I run the risk of affecting those I love when I write personally.
Risk :: (kinda) accepted.
So when my mom called RE: my latest share about my little brothers wedding, I braced.
She was markedly upset.
Opening w/: ‘your fathers worried about you.’
I knew it wasn’t about dad.
‘What’s really up?’ I asked.
She replied : ‘I’ve watched you disclose nothing but devastation on your blog for years now. This road you’re going down can’t be a good one + as your mother, I feel helpless.’
I was silent.
And my silence was strong.
Because I knew what was happening.
Her apprehension seeped in sadness.
This wasn’t about me.
It was her feeling self on the cusp of exposure.
Repression no longer bearable.
A billion bits unraveled through the phone.
I’ve never heard her cry like that.
We chose this mom.
You + I.
To shift the MotherLine.
To disassemble repression by way of meeting our devastation.
Because our consciousness can.
Because we have the capacity to break
Don’t you see?
Your tears are sacred.
The MotherLine has been breaking me down, middle-of-the-nightly, for 7 years.
Restlessness in my legs.
Generations of woman’s frustration wedged in my womb.
Begging for a willing feeler to feel it.
They scream ::
‘Wake the F UP.
Open the F UP.
And don’t you dare fall back asleep until you remember you’re HOLY.’
A pelvis able to fully rotate on its axis is their plead.
One capable of enjoying the ride.
One able to exult in creativity rather than become exhausted or enraged by the generational filter of disappointment it’s sieving through.
The filter of :: we can’t have what we want.
HAVE WHAT WE WANT.
Let this mark the beginning of a new Line.
Simultaneously soothing those that walked before.
And mom, my beautiful mama.
Your tears changed everything.
We’re winning the feeling revolution now.