When you think you are all grown up

Isn’t it interesting how just when you think you’ve grown up, you grow.

I remember when I was first a mother. I was terrified of being responsible for whole entire little person. All I could think about was a pressing desperate need to grow up. I needed to grow the hell up and right fucking now.

I sat in the hospital room in the middle of that first night looking down at the tiny wrinkly little face of my sleeping newborn son. I was eighteen and had not quite managed to grow out my mo-hawk yet. I was trying, I wanted to be whatever it was that I needed to be in order to be everything he would need. After a few years, I had the sense that I had grown up. The baby was a little boy who was happy and had clean shoes to muddy whenever his little playful heart wanted. I had grown, but I was not all grown up.

After several more children and a long drawn out abusive marriage, I divorced their Dad and put myself into college. Single mom with four young kids, making my way in the big bad world. I remember thinking in the middle of the night while they lay asleep in their little beds that I had grown up at long last. Again, it turned out I had grown but not all the way up.

A few years later, after finding the kink community I had wonderful and crazy and not-what-I-thought-they-would-be encounters with others. I had moved into a place of feeling in control of my sexuality. I was lusty and lush and lavish with my body and my time. I loved and was loved and drank in so much that I nearly drown. I remember sitting in my bedroom, still salted with sweat, several lovers asleep in my bed with their snores harmonizing. I thought to myself, now I am truly grown up. I am a woman in control of her life, her passions, and her future. I was, of course, wrong. I had grown but I was not grown up.

Then I found myself constantly fetching coffee for and walking a quiet step behind this amazing man. I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to be anything he would be pleased by. I cried myself to sleep when he wouldn’t let me iron his clothing. By some odd twist of fate, he chose to take ownership of me. To be my everything. He collared me, branded me, and finally married me. I remember laying in his bed after awakening from a bad dream and feeling his fist wrapped firmly in my hair. Even as he slept, he held me fast in his grip. I thought I had indeed grown up. I thought I was complete. As always, I was wrong. I have grown, but I am not yet grown all the way up.

Each day I find new growth. Friendships blooming around me. Children themselves growing and bringing new joys and challenges. New growth and deeper roots. I feel strong and whole now when I think of this growing. I am pleased to know I am not yet complete. I am happiest when I am changing while always remaining myself.

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