Differently or with difference?

ea51daebdeab766ed21fd05394bdf438--victorian-ladies-victorian-houses

 

I consider myself a feminist – of sorts. See, I think that women shoot themselves in the foot sometimes in the name of being feminists, and end up giving up on some feminine perks in the name of equality.

Anyway, despite being a feminist- of -sorts,
And advocating for the right to drive in Saudi and all that..
I have to say, it’s not a hardship to be treated like a lady from time to time.

To have the driver not only drop you off right at the door of the store you want, but then to say: ” Madame, wait in the car while I check if the store is open”
Ok… thanks

Or to watch the store clerk and the driver discuss who gets to carry your heavy bags to the car( baby supplies not designer shoes I promise).

Or to have someone become a little flustered, and change their manner when they realize there is a lady in the room.

Again, I know not everyone is as fortunate as I am, and there is a lot to be done for women all over the world. I am a fierce advocate of women’s rights ( just you wait and see what I plan to do here once I get settled 💪🏻)

I’m just saying, for the sake of my wellbeing..
In the present, in the meantime, while things slowly and gently change with our soft powers of influence, with respect for our history and tradition and the pace of change..

I can either rant about not driving
or enjoy the perks of having a driver

If a man offers to carry my suitcase, I can get all offended and assume it’s a slight to my strength,
Or realize his gesture for what it is was meant: an act of respect and reverence for my femininity.

Basically,

I can be angry that women are treated “differently”
but I choose instead, to focus on how they are treated with “difference”.

Image retrieved from:
https://www.google.com.sa/search?safe=strict&rlz=1C5CHFA_enCA731CA731&biw=838&bih=930&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=victorian+lady+silhouette&oq=victorian+lady+sil&gs_l=psy-ab.1.0.0l2j0i8i30k1.49151.54077.0.55749.22.19.2.0.0.0.294.2553.0j10j5.15.0….0…1.1.64.psy-ab..5.14.2193…0i67k1.cxGV5KgJY6Y#imgrc=74CnPDp5kInjTM:
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My secret world

pegasus

I tiptoe into the house

sneak past my children playing in the living room

dash to my room and lock the door

I’m so so tired, you see. Today, I just can’t make the instant switch from doctor to mother. Babies died today at work. I soaked up a lot of tears. I’m so tired.

In my room, I kneel on the floor, then I lift my prayer rug, peeling it away from the ground..to reveal the trap door underneath (don’t tell. It’s a secret..what? you want to come and see? OK, just this once, then..come along)

I go down the steps that wind down down down in the twisted spiral of time. By the time it turns into a slide, I’m 19 again, and poof! I always love this part..I land onto a bed of feathers.. and bubbles rise to the sky when I arrive..for no reason other than that I wish it.

I throw myself back and spread my limbs, eyes closed. Can you smell the pine needles and forest? Can you hear the silence that’s not silent? that’s filled with birdsong, and rustling leaves and running water..and a distant music..it’s the flute. that would be my instrument if I had one.

Hello, Pegasus! you always greet me. The horse nuzzles me so I open one eye to peer up at him. What? enough laziness, you say? Do you have any idea what my day has been like? But Ok, lets go for a ride, let’s outrun my past..and push away my future for just a few moments longer..I already hear the banging on my bedroom door..the children are calling me … but I’m not ready to go back just yet.

I close my eyes against the wind, and let Pegasus lead. We fly above this Mystical world of mine.. The fairies race with us, the mermaids wave to us from the ocean below..I won’t have time to switch into a fairy or a mermaid today..but I promise myself I’ll be back soon for an extended visit with my friends. Oh, there’s Peter Pan! I wave back at him (ha! my sister will be jealous I got to see him).

Pegasus, always responsible, circles back-he loves my children you see,  though he only knows their laughter, and my stories of them. He lowers his head down to my bed of feathers. Reluctantly I slide off his back.. I open the trap door above me and imagine trudging back up up up my twisted stairwell of time.. it seems a long way back up to 32… but then I hear my children’s squealing laughter..hmm someone is being tickled.. I race up the steps full of new energy again..just in time to catch the game 🙂

image:
https://www.google.ca/search?q=fantasy+world&safe=active&espv=2&biw=1534&bih=795&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwifh8rn1u3QAhXIgVQKHWrdATAQ_AUIBigB#safe=active&tbm=isch&q=pegasus&imgrc=vAPHMA1vAlR1CM%3A

Reckless

image-1

What was that?!

The park bench is moving

No, a man

A big grizzly man

With glazy eyes

Walking towards me

Shoot! Shoot! shoot!

I should have listened to my friends

Telling me not to go out at 5 am

But it’s so early

.. or so late

No one around

Still dark

Stupid stupid stupid!

Ok

Walk calmly

Throw back hood to increase peripheral vision

Head phones out

Can I use them as a cord?

Ok,

Flight, fight, or freeze?

Stand still and scream?

Hold breath and run?

I’m not a screamer

Might be a runner

Definitely a freezer

And fight? You must be kidding

My black belt is an expired joke

Can’t look over my shoulder

Or break into a run

Cuz then

The chase is on, right?

But I don’t now if he’s miles away

Or breathing down my neck

Pray pray pray

Don’t want to be in the news today

I look over my shoulder

He’s back there

Far away now

By the park bench

Phew

Ok

I’ll stop going for these reckless walks at 5 am

…Someday

Soon

Promise

It’s getting too cold anyway

:

:

Sigh,  the thing is,  I Relish my walks at dawn. Though I don’t want to stupidly invite my death, these walks…they just fill me up with life.

How dare you

violenceToday is the international day for the elimination of violence against women.This is the voice I wish women could find in themselves.

I find it shocking that anyone could harm a woman at all, let alone a pregnant woman. Is there anything more sacred than a pregnant woman?

yet shockingly, the number one cause of death for pregnant women, at least in one study, was violence! See below

 

 

How dare you

Raise your hand to me

How dare you

Touch a hair

 

 

 

On my  coiffed head!

my hairdo!

Do you think

That I am scared?

 

 

 

You say

You didn’t mean it

You say it

Like I care

 

 

 

The first time

Is the hardest

So you’ll surely

again dare

 

 

 

You lost me

Before it landed

Your fist

still in mid-air

 

 

 

You touched me once

That was our end

Touch me again

You’ll end I swear

 

 

And do you know how much I paid to get my hair done?

Stupid bully💪🏻

 

Study: http://www.webmd.com/baby/news/20010320/number-1-cause-of-death-in-pregnant-women-murder

Pop the Bubbles

depression

I work in Women’s Mental Health. I see depressed mothers all the time. What amazes me is the isolation and shame these women live in, each in her lonely bubble-the borders of which are an illusion. In reality, each woman  is connected to all the other mothers around her who feel the same. But they are all too ashamed and too afraid to say it: I’m not happy. I don’t feel anything for this baby. I feel irritated with this baby. I feel like a terrible mother, a failure. I just want to sleep….. I just want my life back.

So, this is my message to them, my own confession:

 

Pop the bubbles

Prison cells

Let them coalesce

Join our hands

Share the space

So we suffer less

 

 

 

Tell the truth:

When baby cries

I want to run away

To my old life

To my old self

Admit: don’t want to stay

 

 

 

Here’s a secret

So well hidden

Really, it’s ok

We’re just too guilty

Scared to say

We all felt the same way

 

 

 

‘Til we get help

And find ourselves

And love ourselves again

Then love our children

enjoy them too

Just how it should have been

 

Wid Kattan

Note: perinatal depression affects around 15% of mothers. That’s not a small number. It could happen to anyone. It as nothing to do with the quality of who you are, and has nothing to do with how much you truly love your child.

Image: http://www.todaysparent.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/TP01_AOH_Article.jpg

Ghosting Smoke

smoke.jpg

I recently read a blog entry on “ghosting”, a phenomenon I didn’t know about.. I think it’s  when a person deliberately disappears from your life. Painful.  I imagined the writer’s feelings..and came up with this.

ghosting loves..

disappearing acts..

gone in a whiff of smoke..

 

 

I hold back tears

that clog my throat

feel like I’m going to choke

 

 

Again?!

Again?!

a broken heart?

My love life is a joke

 

 

 

But hope..

it springs eternal

next love, a luck of stroke

 

 

 

Please!

Smoke

 

image retrieved from : smoke

Diamond Sun Heart

To all the people who tell me of their broken hearts,

be it broken by your partner, parent, child, friend..

Your heart is stronger than to ever truly be broken.

I give you this poem.

Give it to yourself.

 

 

I thought

I was broken forever

My heart lost and ruined and gone

But that was before knowing

My heart’s strength,

and then it dawned

My heart was not of glass or stone

But something ever more strong

A brilliant blinding diamond that

Shines more when cut or wronged

As sweet as your breath

As dark as your spell

As seductive the threads you’ve spun

Have you ever heard

Of a blow of breath

To put out the light of the sun?
Shine

Mama Bear

bear-cub

Please don’t do that

Please do not give that look to my son

Just because he bumped into you,

or dropped his spoon with a clatter,

or laughed too loud for your taste.

Why? how old were you when you were four?

What size were you? How loud were you?

What were you like before you learned to look down your snotty nose?

Didn’t you used to laugh before your mouth turned into that sour thin line?

Lighten up lady

He’s just a kid

And he’s got a fierce Mama Bear

 

Wid Kattan

mama-bear-2

Images retrieved from:

https://www.google.ca/search?q=mama+bear&safe=active&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjihcz1x-7PAhWCNz4KHUs7ANkQ_AUICCgB#safe=active&tbm=isch&q=mama+bear+and+cub&imgrc=BjORkHKDsqVWhM%3A

Who are “THEY”?

they

Please, someone tell me

Enlighten me

Please explain to me

Who are “THEY”?

 

 

And why do we all

Care so much

About

What they will say?

 

 

Do they sit

In mighty towers,

And write rules

Night and day?

 

 

Who selected them?

Who put them on

The committee, anyway?

 

 

Come here

Come close

A secret..

I’ll tell you who they are..

 

 

They’re me and you

Backstabbers too

This joke has gone too far

 

 

By following,

Their silly rules

You’ll never be the star

 

 

Just do your thing

Just find your way

And just be who you are

 

Wid Kattan

Image retrieved from: old nightmares that don’t scare me anymore

Radical Authenticity