Mother.

Are you her?

Have you become her?

A lifetime of trying

All directions opposite

Has it happened?

The frustration

You feel it.

The anger

You recognize it.

The passive aggressiveness

You’ve been named it.

It’s her

It’s you

The bad guy.

You don’t want it, but

You’ve become it.  

Achingly so.

You don’t want it.

You don’t want it.

You don’t want it.

You want peace.

You need peace.

You crave peace.

Is that a lie?

Are you a lie?

Who are you?

To lay blame

How easy it would be

Trying circumstances

Stressful realities

Lies to cover

A means to survive

Continued existence

To see the next day

For which,

You are her.

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Who?

I’ve been attempting to re-write my (now deleted, burned, and ashes blown to the wind) about me section for this website as of late. In the wake of all that’s happened this past six months, it rang of a girl I no longer am. 

Separation (and divorce, once we get around to it), co-parenting while living together, being single again, my significantly changed role at work, and an inevitable move that will help further cement these necessary and changed dynamics. 

These are times of upheaval. Growth, becoming, relief – and upheaval.

I find myself standing among these pieces and grasping at where I belong. What shoe now fits. What identity rings true. What and who I now am.

For years too many, I identified myself by who I was to someone else. Mother, wife, sister, and daughter. 

In this time of now — a clawing back of independence and identity, listening to my own needs, and speaking of truths — who is Sarah

And so, I’ll write it out.

For what should become as a surprise to no one, I know not how to begin at anywhere else other than my faults.

Socially anxious and awkward. Shy. Unsure, self-doubting, and eternally self-deprecating. Often overwhelmed, terrible at asking for help, and demands of herself a level of work/”doing all the things” ethic that is often to her own detriment. Doesn’t know when to stop in those regards, and also doesn’t exercise enough or get outdoors as much as she should. Conflict avoidant (to the point of numbing out), repressor of feelings, and perpetually worried about “rocking the boat”. Has difficulties asserting herself and would love more than anything to just melt into the background – much like her slippery and evading sense of self-identity. Painfully perfectionist and introverted beyond measure.

Yet, at the same time, there is goodness.

Caring, kind, and thoughtful. Supportive, reliable, and helpful. Stable, peaceful, and patient. Careful, yet hopeful. Organized, meticulous, and detailed. Conscientious, observant, and a defender of the vulnerable. Respectful, progressive, and loving. Joyful and humble (perhaps to a fault).    

(Admittedly, not quite as good as talking about her good bits as she is her “bad”.)

And then there is that which is simply that.

The comforts she finds in the definable. Cozy in the exacts. Beauty and stability in data. Her eye for specifics. A love of words, reading, and stories. An appreciation for wit and intellect. A (100% untrained) connoisseur of tacos, thrift shopping, and Reese’s peanut butter cups. Liberal and atheist, and at one with nature. Nerdy. Give her video games with housing systems and give her board games with friends – she will be content. A complete, utter, and well-meaning doomsponge… but, also, a troll of the most loving proportions.  

And at the end of it all, a survivor of childhood trauma and postpartum mental health reckonings – keenly aware of how they have made her who she is to this day.

New and old truths, new and old shoes. Here lies my journey fourth.

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We need better books. (You probably do, too.)

Due to the ongoing/never-ending state of the world and my recent foray into #kidsbookstagram, I’ve been taking a MUCH closer look at the collection of books I have amassed for my children. In that looking, and to my shame, I have noticed something.⁣

The majority of our collection gets a FAILING grade on diversity and inclusion.⁣

I could blame this on the fact that 95% of the books we own are second hand. Furthermore, 90% have come from thrift stores like Value Village and Talize. In those instances, you pretty much get what you get. But, for the other 5% I purchased second-hand online, the same cannot be said.⁣

What it truly boils down to is this, however:⁣

I come to this realization in a position of privilege.⁣

As a white person, I’ve never had to sit down and ponder if there were enough books in our collection that represent us.⁣

I’ve never had to purposefully purchase or borrow books that represent us.⁣

White people hold this position of power.⁣

We are already in every book of nearly every type — to the point of over-saturation.⁣

People of differing colour, beliefs, abilities, sex, gender, sexual orientations – are not.⁣

All of this were things I already knew. But, did knowing it change or effect my children’s book collection? Nope.⁣

‘Cause as a white person, these are all taken for granted luxuries of our hegemonic identity.⁣

My beliefs in a socially justice world may be strong, and I have been strongly educated as such (thanks, @douglascollege and @capilanou) but I still have so so SO much more work to do — both on myself, and in the raising of my children. ⁣Part of this is reexamining the books we own, the books were read, and the conversations that come from these books.⁣

I humbly accept this moment of learning, and am committed to making a change.

Thanks, @nwplibrary, in helping me take a first step forward today.⁣

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Asking the REAL questions.

Here are the questions I asked myself as I attempted to make sense of this gong show of a board book collection:

  • Why do we own this many board books? W H Y?⁣
  • You know you can’t even fit all the ones we own on this shelf and you should probably stop buying them, yeah?⁣
  • Where the hell is our Gruffalo book?! I guess I’ll have to get another. ⁣
  • You know what makes for great photos, Sarah? A black bookshelf in a hallway that has dungeness lighting AND it’s a dark + dreary night. Bravo. ⁣
  • E-readers are so much easier to sort. How old can O be before he starts using one?⁣
  • Wait. No. Never. I have to have a reason to keep buying him and M pretty books for all of eternity. RIGHT?!⁣
  • None of how you’re organizing this makes sense, I hope you know. Do you?⁣
  • Why do we still own Rainbow Fish? Donate that nonsense.⁣
  • You didn’t buy “such and such” when you were out thrifting last. Why? Next time, next time. ⁣
  • WHYYYY DOES NOTHING FIT LIKE I WANT IT TOOOOOO?⁣
  • Have you ever heard of a damn library, woman?!⁣

I am a mess. No lie.

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Where I have arrived to while #stayinghome.

  • Wearing a purse feels like a strange phenomenon of our society that has absolutely no bearing on reality.
  • Watching people gather in groups on *insert whatever TV series I’m bingeing* make me feel MOST worried for them.
  • I measure my gas mileage in terms of how many weeks per tank. I’m almost at four!
  • The once a week grocery run is actually kind of *exciting*.
  • My slacky home clothes are legitimately in shock with how much I’m using them, and are kindly responding by falling apart. I look *hot*.
  • The concept of doing my hair can fuck right off for the rest of eternity.
  • I nap everyday while my kid naps and I legitimately have no idea how I will function without said nap once the world goes back to normal. I’m gonna be SO screwed.
  • The lack of friends I have that I actually hang out with has yet to make this feel all that different, lol.
  • These words: “we can’t, it’s closed” have magically transformed my kid into: 1) being able to calmly stay at home ALL day while not really “going” anywhere and 2) into being a CHAMPION of long walks (as opposed to playgrounds)… When before he would have lost his *shit* on me about both.

These are *fascinating* times.

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