I am an onion.
I am made of layers, and peeling them back will bring about tears and pain and I don’t have the time and I don’t have the energy and I don’t have the safe space (never chop onions on a slick glass cutting board) and I don’t know when if ever I’ll get the time-energy-safety but I need it. I need to peel, to pull away the old, to be new and raw and growing — but I sit, wrapped in skin, my own dying flesh, some layers paper thin, some rotting, some bruised and broken and hurting, hurting me, holding me in.
I cannot peel them, but I have started, tried, been wounded and cut and am bleeding, and can see some of them clearly.
***
A layer: no more playschool. Running out of preschool options. Have run out of that-which-makes-it-possible-to-look (spoons, energy, willpower, willingness to overcome phone phobia, whatever it is).
Another: urgings to take care of self, and build strength, and get well, and make an appointment for this and that and now this other thing and this one also — while at home is a child screaming for me not to leave him.
Another: Holistic Pelvic Care appointment that brought huge physical and energetic shifts, bringing up memories of birth and
another: not having the words to describe the sensations then or now, and a birth story never written for want of those words.
***
And
A child, screaming, yelling, fighting, pushing me and pushing and pushing and pushingpushingpushing until I am afraid not of him but of myself, of hurting him, of losing it in even worse ways, and so I cry –
and he calms and suddenly I am five, ten, sixteen, and my father is pushing me and pushing and pushing and pushingpushingpushing until I lose it, until I am yelling just as he is, until I cry, and then, then he is calm and I hate him for it, I hate him and I hate me for giving in, for letting him win, and I am there but this is my progeny not my procreator and I cannot yell at him, not for this, and I cannot trust myself, and so I shut down.
***
I shut down.
And here I am. Shut down, shut away in the cellar, unable to be whole, unable to grow, unable to renew. Alone in the dark.
An onion, twisted. Afraid of my layers.
I was so ungentle to my children when they were small. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself – even though I emphatically think I should be able to, and I wish more parents/carers could.
By the way breaking down and crying in front of our kids is a gift (to ourselves and to them). (IMO). If you’re finding yourself debilitated I’m hoping you know what to do, or who to go to to help.
I’m truly sorry your awesome playschool business fell through. I want something else even more awesome to fall in your lap. I’ll be thinking of you.
Oh I know all about those onion layers. And not having the safe space or time to work through things makes it tough. No preschool options makes parenting hard too. Ahhh this comment is sounding patronizing & cheesy. What I I want to say is: I enjoy your writing & I have some of the same struggles. Hope some layers shuck away & there is family growth & understanding for you all.
Wonderful words I can relate! This post has brought me some calm knowing I’m not alone.
I love your description, your words of the layers. I’ve heard it described that way before & it is apt. Not having reliable preschool or childcare assistance is very stressful for a mum. I have had that when my daughter was little. Many tears were shed. And the parental rage is so normal – it’s just a dirty secret where we paint parenthood as hearts & flowers. It’s the holding back from physical & emtional harm to our kids that is the good thing. Tears, time out in a room away from them are all good. I hope some friends & family nearby can help you through this hiccough.
i love you, arwyn!
Potholes. Trying to navigate everything and it’s all going smoothly, then suddenly I hit one and am engulfed, or find that we’re all flying apart in different directions, or broken down completely.
*big hugs*
Arwyn,
You are not alone in this feeling. In being overwhelmed, in not having *enough*. I hope sharing has somehow eased your burden, and not only yours but someone elses by knowing that they too are not alone. I hope things ease for you soon.
Sending much love and *big hugs*
May the peeling of the layers, however painful, provide the strength you need to keep going.
BTW, I’m with ya on the phone thing. I hate it so much. The internet saved my sanity!
*hugs*
I saw this post on my phone as I was trying to wake up. I’ve been sending you hugs since that time and hoping that today you have a little more light into how a portion of one of the layers can be addressed.
I’ve been wondering why so little of life can be changed, influenced, morphed, modified, directed. Are we never fully in control of even the smallest piece of life? If not, why do we seek that control? How can we live at peace, on the waves, going with the flow, even if that flow is painful. Surely, there is light and peace in painful flow. Or maybe there isn’t.
I think that things are getting better, that there will be peace and then more disruption, more hurdles appear. So what do I do in the meantime?
I’ve been noticing that I gravitate toward building relationships with other women, that there is a comfort in the company of women that I do not feel with men. I also notice that I dote on my daughter and express irritation more often with my son. How does my discomfort with men influence my relationship with my son? I do not want brokenness in my relationship with him, but there are things in me that interfere.
Thank you for sharing your journey and know that you are not alone.
These are such beautiful words. I am very sorry you are feeling like this, and I’m sending you hugs. x
In many of my lowest parenting moments, I cry. I cry because otherwise I will lash out and scream. And so all I can do is cry.
I hope that soon, you find your way through. And I hope that, in the interim, you can be gentle with yourself. We all deserve that. And I like to think it’s a good way to learn how to be gentle with others, too.
Your post reminded me of Wislawa Szymborska’s poem, The Onion.
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