I was a tough mother. No need to add an expletive to the end of that sentence! When my eldest son was born I was still in attack mode when it came to men. I’d just freed myself from a violent and abusive relationship that started when I was 17 years old, with what could be described as an older man (he was 11 years my senior.)
I was adamant that no man would ever hurt me again. If a man even looked at me the wrong way, I’d be in all-out attack mode. When people saw me coming they’d want to get out the way. This of course was all ego fodder. My ego felt broken, bruised, bloody. All it had at that point was the ability to assume that everyone was out to get it, and take precipitous action.
Imagine then, the energy I was giving to my young son. I didn’t see the energy at the time of course. I was too busy trying to rebuild my life. His sensitive nature and love of cuddles should have been the balm for my weary soul. It wasn’t. I couldn’t receive it. He looked too much like his father. All men (or boys) looked too much like his father at that point.
It took time for me to move beyond that broad label. While I was trying to heal, my son had to learn to toughen up his sensitive nature. Not just to survive my coolness, but also to deal with the prejudices laid at his door generally, as a boy and a person of colour.
It wasn’t all hard. My son and I had beautiful, tender, gentle moments together. But at my most bruised, even those moments felt like something I had to protect myself from. What if I let down my guard too much? What might happen then? Who else might I let in who would try to harm me or my son? My emotional guard would then go back up, locked into protection mode.
Luckily, I was always a communicator. When my son was old enough, I would share why I was being overly stern, or too tough. I would apologise and strive to do better. If I couldn’t do better, then I took ownership of that. It was our saving grace. It’s something I’ve learned as a profound life lesson in fact. That when we take ownership of our bad or difficult behaviours, it makes them less traumatic for others to experience.
My son has since grown into a very powerful man. He’s a natural protector and defender. He takes no nonsense from anyone. Yet he has a kind-heartedness to him that goes deep. That sensitive soul is still in there, balancing out his toughness. And when he forgets that the sensitive parts also need an outlet, then I’m there to remind him: “It’s okay son. You’re allowed. We’re both allowed to express all of who we are.”
—
What’s your take on what you just read? Comment below or write a response and submit to us your own point of view or reaction here at the red box, below, which links to our submissions portal.
◊♦◊
Sign up for our Writing Prompts email to receive writing inspiration in your inbox twice per week.
—
This Post is republished on Medium.
—
Photo credit: Unsplash
