#mothermercy — Musings

Death Before Dishonor: Drowning Inward to Elevate

When preparing to be a vendor at the 2019 debut of the C2C Open Studio, I was challenged (it felt like a challenge, let’s be clear I was mortified more than ANYTHING) with the question of: What’s not working? Who the fuck wants to WILLINGLY think about that? Answering that question, as it pertained to the life, I was literally breathing in at that moment was unnerving! My nervous system had taken a stray bullet. My ego, Anna, was not happy the night I received the text message containing that question. However, considering how much I loved the person it came from and knowing their love for me, which is: maternal, nurturing and thought provoking, I put Anna in timeout and I asked myself “are you not happy with the question or are not happy with what’s not working?” I answered that night and multiple things about, in and of me have died since. An internal, eternal slaughter of survival and self-betrayal. As a 2020 cohort MEMBER, (yup, I’m geeked and grateful AF! our inner child is twerking and the track she’s dancing to is Juvenile’s “Back That Ass Up”) when asked this year: what are you willing to do? Immediately, the answer was death. I, Perpetual Anastasia Adjowa Baiswa Hayfron, am willing to D.I.E (Drowning Inward to Elevate).

C2C Process NotesPerpetual Anastasia HayfronMay 5, 2020#CallToCreate2020, #mothermercyComment

Glamouring As a Way [Not] To Live

I’m trying to tell you that the question “What are you willing to do?” was terrifying to me, because I used to believe that the answer to that question meant whatever it took, even if at the expense of my wholeness. I’m trying to tell you that beyond growing accustomed to operating from a place of deprivation and scarcity, I sincerely believed that I was underserving of anything enjoyable, that if I would do something as self-indulgent (or so I thought) as trying to be a writer or daring to live a life of my own design, I would have to bear every difficult consequence on my own. I’m trying to tell you that I can’t even name what my favorite meal is today, because I have disciplined my self into an unbending strictness where I only buy what is cheapest and will last longest, only what is essential and on the grocery list. I’m trying to tell you that I wasn’t just trying to live some sort of romanticized life of a struggling artist; I’m trying to tell you that what I was doing felt like dying. I’m repeating my self because this is a ritual that I cannot afford to see fail.