As warned, and expected, the postpartum period has felt utterly chaotic and ravaging. But, its a very different kind of chaos than people caution about. I am an artist who has always flourished in the midnight hour. I am a woman who has always played many cards at once; be it student, bartender, artist, lover, curator, writer, healer, or at-work-to-heal. I’ve been this person, done these things and held down 3 jobs at the same time, and from this, I’ve learned many skills that seem to be of high value in early parenting- endurance, fortitude, and adaptability. (Yes, while working on finding balance and trying to not do everything at the same time, all the time.)
The “sleepless nights” and the constant small person in need, parents and books are always warning about hasn’t been that hard for me. (Gasp.) Not that its been easy. At all. It’s been the gargantuan shifts in identity, the paradigms exploding all over the place, and also a huge frustration I feel toward people (including my partner) asking me “So.. what are you doing now?” or “What else did you do today?” I want to smack them all with the back of my hand and say “Keeping my fucking baby alive, stupid!” I am flooded with dissonance, unable to resolve my internalized voices of feminists, radical gender theorists, driven career professionals, and dreamers in me, who however much are in love with the current circumstances, definitely did not plan it all out this way, and who definitely don’t agree with how we are handling these things.
One thing they all do agree on, is that I’m a queer femme, and have never done anything more stereotypically, gender typifying in.my.life. I have found myself positioned in relationship to a straight man, who is bringing home the bucks, who has all the savings, while I raise our baby and search for a career move that could somehow encompass my identity and dreams, and the needs of our family too. And sometimes I want to scream. It’s been thoroughly confusing to confront new thoughts and experiences found in motherhood, that tell me things I once considered to be aligned with conservatives of the Tea Party- “It’s OK to stay home right now. This IS valuable. This IS work.” Or, even “lets move outside this beautiful city.” Posed against the feminist in me who says I should not position myself to be dependent on a man for any reason whatsoever. Posed against the queer outlaw in me who so remembers growing up in a normative family structure and place and feeling like such an outcast and alien, who found refuge and chosen family at 17 years old in the city of San Francisco. Then steps in, the mother and the partner, who sees that more space and less distractions would be a healthy and healing move for us all.
I am situated between my loving and amazing partner, my breathtakingly beautiful son and my shifting identity, searching for a way to bring my relationship to all of these parts of life and self in line. Among all this internal chaos, I am finding refuge in dance. It has been the most accessible and healing art form I a: have time for, b: can do with or without my baby, c: doesn’t hold controversy due to inaccessibility or bourgeois presentation methods (at least not in the ways I choose to come to the experience), and d: has the capacity to express emotion, release thoughts, interact socially and facilitate exercise.
Besides being lucky enough to attend weekly Fusion Rhythms classes at ODC, last night I went to Ecstatic Dance in San Francisco. The Ecstatic Dance community, throws weekly and monthly alcohol and drug free parties, encouraging free form, expressive dance. The guidelines are as follows:
1. Move however you wish
2. No talking on the dance floor
3. Respect yourself and one another
I put River down to sleep, left him with dad, and went to dance my ass off. DJ Alxndr rocked the room with music that was deep with base and gypsy, electro, hip-hop and electronic rhythms. The space was welcoming, diverse, playful, joyful and the most nonjudgmental social space I have felt a part of for a long while. There were people dancing all over the room, engaging in others for a split moment, before re-entering their own expressive and personal dance space. Because there is no talking allowed- the voices in my head, the quarreling identities and shifting pieces of attitude and self were forced into submission. For two hours, I was allowed to move freely and rhythmically with a group of people all doing the same, sharing only the space and the movement- free from verbal stories, substances or pressure of any kind. It was SO awesome. I felt catapulted into my ever present self, some kind of self that is consistent, and rhythmic as the music, ready for change, ready for bringing in the beats that come next, and ready to get quiet and just move for a while.
I believe these expressive movements and breaks from the busy stream-of-consciousness are vital to allowing all these great identity shifts to take place. When things get too busy in there to enable the possibility of sorting anything out- I will dance!
Sparkle Bam Pow! Jewelry, Metalsmithing, Art. 