An open letter…

(This is not intentionally vague – just protecting identities while still allowing myself to write to expunge loneliness and doubt.  I am changing and part of that change is expressing to the void.  Please look away if you want to – but know it really isn’t as bad as I make it out to be.  All hyperbole is my own and doesn’t reflect the opinions of the network.)

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Dear You of the Finest Beauty,

I know I am being childish.  But the hurt is so deep I don’t know how else to behave.  A real mother would sacrifice her pride and her fear to get along.  Or a real mother would scream until you acknowledge the true horror that she is.  A real mother would pound on the slammed door.  A real mother would not sink into the shadows.  But I am not a real mother.  I know what real mothers do, I just can’t do it.  Your beautiful, precious, beloved face – your tiny triumph over the entire universe – gave me the look three times.  And I am out.

Just as I am a fat person who knows how to diet but doesn’t, I am a woman who knows how to mother, but doesn’t.  I feel I need to prove my point to the universe – that I could, that I can be a mother, but I am not going to.  I have loved and sacrificed.  I have looked away from the pity of others who wonder why I invest in a family that is not mine. I am as stark a sadness as every other childless woman – my loneliness is as old as barren wombs – a bloodless artery through all of history.

But I have my pride.  My stupid, selfish, pointless pride.  Or maybe it is my fear.  I am not going to kick the football.  You can’t make me.  My womb and my heart are not going to wait for your beauty to bless us.  You have what you need from the world, I am not going to try to sell you what you don’t need.  Maybe you will come back.  Maybe you will see the point of letting me in.  Maybe my legacy will be something.

But Maybe doesn’t have me to kick around anymore.  I am joy and I am light and I am funny and I am loving and I have more to give than anybody could ever imagine.  But for sure I am not strong – I am not courageous –  I can’t bear the pain of reaching out again to be met with beautiful blankness.  Beautiful heartbreaking silence coming out of a heartbreakingly beautiful face.  It hurts too much.

As the kids say, you do you.  And I am going to do me.  And maybe someday soon we will meet again.  In the meantime, I am going to try to pick myself up and dust myself off and find an outlet for all that is me.

With all my love and all my heartbreak,

Me of the Giant Goofy Face

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