Many of you have noticed I took up the moniker "Moni" a couple years ago. To be honest I was going through a change in life of learning who I was after being reconnected with my birth family, and that was a nickname my natural parents called me. In my eagerness to be connected to who I was before my adoption I decided to try basking in that name for a while.
Then when I felt "full-grown" and was ready to step back into life as "Monica", damned Facebook decided to limit name changes. So I am stuck being "Moni" when I really want to be Monica. Everyone has adapted that name and it has definitely stuck, so I'll let it lie. To be honest, it's kind of sweet that everyone has accepted my different changes of growth and is just going along with my flow. So I don't really mind. Just know that Monica is the fierce outer shell protecting the inner child "Moni."
As I've been getting to know "Moni," I've been very shocked and surprised at how we can occupy the same body and be very different. I remember Moni very faintly, in memories conjured up by frantic searching for peace and slivers of happiness. I remember her clinging vehemently to her new Mama, the one who undertook the task of raising her. I remember her pledging her loyalty to her new family, the ones who welcomed her in. I remember her picking flowers (aka weeds) on the way home from school for her mama, and being paralyzed in fear from seeing a loose dog on the street she needed to walk home on. I remember her standing on the corner of the intersection crying because the safety guard had left and she had no idea how she would cross the street. I remember her running upstairs to tell her mom that her six-year-old neighbor who had become enamored with her had made numerous attempts to kiss her while over watching TV and succeeded. I remember her shyly ignoring other admirers throughout her middle-school years, in that awkward phase where she couldn't see the beauty everyone else raved about and felt lost, being obedient, faithful, and innocent.
As Moni grew, Monica saw fit to step in. Many things were happening that she didn't understand. She tried to do better and be better, but something just wasn't quite right. Things weren't clicking. She was very ashamed of her "weirdness" and thoughts and actions she experienced in the tween/teen phase. She became angry and Moni was in no position to handle all of that. Monica became a young woman with a voice. She found things to say that stung. She found sounds to make and stomps to stomp that would definitely cause annoyance in her mother. She found that a cruel tug of war was going on and she was really in no position to find common ground and so she felt the rope zipping out of her hands and burning her palms, and many times prayed for serious things to happen so she could experience relief. Then she felt ashamed for that.
Monica took over the hard parts of life. She took over the management of anger, frustration, silent distrust, frenzied grief, and a dutiful actions. She embodied and housed and protected Moni even when she didn't know how. She prayed, she journaled, she wrote songs. She found a solace in playing saxophone music by playing her thoughts. And she constantly searched for a way to level the playing field. She undertook very much and never knew how to put a name on depression and separation anxiety. All she knew were the feelings that accompanied those issues which was a pressing sadness and the urge to cry.
Monica grew and tried to love. She clung and hoped, learned hard lessons about life. She learned that people are imperfect and that you shouldn't expect the world from them just because they seem to promise it to you. She learned that you lose people you love and yes, it is hard. She learned that you do things you're not proud of. She also learned to be proud of things she did that she knew were right. She learned that sometimes it's nice to not think so hard about everything and just take risks, though it may not have been a morally recommended risk. She tried to learn how to live on her own and found out that for her, alone was not a good place to be, so she surrounded herself with peers, colleagues, and began to really grow into her soul. She discovered that being around people, food, and music held much freedom for her to begin to share the aching yet hopeful spirit of Moni.
Which brings us to today. Through growth, risks, and challenges Moni and Monica have been able to hold hands and emerge more as one united front. And no matter who comes and goes, who hurts and tugs and pulls, they have had enough experience as a team to know when it's time for Monica to suit up to face the world and time for Moni to go inside, to think and dream safely knowing she is loved enough by her self and can now trust that she will survive whatever is to come. Moni is the deep me, the pained me, the glowing me. And you have to go through Monica to get to her. Good luck!
Then when I felt "full-grown" and was ready to step back into life as "Monica", damned Facebook decided to limit name changes. So I am stuck being "Moni" when I really want to be Monica. Everyone has adapted that name and it has definitely stuck, so I'll let it lie. To be honest, it's kind of sweet that everyone has accepted my different changes of growth and is just going along with my flow. So I don't really mind. Just know that Monica is the fierce outer shell protecting the inner child "Moni."
As I've been getting to know "Moni," I've been very shocked and surprised at how we can occupy the same body and be very different. I remember Moni very faintly, in memories conjured up by frantic searching for peace and slivers of happiness. I remember her clinging vehemently to her new Mama, the one who undertook the task of raising her. I remember her pledging her loyalty to her new family, the ones who welcomed her in. I remember her picking flowers (aka weeds) on the way home from school for her mama, and being paralyzed in fear from seeing a loose dog on the street she needed to walk home on. I remember her standing on the corner of the intersection crying because the safety guard had left and she had no idea how she would cross the street. I remember her running upstairs to tell her mom that her six-year-old neighbor who had become enamored with her had made numerous attempts to kiss her while over watching TV and succeeded. I remember her shyly ignoring other admirers throughout her middle-school years, in that awkward phase where she couldn't see the beauty everyone else raved about and felt lost, being obedient, faithful, and innocent.
As Moni grew, Monica saw fit to step in. Many things were happening that she didn't understand. She tried to do better and be better, but something just wasn't quite right. Things weren't clicking. She was very ashamed of her "weirdness" and thoughts and actions she experienced in the tween/teen phase. She became angry and Moni was in no position to handle all of that. Monica became a young woman with a voice. She found things to say that stung. She found sounds to make and stomps to stomp that would definitely cause annoyance in her mother. She found that a cruel tug of war was going on and she was really in no position to find common ground and so she felt the rope zipping out of her hands and burning her palms, and many times prayed for serious things to happen so she could experience relief. Then she felt ashamed for that.
Monica took over the hard parts of life. She took over the management of anger, frustration, silent distrust, frenzied grief, and a dutiful actions. She embodied and housed and protected Moni even when she didn't know how. She prayed, she journaled, she wrote songs. She found a solace in playing saxophone music by playing her thoughts. And she constantly searched for a way to level the playing field. She undertook very much and never knew how to put a name on depression and separation anxiety. All she knew were the feelings that accompanied those issues which was a pressing sadness and the urge to cry.
Monica grew and tried to love. She clung and hoped, learned hard lessons about life. She learned that people are imperfect and that you shouldn't expect the world from them just because they seem to promise it to you. She learned that you lose people you love and yes, it is hard. She learned that you do things you're not proud of. She also learned to be proud of things she did that she knew were right. She learned that sometimes it's nice to not think so hard about everything and just take risks, though it may not have been a morally recommended risk. She tried to learn how to live on her own and found out that for her, alone was not a good place to be, so she surrounded herself with peers, colleagues, and began to really grow into her soul. She discovered that being around people, food, and music held much freedom for her to begin to share the aching yet hopeful spirit of Moni.
Which brings us to today. Through growth, risks, and challenges Moni and Monica have been able to hold hands and emerge more as one united front. And no matter who comes and goes, who hurts and tugs and pulls, they have had enough experience as a team to know when it's time for Monica to suit up to face the world and time for Moni to go inside, to think and dream safely knowing she is loved enough by her self and can now trust that she will survive whatever is to come. Moni is the deep me, the pained me, the glowing me. And you have to go through Monica to get to her. Good luck!
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