Rock-A-Bye Baby
Update: March 29 @ 6:00pm
To my friends who have read this and reached out to provide love and support – I love you so much. I think what I needed most was to be seen and heard, and to remember that I am worthy of unconditional love, and have a community safety net. Folks sent me relevant apartment listings, signed up to babysit Luca, invited me on play dates, sent me countless love notes, and even offered us room and board in their own homes – folks I hadn’t talked to in years, folks I see every week. I feel real loved right now, and like my pathways for moving forward have exponentially increased.
One of those pathways is that Lauren and their parents are now open to me buying our home from them at the same rate they got it, plus what they’ve put into it so far. This concession helped my nervous system calm down so I could show up for a face-to-face meeting with Lauren, where they expressed how my reactive behavior hurt them and eroded trust, particularly my threats to move away with Luca if I couldn’t afford rent. We have been operating on shared agreements around the co-parenting of Luca, not legal ones, just as we have with ownership of the home, and it’s true that I could take Luca away and no lawyer could stop me. It was not okay for me to say that to Lauren, no matter how desperate I was, and I wish I had paused to check in with my values before using that as a way to express my pain and anger. I’ve done the same to both my parents in the past in attempts to protect myself and Luca when I’ve felt my boundaries have been crossed and my needs are not being validated, and it wasn’t okay then either. As Will Smith said this week, “I am a work in progress,” and communicating my needs and boundaries compassionately is a major growth edge for me, especially when they involve Luca. But it doesn’t excuse the behavior, and harm has been done which will ultimately impact Luca. I’m sorry to everyone my behavior has impacted, especially Lauren and Luca, and am grateful for everyone who has shown up for us all.
I also didn’t share in my story that Lauren offered to help pay rent at a new place for some time, and that I rejected the offer, feeling that it would perpetuate an unhealthy power-over dynamic. The truth is, Lauren and I have different kinds of power and privilege in different contexts in our shared life, and it’s really fucking messy to navigate sometimes, especially the ways we orient around resources and government structures because of our different lived experiences. But I wanted to disclose this now because, as Lauren pointed out, the narrative I’ve shared is one-dimensional – it’s how I’ve experienced things, and Lauren will have their own unique story for how they’ve experienced all of this, and both can be true.
I’m not sure what our path to repairing and restoring trust will look like, or whether I’ll actually be able to buy this house… whether I should, even. Perhaps another option that feels good may open up given some time to heal and get back into alignment with my self and my family. For now, I’m going to take note of what’s come up through all of this, extend compassion to myself and others, and keep leaning on those growth edges.
Original post: March 28 @ 11pm
“Rock-a-bye Baby” plays on my kid’s night light as I type this. Can’t help thinking how relevant the lyrics are to my life right now.
It’s 10pm and Luca’s just fallen asleep next to me. It only took a few minutes for him to pass out once he laid down – tired out, I’m sure, by his mom’s big feelings today... the past two weeks, really. Motherhood has required I really step up my ability to maintain high levels of awareness and activity, often in public, while feeling my feelings. So today I cried while shooting hoops in the gym exhibit at the Children’s Museum, and in the car as the breeze hit my face while I rolled down the window to pay for parking, and as I sat in a movie theater with my 3.5-year-old watching a violent PG-13 Spider-Man movie about responding to grief with care instead of vengeance. In between the crying, I was sending angry texts sprinkled with “fuck yous” and threats to take our kid and move to Spain because I can’t afford rent in SLC to my now ex-partner, Lauren, and screaming at Luca to stop punching me in the face. I’ve got a lot of apologizing and repairing to do.
What’s going on, you might ask? Well, it’s long and complicated, but in a nutshell: Lauren and I are breaking up after a year of trying to make a different kind of relationship work for us, something that I instigated. They’re moving on and dating someone else now, and it’s unexpectedly touched all sorts of old wounds in me, the biggest one being: Am I going to lose my home? And my fears have led to a self-fulfilling prophecy: Yes, yes you are. Because you see, Lauren and I have been living together through shared agreements – but at the end of the day, this house is “owned” by their family. And while I asked Lauren if I could buy it from their parents, what triggered my meltdown today is that I got a hard “no.”
If you’re surprised that I even asked, I don’t blame you. If you know me, you’ve probably experienced me as the kind of person who questions ownership, who shares everything, who often says “safety is an illusion” while trust-falling into relationships and the most radical of community building projects. You know me as someone trying to reimagine family and friendship. So what’s the deal? Have I been pretending? Performing? I’m still trying to figure it out, to be honest, because I’m just as surprised as you.
Here’s what I do know:
For the past 9 months or so, Lauren’s willingly taken on some of our biggest expenses, including paying their parents for the house – which will just go back to them, so don’t know if that counts, but regardless, I don’t pay rent.
I’ve been paying for my own essentials with savings, freelance gigs here and there, and half a PPP loan I got last year, plus a credit card when needed, and cash shoved into my hands by my mom, who's been working extra shifts at the hospital. Essentially, I’ve been able to work for myself and my community because I haven’t had to get a regular 9-5 or piece together 40+ hours of contract work.
Which has allowed me to do so many things I’ve never been able to do before, including: co-develop a community care collective/cooperative that’s about to launch a series of workshops from curriculum we’ve designed based on our own needs/values/dreams, including an alternative economic experiment; reconnect with and structure spiritual healing practices that feel aligned with my values; write and make art on my own and with friends; and a big one: realize that I am neuro-divergent (or perhaps inherently queer and anti-capitalist – same thing, in my mind) and allow myself to let go of structures and timelines that have been suppressing and oppressing my spirit.
The support and relative stability has also allowed me to be present and fully involved in Luca’s childcare, which has looked like getting to know parents at his schools (plural, because one shut down and the other one is… well, shaky), building community, and organizing to raise wages and create more sustainable conditions for teachers. And of course, being observant of Luca’s needs – which meant pulling him out of full-time childcare last year ‘cause it was too overwhelming for him, and being able to do so because I wasn’t accountable to anyone but myself and my community.
Ironically, all of these things have also surfaced just how different mine and Lauren’s needs and dreams are. And while we share values and general worldview, our strategies are in conflict, and thus, our relationship requires a shift – including no longer cohabitating, and for them, no longer supporting me materially.
And because Lauren owns the house, I’ve gotta leave… but I can’t afford rent in this city, certainly not a house with a yard, which has become essential to me with a high-energy kid. And I can’t really afford to buy this house either, even if they were willing to sell it for what they originally paid, which is probably half of what it would sell for only 4 years later ‘cause that’s how fucked up our economy is.
But do I really want to own a house if it’s not a collective endeavor? If it’s not contributing to decolonization, do I really want to make that kind of investment? I don’t even have a retirement fund for this reason… because that’s another thing I want to reimagine.
So here we are… my whole body’s kicking and screaming NOT FAIR like a toddler whose childhood lovey’s been taken away and given to some other kid on the playground surrounded by stuffed animals, at the same time as I question whether I really need the lovey… whether, perhaps, what the lovey gave me might just be in me all along, and in my community…
I’ve been talking to a dear friend of mine lately about how honoring our needs helps us show up better… and that doing so can lead to reflection and observation, giving us capacity to let them go if they’re not serving us, or get creative if we need different strategies to get them met that are in better alignment with our values.
And what I do know very clearly about myself now is that kind of reflection and discernment requires time. A pause. Sometimes a moment, but for me and my orientation to time… usually more.
So that’s what I’m going to ask for, ground in, call in: time. If you’ve got some to share with me, in whatever form feels good for you – looking for rentals ($1500 is the most I can afford, and that’s half of what I’m making right now so less is more), hanging out with Luca for a couple hours, inviting us to do something with our bodies (especially art), or even just sending loving and supportive thoughts our way, I will appreciate it.
Thank you to the friends who have already shared time with me the past couple of weeks and been anchors in a sea of overwhelming feelings, especially Sadie, Hillary, June, Saychelle, Carla, Danny, Cesia, Angie, Drew, and Maria (my mom). Wow, that’s a lot of you!
Been listening to this song for a couple hours now, so here’s a reframe:
Rock-a-bye baby in the tree top
When the wind blows, your cradle will rock
When the bow breaks, your cradle will fall
And down will come baby, into my arms
Pages from one of my favorite children’s books: The Tree In Me by Corinna Luyken