Last week I went to a writer’s workshop for a parenting magazine. I’d like to submit an article so figured it would be nice to hear more about the magazine and what they look for.
At one point during the discussion I looked around the room. The 20 or so participants made for an eclectic group – various styles reflecting various personalities – but for some reason I found myself noticing earrings. Not the studs or the subtle earrings, but the longer ones, chosen to complement an outfit. They weren’t even flashy. I just noticed them.
The next day as I got dressed found myself thinking about those earrings. I haven’t worn earrings in months. Two, to be exact – not since I took time off work. I almost always wore earrings at work, sometimes hoops, sometimes longer ones, sometimes a flashy pair. The flashy pair came out if I was having a good day and wanted to bling it up or if I was having a bad day and wanted to pretend things were happy and shiny. On average days they stayed in my jewellery box.
Earrings are just part of who I am. Even on weekends, I often used to pop in a pair of small hoops. But not right now. That morning I thought about putting on a pair of earrings and, for a reason I don’t really understand, it actually made me uncomfortable.
I think it’s part of what I’ve been doing lately – stripping away the layers. Things I’d tried to avoid have been exposed. Things I wanted to be there that weren’t have been illuminated by the light as merely shadows.
This process has been mostly figurative, but that night in that workshop I noticed those women’s earrings for a reason.
When I get dressed in the morning I wear very little in the way of adornment. I don’t normally wear a lot of makeup, but lately I’ve worn only mascara. That’s it – my face is free of anything else.
I wear my wedding band, which I never take off. My engagement ring, which I love, is tucked into its velvet bed with my other rings.
I wear a simple, silver bracelet given to me not long ago by a friend because it reminds me of how strong she is, and of love.
And I wear a chain around my neck. It’s not a necklace. It’s a chain, like the kind used for military ID. At the moment it holds two things: a dragonfly pendant and a key. I have ordered a bird pendant similar in style to the dragonfly, and with that my chain will be complete.
The dragonfly represents my identity as a mother. When I was pregnant with Connor I saw dragonfly images everywhere, including on the business cards of the midwife I chose (not for that reason, but it certainly seemed like more than a coincidence). It reminds me that being a mother is part of who I am. A welcome part. A chosen part. A part that has never been taken away, even though the struggle that resulted made me rail against this piece of my identity for a long time.
The bird represents my evolving identity. The things I have accepted about myself. The parts I’ve embraced, even though they weren’t what I expected. The parts I’ve let go. The bird (have you noticed my header?) represents someone who is determined to take this battle and turn it into something meaningful.
The key is a gift from my sister. It is a wish for happiness. It reminds me of love.
At night I sleep wearing this chain. During the day, it stays tucked inside my shirt. Not because I don’t want to show others this representation of me – just that it’s not for others. It’s for me. For now it’s my ID tag – a subtle presence resting against my chest that reminds me of who I want to be.
