Tag: fathers

Mini Me’s

When my daughter, my first born, arrived in the world, I was immediately struck with an intense solar plexus knowing that she was her own person. I knew that she had been gifted to us, to guide and raise, but her soul was already formed and strong; she did not belong to me.

I was so grateful for this knowing, realising that she had her own purpose in being here and that my job was not to create a perfect version of humanity through her but simply to support her unfolding into her own true self.

Accepting and following that understanding was so easy in the first couple of years but as she and her brother grow and express all facets of their personalities in a variety of social and antisocial scenarios, it has sometimes been hard to hang on to.

Surprisingly one of the hardest aspects has been my determination for them NOT to be a ‘mini me’. Not only was I conscious of them being their own soulful being, but I have recently realised that I was also attempting to make sure they didn’t become like me; the flawed, wounded, often angry and impatient me that I judge so harshly. I wanted something different for them. But of course, even though our babes have come with their own journey to explore, part of that journey is to be our imitators and our mirrors; to hold up our reflection and see how we react to it.

My children do this well and perfectly for me. They express their impatience and their fiery tempers and their annoyances (in amongst all their generosity and kindness and love) and I have come down hard, trying to force it to be different. Trying to educate them, trying to change myself to model better; trying, pushing, resisting.

And then I realised that as much as they are their very own soul, with all the beautiful unique qualities they bring to the world, they are also ‘mini me’s’. They are reflecting back to me not what I have to force myself to change but what I need to accept.

I listened to my son’s kindergarten teacher speak a few nights ago about the boisterous and energetic behaviour of the elder kids and I really heard how she described the Steiner philosophy on how to work with their energy.

‘If something is being expressed then it needs to come out, suppressing it doesn’t help. By allowing its expression there comes the possibility of transforming it into something else.’

From this I visualise the smoke that comes out of me when I feel angry or annoyed or impatient, I see it swirl into the air and transform into dragons and magic and stars and sparkles.

So let me be the container for my children, let me hold the space for them to express all these parts of themselves, that I have rejected in myself, and let us together allow these intrinsic parts of ourselves voice. By doing so let us witness them transform and flow on, from rigidness to free form, with safety and love circling them all.

My children are their own spirits but the parts of me they have chosen to mirror are intrinsic aspects of them too. By allowing these I can offer them one of life’s most precious gifts: self acceptance and with that the freedom that walks alongside.

Alone, at Last.

Last week, my husband took my beautiful children camping for two nights. It was an adventure that my husband needed to explore with them, without me there. A moment for his relationships to strengthen and bond. And the kids were super excited, camping is their absolute favourite!

But it wasn’t only a big adventure for them but also for me. It was the first time I had ever had a night away from my children and I wasn’t sure how I would feel about it.

Certainly in the lead up to the trip, I ran through a gamut of emotions from terror, excitement, anxiety, curiosity, sadness and joy. The day before, as they erected the tent in the garden to try it all out and jumped around with the unfettered joy that only exists in those depths of childhood, I felt tears and rage at not being a part of this. And woven into those intense feelings, was the knowing of how important a moment this was for them and for my husband. With that, I bade then farewell with conscious lightness, ease and blessings. Wishing them the happiest of journeys and discoveries together.

Then I turned back into my house and embraced my alone time, at last, over 8 years since the birth of my first child. 52 hours of me.

I loved it. I loved walking into town at my own speed; I loved wandering around the shops without a schedule to return to; I loved coming home and turning lights on that would otherwise have woken the babes and reading a book before bed without using a torch. I loved waking at 8am (!) just as my body asked rather than being dragged from slumber by pokes, prods and requests. There was so much that I loved, yet I missed them every minute too. And I realised how much I adore their company even with the bickers and the ‘why’s’ and the pestering because mostly they bring just the extraordinary joy of innocence, discovery and love. And whilst I loved my 52 hours I would happily have swapped it for 52 hours with them.

I know that these 8 years have flown and so will the next 8 and soon after that they will be leaving. I have plenty of time to be alone in the years ahead and instead I want to be witness to as much as I can of their childhood. Yes, I will bless them in their adventures, I will not hold them back in my arms when then want to fly, but whilst they are here, I will savour every precious minute: happy, challenging, sad or funny. Each one matters to me before I really am alone, at last.
** The picture are the gifts they brought me. Heart shaped stones and one they found with a letter F, for ‘family’.

Role Models

I am sensitive to the role models that pass through my children’s lives. Not for the obvious reasons, I care less about their differing values to mine (as long as they’re not morally corrupt!) in fact I enjoy my children being exposed to different view points and exciting their curiosity and questioning, but I mind greatly about their consistency in our lives.

I know I can’t control where life takes us and friends pass through over the years and that itself is a great lesson for my children, but there is still a place for acknowledging the importance of each role model and their influence.

I speak from a place of loss. I speak from a place of sensitivity to those moments where an adult left my childhood world without word or explanation.

Growing up, the role of father was a gaping hole in my life, my own being emotionally incapable of filling it. Later in life, my early choice of boyfriends certainly reflected my desire for a father figure before therapy and personal development moved me beyond it. But in my childhood itself, certain men stepped forward to offer themselves as a surrogate; family friends, my mother’s boyfriend, uncles, many spoke directly to me, acknowledging the gap and asking permission to represent a father to me.

Every single one left me.

Not a single one remains in my life as a guide or elder. This is not a pity party, I have beautiful support around me now, but at the moments of their leaving, I grieved a loss every time, alone and unacknowledged. Each one just disappeared from my life, sometimes out of loyalty to my mother; sometimes out of separation from my mother; others, I project, because I was too challenging or difficult for their perspective, but for whatever reason they felt no need to say goodbye. And that hurt beyond measure.

So for my children, I ask, when life takes you away from us, when our paths diverge, please just take a moment to say farewell.