Don't let me feel I have been robbed

I have the habit of making notes when I sense extreme emotions. These observations indicate how much horrid I feel about this version of myself.

I am trapped between several worlds, holding it all together. I am a survivor of the patriarchal society, or maybe a prisoner.

My wings were cut and my branches were pruned. The freshness of my smile is not so present. I look in the mirror and see pity and ugliness and commit to allocating time to look after my body, and I fail every week. The desire to get better is in the air, but the energy.

I hear from those experienced people that this is the way, and everything is fine, the world is beautiful, and maybe I am a nuisance.

Countless I listen to people stating that things will improve when they grow up. It makes me frustrated. I don’t want to live in the future, expecting the day that I can fly will come again.

I learnt to bottle it up and embrace a routine that does not enhance my imagination. I stopped having monologues with friends about motherhood. I became afraid of the unknown and assumed this stability was the right path. I swooped in organised chaos and kept swimming until my body forgot to feel any pain. I failed to fight and believe in my potential until I collapsed.

This recovery process is slow, painful and satisfying. It involves silence, determination, ambition and positivity. I can fight for it here and now.

My wings were cut, and I am learning to build a plane.