Forgetting How To Be Light | Jenny Wren
On being a woman who has been through trauma.
And men who don’t understand.
They joke, they flirt, they tease…
My cheeks get hot, because I can’t respond like that.
We women—
Who have fought tooth and nail to survive. Making breakfasts and lunches while our blood hums and our minds reel. Our standards lowered to just safe, just safe.
Our laughter, when it comes, is raucous… finding comfort over the miles that separate us as we trade witticisms on those we once considered captors. Late nights whispering and wondering. Relishing the little comfort, the secret betrayal of the looming dark shadow.
I am not the lighthearted girl.
Only other women are safe now.
We check the garden before we lock our back door. We breastfeed while typing statements and making reports.
The man on the phone said don’t bottle it up, it will consume you. I can’t say that my voice is bound, my words halted… for now.
How to explain to a four year old his hiding game ignites those feelings you can’t escape.
And sometimes you cannot stand to be touched.
The onus is on me.
How was your day? He says.
I want to say something pleasant, but it’s not.
I kiss the baby goodbye, and I drive.
To face my demons, wild-eyed. I sit there with my hands entwined, hearing the words fall like knives.
My breasts ache for her and yet, yet, this is our life.
And I’ve forgotten how to be light.
To My Son On Father's Day | Jenny Wren
To you, the world is a world of women. Is run by women. Women who cuddle and wipe noses and go on adventures. Of grandmas and nannys and auntie Julies and auntie Pips. I see the baby's wide eyes as a man speaks, those rare times we encounter them.
The way we live is not wrong.
Still, my heart does hurt somewhat when you speaks of going to your "children's mummy's house" when you are a man. You have no idea that things for other children are so different.
My darling, the most wonderful men I know were raised by single mothers.
What sort of dad will you be, my son?
When you ask me why I did not birth you at home, when you laugh at the baby latching onto your nose confusing you for boobies, when you tell me you just love her too much, you can't cope.
I want to preserve your sweetness.
My son, you who I poured my love into in those crucial years, wanting you to be safe and whole.
To be a man who loves women.
There is a mistaken belief that a man can mistreat women and still be a good father. Children and women are intrinsically linked, two vulnerable groups, biologically entwined, inseparable...
I cannot show you how to be a good father.
My greatest wish - I want the mother of your children to feel safe with you. To feel respected by you.
That is how you are able to be the man your children need.
Autumn-Violet
Autumn-Violet. I dreamed of you before I knew you. My daughter hidden in my subconscious. Nobody peeked into your womb-home, you lay there undisturbed and grew in strength. On the day of your birth, you were so keen to come, you dropped lower and brought a flush to my cheeks and sweat to my palms. It was all I could do to rock through the sensations that were breaking me open. For the light to shine through. And when you freebirthed into my waiting arms and it was you - it was always going to be you.