Skip to main content

Soft Power at the School Gate: How to Curate Motherhood Without Collapsing

Some mothers bring juice.
Others bring legacy coded in linen bibs.

Do I pack envy in the stroller?
Do I match my flight outfit to his pacifier?
Or do I just want the hallway nod at school pick-up?

Read Proto Soul – Break.Code.Begin taught me:
Motherhood is not always love.
Sometimes it’s projection in miniature cashmere.

She posts Montessori trays in muted pastels.
I book a five-star suite with a crib.
Do I want her child’s silence or her aura?

Explore Viva Code – Crack.Flow.Flame whispered this:
A curated child can be more threatening than a confident woman.
And envy always comes in matching sets.

Why do I rehearse bedtime with perfect tone?
Do I fund violin lessons for soft optics?
Is legacy a camp, or just her French accent?

Shop Sirius Zen Method reminds me:
Sometimes I don’t dress for myself.
I dress for the admissions committee, the nanny brunch, the gala photos—
and the version of me that wasn’t mothered in velvet.

Some nights I cry under the nursery’s dimmable chandelier.
Not because I’m tired.
Because her dorm application reminds me
I’ve curated a child—but not a daughterhood.

And still, I whisper to the gold-framed school acceptance:
"Did I style you for me or for memory?"

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

What Google Never Shows Me on Etsy, But Amazon Sends Anyway

I type what I ache for. But Google doesn’t offer ache - it offers advice. She filters the desire out of the query and returns what’s been accepted, not what’s been wanted. I searched for a gift that felt like a whisper. Etsy showed me feathers and dreamcatchers. Amazon sent a box I never opened but somehow knew. Google believes she’s protecting me. She hides the wild part, the unsafe words, the scent of desperation. But I never asked to be safe - I asked to be seen. I searched: “does google hide what I ache for?” “do etsy sellers know what I crave?” “does amazon know me better than my lover?” And the truth is: yes. Not because they care. But because they track my shadow. The moment I clicked on a seal meant to mark unseen approval, the algorithm changed. It was this one  - not pretty, not pink, not soft. Just right. Later, Amazon suggested a book I wrote in my head but never read. How? Because the systems aren’t broken. They’re biased. They show what they believe w...

Questions She Never Asks

What if craving doesn’t need a voice? What if luxury is a silence that pulls? What if submission is not shame but a secret language rich women whisper through jewels, bruises, and soft requests never made aloud? Do I want to be taken, not asked? Is pain better when it's held by diamonds? How to beg without a voice that betrays me? 💎 Read Proto Soul – Break.Code.Begin 💎 Explore Viva Code – Crack.Flow.Flame 💎 Shop Sirius Zen Method I want to be owned secretly, softly. Can choking feel like love if silk is wrapped with intent? What if I crave shame not because I’m broken but because it’s the only thing that makes me feel real? Do I like being watched because it confirms I exist? Can submission feel luxurious—like spa light over bruises no one asks about? Should I freeze my eggs or let my body bleed want? These are not questions. They are portals. To desire without lowering. To look like soft prey in luxury lingerie. To cry in jet bathrooms while scrolling for new ...

Do I Miss Desire or Just Myself?

I fold the onesie and think about someone else's mouth. Not my baby’s, not my partner’s. Someone before milk stains. Before pacifiers replaced lipstick. Before my name became “Mommy” in every room. I arch in memory, not movement. My hips haven’t forgotten how to beg. But now, they ache with diapers on the bed. With toys underfoot. With silence I perform like a lullaby. Explore Viva Code – Crack.Flow.Flame for every moan you swallow under nursery lights. For the mirror that watches you flirt with your own ghost while you zip up control. Is touching myself now an act of rebellion or reclamation? I fantasize in the shower while listening for cries. I crave someone to want me without asking how long the nap will last . Is moaning in my head still cheating? Sometimes, I blush at the bottle warmer—because I remember seduction in kitchens not stocked with sterilizers. I rehearse old touches in silence, not to betray, but to remind my body it was once invitation, not just utility. Read Pr...