Tag: mother

I’ll Always Worry

Twice this week, I have had comments laid at my feet that somehow my expression of mother concern is ‘too much’.

Now I agree that helicopter / smothering mummy is not a good look, nor indeed a healthy option, but judging a mama for being a mama…. now that’s just insanity.

I am always going to worry if my kids have got the right clothes when the weather changes and I’m not there. I am always going to worry that these fragile dynamics of friendships, as they twist and turn into their own unique beings, are upsetting or hurting them. I am always going to worry whether they are getting the right balance of nutrition as I insist on chicken broth and treat them with ice cream.  I am always going to worry about those times when I said ugly words or shouted too loud, that perhaps broke them a little. I am always going to worry if I’m doing the best for my children, holding strong boundaries and gifting freedom of spirit.

It’s my job.

I’m a mama.

So please don’t tell me to relax, or step back or any of those casual utterances that seem to belittle my role. Because more than anything, you don’t see how much I hold my tongue when they tell me about the kid at school who slaps or whispers; how I look at their naked limbs in the icy wind and remind myself that it’s their body; or how much guilt I feel for not knowing what I know now!

You do not see how much I let them go when I ache to hold them tight; that I find ways to help them explore risk and adventure when my heart is beating hard in my throat.

And when I spew my anxieties out it’s in order to clear them from my energy so that I can return to them with calm, thoughtfulness and courage.

I have worried myself into some awesome choices and discoveries as a mother. My worries have pushed me to find the hidden solution, the alternative avenue and the unique path that is creating my family.

But more than anything, these crazy, wonderful beings grew in my tummy (and even if they hadn’t), blew my world and my mind wide open to the glorious intensity of mother love and I am proud to worry about them; excited to have the responsibility of their blossoming souls; and utterly & blissfully surrendered to the knowledge that they will be front and foremost in my mind and heart for the very rest of my days.

I’ll always worry and I make no apologies for that. I have been blessed with this extraordinary job of mother and worrying is  just one small and important part of a truly magnificent whole.

The Phoenix Decade

It has started. The Phoenix Decade.

Our 40’s are a time typified by the clichéd ‘midlife crisis’: fast cars, affairs, career change, divorce and unexpected death.

Sadly, our society seems to sneer and judge a lot of these changes rather than embrace this as a natural life transition and of course that judgement comes from the fear of ‘us’ and ‘them’, separating the shadow and placing it in someone else’s court. But the truth is, our 40’s are the time for our spiritual renaissance.

Biologically, most of us will be coming to the end of the early years of parenting, the dance of mating and conception taking up so much of our 20’s and 30’s.  And with those elements ‘in the bag’, there opens up a space in our lives to observe ourselves in greater depth. Our children and loved ones will be offering mirrors to the darkest parts of our souls through their triggers and button pushing and it is here that we have the greatest opportunity to dig out the roots of our deepest wounds and raise them up into the light.

This is the decade of philosophical thinking, of reflecting back on our own upbringing, how we might do things similarly or differently; exploring the aggrievements that have entrenched reactions and personality traits that may no longer serve us into true maturity and adulthood. It is the golden ticket for change and transformation, to allow your past to die and your renewed and invigorated self to rise from the ashes.

As I look around my peers, I am seeing sickness that is shaking souls to their very cores – cancers, strokes, depression; I am seeing relationships flounder and stumble with what appear to be unbridgeable chasms of disconnect; I am seeing denial where materialistic choices are covering the voids of love and connection.  For me these are all symbolic gifts to face the Phoenix.

For myself I know I was close to great sickness. The levels of stress and discordance that I was carrying in relation to my mother were putting a burden upon my system that was unsustainable. Despite my healthy lifestyle, organic nutrition and conscious living, I could still feel the poison of unhappiness in my body. I had early warning signs singing through my nervous system, twinges, aches, pains, exhaustion. That was why it was so necessary for me to face that relationship head on and take the space I needed from it.  I could have sat in the dynamic continuing our mutual unspoken discomfort and pain, I could have pretended it didn’t really exist, it wasn’t surely that important, but I didn’t want to die. And that was what that choice felt to me, that my body could no longer carry such a consistently high level of stress, something would eventually crumble.

So I am walking into this decade of the Phoenix with my eyes wide open. I want to face the shadows that will twist and turn out of the ashes; I want to address what needs to be explored.  My husband and I will look into the fragile places of our love and relationship and dig out the dirt and attempt to replace it with light. I will stare into the mirror of my children and try my best to listen to their messages of reflection, to own what is mine and to return what is theirs.  I don’t imagine that this decade is going to be my easiest, moreover because I am also having to witness my dear friends as they uncover their own phoenixes and the joy and suffering that that can bring.  But I am also full of the excitement and possibility that this decade of renewal offers. I am excited to release the shackles of my past and to step fully present (with the best of my intention) into the second half of my life.

I will rise out of the ashes and I will soar.

 

Heartbroken

A little over a year ago, my mother and I were in therapy together.

I voiced the words I feared the most.

‘I don’t feel like you love me, I feel you tolerate me.’

To which, my mother nodded and added ‘that’s because you are so difficult’.

And my heart broke

It broke so hard and so deeply that I felt swallowed by my grief.  My head accepted this status, my head has compassion for the wounds of my family, but my heart….. my heart hurt beyond anything I could have imagined.

I have carried this pain gnawing at me day after day, knowing that I needed to find a way through, to accept, to surrender, to move on and past and up and over and and and and….

And I couldn’t. Because I knew I needed mother love. I knew and know that Mother Love is the most powerful and healing and soulful of loves and how was I to face the rest of my life being so undeserving of that.

I couldn’t see my way out of the darkness.

This last weekend, I left my family for four days, to explore the depths and murkiness of this pain. I stepped into a weekend of holding, healing and transformation so that I could emerge again into a space of love.  And I was terrified that I wouldn’t, that no one would be able to help me.

Whilst the moments and details of these weekends are confidential, I can reveal a vignette of what I received.

I was held by a woman, loved by a woman, nurtured by a woman who channelled the power of the Divine Mother from the heavens to me. I know that I shall never forget the face of this Goddess who offered her healing to me, who showed me what it was to be wholly and unconditionally loved. It has changed me profoundly.

I experienced Kintsugi.

Kintsugi is the Japanese art & philosophy of mending pottery with the fissures of brokenness healed with gold. The pottery becomes more beautiful and of greater value from this process.

And that is what happened to my heart. My heart will always carry the cracks of its break but, just two days ago, those sharp & painful edges were filled with gold.

~~~~~~

With love and gratitude to all the Facilitators, Staff & Women from The Celebration of Women, The Goddess Workshop, Celebration of Being.

 

Holding On

I believe fiercely in the importance and value of attachment; that our healthy independence comes from our trust in the solidity of a secure foundation. This is a core tenet of my parenting philosophy and why I am happy to surrender these years to care for my children.

But there is more….. my youngest child is five and happily ensconced in kindergarten and I have been envisioning increasing hours of rediscovering myself again. And I still will to a degree….

…. but I have just finished the extraordinary book ‘Hold On to Your kids’ (by Neufeld and Mate) and am thankfully awakened to the realisation that ‘attachment’ reaches way past the early years and through to early adulthood.

I have not come across Gordon Neufeld’s work before but I have long been struck by the wisdom, depth and sensitivity of Gabor Mate. I was first introduced to him by my late cousin who included interviews of Mate for his short films on addiction and the roots of it from early childhood. Powerful and compelling.

I have read a gazillion parenting books (most I have loved and drawn huge inspiration from) but two have stood out to me as carrying core concepts to feed my philosophy. Neither have been comfortable or easy reads, both have shown me the mistakes I have already made, but equally they have fed and stoked the fires of truth and passion for being the very best parent that I can. Unconditional Parenting by Alfie Kohn and Holding On to Your Kids are these essential reads.

Right now I am full of the later, having turned the last page just a few hours ago. I am inspired by the tools and opportunities and I have already seen the benefits in the last week as I start to implement the ideas.

I did attachment very well in the early years. My babes were in arms, co slept, full-term breastfed and stayed with me until 4 or 5 before heading to Kindy. But I have made a critical error by thinking my foundation has been laid and stepping a little too far back.

What I have witnessed is my eldest getting a little lost, expressing hurt and discontent, and I was flummoxed as to why. And this book explains it all. It details how our society, in less than a hundred years has moved, from a place of secure attachment to our parental lines, to insecure attachment to our peers. We have forgotten to hold our children close enough to be able to seek their wisdom from their elders rather than scrabbling for answers with friends who are scrabbling too. The effects have been devastating. Mental health issues in children and teens are sky rocketing and suicide is through the roof. Our children are floundering and in desperate need of our help.

Just like a tomato plant growing from seed, which requires a tall and
solid stake from which to anchor itself, my children need me to be their base-point to hold on to. Once they have flowered and born their first fruit, they can sow their seeds and decide where next to plant themselves but for that they need maturity and experience and I intend to stand by their side until then.

This book opened me up. It showed me why my daughter was hurting, it enabled me to reflect on my own childhood and the desperate years I spent seeking attachment in my peers. It is a statement for our society, frightening in its implications and simple in its healing.

Hold On and they will let go when ripe and ready, blooming with vitality and with faith in the world and that hardy, weather worn stake.

Emancipation

I wasn’t sure if I would ever write this post, if I would ever talk about it so very openly. It is delicate, because I am not wanting to hurt those involved and yet inevitably, just by broaching the subject, I will. So the choice becomes between knowingly causing pain to another and healing myself.

I have chosen to heal myself.

I have chosen to withdraw contact from my mother, for the time being. It has not been an easy or light decision, but after 40 years of a very fragile and damaging relationship, it is time for a break.

The rain is buffeting ferociously as I type these words and I feel the chill run through me from the safety of my sitting room. The fierce rain reflecting the power of my tears.

I am not going to discuss the minutiae of wounding that has occurred to create this breaking point, that would be unnecessary pain for all involved, but it is important to know that it goes against every aching cell of my body to cut the energetic life line to my mother; that this has been the very last resort of a gazillion resorts. To feel that I have no longer have a mother, and not by death, is the most painful thing I have ever had to experience.

And I write about it because there is huge shame surrounding these dynamics in life. Shame that my mother can’t love me enough; shame that I have failed as a daughter; shame that the most primal and most basic of relationships has been severed; shame that I deprive my children of their grandmother. Shame, shame, shame…

We went to therapy before Christmas, my mother and I, one of those last resorts….. It didn’t bring us closer as I had hoped. It didn’t help to create a mutual understanding. It did help me to see that I cannot keep asking, begging for something that cannot be given. It did help me see how the shame I carry for not making it ‘work’ poisons my own family, the heaviness of rejection and pain leaks out in unhealthy ways.

And with that I saw that I needed to take a break. To give myself a chance to be the best I can be without the burden of being a ‘difficult daughter’.  To give my family a chance to start afresh without the binds of ancestral suffering.

I hope that one day I will be able to walk beside my mother again in total acceptance of who she is, but for that to happen I need to be clear and strong and grounded with who I am without her.

I need to emancipate myself.

 

With grateful thanks to Bethany Webster and her phenomenal work  ‘Healing the Mother Wound’.