As a young mother of two boys distraught with the circumstances of my life, I remember thinking that if I could just raise two good men then that’d be an accomplishment worthy of having lived my life. I was only in my mid-thirties and had just left my third marriage which was to an Emirati man in the Arabian Peninsula after having been widowed at the age of 23 on the Canadian prairie, and then divorced five years later in an Abu Dhabi Shariah court. I’d traveled some distance not only geographically but within myself. I could see that every man I’d married had activated his wounded boy in our relationship and unless I was willing to mother the aspect of him that he was refusing to grow beyond, I was doomed to a life of subservience.
Leaving cost me dearly. But staying would’ve cost me more.
So here I was facing the fact that I had two boys to raise with no financial support. I’d literally escaped from my third marriage knowing full well that if I tried to negotiate a fair and equitable divorce in Dubai where we’d been living, I would surely lose access to my younger son and could only hope to get out of the country safely with my elder son. To prevent the horror of it from happening, I devised a plan and learned the discipline of courage.
Landing back in Canada with three suitcases and two children, I claimed the opportunity to begin again. But how would I ensure that my boys would grow up to be good men if they had no father invested in their care?
Today my sons are 24 and 34 years old. I’m happy to say they are exceptionally good men. And I do not hesitate to take mothering credit where mothering credit is due. I have learned to overcome the part of me that attracted the wounded boy in the first place, and I’ve resisted the temptation to let the dark feminine force of the human psyche reside in my experience. If you imagine for a moment that it’s been easy then you are mistaken. It’s been the most difficult work of my life.
I can see from where I am now that what I’ve learned on my journey of becoming a conscious mother is of tremendous value and must be shared. That’s why I’m here. I have something to say that may be of use to you, too.
We are living during a time when humanity is at a crossroads and must create a loving home for all beings. This is predominately a mothering job, which is not gender specific nor is it dependent on one particular sex. It demands learning to deal with the wounded boy and the dark feminine, aspects of personality that have been kept in shadow outside the human heart.
How do we become a loving presence for the family of all beings and thus bring back into balance that which has been allowed to tip into disarray?
What is needed is a map of the treacherous inner terrain and a path that is lit. This blog intends to be just that so welcome to the story I have to tell. I’m glad you are here.
Contemplating how I’d begin to write this blog today, I had a dream last night.
I’m in the kitchen with my younger son who is hungry. I spread peanut butter on a paper bag for him but he won’t eat it. So I wait for someone to bring me what I need to make him what he wants. I wait a long time. I think I’m waiting for an iron and finally I go to another room to get it myself because nobody is bringing it to me. But then I realize I actually need a toaster, not an iron. And the toaster is right where I am, in front of me, on the kitchen counter. Then I see that my son is actually holding two slices of bread.
The essence of the dream reveals the truth of my experience. All those years ago, faced with the fear of providing for my children alone, I had what I needed all along and so did they. It was right where I was with them. I just couldn’t see it.
I had to learn to empower myself because nobody else was going to do it for me. And coming home to the self that knows all, is all, loves all was the only way forward.
Claiming true selfhood is our birthright as human beings. And understanding that we always have precisely what we require to fulfill our true needs, no matter the circumstances, is the place to start.
Life is the flower for which love is the honey.
Victor Hugo
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This post has been republished on Medium.
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