Reconciliation
My loves are varied but I am often stuck between the two greatest ones in my life: my family and my writing. This poem is an attempt to reconcile how I feel about this tug-o'-war.
There is a part of me that wants to die;
The one that has to do what is expected.
I realise the trappings of this life,
And mostly, feel by me they are accepted.
I am seat-belted in. Only when I jolt
Or try to reach forward beyond their restraint,
Only then, am I jerked back to a halt
And reminded of the safety of my place.
I resent and respect, repel and attract
A flux of feelings, that swirl and coil
Like surging rapids in a narrow tract,
Until their containment comes to the boil.
*
The time comes when I feel the urge to soar!
I don't want to go to work and earn a crust!
I don't want to do the cleaning anymore!
I don't want to be the person that you trust.
I want to be immersed inside my head
And swirl amongst the thoughts that harbour there.
I want to make things tangible instead
And form them into beings, all aware;
Create places and atmosphere and love
Mix nuance with syllable and line;
To be ruled, not by outside demands that shove
And snap the threads that tense inside your mind;
But, by deepness of thought that can be sought
When peace and stillness combine and align.
*
The forest glade found through thicket thick,
Where dappled sunlight falls to warm the skin;
The moment when an engine is stopped still
Before the outside world comes loping in;
The waving of a white flag for the truce
And brutal calm that descends upon its flap;
The mountain hike endured to view the view
And reached before the other tourists yap.
The watching from the sand grains of the beach
As loved ones frolic giggling in the surf,
Their cries of happiness washed and out of reach,
Until they rush your ears as they emerge.
I welcome those moments when they arrive:
A vacuum created for ideas to thrive.
*
I sound like a churl, a selfish old wench;
A person with much who would shun what she has.
An ingrate, perpetually looking to wrench
Herself from the life and that love that she has.
I don't. I am not. I will never resist
The pull of the hug and the talk and the need
That is constant, relentless, never desists!
Blackened, bereft I would be if it leaves;
Hollow, without substance: they are all that I am.
I know this and love the fact that they're there.
Without them, my life would be bitterly sad.
A husk, dried and withered; exposed and bare
Like a skull in the desert, beaten by sand
Alone, unfleshed out, its other lost pieces
Scattered and blown, eroded and bland.
I crave and hate the potential releases
That will come with your growing and leaving
This nest; I want moments of respite:
That's all. I love, the belief, the believing
In me as your person, your light, in the fight
By your side, your protector and help,
Your cushion and buttress and solace!
These given roles are the treasure, the wealth
Of being a mother and sharing a space!
*
But sometimes, I crave, just a small reprieve
Permission placed to momentarily leave
And be another, a person of words
Writing, expressing, a need to be heard.
A tear in life's fabric for me to slip through
To make my own world for a minute or two.
Spare me the time and the release will reward
You with my vigour, my patience unflawed.
Because writing will ease and iron and smooth
The tension and wrinkles, and roughness improve;
I love you. I love you! Of that, there's no doubt
It's just I'm in need of a temporary out.
The nature of me is to elope with silence
But this does not mean that I love you less.
***
My writing struggle is real. A mother's guilt is real. All the stuff that I could be doing but I'm choosing to write. Trying to find a time where I don't inconvenience others. Knowing that it's okay to take the time to do it, that I deserve it. Being there most of the time but having just a small bit of daily time for me to indulge in what I love to do.
I am there for everyone but I am selfish. I do take the time for me because I know that whilst they are important, so am I and I don't apologise for that. However, it is hard.
Thanks for stopping by! If you have read this, please do leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers.
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Comments (6)
Nothing selfish about needing time to be creative, writer Rachel. It also means we get gems like this to marvel at. I think we all...with commitments, find it hard...as this is not our only responsibility/work/job...and perhaps we all would like it to be the only thing...maybe not other than family. But I'd much rather write poetry for a living than people's websites lol. but...this is where we are in life right now. I am glad you are aware of your need to write as much as your need to be a mother for you and for your children and a wife etc. You seem to have a good awareness of self, it's admirable that you keep trying to balance things. The people that don't are the ones that suffer more, one way or another. Well done on this one, chum!
See, this is another reason why I don't wanna be a wife or a mother or have a family. I see it all as unnecessary and additional stress in my life. I just wanna be able to do what I wanna go without feeling guilt or exhausting myself. But I feel like you're handling it pretty well. Do you think writing a story a day is making you very stressed?
This is wonderfully said. This right here "am there for everyone but I am selfish," I not true. This, on the other hand, is true "I do take the time for me because I know that whilst they are important, so am I." Well done
It is hard to find balance between the needs of others & your own needs. As they always remind everyone on airplanes, if the oxygen masks come down, put yours on first before attempting to help others. You won't do them any good if you pass out. Of course as a practicing narcissist, it does become pretty easy to use that as an excuse to take care of only yourself. I trust that you are in no danger of such, but I have it on good authority that it's my modus operandi.
There is a part of me that wants to die; The one that has to do what is expected. I felt your words as I read them. I felt the pull of your dreams and the push of your life in the real, workaday world. I felt your anger in the line - I don't want to go to work and earn a crust! I felt the agony of your anticipation for the day when your sons fledge and leave the nest. There are little moments in life that we never forget. Like the last time I held my son's hand even while knowing in my heart it was the last. Ironically, this is at least part of the reason that we write, to experience even more fully those moments once they have passed forever. This is a beautiful and meaningful poem. Thank you for sharing it, Rachel.
You’ve got it right, Rachel, and it seems like you’ve found the right balance. Nothing’s perfect but as long as you feel it’s right for you it is right because even those moms who spend all their time with their kids feel mother’s guilt. It’s a real thing that will never go away.