I’m very excited to share my article published this morning with A Fine Parent, parenting blog, focusing on becoming better versions of ourselves as parents. I’ve loved working with them and being a part of their mission.
lightning splintering jagged
edge to edge
Not quite shards,
New space created
One to many
With hope and
Not quite shards,
Rumbling trucks pass by
Rattle the smallest piece
A glinting shower
All shards now
And an empty
Grateful for friends and nonjudgmental ER staff. Feeling pretty close to my limit, but we’ll see what tomorrow holds. I can take it.
I am not a willow
It seems our agreement shifted. And if I wanted to I would. If I believed anything other than the past would repeat itself, I’d behave differently. If I had it in me, I’d be right back on board. But,
I don’t have it in me. I don’t believe anything other than the past will repeat itself. In my deepest depths, recesses of my heart and mind, all my hidden coves, I know that nothing will change. I know that I will go through this over and over until I’m completely destroyed. Angry. Hateful. Resentful. Incapable.
And that’s not who I want to be. Not who I am. Not a person I’m willing to become.
I believe in goodness, in love. I believe in awareness, in knowing when you’re done, in trusting to know when we’ve reached an impasse.
It’s not that your aren’t worth it. You are my greatest love. You are everything I hoped and ever wanted. You are a kaleidoscope.
But I have scar tissue built up around my ability to go back. It’s marbled, knobby, held fast. I can see no, feel no, believe no other way.
The distance stretched too far this time. My heart is hardened. My hope proved insufficient. Asking for work, effort, belief, is out of the question. I’m tired. And I can’t.
Not a shade
And most certainly
Weakness exists in the mind of the slighted. You’re weak
In the mind of the one who cannot own. I was weak
Weakness, the idea of it, is an excuse. Protection against truth, honesty, ownership.
Weakness exists in heart of the broken. I am weak
In the heart of the lost. They were weak
Weakness, the idea of it, is a comfort. A barrier against pain, reality, ownership.
Weakness exists in the breath of the disillusioned. Crushed, forced from them until the final wisps trail out
Along paths worn deep.