Insecurity, you repugnant acquaintance.

All my life? So melodramatic. Really; only, possibly, since junior High: that is when I was introduced to you. A melting pot full of nihilistic tweens, so gracious to send you my way. At first introduction, clinging yourself to me like the leach whose gruesome characteristics you so easily mimic.


A black, plump, thriving leach.

You got ahold and vowed; no, pledged your undying allegiance to me for decades. All the while feeding on my pride, my dignity, my self worth.

Prior to our first, fated encounter you see, I was chalk full of all these chattels. From birth, surrounded by people, donors, giving to this supply. Encompassed by a world that inspired, encouraged, and built up. This is why you survived for so long. Why you became such a remarkable size. The nutrients you fed upon, that made you flourish, were illimitable. Sure, you drained me, left me weak, fragile, but I was able to recharge once home. Daily, I received a life saving transfusion. My life support system infallible.

Until it wasn’t. Until I didn’t. Until the transfusions stopped. Until my tank got too low. Until your grip became too tight. Until I was suffocating. Until refills were now left to me. Separated from my sustenance. A journey too bleak to recount. Decades murky and somber. I refuse to draw forth. All that remains important is remembering, recalling, recanting, the price paid to dislodge you, the depth of the wound left behind, and the time unrecoverable in your grasp.

“You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it. You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They cannot be numbered!”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭139:13-17‬ ‭NLT‬‬

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Mage means magician, what a great way to describe the job of a momma! I’m just one momma making magic, juggling the business of life, trying to embolden other mommas along the way.

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