Mother’s Day

It was May 2010 and I was a new mother. Just a few months in, still soft, raw, and struck nearly silent with the enormity of the experiences unfolding, I wrote some words and published them without rereading to a social media platform.

Here’s what came out that day:

There’s a storm rolling in right now.

I sit in my kitchen, watching clouds darken and stretch across my view. The two large windows are framed by two mature trees that stretch far above my sight. They nod and rock in Oya’s winds. I admire them. They’ve nodded through hundreds of such storms.

When I was 20, I would have envied the brewing power. When I was 30, I would have looked to see how long before it passed, then listened to the storm from somewhere away from windows deeper in the house. Now I am also a mother. My son is napping, further from windows, his father has already shared when the storm will pass.

And I sit, silent and listening, between the storm and my son. It never occurred to me to move.

Happy nearly Mother’s Day.

(to all the ways people Mother)

Reading this again, a few more wobbly steps deeper into Motherhood, nearly brought me to tears.

This young lady got it. I’m so glad she wrote it where this slightly older woman could see, be deeply seen by it, and be struck by all the Truth in the words and the spaces between them.

We practice lifting heavy things to prepare us for the times we currently live in, the blessings and hardships of them. COVID-19 likely will leave a lasting impression on all of us and I just want to breathe out a prayer of blessings upon our past selves who pondered difficulties so we our present selves may find a way through the other side.

While much of my writing focuses on the details of my spiritual practices, I wanted to point to an example of what that might look like without incense or candlelight.

At the very least, you get to do this kind of advocacy and tending for yourself. I won’t always be here or even want to stand between the storm and my child. Perhaps one day he will step out in front on my behalf - hopefully a long, long time from now. But right now, even if you aren’t a parent, if you aren’t a mother-identified person, you’re doing a hell of a job. The invisible, relentless, heartbreaking, filled to heart-bursting experience we have behind us, in the present, and in the hopes and fears for tomorrow.

I see you too.

Happy Pause and Be Seen for your Invisible Labor day.

You’re doing it.