For all the advice offered on character building and potty training, there’s little to no guidance on how to protect our children from online hackers. Never mind that child identity theft is the fastest growing crime in the United States.
Without saying, “my reality is more than I care to process,” I neglect it by way of acutely orchestrated “reality” television. I tell my brain to take a break and allow the chaos of these self-sabotaging co-stars to comfort me. To make me feel ordered and aware. Woke, even. I’ve been seeking a place of refuge from my own thoughts, and I’m slowly learning that they should, instead, be my safety net.
It is not my responsibility to consistently air us out. Nor is it my responsibility to publicly crucify myself. However, it is my responsibility to come to my husband whole. To be forthcoming about what I lack. To allow him to see me for exactly who I am and choose whether he still wants to help me grow into the potential that’s also present.
My mother worked gruesome hours as a cosmetologist while raising two children, doing her damndest to have a dating life, and battling arthritis/lupus. The photos I attached to this article hold a special place in my heart, because at 27, only 5 years shy of the age my mother was when she transcended, I finally see an image of me that reflects her. It shows me in my mother's likeness, and my expression reeks of her joy. It's typically a non-negotiable that I'm a spitting image of my father. However, this photo serves as proof of what I had yet to realize: as I am constantly shape shifting, my face is forming into my mothers.
It has been a long time coming on undoing all the damage and unlearning all of our toxic tendencies. I know that we still have light years to go, because (if I'm being frank, and when aren't I being frank?) there is a part of me that measures our success against the length of time we've spent without cheating on each other. That sounds terrible, but it's our truth.