Some days, I am fully a mother. Gentle, firm, tired, soft, the clown of stories, the playmate on the floor, the one who allow and the one who holds space.
And then, there are days when I am suddenly… seven or thirteen.
Sometimes, sitting quietly inside my adult body, trying to make sense of it all, or that chaotic teenager, who doesn’t know how to regulate herself.
Because the daughter in me, she never left. She still speaks.
She shows up when my five and a half year old throws a tantrum or my nearly 2 year old makes a mess. Though my logical brain understands the tiny brains and why they do so. I feel a rush of helplessness, a tremble I can’t explain.
Because, I was once a child who learned to stay quiet, afraid to speak her needs,
scared of being judged or made fun of, indecisive and more familiar with holding it all in than being held.
Back then, difficult emotions had no room. They were to be silenced, not seen.
Crying was a taboo : a sign of weakness.
Anger was something you swallowed, not something you explored.
We were taught that one must always be happy, that joy was the only acceptable emotion.
Smile. Be pleasant. Move on.
Yes, that’s absolutely a fair strategy, when one really doesn’t know what to do with the rest of the emotions.
The fear?
The anger that simmers but has no name?
The sadness that quietly lingers?
What do we even do with all of it?
Honestly, I didn’t know. I was clueless. Silence was the only way I knew how to cope.
But looking back now, I realise, it wasn’t just silence.
It was my body going into freeze mode.
Every time a difficult emotion came up,
I’d shut down. Not just my voice, but my thoughts, my actions. And I mistook it for being able to accept and ignore the things around me, which was not the truth.
It was just the safest thing to do. To avoid conflict, to not be a burden, and to move forward.
But the truth is,
I wasn’t really moving forward.
I was just surviving…
I Am Both
Mothering has not erased the daughter in me. In fact, it has made her louder.
She shows up in small moments. Like when I choose to connect instead of trying to control.
When I pause and say sorry to my child; something no one ever did for me.
She gets emotional when I tell my child, “It’s okay to feel everything. I’m right here.”
Because honestly, that was never said to her.
And some days, I fail. I raise my voice. I walk away. I overcompensate.
But the daughter in me sees it all, and she is learning too.
Healing Is Not a Destination
It’s ongoing.
I know I repeat patterns. But when I’m aware of it, and I catch myself, it gives me a moment to think.
To pause before reacting.
Choose something different the next time.
It doesn’t always happen.
I make mistakes, a lot of them. I just doest not want to keep repeating the same mistakes.
That itself feels like a step forward.
This is a long journey, and I’m learning as I go. Each time I pause, listen, remind myself that this moment is not my past repeating.
It is a new story being written.
And I, the mother, the daughter, the whole, complicated woman,
I get to write it.
The Epic Momster! 