At 10pm at night I begin my dance. It is a tired time for me, after a non-stop 16 hour day of domestic chores, running after toddler, thinking about the next day or weeks activities, ad infinitum.
I dance in my kitchen - dishes piled in drainboard, the oven needs cleaning, my feet stick to the floor - remnants of my son's snack time. I am wearing - well whatever I happen to be wearing - there can be no preparation no pause to my dance.
Timer goes ON and I GO. I only have 30 minutes. 30 minutes before I crash down in tiredness. And I don't know the songs, most times. I don't *think* about what I am doing - I just go.
I wonder -
"are my dances all the same growing out of this tired daily flow?"
"does it really matter, me dancing in my kitchen like this"?
"WHY AM I DOING THIS GO TO BED"
But I said I'd do it - so I go. I move. My head sometimes can hardly hold up, but I go. Such a far cry to previous dances.
So - alone. In my cell. My Mother-cell.
I don't think most realize how lonely being a single Mum is -isolating. You lose friends. Not intentionally - people drop - because my life doesn't match to what it matched before - I can't keep up and others don't think to (or can't) adapt. Even this dance is the sacrifice of another hour of sleep.
So WHY do it? Because I must do something - to change the energy - to be MYSELF again. And I think there must be others out there like me. Others whose lives are so full of responsibility they forget themselves. So I start the dance. And I'm thankful for it - because I realize the privilege and beauty to my previous dances in a whole new way.
I think about the fine line between a cell and a sanctuary. And I am determined to transition my containment to liberation.
A wise-woman once told me that 'Hope Dances' - and so I do.