Mother’s Day has been and gone for this year (sad but true) and honestly I just could not find the impetus to hop on a podium and share publicly about it this year.
Prior to the day, I had spoken to a few Mama friends about how they perceive the whole Mothers Day thing and opinions ranged from expressions of “it’s a commercial idea” to “I don’t believe in it because Men and Women are more equal these days”, to exasperated ideas that Mothers Day should be Everyday because the role is huge - ask my children and they’ll tell you that it is in fact Kids Day everyday, except on Mothers Day - and then came the responses that elude to the opportunity of looking deeper.
With my Yogic background, I simply can’t help but to consider the Mother in us all.
How does this look like in practice ?
It’s the loving presence that pervades my own when I surrender my ‘human’ and ask for some divine help. The insights arrive and I feel held. It’s the energy of a undisturbed river, constant, surprising and always in flow.
My children are still little & at every turn imaginable they are well provided witness to my fallibility and yet it’s me who needs to be their soft landing pad, no matter how childish and inappropriate they can be.
Because that’s exactly how children need to be and (for the most part) the Mother in me put’s her own pains aside; she dissolves my will into a loving force that can tickle like a feather and be equally fierce as needed.
That’s not easy.
My ego burns and questions so often and for lack of any other option, I need to seek refuge with the Mother in Me.
The Mother in Me is not a solo scene. It is she who I seek in community, in my girlfriends, trusted support teams; all are informed from and by that place. It’s a huge space of grace and keeps me going when it seems I can not bare another day for a sleepless night or yet another nervous system fright. All in the day of a Mothers life.
A Mother needs her Mama-sisters, aunts, elders, friends to reflect the not so secret-secret with regularity; Mother is a verb.
With this in mind, it is easy to recognise the truth in all that my Mama-sisters say. Yes it’s a bit commercial but, let’s be honest, once one has given birth to the being of Mother, life and our relationship to it is simply not the same. Everything get’s changed.
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I’m being cautious not to polarise here as that’s the last thing we need on our planet right now; polarising opinions about Mothers Day - no thanks.
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Motherhood can be quite the thankless task and having a bit of recognition for the equal blessing and burden that never goes away, never goes astray.
Meanwhile the Mothers Days flowers that I had booked, to be sent to my Mum in Australia, did not arrive.
My Dad let me know, because he knew I’d not forget. Sending Mum flowers on Mothers Day is not only a tradition that supports the local flower business, it’s a gesture across the seas that can only be felt in the heart space of a Mother and her child. My Dad has born witness to this every year in the most tender, understanding way and patiently awaits his Fathers Day nod in September.
Awakening in Switzerland that day, I breathed a sigh, something of relief to simply have a sense of ease - the boys were giggling, the sun was shining and my Husband was proceeding to tend to the day in the most understanding way. He was holding a space for Mothers Day.
Segue
During one particularly intense moment of refereeing raging opinions between Master 7 and Master 4, I was teetering on the brink of Mama fatigue when my husband quietly intervened by placing a flower pot between us and captured the curiosity of our children immediately.
“See this pot” he says to our eldest Son
“Yes.” Master 7 responds
My husband goes on:
“These three plants are you, me and your younger brother. I’m the biggest, you’re the next biggest and can you see how our leaves cover the littlest ? He needs some light too and so we need to make sure that enough gets through.”
Master 7 nodded intrigued and then asked, “Well then where’s Mama ?”
This is the place in the story where we all offer meaningful looks and nod knowingly.
Figuratively, Mama is the soil.
She’s the basis of nourishment for the family.
Her mental load is reminiscent of the millions of microbes that keep it all going and is rarely seen for it’s brilliance, tireless coherence and complexity.
On the flip side, there is a profound difference to feeling like tendered soil converse to dirt. We’ve all experienced both and perhaps pancakes and flowers, or a simple ‘Thank you Mum’ on one designated day of the year might replenish the soil somewhat and benefit everyone.
And what for the other 364 days on the year ?
I asked a few mama friends how they keep their soul soil tendered and the common answer revealed a similar thread - independence.
Independence to choose when and where (else) they want to grow a few of their own roots, be it in career, regular self-care and the simple ability to choose, without guilt !!
It seems society is tipped on an imaginary scale - one way - favouring an aged paradigm which (depending on the culture) for the most part, the way of Man is favoured. Women in general are doing and being a lot more than given credit for.
Being the soul soil of the family is unseen, dark and often messy work. As shiny as it can look on the outside, every Mother is entitled to her pride, if only for enduring the incredible achievement of ‘the verb’.
Mothers Day Blessings, to the Mother in You from the Mother in Me, daily. My greatest hope here, is that we may all be able to find her, to nurture her as a living breathing entity; the one who on some level chose this crazy ride and get’s to create it’s meaning. You are whole, complete and worthy.
With Love,
Amber