I once mistook a bundle of cells for a person.
One person can breath new life into another and create life for themselves while doing it. How special to feel so understood. How do I fall back on that? Or communicate what that felt like beyond safety or love?
Or however the pattern breaks and remolds, its grip is tight.
The route dug deep, grooves that never derail the wheels which were set in motion within them long ago.
I’ve asked myself what motherhood means for ages. What makes a mother? Is it giving birth? Getting pregnant? Raising children? I’ve pressed myself for an answer to this question time and again. Struggling with my own mother’s role in my life, my…