There is a medium in which I exist. A space not fully defined. A life with little reason. A place of unbelonging.
I do not belong at the company picnic. Where the men shift weight around the barbecue or cooler, discussing the work and cracking jokes at one another’s expense. And where the women gather at one table, talking about the small town daycare options, making lunches and t-ball practice while keeping one eye on the bounce house at all times for their little ones.
I do not belong at the beauty salon. Sharing congrats and “you look amazing” compliments and stories of how, “when it’s over, you just can’t believe that your body could do such a thing!” While the nail technician rubs her perfectly round belly and bites her lip in anxiousness.
I do not belong at the office. Where everyone else has a special schedule to accommodate school pick ups and jog-a-thon meetings. Where calling in sick applies to not only the employee but for their children and where the childless must accommodate vacation times for those with. But those with do not for the childless.
I don’t belong on social media. Where my online life has little meaning because I’ve not a child to give it as much. Where “there is no better feeling” than sleepless nights. Where my life is incomplete since I do not have a family of my own for whom the waiting & struggles were well worth. And where the rest of the world rushes by, one post post or one photo at a time, while mine is frozen still – with no changes or new news to report.
I am unbelonging.