Breath of Motherhood

The Breath than contains Motherhood is one I find so very hard to manifest. How can one give life so fervently, so graciously, so magnificently without wandering into the dilemmas of her own life's desires? How can I begin to relate to a creature who carries my heart in his pocket, manipulating it with his every thought and action, only to be thwarted in my attempt to retrieve it back? After all, I am the woman who created it's passion long before they slept in the corners of my womb, I alone possess the colors of it's life and sense of Self, I alone own it's power and all of it's darkness. But do I?


I once came across this quote by Elizabeth Stone:

“Making the decision to have a child is momentous.
It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

Losing full possession of your heart is apparent the moment they slice the umbilical cord. From that moment on, that to which you held, is now what holds you; and this is where I begin the true identity of this blog post. It is the story of all of us who took the ride of motherhood and gave birth to a being, who in the end, may take more of us that we ever knew we had possession of. It is the ride of our lives, and just as my first born came into this world pushing and pulling at my body, bloating my face beyond belief (seriously), never, ever, does it stop creasing the terrain of a woman's life. The physical exhaustion of early motherhood meets the intermediary lull of middle childhood, and although we may begin to believe that the end is near, it consciously ends only when the thread of time releases our bodies to the earth.


That being said, I find myself, now in my mid forties, wondering how I got myself wrapped up in this commitment I thought I had the power to talk myself out of. Against the good advise of my Feminine Power/Career Woman archetype, who actually hated the idea from the start, and thought this motherhood thing was a terrain destined only for fools and pretentious martyrs, I wanted to be pregnant, I wanted to be the Mrs Cleaver, I wanted to be the Romper Room mom carving out magical experiences for smiling toddlers. I naively thought I needed motherhood to fulfill a destiny, and I read all the What to Expect books like a triathlete preparing for the race. I had great confidence in my ability to lay the course out, and I have to say that I did pretty well until they reached 12, then the early adolescence demon slipped in and I had to arm myself with new strategies to protect my heart from being destroyed. 


I want to share with you what I found the other day in my files. These words represent my struggle as I witnessed my beautiful, confident, young boy begin to be taken by self-doubt.

The Poison:

The demon Scelero took great pleasure in how easy it was to pour the poison into the mind of this particular young prince. The potion was black as a midnight, thick as evil itself, and it did not require any syringe to transport its effect. It did not need a specific anatomic vein to make its way into the human heart because negative thought was its one true pathway where it flowed freely and effortlessly.  It only required the youth's invitation: feelings of self doubt and lack of self worth.

This young boy was indeed the perfect specimen. At 11 years young he did not even know the first way of defense against the demon's poison, and what was even more perfect was that he did not even feel the demon's presence! His warrior sight had not been presented to him yet and the young boy was ill-equipped of the knowledge needed to defend himself. He knew nothing of the balancing game between good and evil.

The demon was amazed how well the poison soaked into each layer. It would not be long now before it would take effect and the drama will begin to vibrate loudly and precisely into the youth’s identity. The battle cry will be heard and the king and queen will call upon many warriors to rescue the prince, but it will take some time for the royal family to discover that the one true effective weapon will come from the prince himself. Until he feels this power from deep within, little can be done to shelter him from the sounds of his own torturous self-doubt. 

The prince lay in silence, and on the surface looked like the same boy the demon Scelero had found the time before. When is that time you ask? It was yesterday; it was it is tomorrow; because it was not our time we think of as linear. Scelero walked into the so-called yesterdays and tomorrows effortlessly because he knew how to play with the thoughts of time. It was so very easy to corner the weakness of an adolescent young man, and he knew his job had been completed perfectly. Little did he know the Queen saw his shadow exit the palace door.

So, this journey of the heart never ends, because even as my husband and I remain in the state of high-alert with upcoming lessons in teen driving, dating, and dare I admit it, drinking, we have to remain vigilant to the demons walking in and out of both of our son's lives. It is exasperating, and thrilling; enlightening, and morally challenging; it is filled with light and impending darkness, and, in the end, will be the final litmus test of my life.