Daughter

Nobody’s Fault But Mine – Nina Simone

She was so sad.  Another child in her womb and, as usual, she was all alone, questioning all that she had chosen.

A marriage:  ‘Where was he?’

A life: ‘This incessant work.’

A sacrifice: ‘Where did those dreams of flying go?.’

Then a daughter was born.  A most beautiful girl: a soft, smiling, round little thing.

‘A reason to live!’ she thought. ‘A reason to be happy.  The reason for all these disappointing choices. She will be the joy in my life.’

And after all, her life depended on it.

Dependent on this child.

A role reversal before its time.

The dependent mother.

A cruel reversal as this tiny thing felt the squeeze of the pressure in the watery womb.

Cruel but so completely understandable.  The little girl loved her mother so much that she began to feel the mother’s pain as her own.

And as the girl grew so did the pain, for, added to the original hurt, was the hurt of not being able to help….for to feel another’s pain only doubles it.

She soon realised that her own pain had nowhere to go.  She began to grow masks wherein she could find freedom from her sensitivity.  Her spirit started to fragment into pieces. Her full self was too big – too much – too bold – too knowing – too ‘irrational’.

Acceptable masks: soft, strong, self-suffcient, funny, enthusiastic.

Unacceptable masks:  embarrassed, angry, resentful, lonely, upset.

The girl began to march to the tune of her ‘own’ drum, or so she thought.  In reality, the masks became so thick she forgot they were there.

She marched to school and was soon branded a trouble maker.  But better to fight at school than fight at home.  For that would be to break her mother’s heart.

‘Stay the innocent girl please. Sugar and spice…sugar and spice…’ mother whispered.

The disparity between the girl at home the girl with the rest of the world grew.

She could hardly believe that she was believed by her mother.  The woman who had known her forever seemed to believe this mask of ‘I’m fine.’ The young girl began to doubt her own sanity.  She was neither rebel, nor angel.  But where was she?

Stumbling into adulthood she started to fume.

How was it her responsibility not to be in truth?

Why was deep intuition shamed and not encouraged?

As opened her eyes she began to see generations of the same story all around her.

Unseen people.

Unacknowledged people.

People without space.

The woman, pride puffing her chest for the first time, went to seek her space.

Her deep connection.

To heal the violence of the ages.

To put an end to useless sacrifice.

Freedom from obligation.

Freedom from sacrifice.

Freedom.

And so her journey finally began.

Your Life Your Call – Junip

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