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Detached By ToLand

“Detachment refers to a state of emotional distance or disconnection from something or someone. It can be a deliberate choice to avoid becoming too attached to someone or something, or it can be a coping mechanism to deal with difficult or painful situations.”

Becoming a mom is still the single, most isolating feeling I have ever experienced.  The random thoughts of a fun night out disappear just as quickly as labor pains. The detachment from a life once known to a life that now is culture shock at its finest. The responsibility of becoming someone’s mom is the heaviest love I have ever felt.  For me, it came with three rules: ‘No guidance.  All expectations.  Do not fail.’  All I had was the spirit of my thousand mothers as I crawled into the city of motherhood.

Upon entrance, the infamous DRP (Delivery Room Photo). These are some of the worst, most invasive moments captured.  Skin stretched to provide a safe opening for a baby’s exit from the body feels like a thousand Julys.  A fresh pour of ice-cold water on my hotspot holds value in a space that was never honored.  Instead, the importance of the moment was placed on the celebration of trauma masked with happiness.  That’s how I felt.  That’s also how I view the house by the tracks. Smile for the cameras.

Parenting is a foreign concept to some parents. I’m no different.  The stitches from the baring had not yet healed.  My breasts were full of milk and felt like rocks in feel and form.  It was coupled by an uneasy feeling I could not put words to.  Against my doctors’ order- there I was hovering over our little guy’s pudgy little baby body, doing pushups.  I barely slept and always felt short on time. Between running this new baby feeding business and an online store I realized on the fly just how much I was in the game with no time to waste.  With every set was a reminder of my life in the moment. I was up and down. Lost and found. Down and pushing to get back up.  I went down and kissed his smile and with every set I repeated, do not fail.  

I often wondered if that uneasy feeling I felt was postpartum.  Now, I know it was.  I used to scoff at girls that made pregnancy pacts… look who’s laughing now. Every time I felt that odd feeling set in, I began to exercise.  The expectation to persevere was on my back more now than ever before.  My entire life up until this point, I can count on one hand and still have 4 fingers and a thumb left at how many times a family member’s expectation of me mattered. I needed to develop the character traits that never did but may have rescued my parents. Somehow, this little baby’s judgment was the biggest issue I have ever faced.  All these expectations.  If I was a lock, then he held my keys and he couldn’t even speak.

His ingenuine wines from another room made my legs tire. This is how he taught me how to listen.  My thoughts run wild at the lessons I learned from my infant.  I grew up with baby after baby being born into our family for 5 long, long years.  Why did I lack this visual from my pre parental family experience?  I’ve never witnessed an adult obsessed over my own or any child’s well-being.   Children presence was more of a nuisance than a blessing.  The only person who appreciated children was Nanna, and that was only if you cherished her influence and ignored her flaws.  

I was in the second grade at the Bruce Annex.  My teacher’s name was Ms Sacceti.  She was a pretty white woman who looked like the mom on Ms Doubtfire that would not let Robin Williams see his kids.  For no apparent reason- she wasn’t fond of me. I don’t remember if that movie came out before or after my second-grade year.  I do remember not liking her because of my childhood judgment of her character.  To me, it resembled the lady in that movie. Who wasn’t a bad person! Ultimately, she just didn’t want her ex-husband dressing up as lady for money.  I believe Ms Saccetti problem was personal- she didn’t like me being a smart black girl. Despite being the only kid in Lawrence scoring 100% on the statewide testing that year, I received a D in one of my subjects while in Ms Saccetis class and I was proud of it. I knew what this D represented- ‘Damn- Something’s wrong at home.’

Of course some things were wrong at home. I was surrounded by broken women protective of a familial brotherhood of pedophilia and drug users.  Yet, all everyone seemed to recognize was a religious elder, the piano playing and children’s laughter.My cousin says I freed myself.  I never acknowledged them as shackles.  The conditioning we received as children was classic; ‘Be seen, not heard. Respect adults. Do not embarrass me.’ I must have made a secret pact with myself as a young girl to unsubscribe to all of that bullshit.  For me, the D was for Detached.  Yea… I started my process in the 90’s.

Embrace Detachment with our Detached Collection

Discover the profound beauty of detachment with our “Detached” collection. Browse through our products inspired by the thought-provoking art piece, featuring a suspended puppet and the symbolism of detachment. Each item in this collection embodies the power of self-preservation, personal growth, and embracing your true self. Click below to explore our store.

Enter Our Writing Contest

We’ve shared our interpretation of Detached, but now we want to hear from you. What does this art piece mean to you? How do you detach and why? We believe that everyone’s perspective is unique and valuable, and sharing your insights may help someone else in their healing journey. By participating, you also get a chance to win a free detached mug. Join the conversation and leave your thoughts in the comments below or submit your own post on detachment. Your voice matters and together, we can inspire and support one another!

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