Women’s stories – Romina

Starting from today, on every Sunday I will post stories about women. They are real stories of women who often have had to struggle to emerge even in very difficult times. Today’s story, taken from the blog http://blog.pianetadonna.it/lestoriediagatha/romina-2/, is that of Romina, a strong and sweet woman who managed family and work at a time when everything could seem lost.
My adolescence had passed unscathed until the separation of my parents which had sanctioned for us new and unexpected balances, no longer close around the reassuring family lunch table, curling up in symbiotic relationships. My mother and I became one thing. When I was 23, however, when we had now learned to rebuild new domestic scenarios and to move in the balance on new unsuspected balances, black clouds thickened over our lives. My mother, with whom I had shared everything since we were alone, in symbiosis with each other, always, MY MOTHER, falls ill with cancer. I follow her with all the love I can, support her and take care of her, running from one visit to another, from one doctor to another, confused and stunned by their grim words. I bounce between relentless white coats as my heart is empty and colorless. I try hard to show her my smile so that she will find the strength to cling to it and fight the dark evil that was taking her away. But at just 49 years old I see her go away in my arms, helpless, flabby, unable to hold her next to me. I still needed you. I was becoming a woman and I needed your help, I was asking for your advice, your scoldings, your wisdom. The cozy domestic intimacy you were the pivot of, was dismembered and torn apart. Nothing would have been like before. With your absence, reality took on dark traits. It is not true that if you lose someone because of an illness, you are more prepared to his death. My pain is endless. I am alone. The days follow one another in the same spasmodic search for new senses, goals to hold on to go forward, not to give in, supporting the pain, always alive, scorching. My love relationships overlook the abyss and look under the black precipice of despoiling. Misunderstandings. How to explain the magma that flows inside me? I can’t feel life anymore, I search for it, I crave it, but I don’t feel it. Yet sometimes in the dance I can feel for a few moments the heartbeat that had stopped that day, when I had to let her go away from me, unjustly. Sometimes the dance manages to repaint my world in black and white with bright colors. A corner of paradise, all mine. I had started at the age of 5 years with classical dance and artistic gymnastics and, without ever stopping, I had gone through modern, jazz, belly dance, couple dances: smooth, boogie woogie and Caribbean, my undisputed passion. When I’m happy I need to dance to express the joy that roars me inside, when I’m in the dark the dance brings light back into the dark and empty rooms of my soul. The notes of music take me away from pain, where there is no place for anyone. A dimension in which there are no diseases and detachments, no misunderstandings and hardships in living. Just me and music. And it is precisely on a dance floor that one evening I run into his eyes. Gently, he invites me to dance holding out my hand. I feel the grip of his warm body against mine, I abandon myself lightly letting myself be guided. With my eyes closed. That evening I am a dancing fire star. He is an Italian boogie and acrobatic rock champion. Between us there is immediately fire set on fire by the dance steps, marked by the notes of the music. And with the light dance steps we start to plan a life together, a house, a family. Three children are born, three boys who soon fill our home with cries and joy. But the clouds are not long in spreading out over my blue sky again. With three children, working away from home makes family management difficult, I have to quit. Meanwhile, love is not enough to keep up the pieces of my family and my life, which are inexorably crumbling. I separate myself from my dance and life partner, as had happened to my parents, many years before, and I find myself alone again, this time with three children to raise. I soon realize that the divorce allowance is not enough and I no longer have a job. What can I do to keep giving my children what they need to live? They are still very young and the road to growing them is all uphill. I have to find the strength not to lose heart. I have to do it. I find my kindergarten teacher diploma in a drawer and decide to open one alone without having an initial capital. As luck would have it, a place not far from my house is for sale. Using all my courage, I decide to take it over and repay it sliwly with the same income guaranteed by the registrations. A great bet. Of course, the first it will be tough, a lot of work and very few earnings, but I’m not discouraged. Such enthusiasm in this project is such that the registrations in a short time grow, guaranteeing not only some initial income, but reaching the point of creating a brand and a franchising network. Today I am a fulfilled woman, I love my job, I enjoy my children growing up and when I can I still go dancing. On evenings of freedom from family commitments, you can meet me on the track, or twirl lightly in a ballroom, free as the air. The force of life has scrambled the clouds from my horizon.

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