Remember to Write Home
“It’s been a while.”
I hear that phrase over and over as I’m opening doors motherhood, time constraints and life have closed over the last few years. I’m navigating through cobwebs, and some of these spaces smell like everything has been in a box for decades, but I finally feel like I’m dusting things off.
So welcome, to whatever this is.
There’s so much I want to tell you. I want to tell you about how it’s been navigating life—identity, community-building, medication, friendships, therapy, the state of the world, and of course, parenting. That’s such a big part of my life and has been for, well, the last 5 years.
I realize the way I’ve always imagined showing up here is unrealistic. I think that’s why I start over again and again. I want to have structured ideas, “content categories,” and all this other bullshit that is quite frankly unnecessary, because no one asked for any of it. And it’s a way of thinking where I’m doing myself such a disservice because writing has always been my most honest form of release.
Like enjoying the view of a downpour you were not alerted about via the weather app during the driest of seasons. Who I am at my core always whispers “we needed that” when I’m done.
I deserve that. In fact, I maybe even need it. Now, I am a full-time human being so there will often by typos, grammar errors, and it might not even always make sense.
It’s nothing worth writing about, but right now, it feels important to just write home.
Ariana the poet shares writing prompts on her instagram. I really liked this one.
“Write a poem about the things no one told you about adulthood.”
Here goes
—
Firstborn child of immigrants
I was born into love
and gifted a long list of expectations
Interpreter
First of our clan to
Sole English speaker in the home
Document analyzer
Problem solver
Maximizer of opportunity
Mature for her age
Which I never really understood,
because fulfilling your responsibilities
has always felt like a non-negotiable
when the extent of the American dream
is contingent on how well
you can follow the rules they make
So resilient
As if there was an alternative
to adaptation
when they’ve always changed the rules
the moment they realize
they’ve made it too easy
No one told me
adulthood is a level
not a default setting
I guess I was born with a head start
Olivia graduated preschool last week. She’s giving me a run for my money and it feels like I’ve got 2 functioning braincells left by 4 pm every day.
But I love that she’s kind, empathetic, loves bugs and people.
Right now, I’m showing up for her from a place of awe and overstimulation. The magic is going to take me out but at least there’s glitter.
Penélope will be 3 in July. I don’t know which one of my ancestors loved me enough to think I needed this, but they sent me a child that thinks it’s always June 28, 1997—she’s Mike Tyson, and I’m Holyfield.
I’ve only got two ears, so I don’t know where we’ll land.
But she’s speaking in full sentences now, and almost fully potty trained. I can’t believe she was barely 4 pounds two shakes of a lamb’s tail ago.
We also made this fun board to display the girls’ art work using a foam board from Lowes, 3 yards of fabric from Michaels, some glue, and trim that I haven’t put on it yet.
Anyway, that’s all I got.
xo,
D