Why Make the Bed It Will Get Rumpled Again
As a Survivor of Trauma, My Work as a Parent Taught Me Self-love and Self-acceptance.
Your children are not your children.
They are sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you… Kahlil Gibran
I am a Creative and a mindful/conscious parent, who chose to spent the last twenty-one years living and working as a stay-at-home mother/homemaker while honing my dream in writing/art/advocacy.
The most important job I do in my life is to mother my daughter. The above quote from Khalil Gibran’s poem about children and parenting has guided and inspired my work as a mother. Mothering my child is a work of love and has brought me immense satisfaction, great joy, fulfillment, and above all, self-acceptance. Becoming a parent is the best thing I did for my life as a survivor of trauma. In learning to love another human being unconditionally, I finally learned to love all parts of myself, including the broken pieces.
As a survivor of childhood domestic violence and childhood sexual abuse and trauma, I never knew I could love and care for anyone in such a visceral way. When I gave birth to my daughter at thirty-six, I knew that raising her in a healthy, wholesome way would be my greatest challenge because I was still figuring out who I was as a person. Nevertheless, at the moment of her birth, I decided to work my butt off to be the best mother in every way possible.
Today she is almost twenty-two, and she has faced numerous challenges with her mental health because of inherited and societal factors. Over time, and through educational endeavors, I realized these factors directly attributed to the intergenerational legacy of abuse and incorrect beliefs and patterns carried down through dysfunctional generations. However, because I was determined to heal myself, to care for her in the best way possible, I have systematically confronted and eradicated every one of those old beliefs and replaced them with a healthier system that works for us. I can now say my hard work has paid off. She is a balanced, mature, and well-rounded individual in every way, and I am proud of both of us for the work we have both done together as parent and child.
Lessons from my Mother
Many years ago, when my mother told me rules are put in place to be followed, I scoffed and walked away, disrespectfully mumbling under my breath. “What does she know? She is too old to understand.” Today as a mother, boy, do I have whiplash! I realize becoming a parent can set you straight on a lot of things. There are so many lessons my mother taught me that I rejected, but am I ever finding them useful now! Interestingly, my daughter responds to me, when I give some of my old-school advice, with a snigger. Now I know how my mother used to feel.
One day, when she was in her teens, I called her as she fumbled around in her room. I wanted to know if she made her bed. She told me no, she had not. She flippantly inquired, what would be the sense of doing so since she would sleep in it later that night: it would just get “rumpled again?” What was I supposed to say to this witty quip and come back? A comeback, which used to be one of my snappy ones? A parent worth their salt would go into a lengthy explanation about why it was so important to make one’s bed.
Since I now consider myself any ‘parent worth their salt,’ I went into a lengthy explanation of why it was essential to making one’s bed: I said to her in life, there are certain things, laws, rules that we all must follow for the world to function; I said that if there were no gravity, the world would quickly spin off its axis; I said that if I did not do laundry every day or take showers, we would all be stinky; I said if we did not drink water or breathe oxygen, we would all die. I finally ended with my favorite of all lines of all times, “…and the children in Africa don’t have a choice, you do”. This line gets to her the most, and I usually get a roll of the eyes, but stuff gets done fast after letting that line rip.
Making my mom’s best impression seemed to work because she quickly got my drift and made her bed. Sometimes I wish I could have a mind of a child forever. “Oh, and by the way, thank you, mom!” When I was growing up, I asked my mother the same question, “mummy, why do I have to do this or that” and I am sure many parents before her time asked it much like they are today. The more things change, the more they remain the same, don’t they?
During my teenage years, I longed to break away from the restrictions of my life so that I could be free to go where I wanted and see who I wanted to see. I longed to be responsible for my life and to pay my way and rent. I know many friends who felt the same way growing up. I longed to escape people telling me what to wear, how to walk when to go to bed, and when to wake up. I felt that life would become more manageable once I became an adult, and I could leave my bed rumpled if I chose to — not so fast.
Working to Confront False Beliefs
Today, as I am eight years over a half-century in this world, I am wiser and very much worn. Not only do I have to make my bed, but I now have to make sure other people make their beds. I have paid rent, am now in debt, and still have to answer to the people in my life. Leaving home was not as pleasant as I thought it would, and the world is beautiful and ugly all at once. People have come and gone, childhood friends have grown up and moved away, loved ones have lived and passed on, and my eyes are no longer young.
Little by little, I learned that there are consequences for one’s actions; progress is slow and only made by putting in the time. Most of the time, the process makes the result that much more worthy to enjoy and relish. I have learned that nothing in this world comes for free. There is always a price. The most important thing is never to become cynical about life or be superficial: one must live an authentic and responsible life.
When I was sixteen, I fell in love. Naively, I thought my feelings would sustain me, and the love I gave to my boyfriend, who later became my first husband, was enough to see us through. When his mother took him abroad to live with her and escape from me and what she considered my ‘low class’ background, I thought my life would never be the same. I determined to find him one day and make our love work. When his love letters stopped coming, I thought I would shrivel up and die. Years later, when I found him, he was a shell of his former self. I soon learned that my role in his life was no longer a lover but a mother, and I eventually cut my losses and moved on.
Since leaving that marriage, and the romantic dreams I had for our life behind, I ‘cut my losses’ numerous times. Life was not as simple as it appeared. Nothing was ever black and white or as clear cut as written about romance or God in the books. There was no ‘white knight in shining armor’ that was going to come and take this Black girl out of the doldrums and transport me to a beautiful castle in the clouds. The fairytale books and romantic novels, which sustained and comforted me in my youth, were nothing but a fantasy to give the poor and those in dysfunctional situations like mine a vision of a better way of being. Disillusioned, I decided fairytales were a cynical ploy to keep the truth about life from ‘peasants’ like me.
Fantastical stories like fairytales are not to be replicated by the poor, and in many cases, if one tried, one would be sorely disappointed. So, years later, with all this new knowledge about how life truly is, I am left with no choice but to instill hope, faith, and courage into my child. I try to balance telling her the truth about how life will be for her as an African American, young, Buddhist woman who lives in a primarily caucasian, christian world. She is beginning to see for herself how difficult it is to navigate these waters. I find the best way to help her is by being honest.
The worse thing, I believe, is to shelter a child from what is happening in this world. She needs to know the and have access to the truth about what is happening in Syria, Haiti, Iran, North and South Korea, Arizona, and Chicago. Children are much more resilient than most adults believe. If we do not take the time and responsibility to make sure they know the facts, someone else will come in and fill the void with fiction and conspiracies.
My daughter came home one day and, to my astonishment, asked me what plastic surgery was. When I queried her why she wanted to know, she told me a little boy told her about plastic surgery at school during lunch. He said his mother had it done. She was only seven-years-old years old. I have to admit; I did not see that coming. One morning while eating breakfast, we saw a news report about gay relationships. When she asked me what was ‘gay,’ I almost choked on my oatmeal. She was eight-years-old years old by then. In both instances, I sat my daughter down and patiently answered her questions. I never reprimanded her for asking ‘far out’ questions because I want her to trust me enough not to be afraid to ask or say anything. As far as I was concerned this was the tough, but necessary work of a responsible and responsive parent.
Mindful Parenting Creating New Beliefs and Patterns
Many years ago, when my daughter asked me why she had to make her bed, I found a way to show her that making her bed represented something bigger than just pulling sheets, blankets, and comforters on a mattress to make it look neat. Making her bed every day was an exercise in discipline and organization that should apply to her life as a whole. As a compromise, we agreed she should make her bed four days a week with one day off, and she could write off at the weekend: if sick or having bad monthly cramps, she got to take a break. I learned to be flexible, to go with the flow, and let some things go.
Thankfully, I quickly learned that a mother’s work is to think fast on one’s feet, a different approach is necessary for every scratch or wound, and sometimes the injury has to be left bare to heal in the fresh air. Some days, hard and fast rules go out the window, and some days they stay. However, the most important thing is to give consistent unconditional love no matter the problem. There is nothing like learning that “charity begins at home”. I let my daughter know that she will implement them in public when she develops terrible habits at home. The way she conducts herself in the world is a reflection of our family. This refrain is a constant in our home to keep her aware of her connection to the Universe as taught by our Buddhist faith. I find teaching the inter-connectedness of things helps her make better sense of the world and to have empathy.
It seems my work as a parent is paying off because I have consistently received positive feedback about her pleasant and kind demeanor everywhere she goes. It is in moments like these that I am so proud to be a mother. Sometimes all you can do is try your best and allow the rest to follow even as you do the challenging work required as a mindful parent.
My website: Clarityisjustsohip.com
My daughter’s website: Amaranthia Sepia
