Tendrils
I stepped out of the rat race- into my house – to create a home. And ironically I detect a loss of my sanity within this peace. Without the experience of a struggle, the mind is fogged by peace, my heart is riddled with attachments. When I slow down to really view life, I realize how utterly beautiful she is. How gorgeous is every second spent alive.
So how do I love my children – and not fear death? How do I live with a loving husband – and not fear loss? What is this about life that every turn is full of conundrums? Little ironical twists that have me plunging my innards for rationality, equanimity, humor, courage. I am told to stand in the midst of this tempest- clothes billowing, hair streaming- but not blink!
A while ago I could have honestly say I did not fear death. That I did not dread my absence, I did not cringe at nights. Now I feel tendrils all around me curling, tightening, lulling my awareness, dulling my alertness. Fragrant tendrils of deceiving sweetness.
Perhaps life is so full of care, because if you do stop and stare- the withering rose can break your heart.
A word from a homemaker- getting tangled in the web she weaved.
Redemption
Here I am. Berating myself. This is penitence for being ‘absent’ during peak rush hour at home. This is payment for being ‘busy’ at work all day. This is my fine for attending gym for an hour. That’s what it boils down to. Unspoken guilt. Unvoiced pressures. Implicit expectations. Spilling out of my kitchen’s shelves, tumbling out of cupboards. Cannot be repressed. And only I hear them. Only I see them. I carefully gather them and place them back gently and shut the door firmly.
The strength of a liberated woman lies not in the act of independence, but in the forbearance of the consequences.
Reviewing my day, I am surprised I am still standing — up at 5AM, worked non-stop till 4 PM, work out 4:30- 5:30 PM, shopping for formal clothes: till 7PM, cooking/serving dinner till 8PM, putting both kids to bed, running/folding 4 loads of laundry and now office work again.
And still…I am guilty. Judged. Condemned. What can I say? The blessing—it’s not by others. The curse– it’s mostly by me.
Here’s to all mothers – especially working mothers- whose lives are full of wonderful chaos and inexplicable guilt.
Pic Source: Oracle Speak
The Author I am currently employed as (an enthusiastic) baseball player, football coach, cook, chauffeur, therapist, human trampoline, ER attendant - yes, I am a full-time mother of two - Advait (6 years) and Vedant (3 years). In my past life (discarded 4 months ago), I was an Ass. VP for custom research - but that was too uni-dimensional. I also teach devotional songs to children. In exchange I receive baleful looks, bored-to-death tears- and even an occasional thank you. I am married to a wonderfully liberated person- Sridharan- causing me to vent in a piece called 'The Frustrated Feminist.'
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