Writings

Not Hiring Single Moms

– “Upper management doesn’t care if you’re a single mother. What they care about is if you’re here, meeting business needs.”

– “I’m not telling this to put you down but you do have the highest number of absences in this office.”

– “Can’t you find a teenager in the neighborhood to watch your kids?”

– “You’ve already used your personal days to tend to your kids. Moving forward, you’ll need to use your vacation days.”

– “Why don’t you go live closer to your parents?”

– “You’ll need to make up the hours you missed when you left the office for your kids.”

– “It doesn’t matter that everyone else here is fresh out of school with no parenting responsibilities, I’m sure they have other responsibilities.”

– “No, we are not able to change your shift schedule.”

Photo courtesy of Tintalee Photography


The popular term ‘working mom’ is a redundant one. Being a mother is a job on it’s own. Annabella asked me about 15 mins ago, “is it hard being a mom?” It is. Of course it is. Being a mom to these two girls though? It’s a dream. Really, it is. I get them to myself for three weeks? Dream.

The quotes above were said to me directly, verbatim, during the times I struggled to be 100% present in the corporate world and 100% present for my children. What I learned was: it isn’t possible.

I often spent my rides on the TTC after having these conversations, sobbing, huddled into myself, wondering if I’d ever stop feeling like a failure. Until one morning I literally could not get out of bed because of the heaviness. I knew if I continued on like this, killing myself to get to an environment surrounded by negativity and uncompassionate behavior, that the light inside of me would burn out.

I chose motherhood. By choosing motherhood it meant also choosing myself. If I am mentally and emotionally unavailable for my children, being there physically is meaningless.

I had to evaluate myself, inside out, head to toe and decide to heal so my daughters can look at me without evaluation and say, “We love you mama. You’re the best.”

Tantrums, tears and tattle tales are rough, however feeling worthless is worse.

Writings

Beautiful Fear

July 11, 2018

Another writer from my workshop group told me she hated public speaking but promised her husband she would face her fear. She said, “you have to do it, Taneet!” And so we both wrote our names on the list.

Photo courtesy of Humber College (Lakeshore Campus)

So here I was, hair clinging to my forehead and neck with perspiration, heart pounding, pulse racing, hands shaking. I read a poem I had written at 3am several years prior.

And the words danced out of my mouth delicately, pirouetting en detours, completing a grand jeté before the timer rang. I kept my head down as I absorbed the applause, into my pores, into my veins, shocked that I shared dark words from my heart with award winning/critically acclaimed authors, my living inspirations.

Regardless of how shit scared I was, my words had a voice of their own that did not falter or tremble the way my fingers did. They were not just destined to be spoken. They were determined.

 

Poetry

Dark Dreams

Wish wish wish
Dream dream dream

But stuck in a cruel reality.

Real real real
But it feels like a reel
That’s played in the theatre
So is it really real or is it surreal
What truly is the deal
And who is truly spinning the wheel
Determining our fates
Making time a race
Or maybe erase
My face
From the mirror
So that its never clear
Or it could be the tears
Streaming, flowing, running
Out of my soul
Out of control
Defining my role
Prisoner to my mind
Victim to my crimes
Can’t cross the boundary line
Because its not mine
And never will be.

Wishing and dreaming and thinking and loving and hoping
Trapping taneet
She’s helpless and hopeless
No fight no strength
Look at her
Laugh at her
Struggling, crying, dying slowly
Watch her
Follow her
Running, hiding, dying slowly
Its a dead end
My end
At the end of the road
At the end of the rope
Trapped
Boxed in
Caged in
Like an animal
Cannibal
To my own heart
Strings like a puppet
I’m not myself
I look up to see who is responsible
The hand pushing my head in the water
Drowning me
Killing me
I’m looking
Searching
Why are they doing this
I see the tainted hand
I see the murderer
Its me
Looking down at me
Lips curled up
Crimson like the devil
l i v e d
D i e
V e i l
L i e
E v i l
Think about it
Taste it
Try it on for size
Surprised?
It doesn’t fit
The light is not lit
The shit did not hit
The fan
I ran but she caught me
Drowned me and forgot me
Left me there to rot me
Shot me
The bullet screams my name
The blood brings me to shame
The chase was all a game
Plan
It won’t work
Won’t make it better
Just write a letter
Since that’s all you know
Pathetic, never grow
Your sorrow is a show
That no one wants to watch
A blotch on a paper
The words don’t make sense
Try, but its dense
Spilled ink
Just think
Black streaks all down my face
Spilled ink spilled guts
Words everywhere
Is fear
Black blood
Drowning myself
The paper is wet
Soiled
Spoiled
Boiling brain
Draining me
Murderous, vicious
Take in the pain
Cry it out through the rain
In vain
Pulsing veins
Throbbing, beating, racing.

Open your eyes
Rise
Up from your demise
Try
Do it for them
Do it again and again
The game doesn’t end
Your heart will never mend
No friends
Just a paper and a pen
Do it again and again.