“ARRRGH!” Before I intend, I roar at my son in response to him yelling “MOOOOOOOOM” followed by a request for yet another snack. “Child, you cannot still be hungry.” Drumming on my keyboard, I try to hold onto the thoughts, each one like melting ice cream slipping through my hot little fingers. E-mailing, working, parenting, and snack-making simultaneously overwhelm my brain’s capacity. “FIND A SNACK YOURSELF; I AM WORKING,” I shriek as my hands grip my hair, my head falling forward, I’m trying to hold on to something, anything. “God, give me patience, kindness, and calm. Help.” I quietly cry under my breath. Juggling all the balls, supposedly some are plastic and others glass, and I can put down the plastic ones, or just let them fall, because they won’t break, and I can pick them back up in time, when I have time, but I think I will never have time, and, also, I can’t freaking tell which is what, and I cannot keep doing it all, juggling it all, carrying it all, holding it all together, because I am breaking down quietly, loudly, quickly, slowly, messily, neatly, and, yet, does anyone even notice? ‘Kristina, she has it all together,’ they think. Laughing, ‘if only,’ I think. Motherhood is the hardest thing I have ever done. Narcissism, addiction, and mental illness repeatedly cut the fabric of the relationship with my own mother; threads I have tried so hard to mend, tend, and weave into forgiveness and reconciliation. Opening up every wound inside myself in order to break generational cycles, turn from sin, and heal trauma. “Please, let me mother differently.” Quietly, I close my laptop. Releasing my shoulders down from my ears and the breath held in my body, I walk out of my home office and pull closed the door. “Sorry buddy, I was trying to finish work, and my brain can’t do so many things at once. Time for that snack.” Unscripted motherhood: honest, messy, lacking prescription and perfection. Vexing my opposite responses might seem, but I know how important it is to repair each rupture. We can keep trying again and again and again, because we are still learning how to be vulnerable in this brutal world that treats us like machines. Xenial, especially within these 4 walls. You and me, kid Zig-zagging our way to an honest, kind, and true relationship.
I wrote this abcedarian while taking Sonya Spillmann’s Lyrical workshop. According to poets.com, the abecedarian is an ancient poetic form guided by alphabetical order. Generally each line or stanza begins with the first letter of the alphabet and is followed by the successive letter, until the final letter is reached. We were also given the optional two “rules” of one line being one word, and one other line being over 100 words.
Invitations for Your Own Healing and Blooming:
Write an abcedarian of your own. Consider starting with a moment within your own motherhood or a moment when you struggled. See what comes up for you and where you end.
Read some other abcedarian poem/essays and see what resonates with you. What helps you feel seen, less alone, encouraged, or moved? Creativity begets creativity. Let others inspire you. Here are a few I have read recently and enjoyed:
Jessica Folkema, Coffee and Crumbs: Texts Between Lovers Who Are Also Parents
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This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Unscripted."
Stunning and tender friend. I especially teared up on the last line of “zigzagging our way to an honest, kind, and true relationship.” 🤎
“Unscripted motherhood: honest, messy, lacking prescription and perfection.” Soooo true.