the two wolves inside me: MAMA and baby

regulating my nervous system before I burn it all down

DAY 1292

there are two wolves inside of me: MAMA and baby.

this was first made evident to me by my new Portuguese friend Sophia, who casually made it painstakingly clear:

i had never noticed it before— unknowingly, i found myself referring to myself in the third person as either MAMA or baby.

MAMA comes out at the best of times. MAMA is a natural leader, rallying her troops like they are kin in a way that feels playful but firm. MAMA is generous, with her time and spirit, lifting up everyone around her. she is thoughtful and selfless, quick to see the best in everyone and herself. it is easy for MAMA to jump to the need of others, feeling like the act of service is payment enough. MAMA is quick to laugh and make you feel welcome. everyone is safe with MAMA.

and then, there is baby. baby can't self-regulate to save her damn life. baby is always one of the following: hungry, angry, lonely, tired. when baby gets invited but doesn’t want to go, baby STILL feels left out even though they were invited. baby need a nap— almost always.

when i am in my routine, my inner MAMA is easy to access. she is quick with a kind word for herself and anyone near her. she is able to play to the height of her intelligence, and she knows herself, intimately. MAMA is quick to say, "you've got this" out loud and in her head before any inclination to criticize or admonish. I love being MAMA.

during my time in Lisbon, i found myself shouting out loud:

MAMA NEEDS ___________

it made people laugh, but it quickly became clear that when i am in balance, i’m not afraid to claim and name what i need. i also unintentionally refer to myself in the third person as MAMA.

however, from the start of my journey abroad, there was a lot to knock me out of balance: i spent the last two weeks in Lisbon, writing. it was an unreal dream come true. but it took me over 27 hours to travel to Lisbon due to a 10 hour flight delay at Newark and a prompt reroute. however, MAMA was in charge, and MAMA was in complete acceptance of each hiccup. supposed to fly at 9 but delayed til 4 pm? call my mom, a former travel agent, and ask her to help. reroute to San Francisco then to London then to Lisbon? fine, i’ll befriend each and every seat mate. MAMA encouraged a mom from Temecula to take ice skating lessons and a tech retiree to try improv. MAMA’s luggage didn’t make it, and MAMA missed the opening reception for Disquiet, but MAMA marveled at the fact that we made it all.

even though my luggage arrived two days late, my spirits could not be tampered. the jet lag was brutal, but MAMA made certain that i took naps. MAMA stayed in acceptance of obstacles and exhaustion. MAMA was present and okay with things being hard.

after the first week came to a close — long days spent in workshops and readings— i convinced myself to go out late and mingle. every evening, all of the Disquiet writers gathered at the Miradouro, where a giant stage was set up. a middle-aged DJ played early 2000’s tunes as drunk European kids danced and swayed in place.

by Friday night, i was able to convince myself to stay awake long enough to go to the Miradouro to socialize.

but mostly: MAMA MADE A DECISION TO STAY AWAKE BECAUSE MAMA WANTED TO DANCE.

i left the hostel at 10:30 PM (unheard of) and was quickly reminded of what i hate about being in large groups of writers: no one can make a decision.

it was my first time being immersed with normies in a while. everyone had drinks in their hands, and there were rumblings about going somewhere to dance, but there was complete inertia. no one could take charge.

a group of writers is not even a like herding cats— they’re more a herd of drunk donkeys.

so i turned up the volume on MAMA. taking a deep breath and activating my diaphragm, i projected my voice over the group of fifty:

ALRIGHT EVERYBODY, WE ARE LEAVING TO GO DANCING.

people i had yet to meet laughed. i saw their eyes light up. i knew i had their attention.

WE ARE LEAVING IN FIVE MINUTES !

someone shouted, “no, say twenty!!!”

WE ARE LEAVING IN 20 MINUTES ! ! !

i set a timer. i checked back in with the group at 10 minutes, then 5, and at time, i announced WE ARE WAITING FOR A GROUP TO GET BACK FROM THE BATHROOM AND THEN WE ARE GOING. upon the potty breakers' return, i led a group of 15-20 writers to Pink Street, which is essentially Lisbon’s Bourbon street. upon realizing that i was headed to the drunkest place in town, MAMA doubled down because MAMA NEEDED TO DANCE.

then, MAMA DANCED HER FACE OFF. sweat poured into my eyes as i head-banged, then did portions of cheer dances that came back to me at the prompting of “American Boy.” this European dj LOVED Timbaland. and i danced with fellow writers so ferociously, so recklessly, that a stranger approached me to say, “YOU HAVE BEAUTIFUL ENERGY.” in fact, that is something that happened a lot in Portugal— i was received fully (which was the opposite of my Minnesota experience).

MAMA had arrived; but maybe MAMA pushed a little too hard, because by three am i hit an energetic wall—

and in came baby.

there is a price to being energetically unbridled and free. in my effort to rally the troops, then dance until way later than i have probably stayed up in five years, i drained not only my energetic battery but my will to live.

BABY WAS TIRED.

BABY JUST WANTED TO LAY IN BED. BABY WAS SCREAMING: I NEED COFFEE. I NEED SNACKIES. I NEED NAP-Y.

gone was the version of self that was quick to take action or be in the solution. it’s like, when i am tired i lose all sense that i am an adult human woman. i dissolve into the most annoying, incapable person i know. light is loud and i can’t understand english.

MAMA is quick to call out what she needs without shame of the knowledge that she has needs, but baby becomes everybody’s problem. it’s like, everything is wrong and will it ever be right again?

baby confuses what she needs with what she wants. does she need ice cream or want it? is baby genuinely hungry? oh fuck, baby did forget to eat today. i guess i'll eat this ENERGY BAR I BROUGHT FROM HOME! baby doesn’t feel hungry anymore but baby still feels bad. baby feel bad, but baby doesn't know why baby feels bad.

i hate baby.

baby is testy, quick to flip. especially when hangry. baby is the worst—the wolf that is baby is in DEEP need of a time out, or a quiet room with blank walls and air conditioning.

i guess what i am articulating is what it takes to maintain emotional sobriety. i guess what i am articulating is that i am still incapable of anything but living at zero-or-one-hundred— no middle ground. still an alcoholic/addict, just a sober one. no ‘easy does it.’ i guess what i am articulating is that i am sober but i am still very dumb when it comes to taking care of my body. i guess what i am truly articulating is that there is a part of me that is slowly becoming powerful— a part of me that i love and like and love to be— but it is a sort of type of energy that is almost too big to sustain, it’s hard to sustain. and when it comes out, i pay the consequences by dissolving into a baby.

BUT! when i give baby what baby needs— a nap, a snack, and some solid time alone— baby slowly climbs her way out of the crib and into the presence of MAMA’s arms

MAMA KNOWS WHAT SHE NEEDS
MAMA IS NOT AFRAID TO BE HERSELF

BUT MAMA FORGETS TO TAKE CARE OF HERSELF, SO SHE BECOMES BABY

MAMA KNOWS BETTER

AND YET

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a writing prompt: what two wolves live inside of you?

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SENDING NOTHING BUT LOVE.

WHIMSICALLY YOURS,

PAULINA