The Three Best Gifts You Can Give Mom This Mother's Day

Let's face it, Mother's Day is a complicated holiday. And mother-child relationships are probably the most complex and intimate relationships on the planet. Mothering has become such an exulted profession that it's hard for many of us to acknowledge or feel the many, often conflicting truths, of that relationship. 

For example, I have a friend who lost her 93 year old mother only six weeks ago. She and her sister had a tight relationship with their mother, who weathered partner abuse when the girls were young and endured despite it. My girlfriend has been overwhelmed by grief for the loss of her mother in recent weeks. Today she will stay home and avoid Facebook and social media, waiting for this day to end when her heartache won't be so visible.

Another friend has four daughters who barely speak to her anymore. They took the father's side in a divorce, and constantly criticize, belittle and disrespect their mother when they are around her. The abuse she took from her ex-husband now comes at her through her daughters. She will also be staying inside with the shades drawn today, waiting for tomorrow, when she can get back to work and not dwell on her loss.

Still another friend is childless, who had multiple miscarriages and one abortion many years ago. Although she is single, she still deeply desires the blessing of children, yet remains childless. Her feelings today more complicated than I can imagine.

And then there is the mother who works three jobs to support her family, or the one that had the baby of an unexpected pregnancy who can't find a job that pays enough for her to cover day care, or the mom who's husband trips over his own feet as he leaves the local bar but makes it home only to slap her around while the children pretend to sleep - the mothers who endure just to survive. 

I'm sure if you chatted with your friends, you might come up with a dozens of other examples of why this day is fraught with angst for so many women.

This "holiday" in American culture has become a capitalist perversion of what it was intended to be when it was first thought of back in 1905. It wasn't long (less than 20 years later) before even the founder of Mother's Day, Anna Jarvis, tried to have it rescinded due to the commercialized tone it had taken. 

Glorifying all mothers, a superficial acknowledgement to women, and commercializing motherhood does not make the world a better place. Only a more confused one.

I've thought about this a lot over the years. Although we are now in a state of equilibrium, my relationship with my own mother has been tumultuous at times. And as to my own parenting? Ugh. Even when I thought I was doing my best, I had a partner who was still able to sexually abuse our daughter. There are experiences that haunt us for the rest of our lives.

So this mother's day, I'm not sending flowers, buying gifts or wishing strangers I see in my daily walks a Happy Mother's Day. It's hard to take this different path. Everyone's experiences are far too different, incredibly personal and belong to them. I don't wish to do more harm, although I worry that I still might. 

Ideas for women or mothers in your life that go a little deeper than flowers and gifts, especially during this pandemic? How about:

• A phone call to check in. Ask them how they are doing, what they need, if they would like to talk. Let them know they're not alone. Practice the art of listening well. 
• If you're close to a friend who is feeling loss, providing a meal or other sort of nourishment is helpful. In particularly profound times of grief, managing to get clothes on is a challenge; fixing a nutritious meal is a luxury. 
• Show up to vote! Vote for women and mom friendly candidates and policies. Write letters to your representatives to let them know where you stand, why taking care of mothers is important. 

Listen. Nourish. Support with your vote. These are the best gifts I can give to myself and the mothers in my life in 2020. 

Namaste. 

Are You Ready for Rebirth?

“Where is the man with the drugs?” I demanded. “You are all lying to me aren’t you? You say he’s coming, but he’s not, is he? You’re all full of it!”

I should state here that this was not one of my finest moments during the delivery of my second child and biggest baby. This week he will be sixteen. If you read last week’s blog, you know his younger brother was also born in October, so January seems to have been a particularly fertile month for me!


Born on October 17, 1998, he was 8 pounds 11 ½ ounces when he made his way into the world three days past his due date. Even though he took his time deciding when he was ready to be born, once he made the choice, he was here faster than you say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Well, almost.

Just before he was born, I remember screaming, “Get it out, get it out now!” as I pushed him through the birth canal. I had not been prepared for a natural birth, or such a large baby. I had never felt such excruciating pain before in my life.

Moments later I was holding a beautiful, healthy baby boy in my arms. From extraordinary pain to utter bliss in an instant!


As I look back on the last sixteen years with my oldest son, and especially his birth, I can see how so much of my transformation after my pregnancy losses required a similar dedication and desire. One of my book mentors talks about how writing a book is like birthing a baby. Transforming your pain into love after a pregnancy loss is not much different.

First, it’s important to consciously choose to heal the pain, numbness or isolation that you are living with, just like it’s important to consciously choose to have a baby when you are ready. I was most conscious of my choice to have this child, as I knew what parenting was like already from having a daughter. My son was conceived during the week of his grandmother's death - another example of pain and grief being transformed into love. Making the decision, myself, whether choosing to have a baby or anything else that requires effort, is a critical part of a successful outcome. Choosing to heal and to move on is not for the faint of heart. You have to really want to move forward for your feelings of forgiveness to take root. No one can make this choice for you.

Secondly, it does take time. Just like having a baby or writing a book, transforming your way of living with loss requires a different way of being and one that takes time to learn. It’s a special kind of journey: one where we need to be gentle and patient with ourselves. Some things need to marinate a bit before they are ready to be felt, seen or talked about. There were moments when I was pregnant, I couldn't wait to see my baby boy. But we both needed the time we had to prepare not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. There's no hurry.

Thirdly, it’s important to know that there will be moments when it’s hard to stay the course, and you will want and need support. There were moments of extreme morning sickness, and then of course, wanting drugs at his birth. There is a sisterhood of women out there who have been through pregnancy loss and can help others get through this often emotionally difficult path. One in every three women will have had an abortion in their lifetime. One in every two women will experience a miscarriage. There are lots of women who can help you navigate the current and stay the course to achieve wholeness. We are here for you.

Lastly, it’s vital to see a vision of what can be once the grieving and healing has taken place. I held a vision of my new baby and my new family in my heart and my mind during the tough times of pregnancy. For healing after pregnancy loss, it's a little harder, but based on the statistics, there are a ton of us at some point in the cycle. I’ve met a few women in my life who were willing to talk about this and show me the end game after going through all the shame, guilt, and pain. However, I have found many who were willing to live a half-hearted life afterwards because it was far easier to live in a way that was known and comfortable than to take the risk to release the grief. When we share with each other, we help ourselves AND our sisters on the path.

I want for you what I have found for myself – a whole hearted, joy-filled life complete with meaning and intention.

Who is ready to rebirth themselves?

Who wants to live boldly, love joyfully, and be loved fully?
I hope everyone reading this post raised their hand and shouted out loud “ME!”


Namaste.

By the way, here is the link to tonight's show with Mama Char. I hope you enjoy the show!

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/mamachar

What IS Normal Anyway?

What is your “normal?” Have you ever found out that your view of normal was not the healthiest way of being? My nine year old son Ryan helped me see in the last month how I could create a new normal in my life and let go of the past. Isn’t it great how kids can be some of our greatest teachers? 

Ryan has never been a big fan of sports. His only experience with organized sports to date was in pre-school playing soccer. He literally sat in the middle of the soccer field watching the butterflies and picking dandelions that year. Despite my best attempts to support him (including being a coach for the team), Ryan never took to the game. Other than gymnastics, he did not seem particularly inclined towards any sports at all.

That is, until this year. We had a 10th grade exchange student – Gilad – living with us this past fall. Ryan and Gilad became close friends. They would play basketball in our cul-de-sac almost every day. I feel certain it was Gilad’s influence that inspired Ryan to become interested in that sport. He bugged me daily to play basketball and couldn’t wait to get started. 

He had a blast during practices, but once the actual game started, he felt lost. He couldn’t figure out what was going on with two teams moving around on the court. He was confused and overwhelmed. It was no longer just a one-on-one game in the cul-de-sac. So much so that the first game he was scheduled to play in, he hid his jersey under the sofa hoping that if he couldn’t find his gear, he wouldn’t be able to play. That’s a story for another time, but he did end up playing that day, running up and down the court, managing to look engaged while at the same time staying as far away from the ball as possible. 

His last game was on February 23rd. My parents were in town visiting that day. I had told them the week before about the game. They did not offer to come, nor did I ask them to. As the stands filled, Ryan’s best buddy Brady came in with seven of his family members. It was not unusual for Brady to have several folks in attendance at the games – typically his parents and often his grandmother and uncle. Today there were three more there to support him. To be honest, all season I found it sad that I was the only one watching Ryan play. The beginning of this game was no exception.  

By the second half of the game, Ryan had not scored. He was the only player, in fact, not to have scored all season long in a game. Rather than substitute Ryan out as he did the rest of the team, that day, Coach left him in. He was determined not to let Ryan end this season without giving a 120% effort in helping him score. Every time Ryan’s team had the ball, Coach yelled to the boys to pass to Ryan. It wasn’t long before the kids figured it out, and Ryan was the first one back to the net after each rebound, waiting for the pass to make his shot. (Ironically, the other team saw all the passes being made to Ryan, and had their best and tallest defender on him that whole second half too.) 

I imagine most of the parents knew Ryan had not scored during season. He kind of stood out all season long with the various ways he had of avoiding being engaged. Twirling the string on his shorts, biting his nails, etc. At one point during this last half, I muttered to myself, “I so want Ryan to score before this is done.” Brady’s mom, sitting right next to me said, “We all do Christina, we all do.” 

It was then that I noticed what was going on in the stands. The other parents were yelling for my kid too. Telling him where to stand, how to escape the defender, rooting him on, wanting him to score as much as I did. And Ryan was in the moment, fearless and in the flow, like I had never seen him before. He never did score any points, but he couldn’t have been any happier at the end of the game.


This moment shifted everything for me. Suddenly all the games that I had as a kid that my parents never went to didn’t matter. The fact that my parents were in town and chose not to see their grandson did not matter. That Brady had seven family members there cheering for him did not matter. The illusions that I had carried with me all my life about family were shattered. I felt an experience of empowered love, coming from the coach, the kids on Ryan’s team, and the parents that day completely and utterly overwhelmed me. That my parents missed this was truly their loss. And I had changed the cycle of non-parental support for my son – I was present for him in a way I had never had from my parents.

This past week, I tried to call my parents just to say hello. I did not hear back from them, so I tried again later in the week. My mom finally called me back on Friday. Turns out they had been in town on Wednesday and Thursday visiting with my sister, but hadn’t felt it important to call or stop by. I realized while talking to my mom that if I had known, they could have seen Ryan get an academic award at his school on Wednesday. For a few seconds I thought about saying something to them about what they missed, and then realized it did not matter. It was okay for me to let go of all of it – the illusion, the anger, the resentment. They are who they are where I and somehow that got me to this point of here and now: where it is all perfect, am able to be who I am without apologizing or trying to be something moreIt was all really okay. 


We continued our conversation, with no mention of the timing on Ryan’s award and their visit. As our conversation ended, I told my mom I loved her and I meant it. 

I have known for some time that my normal was not healthy for me. But something was missing in bringing that full circle for me. Last month, being in a gymnasium watching a Sunday morning basketball game, I learned how to love and how to forgive. And I am so excited as I feel my new “normal” unfolding.



Namaste.

That Dreaded "A" Word!

At a recent meeting of spiritually minded professionals, a young business owner asked me what I do for a living. I used to tread slowly, explaining my previous job as a small business owner in the real estate industry. This time, I decided to cut out my back-story and just say it.

“I help women who have had abortions and feel alone or ashamed to feel supported and excited to get out of bed in the morning,” I declared.

I could see this business owner’s eyes pop as she took in my words. “Wow,” she said. “That word really triggers me. I’ve had two abortions and have no regrets. I'm fine with it. But, I'm having a hard time dealing with that word . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Ah, that word! The “A” word. 

This word sparked controversy on a national level this week as well. In its thirty year history, there has never been a TED talk on abortion. If we can't talk about it publicly or privately, how will we ever come to terms with that word?

I am awed by women who are so sure of themselves and their own self-worth that they can make this choice and go on to talk about it. A stunning example to me is New York Times best-selling author Cheryl Strayed. In her poignant and riveting memoir, Wild, Cheryl reveals her personal abortion story. Her disclosure is short and sweet with no further mention of it or of any consequences. Aspects of the book that make it such a compelling read is her deep insight and transparency about this subject and her life. Maybe she has more baggage from her abortion than she lets on, but having seen her speak in person, I believe she authentically shares her biggest struggles in her book and that those struggles are resolved.

Based on my experience, Cheryl Strayed’s togetherness is unusual. I have found that most women were raised with a code of values that fostered judgment and shame, as I was, as they struggled in dealing with their choice. Despite all of their self-talk, daily they muster up the courage to remind themselves they did what they had to do and they try to be at peace with their decision.

It is for these women that I write this blog. Insomnia and deep feelings of loneliness or numbness may go on for months or years. These women cannot find it in themselves to talk to their partners, closest friends, or family. They feel unsafe or fearful and are biding their time until the day they miraculously no longer feel guilty. For some of these women, anti-depressants may be the preferred method of coping.

These are my people. I relate to them because of the "A" word that people do not want to talk about, either face to face or in public venues.  It is that "A" word that connects us. Without it, the clarity gained by mutual understanding and experience, does not exist.

 

“Abortion” is the clearest and most descriptive word there is for our experience. Webster's has no other synonyms for it. My sweet and beautiful grandmother couldn't use the word ten years ago when she shared her experience with me. Isn't it time we got real with each other?

For those who feel secure and safe in their choice, I hold no judgment. I applaud them and hope that together we can make a difference, create a caring community, and offer some hope to those who have not yet made peace  with their decision.

 Abortion defines the experience that we had, but it does not define who we are.  We are one-third of American women under the age of 45. As we become more comfortable with this word, we not only heal ourselves, but we can heal the world.

 

Namaste.

Who Gets the Lifesaver?

When my grandmother told me that she had an abortion back in 2003 (Mor-Mor's story ), I was still too caught up in my own shame to think much about her experience. As I have studied abortion and learned just how many women are already mothers when they have an abortion, I began to think more about this fact (abortion statistics). Why is it that a mother would choose to terminate a pregnancy?

One possible answer comes from understanding my grandmother’s life experience. Shortly after she died, my mom wrote all of her grandchildren a letter, telling us the few details of Mor-Mor’s life that she knew. My grandmother was very private and quiet about her life, and none of us really knew much about her past. 

What I knew already was that Mor-Mor’s father died of pneumonia when she was nine years old. From reading my mother’s letter, I learned how hard her life had been after that. Her mother, a first generation Swedish immigrant, worked as a housekeeper, had many jobs and moved frequently. Sometimes, Mor-Mor would be left with cousins for periods of time while her mother sought work without the encumbrance of a child. She became a nanny at age thirteen, working for a family on Long Island, while also holding down a job as a waitress. She never finished high school, instead taking secretarial courses during her sophomore year so that she could develop business skills to help provide for the family. She began working for the New York Telephone Co. when she was just fifteen years old, although she claimed she was really seventeen in order to get the job.

Her childhood was fraught with hardship, loneliness and scarcity.

My grandfather emigrated from Sweden also, and they met shortly after he arrived in America. They married young and had my aunt during the Depression. My aunt was often sick, afflicted with asthma and other medical problems. As I think about what it might have been like for her to live, how her own childhood experiences informed her decision-making, I feel deeply for her.

 

It must have felt a lot like watching two kids drowning and having only one lifesaver. Who can she save? 

I have met many women over the years who have also had childhoods filled with scarcity, others with abuse (Childhood Experiences ). I suspect they feel a lot like my grandmother must have felt – tired, fearful, overwhelmed and alone. No woman wants to have an abortion. It feels like a choice born of necessity. 

I hope that the stories I share will help other women know that they are not alone and there is no shame in their choice of an abortion. As we bring our stories to the light, forgive and heal ourselves, maybe we can change the experience of the generations of women to come.

 

Maybe we can change the question from “who gets the lifesaver?” to “how can we support the life we that already exists?”

Namaste.