Mother’s Day 2020

Thank you to all the self identified Mother’s out there, for EVERYTHING that you do. Often it is most of our work isn’t noticed, let alone recognized.

Thank you to the birth-givers on this day, if Mother is not your preferred title.

Thank you to all the Mothers of all kinds on this day. Regardless of where your babies come from or what species they are. Nurturing another soul is precious and divine work.

To those whose Mothers, and or children are are no longer in physical form, I see you. I hear you. I hold space for you.

To those whose Mothers were horrible, or awful, or non-existent in their lives, I see you. I hear you. I hold space for you.

Since I became a Mother, this day has always been hard. My first Mother’s Day was spent in deep mourning for the babe I had lost. This day, more than anything, makes me think of him. This year is compounded with the loss of my “other” Mom last year. This is the first one without her. Her birthday is tomorrow. Her death anniversary in late June. My own Mother had a very bad health scare last week. Not being able to get together and celebrate like we usually do is just awful icing on this shitty cake.

I am eternally grateful to the Universe for the babies that lived, who brighten every day of my life. I look forward to my annual offering of a live orchid. I look forward to seeing my Mom and thanking her for all she has done and continues to do for me. I am extremely thankful that I can go see her for a few minutes and give her a hug. Particularly in the middle of a global pandemic.*

My love goes out to everyone really, on this day. Our Mother’s, present or absent, are HUGE forces in our lives. May your day be as peaceful and pleasant as it can be.

*For clarity, we are being extremely careful with physical contact. Our risk factors are extremely low, and we must balance social distancing with our mental health.

Fear and Loathing

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So I shared this meme today on my Facebook page. An acquaintance asked why do it then, as in why hate my body. I answered that I can’t help it sometimes. I’ve waxed all philosophical about it and decided I needed to write an actual blog post about it. As the title alludes to, there is a lot of fear and loathing involved in my relationship with my body. It’s never been an overly healthy thing. That’s the toss up for hopping out of the womb three months early and surviving, I guess. I caught pneumonia for the first time at one week old. For all the sickness I had as a child, none of it was a disability. My body generally worked, my immune system was just crappy. I think I was seven or eight the first time my knees started to ache. Younger for the first angry colon/bladder incidents. It still wasn’t until I was thirteen or fourteen where things really started to fall apart. I remember trying out for track and field at my new elementary school, having just moved to Surrey. As I sprinted across the field, fully expecting my legs to piston as always regardless of pain, the first real fear moment struck. It didn’t hurt a lot, my knee just refused to take my weight, and into the gravel I went. It would take a few years of debilitating knee pain for the loathing to start. When your body hurts every day, for no particular reason, you eventually start feeling pissy with it. This acquaintance, like a lot of people who don’t live with chronic pain, says I always have a choice in how I view my body. In reality, I really don’t. Chronic illness and pain do a number on the brain chemistry. So while sometimes I can pull myself out of the more, a lot of the time I can’t.