What mom actually wants today

This morning when I woke up, I rummaged through the fridge for a slice of strawberry rhubarb pie and poured myself a cup of coffee, walking out to the table on the back patio. Kicking my feet up, I lit a joint and breathed a sigh of relief.

No kids today. An actual mother’s day miracle.

I hate mother’s day. It’s performative parenthood at its finest.

There are many myths about motherhood, and one of them is that you should find the core of your satisfaction mothering, wife-ing.

Sitting on the porch, relaxing in the shade sipping the coffee in the quiet, my heart says no.

My satisfaction comes from a whole lotta things, and they are rooted in my ability to feel free in the midst of them. This takes a lot of healing and self-awareness and time.

Motherhood is not a place where I find freedom. It’s a precarious balance of your needs with the needs At its best, it can be satisfying. At its worst, it’s entrapment.

My writing, my work, the relationships involved, making art in the quiet hours of the morning — these are places that I find much simpler to find deep satisfaction.

I love my kids. I love my weeks with them. I love my weeks away from them. I used to say don’t get me wrong a lot.