12/15/2023
12/14
It started with knowing that some women can't comprehend motherly bonds and that loving their children feels more like being shackled than unconditional love.
From the scars on my hands to the manipulation tactics that she used. I was always fighting for her attention, and she was showing me how I should be loved.
I was learning that this generational curse I was receiving was packaged just for me but passed down through three generations of matriarchs.
She was why I looked for a love who would always be resentful of me.
I'm now starting to be okay with being loved back by my friends and partners, that people who genuinely see you pour into you.
The days I would spend on our family farm as a child were the days I felt my kin, not the curse.
I felt the love for the soil that grew into a harvest, which grew from the hands of my last name.
My mother and grandmother could sit and talk about night skies, the floods, and how growing up as a farmer's daughter caused your heart to be forgiving and callused.
I was seeing how strong women could be.
I remember watching the wheat blow as a child, the color and the sound as it changes direction.
So, I feel inclined to paint these memories, to pull them from the grave.
This February, I'll be doing my first art show, in which I get to bring this medium to reality.
It's incredibly humorous to me that, for once in my life, I'm creating so much it's hard for me to be a functioning adult with responsibilities.
Growing and changing through my family's reactions have led me here to this point.
This point is an untouched flame, the warmth of building and letting go.