It’s hard for me to fathom that my oldest child is twenty-one. I remember turning twenty-one. Vividly.
It’s also hard for me to explain how my life changed – and I changed – when I became a mother. I’m pretty certain that everyone feels a huge shift with parenthood. I would imagine they do. I don’t know if mine was huger. I know it was monumental for me. It was a new beginning.
I had long professed, “the disease stops here.” I had promised myself that I would do whatever I could to not pass along my pain and fear. I didn’t know how I would do it, but I was determined to do it. Whatever it took.
I determined that my kids would always know they were loved. That was my main goal for parenting. I wanted them never to doubt their worth and their worth to me. I’m pretty sure I’ve achieved that.
I know that I’ve passed along some scars and insecurities, and I’m pretty sure that my kids picked up some of their own without my help. But I’m certain that they – at least most days if not all – know that they’re loved. They feel the love that surrounds and supports them. When I say, “I love you most” to them they know I mean it.
I never imagined that loving my children would heal me so much. That being their mom – and loving being their mom – would give me a chance to grow and heal my heart and soul. I never imagined that I would love being a mom – their mom – so much, but perhaps needless to say, it’s my favorite thing to do.
I am – I’ll say it out loud – awed by my ability to be a good mom. And by my ability to acknowledge that I’m a good mom. I’m sure I doubted if I could do it and do it well. Would I stick around? Would I love them enough? Could I love them enough.
On this day I celebrate – my child, my children, my mothering, my healing, my life.
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