Let me start by wishing all of you Mommy’s out there a happy Mother’s day! I hope those of you who struggle regularly with the general lack of acceptance of you as a “real” mother, have someone out there this weekend who will call, or write, or text you “Happy Mother’s Day!” In case you do not, let me be the first to honor you, all that you do, all of your heartache, all of your sacrifice, all of your tears of joy and pain; let me be the first to honor you, and wish you a beautiful, blessed Mother’s Day.
I have been crushed through my core in the past. I have been hurt in ways that even my anger couldn’t conjure a cursing riddled with my experiences against another person. I’ve fought and clawed my way back from pain that I shouldn’t have known. Because of my fight for me, I struggle with believing in others. I often struggle with believing in humanity as a good and kind body, capable of honesty and value and positive impact. My career dampens my faith in others ever more, showing me daily the cruel, selfish, and self-serving side of our futures. Trust is a priceless commodity for me, and it takes years to acquire it.
Quite expectedly, it takes moments to shatter what trust you may have stored in your cache of me. I have been building, and working, and fighting for trust to surround me. I have limited my circle to very few, count maybe two hands (including my family). I recently welcomed a few into my circle, believing, having faith that I could trust in them. Believing that they supported me, supported us, what we are trying so desperately to do. I am heart-broken at the loss. I searched frantically for a text-book response to my hurt. Searching for a way to put my heart back together. Angry at how easily I’ve allowed yet another human being to get close enough to crush me. Shocked at my naivety that maybe they wouldn’t. I can’t go back into that black hole. I can’t come back from that darkness again. I never want to be surrounded by that kind of sad emptiness. I can respond differently. I can be stronger. I can bury my pain with kindness, even though you would say they don’t deserve my kindness.
I went out for a bottle of wine. And came back with supplies to make homemade Mother’s Day presents. One for each Mommy in her life. The grandma’s included. She is so excited to be making gifts. So ecstatic to pick out paper to wrap them in. So joyful to have something to give to those she loves on this blessed day to honor Mothers. So beautiful as her eyes light up in understanding as she points to herself whispering “My Mommy” when I say, “And who is the best Mommy in the world that we should make the most special gift for?” Such accepting, beautiful, wonder and fascination in “our” little secret. No, these are not my Mothers, these women have managed to level a pain against me that I don’t fully understand, can’t fully process beyond my very rare tears. No, these Mothers are wonder and beauty and loving and kind to her. So in my pain, the only thing I can do to continue forward, is to repay in kindness and honor who they are in her life with love.