What I wouldn’t resort to –
just to get away – meals
prepared by others,
cleaned up, too…
but really, is there
any coming back once
it’s all handed over –
I’d be afraid I’d lose
my identity, come up empty
embarrassed by how little
of value I have to give –
and the guilt would taunt
slap my silly ego, criticize
me for laziness, acting all
privileged; worth is directly
linked to service…isn’t it?
And my shadow self would
appear – just break in uninvited –
and threaten complicity, beat me
down further, hope doomed
no way to justify my absence,
to keep the critics at bay,
I need to work, need to lose
myself in the routine of endless
chatter, a blanket of small talk
to keep me safe – busy noise
to drown out the thieving voices
and help me find myself again.
One Woman's Quest 