Containment

 

Containment

1. Big Feelings

I’ve always had to apologise for my big feelings.

I’ve always had to contain my excitement,

contain my sadness,

stop myself exploding.

Exploding —

and then apologising for being so angry,

for kicking out or hurting, — metaphorically, instantly, mostly myself.

Containment.

for being so happy I can’t stop crying.

I can’t contain the happiness —

I’m like I’m free, then suddenly deflated,

sadness dribbling out of me

like a water balloon with a slow leak.

2. The Mould

I’ve always tried to mould

mould my self,

mould my children,

mould my life

into something society approves of —

like a brick mould:

oil first, then sand,

then the clay mix.

But the anger-soft clay

slams in and splashes out,

never fitting,

too much, too little,

coming back to hit me in the face.

3. The Jelly Mould

Or the jelly mould —

wibbly, wobbly,

too wet to firm,

won’t come out,

pools at the sides,

stuck for good,

frozen too close,

placed too close to the evaporator

at the back of the fridge,

ice burned,

burned,

it just won’t leave the mould.

And then — splat —

all the work undone,

firm or wet,

and you’re left wondering

why it’s always looked so easy,

tricked into believing

it was ready.

 

4. The Realisation

The mould never sets.

The bolts are never perfect —

how could they be?

But I was led to believe

I needed to make the mould perfect,

to make them be like me,

perform like monkeys,

be happy,

do,

see,

fit.

5. The Turning Point

It kind of failed me.

I kind of failed me.

I should’ve just let them be —

be like me,

not moulded for society,

not created or manipulated

to be acceptable.

(Footnote: “be like me” refers to shared neurodiversity — something none of us knew at the time.)

6. Acceptance

I feel sad about it —

but only for a moment,

because all I knew

was to not be like my parents,

to try to make things acceptable.

But what is acceptable?

What is acceptance?

Are we accepted

or are we always trying

to be somebody else’s cup of tea?

7. Becoming

I’m glad I realised,

midlife at fifty,

that I will never be

everyone’s cup of tea.

And I hope now

I can teach my children

they don’t need to be either.

We don’t need to tick a box.

We don’t need to stand out.

We don’t need to blend in.

We just need to be —

and by be,

I mean be happy.