A New Narrative for a Single Mother

I wrote a blog post and published it for just 20 minutes before I deleted it. Too personal I said. I had written the disconnection of my life, all the way down to my daughter, and all about privilege (and when I write about that, I even irritate myself). Maybe it wasn’t that is was too personal, but really that I feel just slightly ashamed. Maybe a little afraid that some well-meaning person would give me a bit of superficial advice or worse they wouldn’t give me advice, just think they knew the answers to my problems.

Forget that, now I am writing a new post. It’s true, the feeling disconnected. It’s this disconnect from my self which makes me feel disconnected from life. Just going through the motions, my Self sitting inside wondering when and if she will be able to come out. The constant whirl and worry about my new home. I can tell myself what to think and I can think it, but I have to relocate, I have less than three weeks, I am at a lack for money to give me many options, I have a child and possessions (something I never had to worry about until the child) and those thoughts, worries, never seem to give me rest. Though I can make myself think what I want, it doesn’t seem that I can NOT think things that I don’t want. Will I find a place? Should I have taken that place last month that wasn’t ideal? Did I miss my chance? Are we going to loose everything?…It is exhausting. Its survival.

Yesterday, feeling the thinning connection from my daughter and fearing loosing some of it permanently, I decided to take a little outing, so we heading to the Cheese Factory by the lake to feed the ducks and geese. I was half-way to Bodega before I realized that I have taken the wrong road, but of course wrong is relative and we were really on the right road as we continued our way to the beach just past Bodega. I couldn’t believe how nice it was, this January afternoon was more agreeable than some “summer” afternoons on the Northern California Coast. Ramona, who often balks at the idea of the beach (due to the freezing weather and long car rides) was having a hey day, running barefoot, exploring driftwood buildings, sea dragon nests, making grass tacos for the seagulls.

She came to life, I came to life, the constant nagging drown out by the sound of the layers of waves beating on the shore and on themselves. Drown out but still there. But I felt a sense of connection that I had been missing. For many I know, connection is found in the midst of old friends, there they are grounded. My old friend is the Earth. I grew up an oddity in a world of constantly changing faces and towns, unfamiliar and mostly unwelcoming. But everywhere I went I always could count on nature to ground me, be honest with me and receive me, to allow me to be breathe freely and express myself.

The Earth, my old friend, its landscapes welcome me. I feel comfortable, connected, revitalized. I remember it is the world of people that confuses me. It is the power of nature that awes me: the complexity and simplicity that exist at once, the permanency. This trip to the beach reconnects me with my Self and I begin to understand my anxiety. Sometimes I forget that even though the narrative is already written, I am a writer as well and I can write my own narrative. The narrative that I grew up with was my mother’s. Though I am in many ways like my mother in my inability to engage with society on its terms and need for introspection and creativity, I don’t have to struggle to the death. “Anything is possible” IS a load of crap, but if I believe another world is possible, so is another narrative. I am not doomed to be the impoverished struggling single mom…forever. Or the working single mom who lives on stress and doesn't get to see her baby like she longs too. Or the resentful single mom who feels her child took away her life. Victimized... When I entered single motherhood, I did it with a determination not to live by the rules of our society that are bestowed upon single mothers and find a way to make our lives wonderful. Single motherhood in itself is breaking the rules of the Status Quo and for this single mothers are punished (just look at the statistics).

I became a mother for love. We play the hand we are dealt, but love is a wild card. Love has inspired me to be more, not become a cog for the sake of stability, but play the game like a shark.

Disconnection with my daughter had stemmed from my lack of inspiration as I fumbled around in the land of worry. Letting the Capitalist Machine we call an economy run my life sucks the inspiration from me, including the inspiration to inspire, teach, create with and mentor my daughter. We have just been hanging in the same room. Once in a while a painful realization that we aren’t engaging like I am used to tumbles over me and I tenderly reach over for a hug and a kiss, reminding myself that it won’t remain this way.

But today I seem to have lost the drive to struggle and worry and take too much action. I can’t look for a home like I was. There are only so many places to look. The remedy for despair is action, but sometimes too much action can be overwhelming too. Sometimes we need to let go and let things happen, navigate what the universe hands us. To be vigilant while understanding that sometimes it isn’t going to be your action and worry that are going to get things done, and whatever happens to you could be the best thing that could happen. Just for today I am letting go…

I wrote a blog post

But it was too personal.

"Where do you learn all that stuff?"

At dinner, Ramona (just turned 4, btw) is having a hard time eating because her food is so hot. She takes a large bite from the center of her Quinoa and then makes a face a spits a little out. I tell her about how the edges of the food are usually cooler than the center. She takes a little bite from the edge and then says, "Where do you learn all this stuff?"

Me: What stuff, all the stuff in my life? From everywhere. From my life.

Ramona: I mean all this mom stuff.

Me: What do you mean "mom stuff"?

Ramona: You know, Kids can't play with matches, you got to go to sleep, why you got to stay warm and wear a jacket when its cold.

Me: OH! I just learn that stuff from life. I lived a long time and I know what is dangerous and common sense. Mom's are supposed to help their kids. Some things kids don't like to do but mom's help them learn that there are things you need to do and things that are dangerous. Like when you don't get enough sleep you go crazy and everyone feels crappy. So I help you get a good amount of sleep.

Ramona: But....I go to sleep, so why do I still go crazy?

disconnection

I am wondering about where to take this blog these days. I have started blogging at Hipmama.com, but really just reposting my posts from this blog. It seems like it wants to morph into some sort of processing blog. I guess when I am confused or changing, the things I have to say become so much less concrete and feel less important.

This blog is called revolutionaryma. I feel like it needs to be about being a mama. My head is caught up is so much stuff, I feel like one of those strange little clay people my daughter makes. Writing about being a mama is hard. But all my writing is mama writing. I can't write anything unaffected by mama. But right now I am thinking about change. Changing my location, changing myself. Ascension, living now (this one is so important right now), growing around obstacles, letting strength/power flow into my and others lives.

When things get hard, I find it harder to love me. This leaves me feeling unconnected, and when I feel unconnected I feel alone. When I don’t love myself I don’t like what I do or have. I become discontent. When I feel discontent, I have a harder time (actively) valuing my life, my family. Suddenly I see discontentment in my child, the way she “needs” new toys as of late...wants to be passively entertained and taught by videos.

I remember being a child, the frustration in having to ask for everything - not having the power to take care of myself, meet my own needs. So repetitive, boring, frustrating…ask nicely, say please and thank you, be grateful…I wonder if when I become content again, will it be easier for her to feel contentment? How does one feel contentment? How do I feel contentment? Living now, growing around obstacles, letting power flow into my and others lives. Creative self-expression. My daughter complains of being bored. She wants to watch Bill Nye. Tune out, be passive. Isn;t there a time for passive? I am bored. I need a project, I need to create. Creation is self-expression and we are creative beings. But I seem to be letting life stop me from this very vital act. As if I don't have time, while I spend hours a day escaping into the internet.

I am missing a closeness with Ramona these days. I makes me very sad and like myself less. I remember being so connected. Understanding her needs. She didn’t have to tell me what she wanted/needed, I knew. Right now we are caught up in being complicated people. I don’t want that. I want a situation where I have a little more control of life. Struggle can be a killer of creativity…but then, maybe its what gives creation meaning/backbone…where am I going with this? Do I just need to give into the cycles?

Soon I will being posting vignettes from my childhood here in the near future. Vignettes from the Underground

My Christmas Post - gratitude

This last month of my life has been a testament of my tenacity. Even though I have been kicked out of my home, audited by unemployment, my kitty companion of 12 years has been diagnosed with cancer tripling my credit card debt at a time when my income is at a, what? ten year low? Meanwhile my mother’s (who lives with me, who I was planning to finally move away from in Spring) income has been reduced to a mere $189 a week while she simultaneously has to find a place and get ready for knee surgery and look for a job and I am the only one who seems to want to help her. I pulled my shoulder last night, I have humongo zits on my face (I always get them when I stress out), I feel guilty for ignoring my daughter to pay attention to all the chatter in my head and I am still lonely.

But I find myself breathing through it. As yoga has strengthened my body, it has helped strengthen the rest of me as well. It not just yoga, but I tend to keep going back to the practice in my mind when I feel things coming to a critical point.

Though I have been afraid, stressed, I have not fallen into the downward spiral of despair. What I have done in the last month is decorated the Christmas tree (which I kept alive since last year!), thrown a party for my daughter (which means I cleaned the house), taken her to two other birthday parties, passed my audit with flying colors (and THEY might even owe me), searched for a home, completed and turned in all my end of the semester paperwork on my students, secured a part-time administrative position I can do from home, began tutoring a new client, embraced Christmas, come to terms with the fact that I will probably have to make a decision soon to help my kitty friend transition out of this world with as little pain as possible. And I have loved my daughter as best I can.

Stress has in the past lead to anxiety, depression, paralysis, giving up, running away, completely unraveling my life into the downward spiral to homelessness, joblessness, institutionalization, hopelessness. I think I am done doing that. I have always had grit, but now I use it in a much more positive way. And there is one other thing. I love my daughter to no end. She brings out the best in me; I have courage for two now. Sometimes it’s okay to change for someone else. I want to be worthy of that girls love. And I am.

And then there is my mother. I see her become less and less able to handle her on stuff; becoming more helpless with her age, health and in this economy. If I crash and burn I’m taking a few people with me.

Action is the remedy to despair…In my years of surviving my life in the dirty forgotten cracks of society I have learned to be a survivor, not a victim.

Thank you universe for showing me what I can do, and what kind of person I am.

Happy Holidays, Y’all.

Nothing like a fixture full of maggots...

Nothing like a light fixture full of maggots to tell me that it is time to move. Its time to move. Something is rotten in this house...wtf

Big Change...Lost in (my crowed head) space

Things have changed so much since I last wrote. I remember starting writing a few blog posts, but can’t remember what they were about. The word of the month here is change.

A couple weeks ago the landlord told us he was gonna stop by to have a chat with us…my mother had been having a hard time paying the rent due to being disabled and her disability check being $189 dollars a week. So I ran outside and started straightening up our seriously getting out of hand lawn, frantically chopping down all the mini-trees that had begun to grow out of all the roots of all the blastedly shady trees in our yard. Finally I heard my mom pounding on the window to get me to come in. The landlord was already there and he had seen me trying to pretend we take good care of the yard. But really he didn’t care. The truth is that the landlord had a new family and wants to live in his house. So that is it. We move. I never thought it would feel humiliating, but it does somehow. He is the lord of the land, I am a lowly single mom who owns nothing…but I won’t get into that. We have to move.

The truth is that I have been dying to move. Somehow this house represents to me a string on failures. We had tried to create an artistic/political space here, with art and a fair trade shop. A way to circumvent the fragmentation of life that we practice in this culture by working, mothering and living all at the same time. Not many people were interested in coming…or maybe we are just too weird. Fail. I had tried to build family outside of the traditional male-lead nuclear family, but my mother just isn’t built for family/community. I should have known that. Of her three kids, I was the oldest when I moved out of the house at the age of16. Fail.

But as I set out to search for a new place, I realize how odd of a person I am and wonder if I can find a comfortable place for myself. I don’t’ want to live with 20 year olds, I don’t want to live with druggies or alcoholics, but it seems that the majority of the rest of folks around here, especially other folks with kids, live in these incredibly oppressive homes. Where everything sparkles and everything is new. I live with 20-year-old pans and tattered towels, and they in fact comfort me. I live with art and crafts projects spread across my living room floor for days. They keep me feeling human. But they also make me tend to want to not invite folks over. Because when I visit other people, it doesn't seem like anyone is lke that. Is Petaluma just one big suburban hell, rather than the village I suspected? I feel nervous inviting people into my house. They might think I am poor. I am poor, but they might think that poor is bad. They might feel sorry for me.

This all brings to the forefront of my psyche my real fear of this world…the fear of domesticity and all of the consumerism that entails. The fear of the a-political, passionless, beingone of those people who just watch the word collapse and chastise you if you want to talk about it...after all how can you worry about politics and all the people dying over there so we can live over here when you have to not only work, but buy all this new crap from Target and scrub the house everyday? So I don’t know what to do or where to go. Sometimes I want to run away to the city, where more “freaks” reside, where there might be a little less domestification, more aggressiveness, political debates, rock and roll music, passion. But also less space, higher rent, more cars, less nature…sometimes I think I will just disappear into my art and writing.

Ramona loves Petaluma. I like it too, in some ways. We'll stay here for now. I have the childcare subsidy and the jobs, two things that are essential in an economy like this. And Ramona is sad enough as it is to move from her house and her Abuela…

I had been planning to move in the summer, away from my mom…who makes my life less happy. But not now! Not when I have slipped into debt. Not when my mother can’t take care of herself (I am not even sure she wants to take care of herself). But it is now. So the search has begun. And once I secure a place, I will start working on my plan to run away for the summer.