Listening to Reason

We have two children. Life is generally a massive whirlwind of singalong nursery rhymes, building forts, cleaning yogurt/snot/paint/sand from bizarre places, remaining in character as some fictional cartoon person for much of the day, having up-times and having downers.

That’s everyone, not just me.

I have been so lucky to have been finding connection with fluid body work and fluid body listening with my children and my little one to come. It has helped me connect with all of my babies in deeper ways that seems to cut through a lot of the unnecessary rubbish and get to the core of them, and me, and our family circle within and around all of that.

It is beautiful to connect with that and sit within it, when I can.

The day-to-day stuff still happens and I am residing in this juiciness more now. But recently I had such a profound experience of living on the edge of that. I feel it is important to share this. I am driven to share it. Because it brings such simple clarity.

I was stuck to my bed one morning. Too early. I was dreading the wake-up call from the smallest. She is such a gem sweet lady during the day – but when she wants mamma and what mamma has to offer in the morning, she turns in to a raving banshee, who’s cry cuts through my eyelashes to drag me into stumble-dom,  retrieve her from her cot, and envelop her in the snuggle zone with her brother and I.

This happens a lot by the way, and mostly I manage OK, never awake enough to be too rude or annoyed. But on this night/morning, I didn’t have enough sleep. The older dude had me in a headlock for most of the night and for the rest of it had a toe or other limb in my face/neck/ear.

Well, really in writing this there is no excuse. I lost it. I screamed at them both, needing space, needing rest, needing quiet (ironically). It’s hard to write that…’I lost it’…. it really is. I became the banshee that annoys me so much. My son told me to calm down and my daughter put her hand on my cheek to console me.

And then, in the dark with my two beautiful babies I wept and wept. I wept at their little bodies lying in the dark with this witch woman. I wept at the resentment I felt at having to be awake at that ungodly hour. I wept in the resentment of that resentment. And how I felt in my body, how all of that made me feel in my body. And then, the kicker… I felt so unworthy.  I felt the self-blame for my miscarriages engulf me.

Why would my baby want to come into this body and be mothered by this mother. Was I to blame for the loss, holding anger in my biochemistry, my make-up? Did my adrenaline overload my system and harm my baby? Does my baby know that I can ‘lose it’ and choose another road? Did I do something else wrong?

All sorts of irrational thoughts raced through my head in the dark. The questioning of what it is to be a mother and to stand into those shoes fully and the physical womb-space, the mother-space that comes with that… on and on, cycling in questions.

And then, just as the questions came, so too did the answers. Clearly, like there was an answer to each one, through my children and my bodily awareness of my little one to-come. ‘Its alright Mam’ – a touch, a rub, a kind word, a sense of strength and relief. Them all caring for me in the midst of my outbreak. My guilt-tears, and snot-laden kisses on their foreheads in sorrow.

And my awareness of these gorgeous souls all telling at me that I did nothing wrong…that in fact THIS is why you are chosen by me/us.

Because there is love.

You are worthy because there is love, infinite love.

Then… a felt-sense of reiteration of all I know. ‘Receive me.

Receive my love.

Its right here’.

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