Awhile ago I was told that someone had said I was “scary as F%#&… but in a good way” and they didn’t want me mad at them because of this. Well, when I was told this I was mortified, I felt like I’d been slapped in the face with this view of myself that I had never had or even thought to consider that others might have. I cried when I was told, and a week later as I was telling my best friend this story I had tears streaming down my face, and I looked at her and I said “That isn’t who I wanted to be, ever. When did I lose my softness, my sparkle, when did I become so hard and fierce that that’s all people see?”
Then more recently I received a medium’s reading, and he said I had the energy signature of a rock. All hard and jagged. To say I was saddened is an understatement. He then went on to state that secretly I was the butterfly and that I had to let that part out of me more. He asked me what had made me become so rough and hard. I simply went with the massive understatement of “lots”
Here’s the problem, I don’t want them to be, but they were both right: I am rough on the outside, I am harsh and hard to most of the world. NOT because I want to be, but because I HAVE to be. I am a warrior’s mother times two, and by extension I too now have to fight, for them, for their sister… For all that they need; especially when they cannot fight for themselves. For the chance to have their voices heard in this crazy fast-paced world; especially when they cannot speak the words aloud that are within their hearts and minds. For fair and just treatment from all no matter the circumstances. For respect and compassion to be given to them as they walk with their tiny feet upon paths more treacherous than most can ever dream of traveling upon.
But here’s the rub, while I regret NOTHING, not one single action that I have undertaken in my quest to be worthy of the title “Mother” to such amazing, awe-inspiring souls; I miss the part of me that was soft and sweet. The part of me that would get my face painted at the fair and dance in the rain laughing as the paint streamed down my face. The me that frolicked with glee just because the grass was such a stunning shade of green that morning. The me that wrote poetry, and inspired works of heart melting beauty to be written in turn. The sweet me with the mischievous starburst eyes that enchanted. The me that would dance across an old wooden bridge, just because why shouldn’t you dance upon wooden bridges! The me that would go to a concert alone and get so lost in the music I couldn’t tell you where it ended and I began as I let it flow over and into me as I danced in the asile. I don’t do those things anymore because there is no time or place that’s safe for me to let go and soar upon gilded wings as I used too, as I long to still do in the most secret part of my heart.
Who will watch over my 3 while I just let go and fly? Who while keep their hearts safe as I soar? Who will walk beside them, whispering words of love and encouragement while they try so hard to make sense of a world that’s so jumbled and chaotic? Who will carry them when the terrain they’ve been presented with is just too damn rough for their tiny feet to walk upon? I cannot fly right now for to do so would be to leave them without that which they need the most, a safe, grounded place to hold onto until they can soar themselves. But OH how beautiful it will be to watch as each one finally takes flight upon their own wings…I will have given each one all that I could to ensure they are ready to take on the world on their own two feet; hearts and heads ready for any and all challenges they will undoubtedly face, ESPECIALLY the warrior ones. Strong in all the ways they need to be to not just to survive on their own, but to THRIVE, carving their own paths wherever their souls call them to be.
Then finally I shall be able to put my borrowed warrior’s garb to rest as I unfurl my own iridescent wings and just SOAR…