segunda-feira, 10 de fevereiro de 2014

Failure I am not.

This is my winter song to you.
The storm is coming soon,
it rolls in from the sea
My voice; a beacon in the night.
My words will be your light,
to carry you to me.

I've been having a series of very difficult days. Old problems back in new guises. I can't outright call these days shitty, for every day's closure brings me something new, and it can never be entirely shitty when I come to the realizations below and when my baby is who she is.

When the voice asks me, or mocks me - who the hell do you think you are?  I have to take a deep breath and go deep within me and find the answers for now.

Who am I?
I am guardian of my home  - I am the one who closes the windows so people sleep warm and tight, I am the one who makes sure there is enough laundry detergent, the one who makes sure Cora has snacked,  taken a bath, who knows when she needs to shampoo or not. I am the one who guards her nights. I am the one who shows up, day after day, I show up. I am here, I am here - constant. I am the one who made choices to be where I am now. I am the one who knows of my abilities, capacities, who knows that money, career and financial success are not measures of what I consider success. I am the one who made this choice, knowing how damn hard it is to live by this in this city, in this year of 2014. 

I am not failure, as a strong relentless inner voice would lead me to believe. The icky sticky claws of depression and anxiety attacks have taken hold, over and over again, this last month, 2 months? 3? I never know when it starts, so gradual its onset is. I've never wanted to admit that this happens, but it does. Being a mother did not change me as a person with my own emotional conflicts that do not regard motherhood. How to deal? How to deal with the insidious cruel voice that insists: FAILURE! FRAUD! You are better off dead, better off not her mother, better off out of everyone's life. What a midnight black creature this is, except that it's hidden in broad daylight - so ingrained in my soul sometimes that I have no idea where it begins and I end. 

Who am I?

I am the guardian of my home, I am the silent and oft invisible guardian of this home. I give my love in gestures, in dishes cleaned, in kisses given, in keys placed in the “correct” place, in trips to the park, to the playground, to grandma’s house…I "share" Cora despite my fears she’ll “leave” me because she'll "see" what a "failure" I am. I show her beauty, fun, enchantment, I insist these exist, despite the moments i'd rather just give up and shrivel away in a blanket. I show her the world I'd like to leave. I show her that I seek help, I tell her not to worry, for there are people helping, for mommy knows where to go and how to feel better. I tell her when I am feeling better, that that moment has passed. I show her who her mom is, and seek for the genuine in me. Which means - I am not a rainbow colored cookie baking mom but I am also not a failure, and the world is not going to fail us, dammit, it is not going to fail us now, because I have a beautiful baby who deserves to be shown the best as well and to revel in what the world offers, in contradictions but moreover, in truth. 

So I breathe deep at night, when everyone is asleep, no matter what kind of day it has been and I repeat to myself and shout to that monster: Hey! I showed up! In the worst of days, through the worst throes of depression, anguish and inner conflict, I showed up. So there, take, that. 

A failure, I. am. not. 

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