Mask Mother

“I take pleasure in my transformations.
I look quiet and consistent,
but few know how many women
there are in me.”

by Anais Nin


Choosing which mask to wear, I reassure myself that the underlying pulse is the same. I put on the mask of concerned mother, casual diva, caustic bitch, apathetic teenager, but when my heart rate slows down, it’s the same hands I look at. They grow more wrinkled with every day, every chapter completed.

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I wrote this for an organisation ‘Mother In The Mother‘ who are gathering stories of motherhood.


Becoming A Mum.

Cursed with polycystic ovaries I had been told, ‘You will find it extremely difficult to get pregnant.’ This was not in fact the case. In the space of six months I had met my husband and my step-daughter to be and become pregnant. Although I was over-joyed to be growing a new life, fear sat next to me regularly. My step daughter was with us every weekend and for my husband, I was carrying his second child. Heavy in the air around my in-laws was the knowledge that I represented the distraction from ‘the break-up’ and I retreated into myself, to protect the connection with the miracle that was transforming me. I had a well paying job and also trained to work in the arts, I began to be offered new opportunities within my chosen field and yet chose to put these on hold while I grew and gave birth to my son.

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Talking Genitals – do you talk about it?


Kevin Mcfadin

Warning: as you’d expect, this piece contains language that refers to vaginas.

Give me a few hours to marinate in cocktails with my women friends, there will always be swearing, sex and magic discussed. Our characters grow into tv sit-com size, quotes fly around the room from sex in the city ‘If I had a son I’d teach him all about sex’. Remembered words from Eve Ensler “I bet you’re worried. I was worried. I was worried about vaginas. I was worried about what we think about vaginas, and even more worried that we don’t think about them.”

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School Rant – Are you happy with the choices for your children?

I’d rather poke my own eyes out, than look around another secondary school for my daughter. I’d prefer to get her frozen in time and keep her just how she is. I’d freeze her in a beautiful bedroom, that has been decorated by artists. Stars on the ceiling that emulate the universe in light, movement and colour, ever-changing. I’ll open the door occasionally and look at her wrapped up in imagination and innocence.

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