I’m feeling lighter than I ever have on a Mother’s Day. My own
mother has been dead for 18 years, and ours was a complicated relationship, yet
today I am focused on her good qualities, such as passion, spunk, loyalty and
generosity. I notice them in myself, in
my sister, and in my husband. Who knew he shared so many of her traits?
Not being a mother has caused heartache for a long time, the
way absence creates a pain that’s not something to touch or tend,
but cloudy, murky, and a little squishy.
(While I am a stepmother, those young men were pretty much raised by
the time I came on the scene. I’m happy to be in their lives, but nobody celebrates
me as their mother--step, bonus, or otherwise.)
To what do I contribute this newfound neutrality on this
very charged day? I’ve been doing a lot of parts work via internal family
systems, where I identify the various ages within myself that call for my
attention when they think danger is near.
Their warnings typically manifest as eating when not hungry, shopping to
fill time, or falling into a techno-hole and emerging 90 minutes later stiff
and dazed.
Parts work and meditation help me catch the impulse to
distract, hide, or fix something, so I have a chance to be curious about the
information the little part of me wants to share. If I can pause, I’ll find
out what the real hunger is and actually meet it with rest, pleasure, or
connection.
I’ve been plugging away at this for a year with the help of
a master teacher and a group of companions also practicing this inner dialogue. And today, perhaps for the first time, I’m
feeling the effects of this subtle healing.
Because I AM a mother to these little JoAnns, and by imagining them
sitting on my lap, snuggling in for a hug, and listening to what they’re
feeling, I’m reparenting and replenishing, forgiving and moving forward.
And
that calls for a celebration, no matter what the day is.
