Poetry + Writing

Honorable, huh?

I don’t know if honorable is a word I would use to describe myself, but it feels good to get a prize.

Cally and I both received honorable mentions by the Scribbit July Write-Away contest.

It is awesome to share the honor with the creative master we call Calico. I think it makes my prize seem even greater; somebody has put me as an equal to the domestic queen.

So, thank you to the judge, Damelsfly at growingalife.

And, just a sidenote, my greatest honor was Michelle Mitchell telling me that she loved my post title, Earning My Underoos. I am all about the post title.

Earning My Underoos

This was written for the Scribbit July Write Away Contest.

I don’t expect to win, but it was so much fun to write,

so thanks to Michelle Mitchell for a beyond awesome topic.

When I was a about eight years old, I remember being so jealous that my sister had Wonder Woman Underoos. I wanted some BAD! I wanted to rule the world.

Before I knew it, I was a young woman, reading the quote, “The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.” I thought, “Yeah right. My mom rocked seven cradles and she doesn’t rule the world.”

As a young married, I was still trying to figure out how to get me some of those Underoos (that being said with my best fake Southern accent ever). I thought that I would have to accomplish so much more before I could reach that Wonder Woman Underoo realm. I just knew that if I could write and photograph and work as a prized photojournalist, (you know, just after I spent my stint in The Peace Corp) that I would rule the world. The world needed me and if anyone was capable of being Wonder Woman it was me. But I had a dilemma. How could I gain my title when I now had a husband and future family to worry about?

I was struggling with my role in the world. I didn’t want to rush into having kids. I had wanted to be a Wonder Woman since my earliest memory, not a wife and mother. I wanted to rule the world, not rock the cradle. I knew that if I were to achieve all of my goals, my husband’s may have to take second place, and he deserved his Underoos too. (albeit he would probably choose Spiderman or Batman – “that’s a tough choice” he just informed me) I felt there was no winning.

It took months of serious reflection and prayer before I started to understand how I could rule the world. Little did I know that it had everything to do with rocking the cradle. I think I was unknowingly on the cusp of earning my Underoos when I wrote this in my journal:

“I think that I will have serious decisions to make in the near future, and they are going to be hard. I will have to be selfless. I think that the only way I will find true joy in this life is if I can help my husband and my children obtain all of their dreams. I need to make their dreams and goals my dreams and goals. If I get to a ripe old age and find that through my own pride I have deprived them of their potential, then I will be ashamed and sad. I know the way to true joy is in the realm of my own little family. I want to look back and know that I was the greatest cheerleader of the greatest people in the world.”

So, the decision was made. At the time I felt like I was giving up my Underoos dream for a while. I felt I may even have to wear Depends first, but darn it, those would be some joyful Depends with stylin’ Underoos over the top. I didn’t realize that in those early months of marriage, I had found the ONLY way a woman becomes a true superhero. The real Wonder Woman Underoos can only be earned by a woman’s willingness to give of herself.

I got pregnant shortly thereafter. I gave up my job. I gave up my full time pursuit of a higher education. Some women may feel like by doing this I have shamed Women’s Lib. But, I feel like I joined a higher cause. I gave up the Underoos because I suddenly knew and understood that “the hand that rocks the cradle IS the hand that rules that world”.

My family needed me to be their stabilizing force. God guided me into rocking the cradle of my husband and my children. And, who was I to argue with God? Even if I was Wonder Woman waiting to be discovered. Besides, if I was going to rock a cradle, I wouldn’t need those Underoos anyway. (Oh, how little did I know)

Soon after the birth of our first daughter, my husband and I made the decision that his education would get top priority. I had no way of knowing that his education would monopolize the following TEN years. Count that! One, two, three, four….yeah, you all get the picture.

So, now you all can understand that earlier this year, when LG FINALLY got his legal license, I couldn’t help but shed tears of utter joy. It wasn’t until I processed the good news that I realized that somewhere along the path I had earned my Underoos. I was all of the sudden astonished that those Underoos didn’t come while I was a photojournalist. I had been wearing those Underoos for years without even realizing it. If it wasn’t for my Wonder Woman Underoos I would have never been able to survive.

I had the greatest joy of all time. My husband had his dream in hand. And so did I. My dream had become his dream, and making his dream mine was precisely how I had earned those Underoos. I was Wonder Woman all along.

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle Is The Hand That Rules The World
~ William Ross Wallace

Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy’s the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother’s first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow–
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission
Here upon our natal sod!
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky–
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Madness

emily dickinson…you gotta love her!

The First Day’s Night Had Come
And Something’s odd – within-
That person that I was-
And this One-do not feel the same-
Could it be Madness-this?
-Emily Dickinson (19th Century)

Washington Post
Did a Bipolar Trait Bring a Turn for the Verse?
By Shankar Vedantam
Washington Post Staff Writer
Monday, May 14, 2001; Page A07

“Scholars have long speculated whether the reclusive poet suffered from some kind of mood disorder. Now, a century later, a new study postulates that Dickinson may have had a mild form of manic depression, with periods of high poetic creativity coinciding with exuberant periods that bordered on mania.”

I’m taking on a serious side today because of the frustration that I am experiencing. I have been reading a book called Touched with Fire by the manic-depressive sufferer, mental health advocate, and PhD and Professor of Psychology at Johns Hopkins University, Kay Radfield Jamison. She is considered by many to be an expert in Manic Depression. In this book she considers the mental health of many of our GREATEST creative artists, such as Emily Dickinson. It is her expert opinion that Emily Dickinson, the remarkable poet, did suffer from Manic Depression, as well as Social Anxiety Disorder. From the poem above, you can get a hint that Emily Dickinson, although never diagnosed, that we know of, also had an inkling that something about her state of mind was not always “quite right”.

Like Kay Redfield Jamison and Emily Dickinson, I am a sufferer of Manic Depressive Disorder (aka BiPolar Disease). I was just diagnosed in August of 2004. This has been a HUGE eye-opener for me. I have read everything that I can get my hands on about the disease and people who have suffered from it. I recently read a Biography about Nick Traina, the son of author Danielle Steele. He was a “casualty” of this disease. He killed himself in the late 90’s; he was very bright and creative, but ended his own life at the young age of 19.

Bipolar Disease is a killer, just like heart disease and cancer. It is sad that society seems to turn their back on individuals who SUFFER from mental illness. I emphasize SUFFER, because unless you have experienced the feeling of “going crazy” that comes with this disease, you cannot possibly know the inner turmoil that it causes…many people feel the only way to get relief is to end their own life.

Well, as soon as I was diagnosed, I began the journey of finding the right medications to help me live a normal life. This is a LONG process and it requires pure diligence because you have to constantly analyze whether or not your prescription drugs are working and what you need more or less of….all depending on your own subjective mood. It is a pain. Lucky for me, I have the BEST HUSBAND IN THE WORLD and very understanding family members (my parents both suffer from one thing or another and my in-laws aren’t crazy, but they try to understand me even though I am). I have all the reasons in the world to live and I have still contemplated suicide, even though I don’t know why I could ever think about something so morbid. [Through my studies I have found that my brain is WIRED this way, as all manic-depressives are].

Well, many people in this world don’t have the wonderful life that I do. Many people NEVER get the medications or help that they need because they are too poor, embarrassed, or uniformed. I may be too poor to afford my meds. soon, but we will figure something out because I don’t want to put my husband and kids through the torture of having a TOTALLY unstable ME. I am always a little unstable, but they like me that way. However, it is a really BAD thing when I never sleep and wake up every morning crying uncontrollably.

I have talked to some charities on the phone today researching what exactly they offer to poor people like me. One conversation that I had with the woman at “Ladies of Charity” really struck me. She informed me that they only provide the needy with medications that help with LIFE THREATENING diseases. Not, that I am trying to undermine what they are doing for the heart disease sufferers (many of which are that way because of bad habits), but BIPOLAR DISEASE is LIFE THREATENING and the people who suffer from it, have done nothing to deserve what they suffer from. It is MADNESS that the people in our world want to turn their backs to them, when they have enriched our society so much.

Other bipolar sufferers: William Blake (the poet), T.S. Eliot, Victor Hugo, Edgar Allen Poe, Walt Whitman, Hans Christian Andersen, Charles Dickens, Ralph Waldo Emerson, William Faulkner, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Herman Melville, Robert Louis Stevenson, Tennessee Williams, Virginia Woolf, George Frideric Handel, Robert Schummann, Peter Tchaikovsky, Hugo Wolf, Irving Berlin, Vincent Van Gogh, Benjamin Haydon, and Michelangelo.