When we push away our own discomfort, it’s no wonder then we aren’t able to navigate it alongside our children. After years of numbing + running from myself, after chasing drugs and men and careers and goals to make me “happy,” I can now just BE. One of the greatest gifts I’ve given myself is the freedom to be unhappy.
This doesn’t mean I don’t have gratitude, contentment or trust in my heart. It simply means I allow room for it all. I observe. I rest. I ride the waves. This is a practice. No more push or pull. No more judging or ridiculing or analyzing it all.
The goal isn’t happiness, like I once believed. As a mama, I want my babies to know I welcome all of them, not just the parts that please me. They can bring the stuff that makes me confused, scared or triggered, the stuff that makes me cringe, annoyed and uncomfortable. This is my work to heal, this isn’t their burden. Life is to be lived. It isn’t a performance.
Were you allowed to express a range of feelings as a child? Do you allow yourself now, as an adult?
