When a Mom's Heart Shows Up.

I don't like to see hurting people. I want to reach inside of them and remove that thing that is causing them pain. I suppose it's because I've been a hurting person and wished someone would do just that. 

Its funny though - some people don't want help. And I get that. You don't want to admit you're weak. That you don't have it all together. You don't want people to see the ragged, broken parts. You're afraid of what they might say. Or perhaps you're afraid that if you fully face those demons,  you simply won't survive it. 

I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out myself over the years. Part of the reason is I tried, for nearly all my life, to figure out why my mother or father didn't want me. For many years, my conclusion was that it was because I was a mistake. And that's never a good thing to believe about yourself. 

The other reason was because I was also told, for more than half my life, that I was the problem. Whatever happened or failed to happen - I was to blame. I've carried a lot of crap around with me for a very long time. A lot of other people's crap.

People have called me brave for lifting the sheets on my psyche. I've never felt brave. For me it's just a need to make sense of a life that I have had very little control over. And it's a search for some peace of mind. Some rest.

I've said it before and I will say it again - I've had a great many people who have encouraged me, inspired me, and helped me along my journey on this planet - and I am 
     Grateful, 
          Grateful, 
               Grateful. 
I would not be the person I am without them. But the woman that has been helping me do the deep dive over the course of the last couple years has been something to me that I haven't had in quite a long time. She's been a mom.

I know you're not supposed to ascribe any relational designations to counsellors, psychologists, or psychiatrists. They are the professional disengaged third party that are there to help facilitate a healthier way of thinking and being. When you assign a deeper meaning to this professional relationship it's called transference. But you know what, a little transference after the last few decades I've had...well...I think I'm going to indulge myself for a wee bit. 

I remember the first time I walked into her little home office. Her hair was wildly askew and I thought for a few minutes that she was wearing a badly placed wig. She had a set of glasses perched on her nose and was sifting through file after file, like an absent minded professor, looking for the one she had started on me. There was paperwork to fill out, so while I did so, she went from pile to pile until she finally realized, my file was right there on top after all. It was then I concluded - that badly perched wig was her own hair. I could only imagine how it had become that disheveled. Or what I was in for.

That first intake session went as expected. Her asking questions, me telling her the reason I was there. I returned the following week and as I walked in, she was standing at the little table with a file in her hand - my file - and said,

"I was just reading through last weeks' notes. You are amazing!" 

I looked away and my eyes welled up with tears. 

"You can't take that in, can you?" she stated. 

I shook my head. At that time I felt broken and abandoned and afraid and full of unexpressed grief. I felt alone and confused and thought I was a total loser. I was afraid I would never be normal. That what others experienced in this life would never be mine. I was full of things I simply would never tell another soul. Dark secrets that I had held inside for over three decades. Experiences that had crushed me. And all of it was wrapped in so much shame. 

I'm amazing? Really? No, I could not take that in. 

Nevertheless, the transformation slowly started. She challenged my thinking. Debunked the lies. We pulled the plug on my shame. Reached into my trauma and rewired it. She's been brutally honest and it has never once made me feel like a victim or a failure, rather it has lifted my head, straightened my spine and empowered me. 

Through the entire process, believe it or not, there has been a micro-mini amount of tears. Instead it's been replete with so much laughter. Gales of laughter. Tears-streaming-down-my-face-stomach-hurting-can't-breathe-uncontrollable laughter.  

And in the midst of it all what has emerged is more than a few moments where she has mothered me. She has set me on my feet, dusted me off and told me I'm worthy. She has been fiercely protective when I've told her of threatening situations. She never leaves me burdened but unpacks what I'm carrying and sends me away lighter. 

She's gently chastised me for hiking without being properly prepared for the elements. She insisted I take time off work when the load became too much. When I'm sick, she nags me to rest and stay home until I'm fully recovered. And when I first started dating she was giddy with excitement for me. She was also on full alert for any signs that B3 might be taking me for granted or might hurt me or betray me. She's said on more than one occasion that she would like to slap a few people on my behalf. She encourages me to fill my life with small pleasures. Do what heals and feeds my soul. Music. Walks. Writing. Time to pray and mediate. And absolutely, no matter what, do the bucket list items. Ask for what I want and decline what I don't want. She's always reminding to do that. 

I guess I've felt less like I have been in therapy but rather, I've felt cared for. Known. And when I find myself in need of support or advice, I've turned to her and she's set me on my feet again. Make no mistake, I know this is a therapeutic relationship and it will come to an end. But the mom in her is not afraid to make an appearance and the daughter in me is more than willing to embrace it. 

B3 and I walked away from a restaurant one afternoon and he was commenting on a mother and daughter that worked there. The daughter had had some "issues" and had tried to kill herself a few times when she was a teenager, he said. 

"I guess that's what happens when you grow up without a dad." 

Then he looked at me, and his face softened.

"I guess you grew up without a mom or a dad. Yet you turned out amazing." 

He hugged me hard to his side and I nodded. I guess I did. 

I'm able to take that in now. 

Graphic: Found on Pinterest with no credit. Sorry!