In the previous post, I shared 'Three things that have changed since I became a parent', reflecting on how much taking care of a tiny human can flip your world inside out. 

Everything changes. 
Well, almost everything.

Note: After posting this it was brought to my attention that this piece of writing may seem insensitive to those who have had difficult experiences on the road to becoming a parent - or who have desired parenthood but have not been able to fulfil this desire. There are many people in my close circles who have these stories, and if this is your story , I want to acknowledge your grief and loss. My story has its own scars (which I've written about in earlier posts), but it also has enormous privileges that I know are not shared by all. This is intended as a lighthearted and humorous reflection on things that may impact the decision to try and have a child, but it is not intended to make light of the difficult road this can be.

​
There's no two ways about it. 

The rumours are true.
​
Becoming responsible for a tiny human flips your life upside down,
shakes it like a snow-globe, 
waits for you to think the contents are just about to settle...
then shakes it all again.

It changes...pretty much everything.
Well, not quite everything. 

Last month I did something I don't often do. 

As in, I don't ever do. 

I read a poem I had written off my phone. In front of a crowd. And it was how I set the tone for the monthly spoken word night I host.

I have so many mental reasons why I tell myself I don't do this. 'You're a professional! Real performance poets memorise everything! People expect a certain standard from you!'

And I'm not chucking the baby out with the bathwater. There are good reasons I memorise my poems. I want to wear them like skin for the audiences I share with. I want to know I can look into people's eyes while I share what I have carved out with care. I want to be able to breathe the full life I intended into the phrases I crafted.

But, in all of those reasons, what am I saying about others? 

What am I role modelling to the student I urged to share,
even if it was just one shakey line from a phone,
even if it was just saying their name,
​even if was just sharing their breath on a stage?

I am saying I am past that. That I am bigger than that. Above that. Beyond that.

But, here and now, I am calling myself out. 

I am the student, who sometimes needs to urge myself to share,
even if it's just one shakey line from a phone,
even if it's just saying my name,
​even if it's just sharing my breath on a stage.

I'm a learner. I'm small. I'm a work in progress.

So, I did this. I took my own advice. I became vulnerable. 

I made a confession.