Skip to main content

it feels like handing them the sky

I crossed the milestone yesterday with unexpected melancholy... the first day of having two kids in school.  Really, I thought I'd be excited, ready to shake off the first thick layer of Stay-At-Home Motherhood.  The emotions  caught me off guard.

I was excited for my new preschooler, all decked out in his big brother's "cool" backpack and the shiny blue heart keychain he bought himself with some of his birthday money over the summer, but after dropping him off with a flourish and easy success I felt like the wind was knocked out of me in that startling way that keeps you from taking a deep breath, waiting for air.  I got in my car to leave, and I cried.

I think part of it is because it was just so easy, the pure relief of making it through early childhood with a typical child.  He's completely ready and capable and happy for whatever's next.  

Motherhood during these younger years was so different for me the first time around.  Having a child with atypical needs felt like learning how to be an air traffic controller while on the job.  Terrifying.  Live!...without a net.  There were so many instances where I felt completely in over my head (most of the time, really) and where it seemed that I had failed, moments big and tiny that are now casualties of crashing and burning like his 4th birthday party, and one specific awful morning that haunts me like a dark tragedy.  I just didn't know any better.  I never knew what it felt like to have a "regular" kid, who on the first day of preschool I could walk to the door, kiss goodbye, and that would be that.  

That is exactly what happened, and I was unprepared. 

I think that now I'm finally standing on the other side of early motherhood, across a bridge spanning over ten years, I'm just reflecting on what was easily one of the most challenging decades of my life.  It's the weight of it all surfacing and fluttering away in the wind - all the joy and all the heartache of my life as a mom of these two incredible boys - shifting and changing, feeling lighter as they grow their wings and fly more and more on their own and we soar into this next part of the journey, together.  No diaper bags or pack-n-plays or carriers needed anymore, just what's packed messily into our own hearts. 

The perspective is so different and I have to get used to it, I guess.  It's hard to believe that I'm really here.  

We made it this far.  


Popular posts from this blog

Inner Alchemy Cards: Build A New World Deck

Our next make-your-own card adventure is finally here! Inner Alchemy Collage: Build A New World Deck (online) is an artful exploration of language, learning, inspiration, and collaboration, that delves into important ideas around activism and systems of oppression. This is a way for us to examine and disrupt harmful dominant narratives, tell new stories, and inspire one another to use our creativity and personal power to help build the collective world we all want to live in! In the end you will have a beautiful and meaningful handmade deck of 35 oracle cards to use as unique a tool for guidance and reflection whenever you need it.  I'm your host,  Mindy Tsonas Choi , an artist, organizer, radical belonging activist, and the founder of the Be Seen Project - a grassroots initiative resourcing BIPOC artist and makers working in activism. Join me along with other stellar artists, makers and co-creators who have also been exploring social justice and activism as part of their creativ

The Cost of Selling Belonging

As someone who use to sell belonging and believed I was creating something universally magical , I now have fresh eyes on the harm that I once caused. I understand what can (and was) incredibly healing and impactful for some, was at the same time excluding, marginalizing and undervaluing others. First, to anyone who ever felt like they did not belong to anything I created because they were unable to afford it or felt like they did not have the social capitol to join -  I am sincerely sorry for not seeing you sooner .   To our entire creative community as a whole, I urge us all to think about belonging in new and equitable ways, and to do the work of dismantling these hierarchical structures that leave so many people out of the circle. We all deserve to have access to creativity and belonging, and I'd go so far as to say both are fundamental basic human needs and rights. Selling belonging can look like... Creating spaces and experiences that can only be accessed by buying in at one,

what's in a name?

It’s May 14, 2020 and I’m on a transnational call with a social worker and translator of the SOS Children’s Village offices in South Korea. It’s 7pm my time and 9am the next day in Korea, which adds to the surreal quality of the moment. It is my first long distance call following my inquiry with the organization documented to be my first place of entry into the system, found in my Korean records (the acquisition of which is an incredible story in and of itself). It was July 21, 1972 and I was 5 months old. It’s a small miracle the organization still exists, and an even bigger blessing that they took such time and care in searching for information and to talk it all through with me in person. I try not to cry as the call connects. What I learn is a lot of small details about that fateful evening which amount to nothing traceable, but still feel like huge missing pieces of my life. I was left near the entrance around 7pm under a small tree, wrapped in a blanket with only a name scribble