Monday, June 23, 2003
"Let go of the branch," I yell to my six year old, who I see above me, skinny white legs thrashing uselessly. He wont. He could plop right down into my arms if he trusted, but who trusts what they can't see?--especially 7 feet above the ground. In the white noise whon-whon-whon of elastic time, stretched by our combined fear, I realize...there I am!
I, too, have dangled screaming, paralyzed with fear and panic, from the tree of insecurity. Where is the me that existed before children? The brave, hip riotous me that got a tatoo? Another woman is here, and although it is a bit disconcerting to find her inhabiting my body, I quite like her. She is compassionate, and capable, and resourceful and the very essence of love itself. She is a mother. She is a goddess. She is as tough as nails. I'm glad she's on board, and I never would have made it through the last eight years without her. But I kind of miss that other one too.
So is it possible to have her back? A bit of her? Maybe the confident, thin and pretty part? When did I make up the story that I can't be both of these women? And more importantly, when did I believe it?
I, too, have dangled screaming, paralyzed with fear and panic, from the tree of insecurity. Where is the me that existed before children? The brave, hip riotous me that got a tatoo? Another woman is here, and although it is a bit disconcerting to find her inhabiting my body, I quite like her. She is compassionate, and capable, and resourceful and the very essence of love itself. She is a mother. She is a goddess. She is as tough as nails. I'm glad she's on board, and I never would have made it through the last eight years without her. But I kind of miss that other one too.
So is it possible to have her back? A bit of her? Maybe the confident, thin and pretty part? When did I make up the story that I can't be both of these women? And more importantly, when did I believe it?
