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.
/>
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.
Check out these other great titles from Andrews McMeel Publishing!
Child of the Moon Page 4
