Healing The Mother Wound

A journey back to God (Part 1)

I know what you’re thinking, and no, I don’t mean God in the traditional sense of ‘religion’. I don’t mean the ‘man in the sky’. I mean GOD. SOURCE. DIVINE. ENERGY. The Creator that runs through us ALL. Truthfully there’s no ‘word’ to describe it, but what I do know is that the feeling comes through the HEART. Through a deep connection to the body. The body is a Temple and all. I never quite understood what this meant, until now.

So let’s start at the beginning……

With the relationship with my own Mother.

A woman who was deeply disconnected from her own self. Who was mocked as a child for playing with fairies. Goblins. Elves. A sensitive child. One who never fully landed in her body. Who thought she was ‘thick’ because she struggled at school. Let’s just say she was ‘different’! There were highs and lows. But over time, she learnt just how different she was to society. Rather than embrace her difference, she thought there was something wrong with her. She lost her mind. She lost faith in herself. She thought others were better than her. She got herself labelled as being ‘manic depressive’, ‘bipolar’ and tried to hide who she truly was from the outside world. Because it was a cruel place to be. She took the pills to numb herself and over time she learnt how to be. How to survive in this crazy world…..

That’s my mum.

To say we had a tricky relationship is an understatement. She loved me dearly and as a baby, she took good care of me. But as I got older, I got emotions, feelings, thoughts, opinions of my own. I got messier and at times she struggled to cope.

She taught me how to behave, to be polite to others, say please and thank you, have good manners. Through this, I also learnt through watching her that we couldn’t BE our true selves to the outside world. We had something to hide. We should adapt to the people around us; they mattered. We had to try to be liked. We had to pretend. Being who we actually were-behind closed doors-wasn’t accepted ‘out there’. We were different. As a result I was labelled ‘shy’. I observed the world. We had to ‘learn’ about our surroundings before it was safe to speak, to be.

I learnt to ‘mask’ all my needs at school. I was the quiet, good girl. The one that went under the radar, never really got noticed too much. Only, there’s only so long you can pretend before the top blows……and boy did it blow when I got home. I let out all my pent up frustration from the day….on my mum. Who started to take it personally. Because truthfully, SHE was still working out how to BE in this world.

With that, she would tell my Gran, her mum, how I was being. Bad. Mean. I heard those calls on the phone…..and I felt depleted. Crying out to be seen. Not to be made out to be mean. Looking back, I see that SHE was crying out for emotional support too. She had a need. But as a child, I was focused on me.

So I started to hold things in. I started writing my feelings. Diaries-tonnes of them! I kept myself more to me. Watching my mum struggle to be. Watching my dad wanting to flee. As he did his best but wasn’t emotionally free.

I watched the world, adapting myself, like a chameleon. Fine on the outside, but crying within. Looking for safety and where to begin. When I was 9, I hid a knife under my bed, to ward off the robbers that were real in my head. My dad was away, my mum was in charge. I knew deep inside that I had to provide. I had to be strong. To keep out the ‘bad guys’. For how would she cope? She might crumble and die.

When I started my period, I didn’t want mum to know. She might tell our relatives and I felt embarrassed by my flow. So I kept quiet. Just getting by. I didn’t turn to her for help and nor did I cry. Some bad days at school where I bled onto the chair. Then wiped it up quickly before I caught any stares! I felt quite alone. I was different to others. I had a very tall body and a bat shit crazy Mother!

I was uncomfortable in my self. In my feminine body. I felt pretty detached, fat and quite ugly. So I decided to ‘fit in’, to make others laugh. To laugh at myself and keep my feelings within.

As I grew older and taller, I went further inside. Writing and writing, of my feelings I did hide. Until one day Mother got hold of my diaries. She read them, then told me. In that moment I wanted to die. Nowhere felt safe. I felt let down by ‘God’. Of this man I was taught to ‘worship’. But thought it was all a big lie. As I saw everyone pretending to be something they were not. Until behind closed doors, the truth was out and emotions did fly.

But one day at school, I did find my ‘tribe’. A tall boy named Adam who stood by my side. Of the world, we often did put to rights, but mainly we brought joy to each others lives. A love that was pure. A love like no other. But not like that, he was more like a brother! HE accepted ME for all that I was. And slowly, I showed myself to others, feeling boss. I made good friends and felt freer at last. Until we had to move house and my heart froze in cast.

Part 2 coming soon……

This is a story of strength. Of resilience. Of love. Loss. Of overcoming our OWN demons. As we return once again to the truth of our own HEART.

We ALL have a story.

Part of my mission is to UNITE our stories as ONE. To hear them. To tell them. To share them. From Mother to Mother.

And the question I would ask you is ‘‘What is a Mother?’’

Once I thought you had to have birthed a child to be a Mother, but now I am not so sure……

I will leave you today with this phrase which moved through me:

‘‘There is nothing as powerful as a Mother’s love, except a Mother’s love for herself’’

Rach xxx

If you have a story you’d like to share, I would love to hear from you.