Child of the Moon Page 4

  To intimately know rage and therefore euphoria

  To intimately lie in nothingness and therefore meaning

  To intimately know abuse and therefore intimacy

  To intimately know that opposites are simply two sides of the same moon

  The moon has been in my heart all along

  Waiting for me to look within

  a child of the moon always wanders around the stars she dances her way through constellations, to the beat of a midnight sky

  Find your moon

  On a dark cold night

  Or a warm summer sunrise

  Pick it up and hide it tight in your chest

  And harvest it when you can’t rest

  Children of the same moon #1

  Your moon and my moon are old friends

  Let’s make them our cocoon

  And lie in each other’s arms

  Children of the same moon #2

  Find the other children and make a moon circle

  Grieve what you only know as pain

  Celebrate what you only know as joy

  Fuck changing yourself

  I have tried to change how I look, since my ballet teacher kicked me out of class because I was too fat

  I have tried to change how much I could produce when I was in business school, and tried the play-hard-and-party-hard lifestyle, just to end up on probation and almost kicked out

  I have fallen on my face, trying to change myself when I was in a relationship, so I stop coming across as too emotional

  I have promised to change myself to my mother, my neighbor, and the boss I never respected

  I have written about ways to change myself every goddamn New Year’s resolution

  I have even bought online and offline programs that would help me change myself into a morning person, a runner, a chill-ass girlfriend every man and woman would want to marry, an on-time professional, you name it

  Guess what? I did not change

  Maybe I did change for a day or a week

  But over the long term, what really happened is that I grew more frustrated with myself, with life, with humans, and even with dogs and cats

  I became angry, bitter, sour

  Here is the deal

  I stopped wanting to change myself

  Instead I began becoming more myself

  I began shedding all the layers of bullshit that I had accumulated through my thirty years that are not mine

  I began melting all the walls of expectations that I have constructed because I thought I was not perfect for you, teacher, boss, investor, mother, father

  I finally embraced the artist in me that had been yelling for attention

  The wild woman that wanted to speak her truth no matter what they say

  The human that wanted to cry about life’s miseries and fall in love with life’s secrets and treasures

  I accepted that I will not run marathons, or have a zero-argument relationship, that I will not have my shit together 50% of the time

  I let go of the need to be successful on paper, have a family and kids by a certain age, fit in in America where I live or Lebanon where I come from

  And then magic happened

  I started working out five days a week, I even ran two legitimate miles (with hills and everything)

  I started saying no more, which meant no more overbooking myself, and instead showing up on time

  I wrote like there was no tomorrow. I wrote poetry every day

  I am doing all the things that I said I wanted to do when I met my life partner, alone. Because it does not matter

  (P.S.: where the hell are you, life partner?)

  Listen

  You have so much potential within you. So many gifts, it will blow your mind

  So stop landfilling your soul. Stop overcrowding your genius

  Get naked with yourself. Look at your nakedness in the mirror

  This is it

  Be naked. Live naked. Thrive naked. Fly naked.

  What they called you

  Dramatic, train wreck, too emotional, sensitive, crazy, “too much,” out of control, queen, “don’t have your shit together,” flaky, unreliable, selfish, self-absorbed, a mess, broken, wounded, needy, intense, obsessive, neurotic, depressive, angry, violent

  What they made you believe

  You can never be responsible, own a home, have a good partner, start a family, be a mom, a good sister, a good daughter, a good friend, lover. You can’t handle life and its challenges. You cannot live up to your potential. You cannot change or improve. You cannot help others. You cannot wake up early. You cannot be stable. You cannot be there for them.

  What I say

  Feel the hell out of your heart. The world needs your heart. Love your feelings. And use them. To create. To write. To paint. To dance. To sing. To design. To help others feel accepted. To love deeply.

  And when it feels like too much for anyone in your life, you shall not betray you.

  No matter what the suffering was that led you to feel more, the suffering was a gift.

  You are not a victim. You are closer to God in your pain. For your pain is the source of your creation. And creation is divine. Your pain is the source of healing yourself and others. And healing is divine.

  I’ve got your back. And I beg you, keep feeling a thousand times more. Scream it from the rooftop.

  And be a screaming example to the person next to you who

  is living in shame of their feelings. Inspire them to free

  their hearts.

  Be kind to your heart. It has a lot to give.

  repress your emotions

  and you suppress your dreams

  To become the woman I am

  I had to murder the men in me

  One by one

  Day by day

  And there are millions of them

  The one who says my tight skirt makes me look slutty

  The one who says my anger makes me untrustworthy

  The one who says my failures have all to do with me being too emotional

  The man who tells me that my trauma is not real

  The man who taught me that defense is the only response to hurt

  The man who says logic trumps feelings

  To become the woman I am

  I had to murder the colonizer in me

  One by one

  Day by day

  And there are millions of them

  The one who yells that success is making money and amassing power

  The one who says that consuming will make me feel better

  The one who says that English, American, and European cultures are superior to mine

  The one who denies the existence of systems of oppression

  The one who shrugged off my concerns as merely identity politics

  The one who says my people are inferior and need to learn democracy

  The one who says his way is the only good way

  To become the woman I am

  I had to murder the bystanders in me

  One by one

  Day by day

  And there are millions of them

  The one who tells me to keep quiet, so I can make it to the top

  The one who sees my pain and reminds me that there is nothing we can do

  The one who tells me that I am betraying her by not being feminist enough or feminist her way

  The one who says that positivity and good vibes are what’s up and pain is what’s out

  The one who does not want to talk to me about painful things like oppression and shame

  To become the woman I am

  I had to see that my head is full of voices that are not mine

  Voices of sy
stems of whiteness, colonialism, patriarchy

  And every day I must purge, so for a moment I can see her

  Reaching up to tell me she’s got a plan, a dream, a vision

  This is your world

  This is my world I have a place in it otherwise I wouldn’t be in it

  If you feel a lot you belong

  If you are tired you belong

  If you are depressed you belong

  If you are angry you belong

  If you are suicidal you belong

  This is your world you have a place in it otherwise you wouldn’t be in it

  Stories

  All those stories

  Stole my glory

  On a full moon

  I tore them down

  Burned them down

  On a new moon

  I wrote my own

  Stories are stories

  But these are ones I choose

  Complexity

  I am not either / or

  I cannot be found in a diagnostic manual

  I am not an acronym

  I am the universe within

  One day

  I am too broken

  I want to be a mother

  How do you reconcile a handicap and a desire?

  You do it anyway

  Sometimes you know what’s right

  And you don’t do it because it’s not right, now

  And that’s ok

  Trust yourself

  when you realize

  you’ve always had the keys

  to your cage

  We begin in the dark by the light of the moon

  We end as the light by becoming the moon

  You are not a victim

  You are a survivor

  You are a warrior

  You are not weak

  You are resilient beyond your years

  You are courageous despite the fears

  You are not a mess

  You are a glorious mess

  You are a divine mess

  I found my truth in the dangerous places you warned me not to go

  In Beirut’s ruins

  In Standing Rock’s freezing prayer ceremony

  In Ladakh’s high-altitude monastery

  In Burning Man’s white-out dust

  You are not an I

  You are a child, a mother, a wild woman, a warrior, a seductress, a healer, a wise grandmother, all trying to live under one skin. You are a we. You are many. You are a women with an e.

  Traumart

  Paint the pain

  Design the shame

  Write the despair

  Sing the unfair

  An adult relationship

  Healing our inner children and making ones in between

  Moon I am leaving

  To make space for more children to soothe

  Their broken hearts with your presence

  Moon I am leaving

  This time unafraid of the darkness for I am the light

  Alone by the creek

  As the water dripped from the creek and hit the ground, I closed my eyes, breathed in, and listened. Slowly I noticed the birds chirping as if they were sitting in the background, not wanting to interrupt the meeting of the water and the stone.

  Love is chanting in the background, even when you can only feel the tears hitting your face.

  Sometimes you just have to close your eyes and listen a little harder.

  I waited at the edge of the cliff

  Seasons passed me by and I whispered

  The next one will be the one

  Gray hair, wrinkles, and many aches later

  I thought I was fooling time

  But time was no fool

  And its wind pushed me forth

  And I jumped

  Instead of falling

  I soared

  Only when you decide to jump

  Do you realize you can fly

  A star

  And just like a star only those who don’t come close think you’re small

  And just like a star only those who step back can see you twinkle

  Not everyone will like you

  One day, you find a yellow orchid in your room

  But you don’t like orchids

  A week later, the orchid starts flourishing

  But you still don’t like orchids

  Two weeks later, you notice a golden reflection on its surface

  You start disliking the orchid a little less

  A month later, you bow to the orchid

  For despite your dislike the orchid kept flourishing

  And just like the orchid not everyone is going to like you

  But as you continue flourishing many will admire you

  If in this lifetime, I have learned to love all parts of myself, it all would have been worth it

  It all began with an unloved, unsafe child . . . and continues with the child becoming a loving, safe mother, re-parenting the child

  it is never too late to bloom

  An imperfect bird

  I first noticed her long, golden, silky hair, that walked in as if it was accompanying her, or rather she was accompanying it. She smiled at me, and for a moment I thought there should be no words that could eclipse the potency of her presence. Indeed, she did not use any words. I soon saw her transforming into a bird, an old bird who was in pain, holding a younger bird so tight. The mother bird whispered, I will die so you can fly. You must fly, soar into your own skies. We have suffered enough.

  My grandmother was diagnosed with cancer as I wrote this book. She was married at thirteen, had twelve children, out of whom three died. My grandmother is illiterate. She has trouble with affection and touch. I felt distant from her my whole life, mixed with a certain faith that one day I would understand. For someone who grew up in poverty and continues to cook for all her family and her husband even as she is suffering, there lies a strength only a mother can comprehend. For only a mother can birth a child and live with the possibility of that part of her dying.

  For you, Grandmother, I promise to fly, to soar, to end the cycle of violence. To mourn your three children. To take us from survival to thriving. To you, Grandmother, I bow, then I pick up my wobbly wings and fly, for even an imperfect bird can fly.

  acknowledgments

  To my therapist, who has helped me learn to mother myself, through her unconditional, positive regard and love.

  To my agent, Laura Lee Mattingly, for reaching out to me when I was not even thinking of a book, for her patience, focus, and emotional support throughout the process.

  To my editor, Allison Adler, for giving me artistic freedom and encouraging me to speak my truth, making it all seem easy.

  To Andrews McMeel, for believing in me and making me part of their family, a dream come true.

  For being the greatest of friends (a chosen family), inspiration, helping with feedback, and being there in good and bad times: Jessica Amber Brown, Andrea Cruz, Jacqui Goldman, Hind Hobeika, Shadi El Karra, Jonah Larkin, Michael Ovadia, Andres Schebelman, and Raja Zgheib.

  To my fellow author friends, Janet Fishberg, Tre Loadholt, and Adam Smiley Poswolsky, thank you for inspiring me to keep writing and giving me honest and direct feedback.

  To Gil Nagler, for passing down a magical, affordable space to live and write. To Christine Sanford, for designing a serene space for early writing. To Kristen Berman, for the deadlines.

  To Sofiane Si Merabet, for supporting the visual creative process and reminding me through his art to stay true to my roots.

  To photographer and creative collaborator Kristina Bakrevski, for our magical book photoshoot in Joshua Tree desert.
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  To my mother, Yolla, for being my rock, my brother, Rayan, for carrying the biggest of hearts, my grandmothers for nourishing me.

  To Kevin Fishner, who inspired the book title, helped with original editing, and was the gatekeeper to my blossoming as a writer.

  To my Medium followers, who commented, read, encouraged, and reached out, it is thanks to you that this book became a reality.

  To Lisa P., who encouraged me to dream big, trust myself, and step into my power.

  To Jennie Armstrong, for generously supporting me with the website.

  To Spirit Rock, for being a refuge from the noise and the drama.

  To California Institute of Integral Studies, for molding me into a therapist by providing a safe space to face one’s and society’s darkness.

  To Gibran Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet, for opening my eyes at a young age to poetry.

  To my country, Lebanon, for teaching me resilience and to California for teaching me kindness.

  To anyone and everyone who crossed my path during this time of deep excavation, you have carried me knowingly and unknowingly to the shore.

  about the author

  Jessica Semaan is a writer, poet, and performer. She finds inspiration in her journey to heal from complex trauma. Born and raised in Lebanon, Semaan currently resides in San Francisco, where she is attending school to become a psychotherapist. Prior to following her authentic path of artist and healer, she attended Stanford Business School and founded The Passion Co., an organization that helps people find and pursue their passions.

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