Confession

A friend recently confessed that lately she feels like she doesn’t want to be a parent anymore. It was over a text, but I imagine if “the confession” had been in person, she would have sat tentatively, her eyes darting around the room to see if we, her friends who are also parents, would be looking down at her with glaring supreme judgment, even worse than what she was doing to herself.

And what she got instead was a lot of support, love, understanding, and relating. Parenting is hard. Caretaking is hard. Life is hard. Making those statements doesn’t mean that you are a terrible parent, an awful caretaker and that you hate life. Parenting is hard and wonderful. Caretaking is hard and rewarding. Life is hard and overwhelmingly beautiful.

Give yourself a break when you feel overwhelmed by your life and your responsibilities in your life. These are the times to lean into self-care and trust the Universe/God/Life with the rest. Give yourself the love and the care and the support and the advice that you would give to your partner, or to your child, or to your best friend. (in other words the person or people whom you love the most, because honestly, you, yourself, should be on that list)

I’ve shared this on the blog, before, but it seems appropriate to bring it back. Before I even became a mother, and I was spending some time in my head thinking about what kind of parent I wanted to be, I came across this wonderful poem by Kahlil Gibran. It has become my parenting mantra/philosophy/reminder throughout my entire twenty-six years of being a mother. It helps me to remember that I am co-parenting with a vast and loving and mysterious force of Life, and that I can lean into that wisdom and comfort whenever I need to just let go. This poem puts me – a fiery, sometimes control freakish mama, into her rightful place. And when I am in that place, I am freer to live in my own faith and to trust that bigger arms are wrapped around us all. I am freer to be loved, and to be Love. Gibran’s poem:

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.
     And he said:
     Your children are not your children.
     They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
     They come through you but not from you,
     And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

     You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
     For they have their own thoughts.
     You may house their bodies but not their souls,
     For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
     You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
     For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
     You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
     The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
     Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
     For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.