my abusive childhood, and all my other “failings.”

and yet i still hesitate when it comes to showing my–almost constant–struggles as a mom. like, i can show you all my cracks & crevices…but what will you think of me if you know i sometimes wish i wasn’t a mom? if you know the chaos of my every single day?

posting this has given me so much anxiety. i feel like i need to put on my helmet & buckle down because surely i will be judged–a bad mom. but, i have not deleted the post yet…. hoping that my pain & suffering will let someone else know that they are not alone.

(my favorite quote from one of my favorite novels, the hotel new hampshire–by john steinbeck, is to “keep passing the open windows.”)

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dare me?

i am thinking
of venturing out of my house
and down the road
and into the horizon
to find a venue
a cafe or a gallery
who thinks my art
just might
hang
on
a
wall.
maybe make me
a buck or two
get the name
emje
out there
and into ears
&
onto lips
or
at least
get me
adventuring
out of my house
& down the road.

so i have some art i think i could display…like in a public place. i have my series of “whimsical inkings
and i also have the starts of a self-portrait series on water color paper (does anyone know the world’s record for self-portraits?)

 

plus the ink on canvas self-portraits i have been accumulating…i think i have a show-ish.

so that’s my plans for the beginning of the month. maybe hit first friday…maybe rub elbows with some art lovers. maybe make some connections/set up a showing?

in other news…
my terrible funk seems to be lifting and i am no longer imaging my life as anna karenina vs. the train.
so that’s nice.
my house is infested with fleas & i lost a beehive to a massive wax moth infestation…but i am squinting and maybe? maybe see a light at the end of the tunnel?
my mindset is slowly shifting back from “holy fuck why is my life so weird?” to “i love my weird-ass life.”

i am deciding what extra weight needs to be thrown to keep the ship from sinking…but i think i may have successfully deterred any upcoming visits from diabolical parents…so i might not have to pack up so soon?

everything is in flux right now.
everything.
but i am slowly transitioning back from severe motion sickness to enjoying the ride…so…hold on y’all.

embracing my grizzly heart

my grizzy heart
does not want to be
a dancing bear
in your circus
…i’m not proud…nor am i ashamed
…of how many men…i’ve made cry
i come to you
wild
not asking you
…to tame me
…to cage me
i come to you
wild
not wanting you
…to curl up in a ball
…or run away
i come to you wild
because
it is who i am
walk with me
wrestle with me
adventure with me
&
dance
with
me.

i am no longer apologizing for who i am. i am embracing myself. i used to have a reoccurring dream about being hunted by a grizzly bear who never actually hurt me. one day i realized that the grizzly bear represented a part of me that i was afraid of. after i realized that, i stopped having the dream.
i have continued to struggle with the grizzly bear inside of me. with little voices telling me how i am supposed to be. what the world expects of me. and when i try to meet those invisible expectations…part of me always dies.
in relationships i often find myself with either people who want to conquer my inner grizzly, or people who see the grizzly and just get the fuck out of there.

part of my healing is my embracing my grizzly.
bear hugs might be scary…but they are so totally worth it.

leap of faith

a leap of faith
i stand
looking
watching
waiting
will someone push me?
or do i
just
jump?
do i believe in myself
do
i
believe?
can i do this?
tap into that
deep
still
pool
of
confidence
i know
i know
is inside me
draw it up
in one deep breath
i just
leap?

i am who i am

i know who i am now
i am silly & sad
i am fierce & fantastic
i am passionate & magical
i am a fucking unicorn

i have been reading my journals from when i was in my twenties. it is different this time than from any time before when i have looked back, even a few months or a few moods, to see what i wrote.
even in the journal i am reading the younger me complains about previous entries–dismissing herself as melodramatic & dumb.
but not this time.
this time i find myself enjoying my journals, seeing my humor & my warmth, my passion and my ridiculous amount of hope.
thinking i was a pretty cool person.
huh.
i guess my self-portrait art journal project worked.
also, my exploration of my feelings for the long-ago boyfriend who captured my heart & never let it go again.
accepting all that. accepting myself warts & all. accepting my socially bizarre attachment to someone who is no longer in my life.
all of it.
it brought something to light for me.
it brought me to light.

i totally accept me
i completely love me
& i ridiculously celebrate me.

bandorai

i’m the bad guy
you’re the victim
it’s the script
we follow
i’m the bad guy
you’re the victim
did we do this
together?
is it easier for me
to believe
i am the bad guy?
do you feel better
being the victim?
i don’t want to play
anymore
i scream
i cry
i insist
but you hand my mask
back to me
every time
i throw it down
“if i am the bad guy,”
i whisper
from behind that mask,
“why do i feel like
crap
whenever
you’re
around?”
because you’re
the bad guy
comes the answer.

always the bad guy no matter which way i play it. i am always the bad guy. i think the other day, when we were fighting about god knows what, i am pretty sure he said i had borderline personality disorder–as he had already diagnosed my mom as having. then, of course, i spin out wondering if i do have borderline personality disorder.
(he would not clarify to me what he actually said–another fun game he likes to play with me.)

why is it so easy for him to convince me i am the bad guy? oh…right… because i already believe i am.
but! i am in the process of changing that.
but the process is slowed down by long visits from the man who strives to be my victim. that weird narcissistic sadistic trick of posing as the masochist.
my ex.
another thing i need to work on.
finding other people i can ask for help in dire times…people that are not my ex-husband.

that one is not so easy for me to remedy. in fact, i am more & more convinced that i am spending the rest of my life alone…and lonely.