Fierce

As a girl growing up, you’re often reminded to ‘be nice’, and generally, not to be too much. Too emotional. Too needy. Too intense.

Too fierce.

Except then you become a mother, and it all rises to the top like froth on coffee.

Earthy; like you’ve somehow done this before and were just meant to do it.

Airy; like nothing else fucking matters and you can just float off on this cloud made up of frustration, tiredness and unconditional love.

Watery; like the unpreparedness of falling in love with this little person and being hit by a tidal wave of emotion (I don’t know whether this is stronger for me being full of pregnancy hormones again).

And fiery; like you’ve been assigned this role of Ultimate Protector, and I might have been nicely socially pleasant before but if you even think about hurting her or invading her space I will rip you to shreds on every level of your being.

Except we’re not supposed to talk about that. It’s not socially pleasant is it? We’re supposed to make the same old comments about how we’re not getting much sleep and they don’t like organic avocados and how we really must start shifting the post-baby weight because there’s a wedding to go to in 3 months’ time.

I feel mega amounts of fierce. Luckily over the last 10 years I’ve learnt ways to take that and transmute what’s not serving me. Still have to make an effort to notice those things that I’m angrily clutching, but things can move and flow once the noticing has happened.

It will be interesting to see what levels of fierce I have with my second child.

The transition from spending years feeling ready to be a mother, pumping my body full of drugs, treatment cycles, physically feeling as if I was pregnant only to find out I wasn’t every time…the praying, the screaming, the numbness of it all.

The transition from that life ending and the new one beginning in a few short months. To them deciding the time was right, even though I wasn’t quite there yet.

Being snatched out of my mid-to-late pregnancy haze to be told my daughter would have to be cut out of me at 28 weeks and knowing they were wrong. We weren’t ready yet. Rising up fierce and fighting for our extra 6 weeks together. Having to watch her be taken out of her father’s arms and away whilst I was being stitched back together. The first time I had to leave her in Neonatal and go home, without her. The day we got her home.

Yes, I’m fierce now.

I’m not the only one, I know. Offhand comments here and there are made from other mothers of their journey – but quickly swept back under cake recipes and developmental stages.

But fierce is still there. If it’s stuffed down it came come back out kinda wonky – like bitchiness and judgemental-ness. We all find ourselves doing it.

What if we took all that energy and used it to find each other?

 

 

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