A Free Bird & New Cloak

Dear Starlight,

Walking briskly in the early chilly morning, I listen for the different birds, the wind, and the rustle of a deer or two in the brush. My long plaid wool cape in deep navy blue and sharp teal billows in the gusts, and for a moment, I feel like a bird too—a big, silly, beautiful, free bird.

Walking, I think of my mother. As a young girl, she was called Bird, short for Bird Girl. I like to imagine she earned the nick name when she stole loaves of Wonder Bread off the back of a truck to feed the birds—a radical act of generosity that she paid for with a whipping. Her mother called her a deviant and so my mother adopted Bad Girl as her identity.

Walking, I remember the day I stole purple crocuses from a neighbor’s yard to give my mother a bouquet—the first flowers of spring sprouting in brown, barren mud and held in my childhood chubby hand. The neighbor complained. My mother beat my butt in front of her. I also inherited being a Bad Girl.

Walking, I watch the sun break between thick gray clouds and wonder: Maybe my mother was never truly my mother—not in the way a mother is meant to nurture, advocate, and protect. Perhaps she is simply the woman who birthed me, who now sends love notes with gifts, who is still Bird Girl, searching for someone to love her too. As I think this, my chest opens mirroring the sky, as if both of us are now breathing more freely.

Walking, I ruminate on a familiar fear—wanting to voice a need but feeling too afraid. My body caves in, my mind spins in circles. And then I see myself clearly: a middle-aged woman in a fantasy cape, walking alone on blustery morning. I am both my mother and my child. My face, weathered with wisdom, like a kind and strong mother. My attire, chosen from the dress-up chest, belongs to the child who never stopped longing to be seen as she is; as gallant and girly. We are walking together.

Walking, I decide to mother myself. I listen to my child-self share her fear, her need. ‘Would you like me to advocate for you?’ I ask. She says yes. She is afraid she won’t be able to speak. I take her hand and promise to support her. As we walk, hand in hand, my dizziness clears. The clouds lift. I feel practical, even.

PS. You can read more musings on dressing up as myself in my IG Love Note. Wearing a cape really rallies a lot of thoughts—give it a try:)