This evening me and my husband had a luscious conversation about our spirituality and beliefs about life, religion and the journey of it all. I am using the term “our spirituality,” but actually we each are quite different on our individual paths. It’s a bit crazy that we actually even ended up married because we see things so differently, but then there are times when we meet in the middle. We met in the middle enough to have a baby together and start a family anyway.
A lot of spiritual stuff has been on my mind, but that’s because my whole life has kind of been a strongly spiritual kind of journey, even though I didn’t necessarily pick it to be. It kind of just happened…like being born.
I don’t know what to say about it because there’s so much to say about it. And I’m a little scared to say some of the things I think because I don’t want my thoughts to be misconstrued as propaganda. As if the world needs more propaganda these days. (I think that and I don’t even practice watching the news.)
But if I remember right, I think our conversation got started because I was talking to my husband about motherhood. Specifically, motherhood and the expectations on mothers in our society (we’re in Midwest USA), and even more specifically (or possibly more broadly) the “Christian ideal picture” of motherhood.
I’m not sure I belong in the midwest, and at this time I don’t identify with any organized religion. Just saying, because I do have a lot of thoughts about both of these things. I also don’t not (and I do mean that, this is not just bad grammar) identify as a Christian. It could be a confusing thing to try to categorize where I am. It is for myself, sometimes. And I guess I should also preemptively say I’m not looking for me and my family to be “saved” and that doesn’t mean I want us to go to any literal or figurative hell. It just means that I have faith in the journey so please let me be on it. If I’m meant to find your cabin in the woods, I will.
I’m just sharing. Pretend you have found my journal at the base of a tree, perhaps, with clear signs I will be returning. For example, chocolate and coffee are nearby. And pretend there is a little message beside my journal that says…”Read this if you want…at your own risk.” But the risk part is not a threat. It’s just the understanding between us that I actually have no idea where I’m going with all of this talk at the moment.
A little insider info about me…because I’m being just so private here, I know:
I wear a (small, and not clearly recognizable from a distance) cross around my neck. Right next to (or on opposites sides of it, depending on how the charms lay on any particular day) are the words “grace” and “patience.” This is where I am. This is the most definitive place for myself I have come to on my spiritual journey, recently.
I would tell you what pieces on my necklace symbolize or refer to exactly, but I’m not sure exactly. It’s just part of me right now, and I accept that. I’m generally an open and accepting sort of person.
But anyway, back to the motherhood thing. The motherhood thing. It’s such a “thing” isn’t it? It’s like one of the things you’re warned to not talk about with anyone else, lest you need to defend your life. Everyone knows not to raise the subject of Politics, Religion and above all…Motherhood in uncertain company.
But I’ll just say it.
I don’t vote (usually.) I’d probably be considered Agnostic (if forced into a box,) and I’m on the fence about my place in the world (particularly what my role as a mother should look like.)
I’m not sure how I turned out to be such an opinionated person, but I might see myself as opinionated just because I have many thoughts about a lot of different, and sometimes potentially volatile, subjects.
I’m just not imposingly opinionated.
After looking into it, since I am writing about this here, after-all….I’m actually probably a Gnostic Christian,not really A-gnostic. Which just opened up some trail for me, as I speak. (I have a sneaking feeling I knew this about myself once before, but got lost in trying to fit into a cabin that didn’t have space for me, or something, because the term “gnostic” is suspiciously familiar to me.)
Have you ever known or seen a chain smoker? Perhaps you are one yourself, even. Well, then you would understand me right now. I am a chain gum-chewer and I’m at the end of my pack so I’m really trying to get somewhere with this post quick, because even the a-b-c gum is soon to be out of date for usefulness if I don’t somehow get to it.
Oh that’s right! I was getting to something!
I don’t remember it now.
I think I’m scared to let it out now, and I actually want to research gnostic Christianity for the rest of the night instead! Ha.
So I was saying about this luscious conversation with my husband-no fighting, no yelling, crying or hurt feelings, nobody being left stranded on the side of the road or running out the door before remembering to to get fully dressed to save themselves from the other. A true gem of a discourse is what we had.
But I’m procrastinating here, now.
Maybe I’m not ready to speak about this publicly. But I want to. Because it’s a big deal, but that’s also why maybe I’m not ready yet.
Ah, I’ll get there. But it might be 3am. before I do….and it’s only 9:20pm here.
Ugh, I guess I better save my energy for what I feel coming on…..
Sorry about tricking you into reading the preface…(I really didn’t mean to!)
The trail I’m on is dodgy right now. I can’t keep up with myself, I’m thirsty and with every step the path tries to disappear beneath my feet. Paranoia creeps in. I can’t trust anything or anyone, especially me. I question myself repeatedly and I never answer back. There is a call with no return. I want to hide. I’m not sure who I am talking to. The main part of life is a strange veneer lifting off from the surface of a screen…no front or back.
Are parts like this where it’s just important to go through the motions? There are parts where there doesn’t need to be any real meaning beyond staying alive, I suppose. Even when life floats like a ghost?
The last time I had a massage I was told I needed “a lot of work.”
I am repelling touch.
A couple of days ago I had a freak-out session and had to double-up on my daily dance in front of the television. My toddler knows what it means when I say in a sing-songy voice “Mommy’s gotta ex-ser-size!” I was so tired, but I had to go until I couldn’t feel anymore. She crawls on me, bounces in motion with me, and tries to eat my exercise mat.
While I’m occupied with that there’s a thick Art History book sitting in the corner on the desk. I do a few more squat-thrusts to try to calm my anxiety. About what…I don’t know.
My teenager calls and comes over to the house bearing gifts for me from her recent trip to the Gulf Coast with her dad. My God, how I love her. How it frightens me to know she was once a toddler too. And I, her mom. She’s too beautiful to have come from me. “And too normal,” I think to myself. Normal in that extraordinary teenager way. Growing up.
I want to talk to somebody, but there’s no one around.
I don’t know why there’s nobody around other than I’ve always been too scared to have anybody around.
I’m scared to go grocery shopping.
Too many people.
There’s been a lot of fighting lately. Maybe I’ll get a divorce. Maybe I’ll go nowhere.
I take vacations. I fantasize compulsively and obsessively through websites advertising retreats, engaging me in the promise of wisdom and adventure, release and grounding. I over-analyze dates and costs and reality. It takes me away for a while.
Away for a while.
Away for a while.
I need to not wait so long between posts. I need continuity. I sway in and out between darkness and light and I need to record the wave somewhere.
Today I’m feeling a bit defeated because I came home from school to hear my toddler’s babysitter tell me “I just keep hearing the universe telling me to change and I think one of those changes is that I’m going to bail on you and your daughter.” She didn’t use the word “bail,” of course. But that’s what it is. I can’t blame her for being a 23-year-old clown, really.
I’m not being derogatory. She is a clown and actually quite proud of it. She’s recently back from clown school. It was one of the things about her that caused me to want to hire her in the first place. But it turns out I don’t think she actually likes being with kids all day.
I don’t feel defeated because the universe is apparently against me. (ha!) I’m feeling more defeated because during the course of our conversation she made sure to get into all of my tender spots about STILL not being graduated from college. I felt like telling her she was awfully young to go for the part of playing Cruella Deville. But I can’t blame her for being ignorant either. If I acknowledge her perspective on my life as ignorance and not arrogant cruelty then I might have a little more patience for her to pack it up.
Well, maybe I’m still jaded after-all.
I thought I was going to be able to come here and announce that had passed.
I’ve discovered feelings.
Rather, I’ve discovered rawness.
I feel stripped and searched. Lately it feels like the world (the universe?) is pinching and grabbing at me, probing me. Gross.
It seems like there’s not many places in the world for rawness. Am I hurting anyone by being raw?
I think it bothers people a lot.
Ok, it bothers me.
I know who I want to be, but I’m not there yet. And Lord help me the day I ever say I’ve arrived. This life, for me, is not supposed to be about arriving.
Most certainly it’s about the journey. That’s why I’m here.
School is in full-swing now. The Line-Up: Ceramics, Art History-Renaissance to Modern, Adobe Illustrator, Photoshop.
I’m only in a little over my head. I might have several weeks before I’m completely under.
I’m enjoying it, but probably only in the way rawness and joy really go together.
It’s a challenge. It’s hard. My brain and heart both feel like they are at capacity, but that might only mean they will soon grow bigger with space to be even more full?
Growing isn’t easy. Anyone who has really ever grown or is growing would probably get that.
Breaking open is not all-the-way comfortable. But staying stalled, while it has its advantages, doesn’t really get you too far.
The thing about life being a journey is that the end is never really reached, but it requires constant movement toward that place to be the journey it’s meant to be.
This morning I looked in the mirror while blow-drying my hair.
I thought about some of the things I would have to say if I told my story and choked back tears and feeling.
Then I realized it is so close to being time.
I’ve hired a nanny to babysit my daughter one day a week, which will turn into two half-days a week when school starts the next week. We talk a bit when she arrives. Just chit-chat and catching up for communication’s sake. She asked me about my oldest daughter starting 8th grade and how she’s liking it. In reality, I didn’t see my daughter off this year on her first day back. I only saw her two cumulative weeks out of the whole summer. But we texted on her first day back about how her first day went…the weigh in on teachers and the year ahead. The usual first-day-back stuff, as if she were living every day with me.
Of course, all the Facebook pictures popped up all day of excited and anticipatory kids…the younger ones. Or the reluctant, begrudgingly photographed, but inwardly still happy their parents cared to mark the day in history, older ones.
I “liked” several of them and tried to not notice my empty spot.
And I hoped everyone else was too caught up in their own day to see that I had nothing of my own to share.
Here I sit, sharing my picture now.
There are a lot of questions and probably assumptions that can probably be brought on by this picture.
Just recognize it’s not fully developed yet.
So I told my toddler’s nanny about everything I’d gleaned from texts with my teenage daughter about the start of 8th grade without telling her I haven’t actually seen her for over a month. Mostly, the teachers she doesn’t like (the ones who remind her of strict relative, lol) and the required “elective” class she wishes she had waited to sign up for (Robotics, by the way…I’m still not sure about the new need for this in our school system, but maybe that’s because I’m out of the loop.) She’s only 1 of 3 girls out of a class of 27 and not too thrilled about all the boys…which I found relieving, but kept to myself! 🙂
Then our nanny, who is only 23, talked a bit about high school…we talked. When the topic of high school comes up I always try to play along. But I actually only completed 9th grade and 2 months of that school year was completed in a psych hospital, as it was. So I’m learning through anecdotes from other people about high school in America as I go along in life. In the next 4 to 5 years I’m sure I will learn more and if I’m most lucky I will get a good, rounded-out first-hand fill from my daughter.
All of this brings up memories, of course, of who I really am and where I have really been in my life. My lifeline. It gets sort of shitty in spots and so I gloss over those parts, which actually means sometimes I gloss over a lot and people sometimes feel like they know me, but something is missing they can’t quite put their finger on. It’s that slick, maybe.
So today I just said it, without the gloss. Plain. No sheen.
“I only went to 9th grade, so I don’t really know about all that.”
“Yeah, I have a kind of interesting timeline with things. I had a kind of crazy life. Well, I wasn’t crazy, but my life was a bit crazy.”
I still left out the psych hospital part.
I was crazy…I guess. Right? I mean, look at where I’ve been.
But I’m getting close to the truth.
Everything is so close.
Over the weekend my Baby became a Toddler. She’s still not quite “toddling,” but we’ve made the one-year mark. It’s exciting and humbling. It makes me nostalgic for my older daughter who will turn 14 this fall. Though, it is hard to not be washed in fear. I look at other families, especially younger ones just starting out with their baby or young children and sometimes my heart wants to stop. I don’t really know why. I don’t know if it takes me to the hindsight wisdom I have now about a time when I was so young (a teenager) and unknowing–when I had no idea what was to come for me as a mother– or if I am feeling vulnerable for them…because they look so innocent. Parents. Hearts just right out there in front.
I don’t think I look innocent.
But I’m not really sure what I look like anymore.
I have no idea what life will throw my way. I am doing my best to be the parent my toddler (with her own unique personality and set of traits, much different from her sister’s) needs me to be. I don’t think I look-or feel-innocent, but I so often am scared of not knowing enough.
I am constantly searching myself out, asking, “Have I learned what I need to know from my mistakes?”
It’s scarier to be pretty sure I probably don’t even know all the mistakes I have made yet.
Time is a teller.
Is there any parent out there who can’t look back and see even just one mistake they might have made in raising a child? If there is, I’m sure that person will come find me here to tell me, lol. Never fails, huh. (Falls under the class of “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”)
Anyway, we survived the first birthday party. A party my older daughter never received. (I was a Jehovah’s Witness then.)
I feel like I am always living in alternate universes. Especially as a married woman and parent now in this new place. Memories free-flow around and through me. I live in an ocean of memories and most of them are not very pleasant. I work hard to make new ones. Sometimes I think I actually work too hard at that and stress myself out even more. And then is the memory I worked so hard to make good any good?
But as I was saying, we’ve made it this far.
This year we celebrated with friends…a pretty rockin’ way to get the ball rollin’. Right?
But my older daughter was with her dad. So even this birthday is tinged with sadness. It’s a long story only a mini-series could tell.
I’m going to trust that if I keep living life with light will take care of this for all of us.
There is something about creating that helps me feel complete. It doesn’t always even matter what form the creation takes. Whether it’s making a meal or cake, assembling together found objects or piecing together fabrics…or turning a bit of what has been a place of darkness in my life into something with more light.
The thing about creation is that it seems to follow you everywhere. That’s what is so awesome about being alive. For me, when I’m able to connect to creation in all its varied forms, it makes living feel ok. When I can open my eyes…when I am brave…light is everywhere in my life.
And I’m safe to feel.
This weekend I finally was able to complete a shelf I’ve been in the process of making for the last several weeks. My projects still take 10 times as long as they potentially could due to all the creating I do as a mother. So, when something outside of my time creating as a mom is finished it gives me quite a rewarding feeling of accomplishment!
I’ve wanted a shelf for above our bed since we moved into this house. It’s super simple construction, but simple and clean is what I was going for. Well, simple and affordable really. ; ) I had fun making it and I love all the little trips to the hardware store that even the teeniest projects (especially the building/woodworking kind) seem to inspire/require.
I LOVE hardware stores!
Here it is!
By the way, I picked up those metal letters on HUGE sale at Hobby Lobby. I know they have good sales pretty often, so if you like them and want something similar, or to spell out your own word, I’d check in there and wait around a bit for one to come around! It’s like Pottery Barn on the a la’ cheap. So you can make the furniture at home, all the while getting a bonus “creation high,” and pick up the accessories for a fair price!
Me and my daughter went on another photo-taking extravaganza today, and it’s final…I’m thinking of moving to Instagram. Because everything is cool in Instagram. I think my eyes have acquired Instagram lenses. I think in Instagram.
Now, I know I am a little behind the times. I know Instagram is probably old news to some people, but I, for one, sometimes find myself in losing battles, lol. Like…digital photography, for instance. I took a photography class in 2002 and learned how to do the “real deal” and vowed it was far too amazing of a world to cheapen it with instantcy. (Which I think might only be a word because I just made it be one.)
But now, well…look at me now.
Now, I am not only in favor of digital…but iPhone digital? And Instagram? Like a cheap, uneducated version of Photoshop!? Oh my goodness, I’m sure I’m offending someone right now. Am I? Omg. I’d like to make friends here!
Well, anyway, imagine I never offended you (if I’ve offended you) and imagine I just said…”I’m old school.” Because that’s what I really mean. I like to get my hands dirty, or in the case of photography…clean. I like to dip my hands in chemical and feel the rush of it right up into the cells of my brain and then wash it all away with water and watch things transform in my hands. I probably have some kind of God complex. Is there such a thing known to exist? I mean, there is something SO powerfully wonderful about creation.
I’m not saying digital isn’t creation and isn’t wonderful. It is! I even want to live in Instagram, for goodness sake.
I think I’ve said enough.
On with the show!
(Note: Many of these photos tell a story or have a string of words behind them, so they may reappear at a later date with more to say here. For now, we’re doing good (and I’m so grateful) to have the time to get this far! : ) …But, until I’m back with my stories, feel free to use these photos as prompts for your own! 🙂 (After all, I don’t want to keep my God complex all for myself.)
As promised, my photo of the day…from this day of Life With Light.
(I did not create this sign. ROCKART SIGNS & MARKERS created this sign, which I merely took a photo of to share my appreciation for it as a prompt along my journey. ROCKART and it’s subsidiaries are in no way connected to, nor do they endorse, the content of this blog.)
So, as promised…my image of the day!
I went on another walk with my daughter this afternoon…along the same path we walked yesterday. Again, I brought my phone and Instagram by default. We retraced yesterdays steps, (even though I was the only one actually walking,) and managed to come up with new material.
So, I considered my efforts a success.
It’s just so…so…Open..!
I am taken by this sign’s existence along the path I travel…
A whole month since my last post!? No wonder I feel a little shy.
Life With Light has definitely been active with posts within me, though. Ever since my last post when I was exasperated with myself that I couldn’t seem to juggle 10 different full-time jobs, pastimes, and volunteer positions at once and be my daughter’s primary caretaker 150% of the time I have been busy working out a way to make my life feel a little more…well, workable!
It finally dawned on me that all the working women artists in the blog-o-sphere are more than likely not creating sellable art and running a business and cleaning the house and cooking dinner and looking pretty (a.k.a. getting a shower in) and taking care of their child(ren), and staying alive without some help, at least some of the time!
I vow, from here-on-out, to never ever leave the fact that motherhood and artistry co-existing together on an even semi-regular basis does not come without some designated help from somewhere else outside of me. I believe it should be acknowledged, and in an easily accessible place like the “About Me” or “Bio” section so that every desperate new mother/creative who may find me here creating in the future will not beat themselves up for days, months, or years for not somehow sprouting wings and 15 extra pairs of hands and feet to accomplish it all at once all by themselves.
So…since my last post I set about finding some help.
Starting next month, toward the end of June, I will have one dedicated day a week to be in my home studio and perform other developmental creative doings while someone is here to watch and help me care for my little one. I expect these pages will begin to be filled more with my art therapy journey on a more regular basis then.
Until then, I have decided this blog needs a form of CPR. I’ve taken CPR and passed many-several times, so hopefully this will be a success. I am a practiced student of CPR, but I just came up with this idea as I was taking my daughter for a walk at our local park and sneaking in some Instagram photos with my iPhone.
I thought, “I know!” (Good start, right!) … “I know! I’m certain I can at least commit to taking one photo a day that speaks to something connected to my art therapy that I can post on Life With Light.” A daily resuscitation for when I haven’t had the time, space or energy left over from motherhood-ing to create or when whatever I’m working on creatively is not ready to be shared yet.
There is no “Life with Light ” if the Light goes all the way out.
I actually have been very busy, even creatively at times, even with the logistical challenges. I have made a small sculpture, and I am taking sewing classes (awesomeness times infinity!) which has resulted in the completion of half a stuffed cat so far. As it goes, I am currently a little (WAY) slow in the completion of these projects!
But Omg! I didn’t even post about my completed bookshelf yet! I actually finished it and it has been happily doing it’s job for weeks! So I’ll be posting about that soon as well. But that will have to wait for at least tomorrow.
I am going to play catch up (and do a little CPR) by sharing some images I took while I was on my walk with my daughter today as I was thinking about blog-sharing cpr…accompanied even by a little blues, if you like. Enjoy!