i wish i was one of those mothers

of all the mothers i am. of all the mothers i can be.

hey mama.
it’s been a while…
life has been feeling thin and tangled lately.
and i have been feeling vulnerable and insecure, even more than usual.
my words today testify it.
i wish things were different, i wish i had other words to offer you.
but this is what’s in my heart at the moment, and i am being called to honor it.
if these imperfect words can’t bring you hope or inspiration,
may they at least remind you that you are not alone.
i see you, mama.
you will find yourself again.
you will resurface.
we both will.

with love, gratitude, and infinite trust,
J.

I wish I was one of those mothers who navigate gracefully
their children’s tantrums,
with an angelic smile on their face
and no fear
or shame
ringing loud in their mind.
Some days I can be.
Most days I am not.

I wish I was one of those mothers who do not mind the loudness,
the mess,
the non-stopness.
Today, that’s just not who I am.

I wish I was one of those mothers who never break down
and then utterly apart
as their children watch, helpless,
when it all gets too much.
Here I am on the floor,
once again,
picking up all the shards
of my splintered self.
“Keep away, girls. They’re sharp,
they will pierce your soul”.

I wish I was one of those mothers who never say things
they don’t mean to say.
How many words I would wipe off
forever
from your tender hearts,
if only I could.

I wish I was one of those mothers who are brave enough
to trolley their children halfway across the world
— wet, wild, carefree.
But how? How do they do it,
when on days like this,
even going to the shops
feels so impossibly hard?

I wish I was one of those mothers who need never fear
to scar(e) their children
with raised hurtful tones
or an ungentle touch.
Instead I yell. And I snap.
And all the kindness in me
wounds up lost on the way
between my heart and my hands.

I wish I was one of those mothers who feel completely fulfilled
at home all day with their children.
Or I wish, at least, I was at peace with myself
when I leave you behind
to be the whole rest of me.
But when I am with you I wish I was writing,
and then when I am writing,
I write about you.

I wish I was one of these mothers.
Lately, on most days, I am not.

I know they are in me. I have met them before.
I have felt their peace in my heart.
I have known their calm in my mind.
I have heard their sweet words spoken
in my own voice.
Their soft, loving touch has inhabited
the shape of my hands.

They seem like strangers, these days.

I am not going to lie: if any of these words resonated with you, I would love to hear your heart.