On being a Mum

Yesterday, Alison asked me what I wrote about on my blog.

And I couldn’t answer. I froze.

And then waffled. And sold myself short (again).

It struck me as odd that’s all and I merely write and observe upon this experience below.

Why do I write?

I write here because something in me compells me to write. I yearn to create and be creative yet I wonder sometimes if I have yet found the medium in whch I am most content – why do I ask that question – because I don’t do it!

There are always reasons why and yet I know when I sit here and write I am content. 100%.

That poses the question why do I not do it more?

Is it because I have become quite accustomed to being unhappy and have adapted?

That seems a bit piss poor.

Is it because I am lazy – the lure of television, magazines always calling to occupy that space?

Again, second rate.

In my heart where it is real, I long to know myself and to express myself fully from that place.

In writing there is an entire longing that I might connect with that place again and then with you.

Dig deep, my heart says.

I spoke to my son Nathan last night. We have not spoken for more than four years.

There are reasons.

He was so insistent (again) that I did not know him and that he did not know me that he could see no reason why we should even bother to connect up with each other going forward and as I listened, I realised he was probably right.

Not that there would be no reason to stay in touch but that he probably did not know me.

I know him though.

A scientist at heart who sees the world through black and white with no shades of grey.

“You are the only one whoever says that about me, mother you don’t know me at all” he roars angry in that moment.

“You are a bad mother” he says (again).

Later I wrote him a text “goodnight son” I wrote “I love you, mum”


In life we must learn to give with no expectation of return, no attachment to outcome.

This is possible through unconditional Love.

As a parent we give this: learning to detach from the outcome is the lesson.

Don’t forget, my heart whispers: pain may come, the suffering is optional.

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