Mother’s Ruin

I know some mums feel oh so proud

Of the lines they have accrued

The silver lines, the softer flesh

The marks that shout “I gave LIFE!”

 

But I lament,

 

They do not feel like badges of great pride

Of proud battle scars that scream out

“I am woman, I am mother, hear me roar”

 

They are marks of loss of an identity

I used to hold tight to

A hangover of failure, a reminder of imperfection

A notelet detailing defeat

 

I hear mothers moan and deride my complaints

Women who believe to err is divine

However, as an ageing ex- fatty, ex-anorexic, ex bulimic

Now wheelchair bound woman, I am lost.

 

When you can barely move and your arms are weak

And pregnancies left you with excess baggage

It is harder to lose, to remove yourself from the carousel

Self-hating, self-deprecating, self-pity

 

Revolving, turning, waltzing

Dancing around your emotions

Feeling a fake when your heart cannot accept

The new you, this mum body