Crying babies held to breast in love,
Easy to care for physical needs.
Eat, sleep, change, hold and then just repeat.
As they grow, their needs start expanding,
Teaching, learning, much to discerning,
Mom feeling her own wounds more clearly.
Her faith in the unseen comes and goes,
Feeling, being, becoming open.
In healing childhood heart’s size growing.
Being a mother is hands down the most difficult role I have taken on. It was relatively easy for me to care for my children as babies. Meeting their physical needs meant less sleep, yet I really did not have to think about it.
As my children have aged and their need for play grows, I find it more and more challenging to keep myself from being triggered. It’s much easier for me to work and complete tasks than it is for me to sit on the floor and play. When the family was together, their father easily took over that role while I took care of other needs.
It’s sad for me to confess that playing is difficult for me. I come by it honestly and my story behind that just keeps me stuck. Let’s just say I learned this from my mother and she from her mother. I am also confident that games and play were used as lures by the men who molested me. So I find myself having difficulty playing. Breathing into that can be difficult, especially when being tickled. (some of you will see irony there…)
Add to this that as I raise my children, I am also reparenting myself. Discovering and doing my best to heal the wounds that I have incurred; mothering myself, as it were. Being a parent means that all of my wounds are resurfacing. Common themes that rise up revolve around fears of: abandonment, lack of worth/value, needs not being met, resentment, expressing negative and positive emotions, not having enough resources: time, money, patience, love; to name but a few. My children easily trigger these fears. It can be a challenge to differentiate the trigger and the one causing it.
It is rare that I get on social media sites anymore. The FB and IG feeds are filled with happy, Rockwellian images of beautiful and happy families – like the Brady Bunch. Part of me sounds the B.S. Alarm and part of me feels jealous. I know the snap shots are one second “screen grabs” of the truth. The images represent on a small slice of the pie in their lives. Yet it triggers me, sad to say. Fear-avoidance healing means I should probably look anyway…
One of the hardest things for me to mitigate right now involves the two ends of the continuum in which I live on a weekly basis: 50% single; 50% single mom. I see the infinity symbol and the path I travel can only rest in the center when I am at work. At home, I live on one side or the other.
Another difficulty for me is in accepting the way that I was raised. As a mother, I do my very best to keep a level head. It’s not always easy and sometimes I feel that I fail at this miserably. Some of the things I swore I wouldn’t do as a parent, I do. It seems the harder I fight against the things I don’t like, the more I become them. Recognizing that the severity is lessened with each generation, I am still paying for the sins of my mother’s and the mothers before. Doing my best to keep this from being pushed forward takes great effort and awareness. It’s a sideways pill to swallow, the cure is bitter, healing so much pain from so many ancestors. Doing my best to minimize the building of more walls (ala Pink Floyd)
My role here is to further soften into my femininity. To allow my fullest expression as a mother, allowing my heart to remain open even when I want to close it down completely & batten the hatches. Here is a glimpse of that allowing from years ago (a small slice of the pie)