I was a morbid child, always certain that some horrific tragedy was about to strike and crying myself to sleep about it. I won’t get into why's of this, but I will say that it drove me to study ancient teachings at a young age. I reeeeeeally wanted to reach enlightenment so that I could be okay no matter what happened, but the funny thing is that the more I've learned, grown and healed along that path, the less I've cared about enlightenment per se, yet the more okay I am with however life shows up. I'm able to enjoy myself instead of cringing in anticipation, which is what I think I was after from the beginning, but I still meditate, so if enlightenment decides to land, I'm there for it.
I try to share what I’ve learned with my sons, but that never goes well. They’re 20 and 23, so the days when they considered me wise are long behind us. Those were two wonderful days, and now it's a tad disappointing because (imo) they could really benefit from what I’ve learned, but they don’t believe in anything “spiritual.” They think that when you’re dead, you’re dead, that’s it. I hate to think that having me as a mom is what sent them running in the opposite direction, but I think it anyway. They do love me, though, and since now I'm the only parent they've got, I feel we're even closer. They’re coping amazingly well with the death of their dad in August of last year, but if they’d gotten to choose which parent to live without . . . well, I’m not sure I like my odds there. This is a wee bit infuriating because their dad was either out of town or planted on the couch with headphones on for 90% of their childhood. I’m not saying he wasn’t a good man—he truly, truly was. But he had issues, and he did the thing where he pretended that he didn’t, so I thought I was the issue, and I tried to resolve me for decades. Honestly, I didn’t really get anywhere with that. Not until I was on my own, waking up each morning with the surprising sensation of being stitched back together, did I begin to see things more clearly. (Energetically "stitched," btw. If it had felt physical, I would have woken up screaming. My mother is still embarrassed about the way I behaved when I actually needed stitches.)
But back to my kids . . . when my older son had to write, for his med school application, about the biggest challenge he’d overcome, do you know what it was? Hint: Not the tragic loss of his father.
ME. It was me! But he was sweet about it—he’s grateful for being raised with a kooky belief system because he had to find his own way to “science.” Okay, fine, but he also had to write about his hero. One guess as to who that was. If you guessed the lump on the couch with the headphones, you got it.
So I honor that. I’m glad that my boys had a dad whom they treasured and that I was able to give them material for med school applications, but if my own young self were willing to hear what I have to say, here's what I would tell her: Your fear shows you where you’re choosing illusion over reality. Terrible things will happen—although not the ones you’re worried about—but they will reveal to you a strength that you didn’t know you had, and you will be fine. More than fine, actually. Life is not trying to destroy you—it’s helping you realize who you are. So just roll with it, for goodness’ sake. Get some sleep, play, dance, tumble, sing, imagine—all of it adds to your life—and for the love of all that is holy, wear sunscreen and don’t forget to put it on your neck. Tanning is for dummies.
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