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For the cats and the dogs, the physicists and mystics, the walkers and the runners, the doers and the be’ers

Once upon a time, I was standing in the middle of Epcot with my son’s hand in mine, my soul completely crushed as I witnessed and felt all the crying children strapped into strollers looking at IPADs while their parents got drunk in Germany. Please don’t mistake the visual or my tone as a distaste for day drinking. I support choices that allow you an opportunity to enjoy life, however, my heart threw a tantrum in the magical world of Disney. Kids disconnected in a place supposedly for them because we haven’t quite mastered it yet. Perhaps a result of all the pleasure we’ve been sold, sprinkled with a lack of support and a whole bunch of misinformation as the cherry on top…. you have the makings of the imperfect parent club….a place we can all belong.

Oh, it is those moments of deep knowing that are so hard to turn back from.

Valentine’s Day. I remember because we looked up and the word LOVE was being written in smoke. He quietly asked me “Was the time you were held up at gunpoint the scariest moment of your life?” I was taken aback by this random loaded question, as he often does, and thought seriously about it before answering. I knew I wasn’t a scared 13 year old girl hanging out on the steps of that church on a Friday night. I was proudly sporting my Notre Dame Starter jacket. I had wanted and earned it because I had been led to believe it would allow me to be a part of the times I was living in. I was pissed and totally resisted turning it over, by firmly saying NO. I did not really think those young boys trying to make a dollar would shoot me. My bestie of the time, made me reconsider my stance. And in the spirit of honesty, I gave it up because I didn’t want to disappoint her. I really wasn’t afraid. At this point I had become so desensitized because I had survived so many things.

This was a scary story for my son to pick up in passing, especially as he was trying to make sense of his own utopian world collapsing in the Spring of 2020.

And so, what came to mind during my birthday week of 2022, “Operation Salvage Childhood”…. was the second he was born, crying and afraid…..my baby… rushed over to a bright light, in spite of my very clear birth directive, so that he could be “checked”. My meekest, exhausted and most defeated voice, said “Mama is here”. In an INSTANT he stopped, silently sensing his way towards me as I insisted he be placed on my breasts, close to my beating heart, right where he belonged. That birth memory was so impactful because it highlighted our connection and also the distress of unconscious, abrupt and in our case, very unnecessary separation, for however long it was. I have been offered kind words to “reassure” me which also at the same time deny what I felt, I do know that I can’t go back. I know that I have a beautiful healthy child and grateful for the gift that he is…. a larger than life, soul full human being. I am simply sharing this to acknowledge how sensitive we are, knowing it is by design to ensure that we may thrive.

We have research, upon research, so much damn research, about the nervous system, neural pathways, the human spirit, consciousness and optimal conditions to best support mothers and children. An era where restructuring and rebuilding systems has become important, trendy, marketable and necessary, thank Goddess. A time of deep knowing. A time of AWAKENING. And so I was prompted to answer him with, “I think the scariest moment in my life was probably the first 5 days when I lived in a hospital bassinet waiting to go home with someone.”

During this same trip we met my biological cousin, my mother’s sisters daughter, also given up for adoption. It was unsettling and at the same time affirming to feel how deeply the wounds of our ancestors had penetrated our very essence. Both of us growing up in completely different worlds. Making some sense of what we carry in our DNA, a remembrance that all we feel in this lifetime is not always our own, but things that have been passed down while growing in the womb of our mother.

This same week, Mary J. Blige, an icon from my youth, showed up at the Super Bowl, bright as can be, in her very Mary essence, recommitting “No More Drama” to the soundtrack of my life.

And so…..

I know how very strong we are. I know how very strong we are. I know how very strong we are. I know how very soft we are. I know how very soft we are. I know how very soft we are.

Since the beginning, it is equal parts strength and sensitivity that welcome something or someone new to be born.

Apurate! Let’s Go.

Thank you, my son, for shining bright enough for me to see you, believe you, hear you, feel you, know you and love you.

To the the policy makers and the revolutionaries, the professors and the protestors, the mobsters and the gurus

During a public policy course as a social work undergrad, we engaged in Socratic sessions, eagerly trying to solve all we thought plagued humanity. After reviewing the issues on the table (poverty, abuse, violence, trafficking, addiction, war, discrimination, equity, education, wellness…ad infinitum) this group of young women, 25 years ago, were asked to determine an area of focus that would lead to significant impact and work together to develop mock policy. After debate and deductive reasoning, we concluded that policies supporting mothers would go the farthest towards advancing society in a humane way. I have been reflecting on this as I continue to ponder how much of what I already know has changed and what remains?

The importance and value of mothering well, remains near and dear to my heart. The definition of well has changed with exposure and awareness, life experience, research and the willingness and humility to understand that there is no one size fits all, way to do it. However, supporting those who make a decision to persist with the preservation of humanity, seems like an important cause. After all, civilization would perish and capital gains would end without them.

My attention to mothering starts with my earliest memories of adoring my own mother, a community member that was respected for her previous calling as an ex nun, she spoke fluent Spanish after decade long mission in Puerto Rico, a teacher and mother to 4 adopted children. She was cool and I always wanted more of her than she could give. Competing for her attention from my angry unmothered father, my high needs younger sister and the two older boys who previously lived in very abusive homes, delivered with unresolved trauma, transferred to me.

She really did her very best to care for all of us. I know it could have been better. Not quite sure how with all the factors.

So, she let me go with other families…some of them responsible for me knowing different worlds even existed. My next door neighbors brought me on family adventures to supermarkets, Flushing Meadow Park, late night Spanish house parties (I LOVED the flavors and rhythm), last minute trips to Gray’s Papaya, or the luxury of sitting in a peaceful living room on Saturday mornings watching cartoons with my brother from another, no matter how early I came knocking on the door. An older woman who lived alone welcomed me at her kitchen table, while we talked about soap operas and gossiped about celebrities, she would show off her extensive Hummel collection as I listened to her talk to me about her own family dynamics. She served Sunday sauce when her own grandchildren came to visit and included me in the ritual, afterwards we would play Pokeno. I was given the opportunity to learn on the street and permitted to spend a lot of time outside. I have memories of being called into sacred circles of women laying hands of prayer on sick children. Alternatively, watching The Exorcist and Purple Rain at 8 years old in houses with moms who said yes to those things. Eating curry prepared by a grandma, with my hands, at a table with all the ladies, while looking over at a gold altar of deities as the smell of incense took over my senses.

I didn’t know then how very many life stories I would come to hear and experience.

My mother told me how wanted I was, despite often dreaming about being rescued by my imaginary hip mom who was only 14 years older than me. Later to discover, how much harder it would have been. I don’t think those mixed messages were particularly helpful as I was navigating and trying to understand the idea that I was so wanted and hurting at the same time. Complex to integrate in a young nervous system that is relying on caregivers to thrive. Kind of like saying, I love you, and than mistreating you.

I have grappled with the idea that I deserved any more than I received and come back to a place of genuine gratitude for all the gifts of MY particular life. Certainly unique and the story I am qualified best to tell. A community supported my mother, by caring for me, in so many lovely ways, often leaving me to wonder if I have always expected too much. My own mother would pile us into a car every once in awhile and bring us to Jones Beach on a summer afternoon or take me to the movies from time to time, subway rides to Manhattan with my dad, vacations to Mystic and Lancaster County, Rye Playland, Bronx Zoo…..And how with good conscience can I say those other 3 children didn’t need the more of her they received or did they even get the mystery mom I believe they had … how many of the million ways she was expected could she realistically go? I am still not sure. I do know that I was driven by a sincere desire to seek what else there might be out there, while trying so desperately to find a safe space to just BE.

I have one core memory that touches me in the deepest softest places and makes my heart ache at the same time. I needed to be comforted from another nightmare that woke me up very early on a summer day. My father wasn’t home, so she let me climb in bed and lay with her. I had to be very quiet and go back to sleep. I was so happy to be that close to her, all alone and did not want to jeopardize the opportunity. I simply remember following her breathing patterns, getting to a place of total relaxation and comfort, instinctually regulating myself because I was physically close, the warm sun shined through and all was right in the world…..I can still feel that moment.

In hindsight, I got the very best of her, through our ability to soulfully communicate about the world I was exploring, a shared desire and experience serving humanity and endless conversations about the mystery and magnificence of God.

I have a greater understanding of how much being a mother requires, knowing I have more I can learn for as long as I am still alive. However, it is through my own flaws, one mistake after another and my own excellence, one great choice after another, in my most important role as a stepmother and mother that I have grown the most. A lived awareness that we at times can unconsciously sacrifice our children to sift through the complexities of the world, while reparenting the places in ourselves that were overlooked….all while striving to show up as the fullest and truest expression of our selves that we possibly can be.

Shit, it is messy and tough but also so very beautiful and real.

Yes, there are so many factors affecting the quality of mothering and yes, there is an abundance of excellent research pointing us in a better direction. True, that it may be impossible for any one person to fix it. I do challenge you at this moment in time as the world continues spinning around on it’s axis, in chaos, that you, as one person, jump off for a moment, suspended by gravity…. imagine the possibility that being conscious and concerned with how well we treat mothers, both online and in real life, may be a simple, yet effective way to do our part.

Intuitively I know, when mamas are adequately supported and encouraged, we naturally progress and evolve in healthy ways, the same way I know that if mothers are disregarded, discarded, shamed, bullied or unsupported the world will continue to suffer……

because their child will feel it and it is with them, the fate of humanity always rests.

Thank you, my son, for shining bright enough for me to see you, believe you, hear you, feel you, know you and love you.

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To the broken and the whole, the seekers and the sought, the wanderers and the rooted

We are always permitted the grace of falling apart.

I don’t know if anytime I have, I chose it. It really tends to interfere with life, as it was, disruption and beauty, coexisting…

But, it is in these moments I become the closest to the universal life force.

Now, I am not saying it is a requirement to meet God in desperation. Some of us know how extraordinary life is and how good it can be ……..from the moment we are conceived and than…..move on to being supported thoroughly, while all the truths are affirmed, perfectly, with very little error…..maybe?

I haven’t actually heard that story yet.

My son was born knowing God and I believe all babies do. As a small child, I witnessed it in his curiosity, his gentle nature, his unconditional love, his compassion, his sensitivity, his respect, his creativity, his zest for each new day, his ability to see, hear, feel what others did not. And while I don’t know everything ahead on his path, I do hope what he knows remains awake in him as his life unfolds.

Me…

So far, I have succumbed at 3 distinct times……knowing that I too share similar qualities I saw in my beautiful child, definitely tossed around by life along the way.

My first time was when the weight of a stressful and complicated childhood, became impossible to ignore. As a teenager, I was relocated to Staten Island and moved in with my Polish Italian parents, embarking on a completely different experience with family. I happened to move onto the same block my biological mother spent a portion of her childhood only to discover my new relatives had known some of my biological family. What are the odds?

In this home I was shown the value of extended family presence, a Nonna and Grandma at the kitchen table, homemade pizza, pierogies, babka, real butter, cousins, a celebration for everything, first jobs, how to drive a car in one of the sketchiest gray vans around and first hand, day in, day out experiences with loving , having fun with, and caring for babies. I became the much older and very big sister to 3 lovely children, the exceptionally cool older cousin to some of my now favorite new mamas. I was welcomed and included. I never felt like I didn’t belong and seemed to be a part of it all along. Of course, they had their struggles, but somehow the message that you stick together and help each other out was a bigger takeaway. When I aged out and my time ended in the foster care system, they kept me. And continue to claim me as theirs, over and over and over again. All the while letting me go.

The second time was at the end of my 20s, my sabbatical in sin city was paused …I entered a desert parched. A very fine sampling of hard core partying, over for a time. Totally dehydrated with enough funny and dramatic stories to think I had lived in a blockbuster hit…..or 100….somewhere deep inside, knowing, there had to be more than this.

Turns out, I was right and ushered forward. Gifted with the experience of becoming a wife, mother, long time hospice worker and valued community member. Full of so many moments to melt away any armor I had previously built up and turn me into a giant ball of mush. A period of serious sensitization. Rediscovering childhood, learning very quiet lessons about the sacredness of life through death, not without its challenges, filled with a ton of joy…..

But it was this 3rd time, midlife, puberty and 2022 that really took me out. It was marked by significant changes and realizations that triggered new levels of healing required if I was going to keep showing up for my life. Authenticity was the buzzword and integrity the demand. I witnessed so much of what I held dearly, become unrecognizable.

My very sensitive soul was deeply offended and so attached, laid itself on the tracks, to be run over by a freight train of uncertainty, repeatedly. Compelled to keep going, learn, make mistakes, grow, evolve and change. All the while remaining the same girl I have ALWAYS been.

Maximum capacity moments. That’s what I call them, bullied into submission or left out in a torrential downpour. It can feel like wandering around a black hole or trying to see through heavy rain while the windshield wipers don’t do shit to help…comparable only to grieving…..

I am committed to Love, therefore, awakened moments come. A conscious awareness that I am forced, compelled, ushered, and than gently guided to feel my way towards a light and clearing…full of truth. It always appears to me in the form of a very beautiful, firm but gentle, God. It is those moments of remembering, God IS indeed, all around…..waiting for me to notice and ask, how?

With faith and sincere trust that I will continue to be shown as well as seek, knowing I always have, I pause, look and hear the answers as they come….in all their forms. Reclaiming the power born with me, in sync and in tune, dancing my way to next, sharing what love pours out of me.

Thank you, my son, for shining bright enough for me to see you, believe you, hear you, feel you, know you and love you.