Child of the Moon
Page 1
child of the moon
copyright © 2018 by Jessica Semaan. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of reprints in the context of reviews.
Andrews McMeel Publishing
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ISBN: 978-1-5248-5185-9
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018951477
Illustrator: Nour I. Flayhan
Editor: Allison Adler
Art Director/Designer: Diane Marsh
Production Editor: Margaret Utz
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To my mother and grandmothers
contents
introduction
Blood Moon
Half Moon
New Moon
Flower Moon
acknowledgments
about the author
introduction
I packed an empty notebook, my comfy pants, and Pema Chödrön’s When Things Fall Apart, and I drove very far. Carrying the baggage of fear, shame, and despair, I took refuge at a writing retreat in the mountains of Santa Cruz. I traveled far to write this book, began it while battling with fear, shame, and despair, with no glimpse of hope.
For a long time, I have been on the hunt for their origins. I wanted to know why they had chosen me as their friend in sin.
I screamed why in every forest of California. I yelled why in every desert of Arabia.
Nothing. I got silence, and as I write this, I still have silence.
Bathing in tears of silence, I finally noticed the moon, who has always been there to soothe. Especially on the darkest nights of the year. For even a waning or waxing crescent moon, as thin as it is, is still there. The moon was the love that made the questions of why my life was like this, and why my pain was so overwhelming, wither away like autumn leaves.
Sailing in the sea of silence, I heard echoes of my whys. Other voices were screaming desperate whys. Whys from
every language, every continent, every ethnicity, every age, every place. I was screaming why with you, you who were hurting, too.
Sinking into the hole of silence, I heard her sobs. The child said: “Love me please.” She seemed indifferent to my whys. She seemed unfazed by the silence. She seemed unconcerned with my adult drama. She wanted love from her mama.
I write this book for her, the child of the moon. She is standing at the abyss of the unknown in the light of a full moon. She is ready to jump, but the fear is pulling her back.
I write this book for you, all children of the moon. Those of you who feel unloved, misunderstood, unseen. Those of you who are relentlessly seeking to know why, why you. Why fear, shame, and despair chose you.
I write this book for you, children of the moon, to remind you that there is always the moon. In all its phases, and stages, and shapes, and meanings. The moon sees you even on the nights you can’t see through.
I visited the darkness
and returned with a
book of poetry
When I dance, I dance with you
When I sing, I sing for you
When I write, I write to you
When I breathe, I breathe through you
To the women that sweat, cried, bled for me
I dedicate this ink to you
You are a child of the moon if
They bullied you
They invaded your body and stole your safety
They neglected you, your emotions, and your needs
They oppressed your talents, your voice, your sexuality, your freedom
They abused you verbally
They abused you physically
They were not there when you needed them to protect you
They denied your emotions, no matter how big or small they were
They ignored your triumphs and little wins
They punished you for being vulnerable
They reminded you of your mistakes and shamed you for them
They stole or destroyed your home
Dreams, while writing this book
Sitting in a room with hundreds of people, trying to give them the book, they each refuse
No one will read it
Mother transcribing my book in a journal yelling, crying, and damning me
What will my family say?
Trying to write, my fingers melting
What if I can’t write it?
In between being your mother and father, I forgot to be your daughter
And became the child of the moon
You and I
In shame in pain
Sister,
I promise
It won’t be in vain
Beirut, 1988
The question of why me has haunted me
You put a machine gun to my head, you got her on her knees
Decades later, an unanswered question and a traumatized brain
This terror is hard to shake
I tried meditation and it has been the same
For all this time I thought I was insane
That was the only way to explain the pain
Then I educated myself
I wanted to solve this for the both of us
Because I deserve to be loved
Because you deserve to be loved
Confusion
How can he love me and touch me?
Confusion
How can it feel good and be so wrong?
Confusion
How can she love me and hit me?
Confusion
How can they be adults, and act like children?
Confusion
You were supposed to be the sun and the moon and I the star
Feeding on your light, basking in your shadow
You were supposed to be the water and the soil and I the flower
Flourishing from within you into the world
You were supposed to be the rudder and the sail and I the ship
Guiding me into a safe shore
You were supposed to be the mother and the father and I the child
Feeding on your milk, sleeping in your arms
Instead you were two children fighting and drowning and dragging me down with you
The bystander
You gave me love, affection
You were the only one I trusted
Yet you stood there witnessing the beating
Saying nothing
How can I reconcile your silence and your love?
The mourning
I searched for your love in the wrong places
The healing arms of shamans
The loud prayers of ashrams
The stillness of Buddhist monasteries
The softness of protective fairies
The soothing words of other mothers
The bottomless edge when I suffer
I roamed, starved, begged
And when I gave up
I saw the mourning
And I wept
Suicidal fantasy
She will finally hold me close
There, dead in her arms
Regretting all the harm
She will see
A beauty mark on my left cheek
Imperfections and wisps of curls
Then she will come to love me
Like a mother loves a daughter
Bathing my body in the freshest rose water
The loaf of bread
I waited, nose smashed against the window
Counting the bombs, praying they did not hit you
You said we needed a loaf of bread
But you did not return at sunset
I imagined you dead
The pain that never goes away
When the person you love the most
Leaves you when you need them the most
To have a narcissistic parent
Is to believe the whole universe’s calamities are your making
Because they blamed it on you
To have a narcissistic parent
Is to believe you have to constantly prove that you are worthy of love
Because their version of love is conditional and fleeting
To have a narcissistic parent
Is to seek approval from anyone and everyone
Because as a child you begged and prayed for one smile that rarely came
To have a narcissistic parent
Is to deny your mistakes, weaknesses, and vulnerabilities
Because you are a projection of them, and they are never wrong, never weak, never in need
To have a narcissistic parent
Is to become an expert at manipulation, not out of choice
Because you saw them charm the whole universe, the same universe who never understood your suffering
To have a narcissistic parent
Is to become the parent of your parent
Because all you see is a child throwing tantrums, so you adult up
To have a narcissistic parent
Is to struggle in love
Because you assume they will all leave you just like they did
To have a narcissistic parent
Is to choose the healer, caregiver, artist path
Because you know loss and darkness too well
Because perhaps deep down inside, you would hope to one day save them
To have a narcissistic parent
Is heart wrenching because you see them destroy themselves
Because their trauma must have been so painful, letting down the wall will burn them alive
In between feeling angry, unheard, unseen, and in a constant search for the love you never received
You start seeing these moments of acceptance, you surprise yourself by putting up boundaries, you give yourself approval just because
And slowly you realize that you have all the love in you
And you begin seeing them for who they really are
A terrified child seeking love, just like you
Perfectionism
I could have turned out an alcoholic or a drug addict. Instead I was addicted to my mother’s bread crumbs of acceptance
the sound of the militia
machine guns was a breeze
compared to their verbal storms
A tragedy
My parents are dead
And alive
Shelter distractions
A moon gate
Rose out from the rubble
Behind it lay the gardens of Isfahan
The sound of the Israeli jets
Crouching on the balcony, dripping in sweat
Alone in my plight
I took refuge in the moon so bright
Childhood trauma #1
The body is the most dangerous place to be
Childhood trauma #2
When the feelings of terror are too much for your little body
When the events are too much to process for your fresh growing brain
Your life from there on is fighting, freezing, fleeing, to survive what was not yours all along
Childhood trauma #3
My body is one of a four-year-old hostage
My brain is one of a forty-year-old lizard
Childhood trauma #4
Danger is safe
Joy is dangerous
Childhood trauma #5
My mind can’t comprehend what it would be like to have my needs met
Despair
Despair is calling her name
Despair knows the game
Despair feels like home
Despair won’t leave her alone
She is fragile like a dead flower
Her petals fall by the hour
She is three or four
She sees no sky to soar
I am struggling to look at her again
She reminds me of rotten pain
Buried in rubble of shame
Smelling like gunpowder and flames
She is looking for me
She is ready to be free
Am I ready to be free?
I know tomorrow will come with another excuse
Of why I could not save her from the abuse
But tomorrow I stay
For despair no longer scares me away
I know its ins and outs
I know how it laughs and how it cries
I know better not to believe the stories
I might be ready to give her back a life of glory
Lisbon, 2016
I woke up in sweats. It took me a couple of minutes to orient. I was in Lisbon. In a hostel. I was safe. I could not go back to sleep. I wrote my therapist:
The memories of the abuse are flashing in my dreams. I think I am ready.
I had to stop my life. My work. My routine. Travel to lands far away. For my unconscious to find space to serve me with what has not been resolved.
Alone in despair
Drenched in sweat
I opened my eyes
I am a burden
I deserve to die
I checked my phone
No one to call
I am a burden
I deserve to crawl
Bardo
I have tried your healing remedies
And everything in between
Sometimes nothing works
And I must remain in between
Why me
Generations of pain
Are shutting my brain
Stones in my DNA
Are keeping me hiding away
Anger unreleased
I cannot breathe
Why me why me
I scream
Shame #1
Shame is protecting me from death
But shame makes living full of regrets
Shame is a never-ending hole
Shame has no soul
Shame is a trickster extraordinaire
Shame will choke you and give you just enough air
Shame is bacteria that feed on secrecy
Shame fears your sympathy
Starve your shame by speaking it out loud
Starve your shame by typing it real hard
Shame has no place
Shame, thank you, but you overstayed
Shame #2
Shame feels like I am going to die for simply existing
Shame feels like stones hitting my naked body, leaving me with bruises and blood
Wall of shame
Anger toward the people I love, when they don’t give me what I want
White lies
Having no savings
Sexual fantasies
Constant worry that I am going to be abandoned
My rage
Judging other women who are confident
Being single when everyone is married
Not knowing whether I want children
My health anxiety
Falling in love with my married boss
The blood on my panties
My impulsivity
My typos
The parsley in my teeth
My messy closet
Sleeping too much
My cellulite
Top 10 self-doubt tracks (on repeat)
1. You are too broken to heal
2. You will always be afraid of love, you will never be in a relationship or have a child
3. You are self-absorbed and therefore a selfish friend
4. The anxiety in your chest will never go away
5. All the work you have done on yourself is useless
6. When lovers see how insecure you are, they will run away
7. Look at Ilana, she has a baby, a start-up, a wonderful husband. Did you see her Instagram curated feed? You cannot even maintain your inner peace for a day
8. Time is passing by, and you still wake up alone. This is your future, stupid
9. You are a bad person because you cannot be grateful, you have so much going for you, yet you sit here sulking, playing the victim
10. Whoever is reading this is going to judge you so hard and call you a wimp
Heartbreaks
It started with a Tinder match
He broke my heart and walked away just like that
It was only a three-month thing said my best friend
Why are you mourning like it is a divorce with children?
Good question
It was not the first time
That I lost myself for a man who sent me poems
I thought I was crazy and would never be loved