I want a life I don’t dread waking up to. I am still processing the last 2 years. I am still adjusting to my new home. I have to acknowledge where I really am. I am still trying my best to be a good parent, but don’t know what the right thing to do is. I don’t know what the right decision for this pandemic is. There is a lot of confusion in the air. I am just keeping above water. I long for the freedom of time. I feel like I’m treading water, like I can barely come up for air, just enough to be dragged back down into the abyss. This is not abundance, this is scarcity. This is fucked! The truth is I’m afraid, I’m scared if I come up long enough I will have to face all the shit I’ve been avoiding. “See through eagle and serpent eyes.” ( - Gloria Anzaldua) That I will have to live up to my own potential. Truth is, the water is calling me, the abyss is calling me, the underworld is calling me. She summons my presence, reminds me I need to venture deep into the bowels of the ocean to face myself, to face my shadows, to look in the mirror. She invites me with a gentle tug at first, which then grows into a forceful pull. She is no longer willing to wait, to be patient with my avoidance. I must surrender, be pulled, be pushed down. Hold my breath and swim to the bottom. So far that I learn how to breath underwater, that I become part fish, a mermaid like Ariel. The ancestors and sprite guides watch from above knowing this is a required stage in my spiritual awakening. What do I see down below? I must say out loud I am not perfect! I am human! I will make mistakes. People will disappoint me as I will disappoint them. I will lose and I will be lost. My heart will break, sadness will come. This is the human experience. Just as you call people in your community to be vulnerable by sharing their writing, you too must share your story. You too must be vulnerable. You must be imperfect. You must show your imperfections, display your bleeding heart. I am not a perfect mother, I am not a perfect feminist, I am not a perfect professor, I am not a perfect social justice advocate, I am not a perfect partner, I am not a perfect friend. I am really good at talking a big game, but find it much more difficult to live up to my own principles. Some days it’s hard because I want to fall into the comfort of all my unearned privileges. I want to pretend like the world isn’t falling apart outside my window. I want to curl up and watch problematic movies and TV until I feel better. But alas, to do so is to deny my truest self. I’ve tested the theory time and time again, Only to come to the same conclusion everytime. I am here to change shit! And it ain't' easy! In my efforts to undo the cycles of generational trauma I inflict more pain on my children by upholding perfectionism. I know I will one day have to pay for their therapy and hear them out when they tell me the wounds I inflicted. I fuck up so much it keeps me imobile sometimes. And then I remind myself the pain inflicted over many generations is not my burden to undo in one. I can simply give my kids the tools to continue the work I started. I release my story of imperfection only to realize it’s those imperfections that make me human, that make me who I am, that make me great! And just like that I don’t have to live in Mictlán, I can visit the abyss of my shadows, I can face my fears without identifying with them. Each time I visit, I can come up for air above the water much longer. Next time, I won’t wait so long to visit you, mother ocean
