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By Theresa M Lapensee

When I stopped shrinking to fit inside a box I hadn’t made in the first place ​

When I stopped being quiet and pushing my real heart desires down​

When I stopped changing who I was for fear of being too much ​

That’s when I started to come into it​

My power​

My voice ​

Me ​

Powerful Woman, That’s Me

So it’s 2am and I am wide awake after a night spent drinking and laughing and talking ​

And part of it is so good and fun and free​

But the other part is hard and vulnerable and real ​

The part of me that walks in the door at 1:30am and hears my six year old son call my name​

And when I go to his room to tuck him in the realization that he doesn’t recognize me for a second. ​

My energy my voice my intoxicated banter and the way I feel and smell ​

He wants his Mama, the one he knows and loves ​

But he buries his face in my chest and I carry him to bed and I lay beside him ​

Happy to have felt young and carefree at least for a night anyhow ​

​And I miss being someone’s wife, miss being needed and wanted ​

How I wish I didn’t mean that or feel that says the feminist part of my brain and my psyche ​

But it’s true ​

Crawling into a big bed with only a child to realize there is no man coming to join us ​

No man to kiss my forehead and brush the hair out of my eyes and make me green tea in the morning and eagerly wait till Sunday night to make love to me slowly then heatedly in the bed that we share ​

I want to feel the heat of someone else ​

for a change ​

for a night. ​

And not listen to the worries inside my loud beating heart. ​

To know that kissing the back of my neck and making me laugh is something someone wants with me. ​

I want to know that the powerful energy I am isn’t too much and someone will see through it for what it is​

A little girl grown up ​

Vulnerable turned strong ​

Small turned loud ​

Alone turned busy and bossy ​

And even on those days when I seem to have it all together ​

The house​

The career ​

Motherhood ​

The details ​

He can slide off my clothes and draw me a bath and cover me on cool white sheets whispering that he sees me and wants me ​

Not for what I do ​

Not for what I earn ​

Not for the number of things I take responsibility for ​

But just for being Theresa ​

Just for being me ​

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