When my mother was fighting cancer, she asked me one morning what I thought would happen to me after she was gone. “I will be completely adrift,” I said, not realizing until that precise moment how true those words felt. She thought about this for a minute, then said, “No, you won’t.”
After she died, I thought about that conversation often, believing that she’d valued me too highly. As I grieved, stumbled, thrashed about, I felt that she’d been reckless and overconfident in her appraisal of my resilience. “You were wrong,” I used to say out loud. “You were so wrong!”
In her book MOTHERLESS DAUGHTERS, Hope Edelman talks about losing a mother and how that marks a woman, regardless of her age. Sometimes we shunt the grief to the side, its potency too much to have to feel all at once. Sometimes we stop journeying altogether, our path suddenly unclear and even treacherous without that Mother Guide to help us read the signs.
Yes, I drifted for a while. But eventually I found my moorings. And eventually I learned to mother myself, a rite of passage that demands all kinds of guts and heart. If I’ve succeeded, it’s largely because other mothers began showing up for me in a variety of forms. A few of them were older than I. Some were peers who became cherished friends. Two are daughters whose instincts for directing energy into my heart at precisely the right moment brought me ease of being on more than one pivotal occasion. Consciously or not, every one of them held space for me until my sails finally caught the wind and I found my power. Thank you @drdebm
Who are your Mother Women, and what have they ushered into your life?