I’m disappearing. In fact, I’m nearly invisible now.
There was a time when I was smart and beautiful and funny and charming and brave. But now, I’m not. Now, I’m someone’s mom. Now, I’m a driver, a cleaner, a cook, a moderator, an occasional friend, and an absolute oppressor.
How strange and sad it is to try to see myself through my children’s eyes. To me, I’m still the wild-haired girl who danced all night, flirted mercilessly, drank gin, read, talked passionately about politics, laughed long and loud, loved sex, and chased dreams. They don’t see that girl though. They laugh and blush at the idea she ever existed, and beg me not to tell their friends. They reject her. And when they allow that, possibly, she was, they’re ashamed.
So, where have I gone? How long ago did I leave?