I do not understand why everyone has to have a side. I’ve never experienced misogyny quite like Mom Slamming (and Facebook…). When I was unable to breastfeed, I felt maligned for my body’s inability to nourish my child. I’m useless! I cried, zombified, from getting 20 minutes of broken sleep as my child took 45 minutes to nurse every 2 hours. He turned into a skeletal chicken, as I devolved into a weeping mess of hysteria and failure. Finally, I acquiesced to formula. My nipples and mind began to heal, while I had “get a consultant! your child needs this!” eating me alive. When I was successfully breastfeeding my daughter, I was surrounded by women angrily slamming “boob nazi’s” for imposing their milky mammaries down their throats.
Is it not completely reasonable to say, my friends, I could give half a shit what you do with your bottles or breasts, as long as you feed your child? If you are able to nourish your child, through whatever means you choose or are able, that is wonderful. That is amazing. I am happy if you love your children; however you go about it.
I forgot that I boycott Nestle because they go into third world countries, give formula to women, have their natural milk dry up, and what do they do when the formula goes away? Where is their source of clean water? I guess starvation is an untapped market for formula. I’m glad, that we here, can beat the shit out of our fellow women for their choices or capabilities, while a woman can watch her child starve to death after trusting a corporation to care about people over profits.
It is, absolutely, best to fight each other. It’s much more productive that way! It seems as though middle ground is being swallowed alive right and left. If I am not pro this, I am anti that. I see pro life proponents sing praises for the death penalty. Is that logical? I am pro reasonable discourse and logic. I am pro parents loving and nurturing children. I am pro people loving people. I am anti fighting people because I don’t agree with their views, politics, or religion. I am anti judging anyone for anything, because I do not know their story. I’d rather just view people as no less or greater than me. I’d rather offer support than judgment.
How is it that giving a child up for adoption makes people sing my praises, call me strong, brave, beautiful, incredible. Yet, the abortion gets clucking tongues and shaking heads? The same decision was made – I cannot provide a life for this child. Why do I need to walk around feeling ashamed and guilty? Why do we keep fighting about this? Am I a bad Mom? Am I a slut? I’ve been called it plenty, for sure. Whore, too. Definitely had a few names lobbed at me as I walked to the clinic, I appreciated it. It made me think even more about the choice I was about to make.
Do I deserve to be called a whore? Didn’t a whore wash Jesus’ feet? Am I obsessed with mythology because the Greeks seemed to get that sexuality is part of our very nature? Many times, I’d close my eyes with a man and wish there was a woman with us. More often than not, my orgasms would be achieved imagining a possibility that I was told was not allowed. I had a dream last night. I was on a porch, a big porch, in a big house, with lots of land. I was then on a beach and I was in love with a man, a woman, and my children.
I’m not searching the world for love, because I have two arms and 10 fingers that care for me just fine. If I love myself, and I love those around me, love is the only thing I can have in return. I know, very much, what it feels like to not love, and sadly, my children watched that! I feel no guilt or shame in my marriage, except to know 6 eyes witnessed a love that hurts. I promised myself they will see a Mommy who loves herself every day, as best she can. That requires me being me. That requires me loving their father, even if we are not together. He and I took the kids hiking yesterday, but the week before we were fighting like cats and dogs again. I can’t hate him, I won’t hate him. He’s their father, and I will love him with every beat of my heart; he gave me my children! I will not be the ugly divorce, filling lawyers’ pockets because he was a “shitty husband”. I was a “shitty wife”! If I’m on a side in my divorce, it’s my babies. They were grinning and jumping rocks yesterday, so I’m a happy Momma.
My marriage devolved, in large part, due to our sexual nature being put on ice. He couldn’t make me happy. I am bisexual, but I denied that, as did he. There are so many lies about what love, sex, romance actually is, it seems. Another reason my marriage failed? Money. “Not enough! Need more shit!” The time I’ve wasted chasing the almighty dollar. It’s good that my marriage turned toxic and abusive because I couldn’t orgasm or buy enough stuff. That, that right there. That’s a life playing by someone else’s rules, chasing someone else’s dream. That was a life where my middle ground got pulled apart.
You know when I know I’m okay? I dream. I have dreams. My dreams tell me I am alive. When I toss, turn, wake up covered in sweat panting – that, to me, is when I know I am not well. When my libido is consumed by depression and anxiety? I feel as though my very mind, body, and soul are dying. That’s how it felt being in toxic love, at least. Is it his fault? Is it mine? Do I have to show you scars to say I’ve earned stripes? All I know is that since I started saying I’m not listening to the chattering of my ruminating, regretful noise, I’ve grown happier, more energetic, and, frankly, my libido is back. Gasp! Loving myself is SO NOT ladylike. I best go flog myself in recrimination for being open and honest about myself.
I accepted that none of the rules have ever made sense to me. I played the game, I got played. Or did I? All I know is I woke up on the right side of the bed this morning. I’ve always ascribed to the notion, “If Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy”
Ow ow ow!