Once upon a time, I gave birth to four humans within five years, one at a time. It was a ton of fun and I completely immersed myself in my mothering role. I loved that no day was ever the same, as I am easily bored in this life. Parenting four, young children day-in and day-out rarely bored me and I spent the time doing a lot of healing from my own childhood.
I remember standing in my kitchen when the youngest of the four was around age one and thinking to myself I cannot wait until they are teenagers! I will have four teens at the same time! I can’t wait to see what they try to get away with and what they think they know! To say that parenting was my jam would be a gross understatement.
I admit that I don’t have the best track record with my daughters at age 8. They seem to bloom into hormonal rage at the drop of a hat and I return the volley to the best of my abilities. Afterward, sometimes in the midst, I am shocked by my own vitriol.
Then, they cry. And, I want to cry, too, but I can’t show weakness or maybe the tenuous grasp I have on the ability to influence them disintegrates. I am stuck in an age-old vortex of confusion and they are warriors, like me. It could be a fight to the death.
So, I bend. I bend and wind around them like an invasive vine, wrapping them in my arms, disguising myself as every ounce of love I carry for them.
The mother-daughter connection sometimes feels as if it will snap in two, yet it endures. And, as I bring my daughter back into the space of her first earthly home, love envelopes us both.
They say Sekhmet, they say Kali was so enraged that they had to intoxicate her through the blood to bring her back to her senses. Perhaps that is the patriarchal re-telling. It’s more likely that her daughters grabbed onto her waist, tightened their grasp in a fit of love, and the rage simply left her body.
Daughters are the antidote to everything that ails a mother.
I no longer have a Facebook page, so this blog is going to become more bloggy in the future. In spurts, because I just don’t see the point in sharing most of what I would share on Facebook (hence, my removal of self from that virtual world and all social media). I do feel the need to share this particular observation/thought, though.
I currently live in The South. I am from The South and am quite comfortable with certain Southern expectations, as they are typically the expectations of all “civilized” hordes of people: Use your manners and show consideration for others. (In fact, the point of manners is to show consideration for others. They can also be used as a form of artificial hierarchy, but I reject that usage, in general.)