Let's call that the mutha of all myths!
Or what about this one?
"Because I'm having a home birth, not circumcising, breast feeding forever, having family bed, no TV, waldorf educating, and enacting all other attachment parenting charms, my kid won't be like THAT!"
Reality is a ruthless bitch sometimes.
I'm sick in bed today, mourning the last shred of mothering innocence I had intact. The sweet pouty lipped cherub that loved me so freely has left the nest. With no graceful exit might I add.
He's 16. He quit school. It's been 3 weeks.
There's a storm that stirs within me. I collapse into a heap of hysterical sobbing and self blame. The dismantling of expectations, pride, hope, illusion leaves me raw open and empty.
I write to stay sane. I write to see the contents of my head and heart spilled across pages, only then can I sort through the mess of it all.
I meditate to plug back into my center. to calm the waters of my being, to remember who I Am.I feel the emotions rise up and I sense them in my body.
Blame: I sense the contraction, tugging, sharp, prickly, cold burn in my upper abdomen.
Grief: I sense the shredding jagged piercing hollow ache blood drained void around my heart.
I ask is this okay? I feel quiet. I sense warmth and steadiness radiating out of my center. This is my body's YES. "Yes, it's okay."
My mind wants to argue and fault find. It damns me and my boy. But my body, she speaks only truth. The truth she tells me, is it's okay. We're all okay. *Sigh*
I'm weary, yet safe at home in my body. I have sacred work to do. This is sacred work, this healing and just being with what is. I'm doing this not only for myself, but for all mothers and all pissed off rebellious teenagers.
This too will pass. Just like me, he's not finished...
I'd be lying if I didn't let my tears flow as I mourn the younger simpler years. Underneath the armor and attitude I hope some part of him can still hear me singing these words to him (click on link below.)
Kai Lanny Jeshua this is my mama love song to you still
