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I want a new comforter.
Elayna got a new comforter... one more befitting a tween/teen than her current smiling-flowers one. She got it as part of her transition from a little girl to a middle-schooler, from an Atlantan to a Bostonian.
Elayna is reinventing herself - she is dwelling in change.
So am I.
My comforter is grey. My comforter is a safe neutral, like my couch, like everything here; it is a relic of my life in Florida.
When I returned to Florida to have Elayna, I smothered so much of me. I crammed myself into the mold of who I hought I should be, what would best benefit Elayna. I bought a grey comforter, grey couch, I wore grey suits to my generic offic job - I covered myself in neutrals so I would fit in, so the comforter would go with everything, so the eye would pass over me. I covered my fire with water, one friend has said. And these choices meant more than boring decor. They led me to a bad marriage that I entered into for the holy grail of Stability. They led me to staying in a place that poisoned me.
When I moved to Atlanta, moved to Adam, things slowly started to change. I realized that I had not drowned my fire. I realized that Elayna was best served by a mother who was wholly herself, and acted accordingly. I don't dress in mundane drag anymore - I wear skull-and-crossbones t-shirts to field day. I stopped smothering my light to fit in. I have let myself be my large, shiny, ragged-edged self.
But I still have that damn comforter.
I want a new comforter to mark my change, too. I want it to be red, deep rich red; I want a patchwork of silks, velvets; I want it to look like old saris. I want to build my bedroom around something vivid, not something that goes with everything.
But I'm keeping the couch. It's comfy.
Elayna got a new comforter... one more befitting a tween/teen than her current smiling-flowers one. She got it as part of her transition from a little girl to a middle-schooler, from an Atlantan to a Bostonian.
Elayna is reinventing herself - she is dwelling in change.
So am I.
My comforter is grey. My comforter is a safe neutral, like my couch, like everything here; it is a relic of my life in Florida.
When I returned to Florida to have Elayna, I smothered so much of me. I crammed myself into the mold of who I hought I should be, what would best benefit Elayna. I bought a grey comforter, grey couch, I wore grey suits to my generic offic job - I covered myself in neutrals so I would fit in, so the comforter would go with everything, so the eye would pass over me. I covered my fire with water, one friend has said. And these choices meant more than boring decor. They led me to a bad marriage that I entered into for the holy grail of Stability. They led me to staying in a place that poisoned me.
When I moved to Atlanta, moved to Adam, things slowly started to change. I realized that I had not drowned my fire. I realized that Elayna was best served by a mother who was wholly herself, and acted accordingly. I don't dress in mundane drag anymore - I wear skull-and-crossbones t-shirts to field day. I stopped smothering my light to fit in. I have let myself be my large, shiny, ragged-edged self.
But I still have that damn comforter.
I want a new comforter to mark my change, too. I want it to be red, deep rich red; I want a patchwork of silks, velvets; I want it to look like old saris. I want to build my bedroom around something vivid, not something that goes with everything.
But I'm keeping the couch. It's comfy.
