There are holes inside us
where hope used to be,
where we hid dreams
from those who would take them.
I’ve been on a poetry kick lately. Something about the time of year, changing of seasons, especially the most recent cold winter into cautious spring. One of my favorite books of poetry is by Bucky Sinister, (check out his amazing works here). This quote from Filler speaks to me so much right now.
As a new mom, I’m learning where the holes in me still are. I’m not perfect mom, not even close, and I feel the depth of that imperfection so much when I’m around other moms who seem to have it all together with their doe-eyed innocents, eating kale and talking about the one hour of screen time their kid gets a month. Meanwhile, I’m trying to make my toddler forget how amazing cupcakes are, or at least convince him that he can’t have three in a row before breakfast.
But his love is perfect. He throws his arms around me and clutches so tight I can barely breathe. His toddler logic is the harder he holds on, the more I know he loves me, and to be honest, it works. I used to love that way once, I think. Back when I thought my love could change someone, could make an unhealthy person better, when I thought I could will the toxicity out of my life if I just loved hard enough. And I could hope my way into happiness.
But with that hope long gone, holes left by the people who would take it, I feel the emptiness when he holds me. And the filling up with new hope, just for him, that takes it’s place.