Dear, Mother. A Mini memoir of my healing journey.

Dear Mother,

It has been a long journey of healing. I have picked up many pieces and I put them back where I feel they should go. Some pieces don’t fit anymore. There are new pieces too. Have you noticed, mother?

It’s been 38 years since you birthed me. Did you imagine this would be me? Are you proud? Do you wake up thinking your little girl made it in this vast world? Are you proud, mother?

After all this time and years of healing the wounds, my tears flow down my cheeks. Salty memories of all the experiences, of all the pain that was lived, of all the lessons – so many lessons.

Do you know that in pre-school I was locked in the broom closet with my nap mat because I wouldn’t lay down and sleep with the other children? Do you know that I protested being locked in a closet? And when I protested, do you know that my teacher sat on my back to silence me, to hold me down? I was three-years-old. Did I ever talk about this? Do you remember?

Do you remember that time in grade 4, I was 9 years old, I ran crying from my classroom. While I was being asked to answer a question in front of the class, a group of students decided it was the perfect opportunity to snicker, sneer, and make horrible comments about me. Sending me crying, ashamed and embarrassed into the halls. And you were there, mother. You were there to comfort me and tell me it would be ok, but instead, you said: “Ignore them, stop crying, go back to class, stop, ignore them.” Do you know what I learned at this moment? That my pain, my suffering was not important. That it was ok to let people discourage and harm me. That I was not worthy of your love or compassion. That I embarrassed you. That I was not worthy.

Do you know that shortly after this incident (and countless others I can’t even bear to go back into detail about), I began to wonder if I was even meant to be here? I began to think, maybe life would just be better without me. I’m such a burden, mother, I caused so much trouble. I was weak, embarrassing, fat, unworthy, useless, this ungrateful child that just shouldn’t be given the same treatment as other children. I was not worthy. I shouldn’t be here. I am 9-years old.

Do you know I thought about the quickest, least painful way to exit this life? A hair dryer in the bathtub would work, but what would that feel like? I can’t do a knife, I can’t stand the sight of blood. Maybe it’ll just happen by sheer luck and I won’t have to actually do anything.  Thankfully this was the late 80’s and the internet was not around. Could you imagine the ideas I would have gotten from the internet, mother? Could you imagine… I was 9-years old planning my death, mother.

Do you know these first few moments in my life pushed me down a path of continued failure, loss, disappointment? I was chasing a dream that was never mine just to make you happy, mother. And nothing I did was ever good enough. Stop crying. Ignore them. Go back in there. Stop. Stop. STOP!

Do you remember helping me lose weight starting at age 16? Each diet fad, program, pill, gimmick and even liposuction procedure you brought forward to “help” me lose weight. I know you were trying to help. You didn’t want to see me unhappy and fat. This was a great moment, mother, to show love and compassion, to say I was perfect the way I was. To show me body image does not define you as a person. This was a perfect opportunity. I chose the liposuction and drained all my savings given to me by my grandmother for the procedure. I chose the doctor facilitated rapid weight loss and began weekly injections. And when I wasn’t losing the required 5lbs per week, I was scolded and told “I just wasn’t applying myself. I just wasn’t trying hard enough.” I’m not good enough…

I’m still fat, mother. I lost and gained all the weight back. I gained more back than where I was when we started.

But I kept going, mother. I applied myself harder than ever. Failure was not an option. I had to prove my worth, my value. I had purpose…. I felt there was something bigger than me and I would discover what that was.

I went on to graduate with top honours from high school, I achieved top honours in a diploma program, I got my first real job and started to earn – real money, mother. I bought a car, I travelled and kept earning. More and more money. Were you proud, mother? Did you feel like your little girl had made it in this vast world? Did you finally have hope for me?

Then the dark cloud came and while my 20’s should have been the happiest years of my life, they were filled with more lessons, more pain, more disappointment. I spent the better half of these years wondering, why me? What did I do wrong? Why am I such a failure? Why does it have to be so hard? Maybe, I should just call it quits. It can’t possibly get better, can it?

Do you know the person I married was dealing with addiction? Do you know that I battled similar addictions alongside him? Do you know I used these addictions to distract from the pain and suffering I felt? Do you know that had it not been for drugs or alcohol, I’d probably be dead? Were you aware of my secret? Did you know I was broken? Where were you during this time, mother?

I don’t know how I broke free, mother. I should have been gone by now. I should be dead. But perhaps that first lesson I learned – stop, ignore it, get back in there – did something. Maybe, it helped. Maybe I learned to stoke the inner fire of strength for myself. I think that day I learned no one would fight for me, but me. Maybe I learned that nobody would love me more fiercely than me. And, just maybe, I learned, that nobody could make things change for the better, but me. I learned to stand on my own that day.

The day I kicked him out was the day I decided I would fiercely defend my honour. Defend my heart. Defend my power, my passion, my being, with every ounce of blood left inside me. I decided no one would take my worth. No one would take my light. No one would tell me I’m not deserving. I would do it for myself. I wasn’t going to follow your path anymore, mother. I wasn’t going to make you happy anymore, mother. Your happiness is not my job anymore, mother. Your desires and dreams are not mine to bare. Your wants, needs, expectations are not mine. THEY ARE NOT MINE.

And as I began to rise above the ashes so too your fear rose like a volcano. The heat within was rising. Oh, man did your fury unleash. The fire lashed out to lick my skin as if to warn – don’t do it, dear daughter, you’ll be sorry. But I couldn’t go back there, mother. You see, if I go back, I lose my life. I lose myself. I lose everything my soul has come here to do. And that is not an option. So I will take the heat, take the fire, walk the coals until my days are done because… I. CAN’T. GO. BACK.

The journey I have embarked on has given me more love, compassion, healing, and solidarity that all my life relationships combined couldn’t do. I have awakened, mother. I can see more clearly. I have a purpose. I have love. I am loved. Do you feel it? DO YOU SEE MY LIGHT?

The best part about all of this, mother, I don’t blame you for any of it. I don’t hold my burden of pain over your head or weight on your shoulders. I don’t curse or hate you for any thought or painful experience I had to face in this life. No dear mother, I want to thank you. I want to thank you for loving me so fiercely. I want to thank you for honouring our path here together. I want to thank you for allowing me to come back to earth as your daughter. I want to thank you for showing up even though your pain was so great you didn’t know how to offer more. I want to thank you for the lessons – I learned to forgive myself, I learned to honour myself, I learned to LOVE MYSELF. I learned to forgive you, to love you, to honour you. This is what true healing looks like, mom. I thank you.

As I rise out of the ashes, mom, I rise with you. As I learn to unlearn the years of suffering, pain, thoughts of suicide, we will learn together. As I carve new paths to create the life I feel empowered to create, we will create together. As I come back into my body and use it as my strongest compass, my most trusted ally, we will come back together. And as I shine my light so bright, your light shines with me. We are in this together.

Do you see the beauty all around you, mom? Do you see the endless possibilities of the Universe? Are you ready…

Delia Beadle, Spirit Bear Rising

www.spiritbearrising.com

Comments