I felt so emotionally connected to your post about motherhood I wanted to write. I’m the other side of this for you - when I was diagnosed with an aggressive breast cancer I already had a 13 year old and a 6 year old. Every day I think about whether they will be left without a mother. But every day I also look at them as amazing people in the world in their own right. Who know for whatever time they’ve had a mum who adores them. My cancer was oestrogen fed and I’ve wondered to my partner was that the same hormones that let me have an easy natural pregnancy at 43. Would I have missed my girl being in the world for not being hormonal - not for a second. I’d take the cancer in a flash. I wish you all the best with your thinking and maybe decisions. Kids or no kids though your love for people and animals and the creative spirit shines through - you saved my sanity and I’m sure for so many others. And that’s also a kind of mothering.
My heart resonates deeply with this post, having been unable to have children due to an autoimmune illness that cast a shadow over my 30s and early 40s. Fear of failure was a strong theme through that whole chapter. In some ways I felt like I failed to graduate from the University of Womanhood, though these days I'm much more at peace with the reality that life had a different path for me. Wishing you well on your journey as you figure out your own path and whether motherhood is part of it. What I will say is there are many ways to embody and express the mothering energy (puppy love being one 😊❤️)
I understand your concern about having a family, and it’s completely valid. I grew up as a half orphan. My father died when I was in junior high school, and my mother did not remarry. But we managed, with a number of people playing different roles, and I think your children would be fine, too, if anything happened to you. Jon would be there, his family, your family, your friends, everyone pulls together. My mother had a saying, “Don’t let it stop you,” and I would wish the same for you.
I loved today's post so much. I love all your letters, but this one was especially vulnerable and beautiful to me. I just wanted to say, as a healthy mother of two, that the fear of dying and leaving our children orphaned is universal, whether we're so-called healthy or not. I have gone through periods of terrible anxiety about it. Death can strike anytime, anywhere, in a million different ways, and the next breath is never guaranteed. We just never know, and lifespans are so very unpredictable. I LOVE the thought of you and Jon having a baby, OMG. You would be the most incredible parents. And if you do die when your child is still young, Jon will do a beautiful job of caring for it (sorry to call your future child an it, haha). I really, really hope you two bring a child or three into the world. And of course that's a stupid thing to say, because obviously it's 100% your decision. One of my dearest friends is currently dying of metastatic breast cancer, and she has a five-year-old. She's been fighting almost his entire life for one more day as his mother. I'm sooo proud of the battle she's waged. And wow, is her little boy ever gorgeous. He's bright and full of sunshine, and he brings her flowers and tells her how much he loves her. And she has come to a place of peace with it all.
Whatever you and Jon decide, I wish you endless happiness. Thank you so much for sharing your heart with us. It's so sweet of you to foster that pup, and I'm so glad you froze those eggs.
Thank you for writing this.. The complexities of motherhood, the almost involuntary biology of wanting it, the possibly of perhaps not ever having it, the fear of having and then failing at it, or worse, losing it.. the kid losing you.. It's real. And it does and doesn't get better. Raising a kid feels like a Rubik's cube, the world's big hands twisting you, twisting the kid too.. and every day is just that, another day of trying to get sorted somehow. It's a lot. But it's also something very visceral, the way disease is, something to experience, embody, in the real space.. And if illness and motherhood has taught me anything, it's that.. That those 'mommy, mommy' morning cuddles, and late night tummy ache hair-holding episodes are love embodied, unlike any other love I've known before or since. Perhaps it's just oxytocin talking, but for me, however impossibly hard it can seem at times, it's been a joy ride like no other. And a learning curve. A mirroring. An exploration of self, as much as of this new life that didn't exist before me. And in all the instability of life, and the world none of us can really hold on to, there's a whiff of permanence through procreation, this grand equalizer and unifier. Perhaps a false hope and promise, but still.. Thank you for opening up the space to meditate on this. Thank you for sharing. I really appreciate it.
Aug 6, 2023·edited Aug 6, 2023Liked by Suleika Jaouad, Holly Huitt
Dear Susu,
Your words spoke straight into my heart as I’ve had my own journey of debating on motherhood in the context of an illness. When I was in my 20s and pursuing my PhD, motherhood was a thing that could wait until I was in a better professional position, with a stable job, and a house. Then at age 30, when all the ingredients were starting to come together, I was diagnosed with MS. This diagnosis put my life on hold. The first thing I grieved while sitting in the doctors office and learning of my MS diagnosis was that I would never be able to have children. I felt a grief so deafening and so profound I could not even begin to put in words, lest say it out loud to anyone. I carried that grief for a long time. Eventually, as time passed and the new life sunk in and as I learned more about the disease and about living with it (dare I say, thrive with it?) these feelings changed. It went from mourning to a small curiosity that I didn’t dare touch yet, to starting to have conversations with my husband and therapist and other fellow patients who had had kids post diagnosis, to talking with my neurologist and learning that so many of the misconceptions I had about pregnancy and MS were actually wrong. I could have kids if I wished, and it’s generally safe, and the question shifted from “can I?” to “do I want to?”. That question haunted me for a long time too, because in it were all the fears that you mentioned. What if I’m physically unable to care for a child? What if I’m not around to care for them? It was so painful to go through this and it took another couple year. Then, little glimmers of hope started to appear. I kept thinking of my own mom, who had breast cancer at age 25 and a mastectomy at 27, and went on to have 2 daughters. How scared she must have felt too. And how glad I am she and my dad decided to have kids despite the fear, or I wouldn’t be here today. And that gave me hope. I also remembered that despite growing up thinking that my mom was the more fragile person and would likely not live a long life, that we can never predict the future and in the end, it was my healthy runner dad who passed away first, at age 52, after a 2 year battle with cancer. Into my mid thirties now, I’ve been untangling these griefs and feelings and though it’s been a long, multi-year process, my husband and I eventually landed in a place where we’d be happy to give parenthood a try. I’m often reminded of the words you shared on a newsletter some time ago: “this too shall pass”. The storm has passed, and it left clarity and hope. It reminded me that I have so much love to give, and that even if something were to happen, I’m surrounded by loved ones, that I’d be blessed to be a mother even if with limitations or for a short stint, and that loving and raising another human is a journey I wanted to embark on. Now, as I’m 5 weeks pregnant, I am filled with joy and hope. I wish much tenderness and grace to you as you continue through this journey and debate, and whatever your decision is on the other side, I hope you find peace in it. Much love to you, dear Suleika.
“We are afraid to fail at the things we care about”. Though I am a man, I imagine that my most dear and tender “egg” would be fertilized by my own secret fear of being a faulty male, unable to enter into a loving, fathering, parenting role. Hence, I have always feared giving birth to myself. What an ironic twist of fate, as I am an artist engaged daily in creating from and within Beauty. I see my life as a whole as a failure. Each day gone by is orphaned. I am constantly engaged in the next, new birth. Beauty is my lover, my parent, soulmate, and seducer. I care about living truthfully. Curiosity conducts my behavior, my purpose on this earth. So, as I write this and meet myself here before the next word arises, I nestle into my old, familiar fear: “am I fertile enough to create what life asks of me, with intention and humility, gratitude, and joy?” I whisper to you all that though I fear, I have created, and will continue to create, many beings of Beauty, whether they be called images or musical sounds. The greatest fear and challenge for me is this: “Can I keep alive and nurture the child within me who deserves to be born anew each day, and deserves to be nurtured and, yes, loved as a welcome journeyman on this Earthen path, this life.” Best, David 🏮
Suleika, that was such a beautiful and vulnerable post. It resonates deeply with me, albeit for different reasons. I had a perfectly normal childhood, grew up with my mom, dad, and brother, and a little sister who died at age one -- that loss was fear number one, though I didn’t realize until years later and always assumed I’d have my own family. My next fear presented in the form of our father leaving our mother just as we entered adulthood. It happens to lots of people, I know, but it rocked our worlds nonetheless. I then married and started a busy journalism career, delayed having children because we both worked so much, and then my own husband turned out not to be who I thought he was. Divorce deepened my fear of abandonment and mistrust of men. (Some of that realization came in hindsight after therapy years later.) For a long time, I remained optimistic and still thought I would remarry and have children. At various times, I also looked into adoption or becoming a single parent, but I would encounter career challenges or doubts about whether I would have the resources and support to raise children. I was very involved with my brother’s three and knew it took a village. I haven’t even written this in my journals before, but my fears led me to procrastinate until it was too late. On the other side of it, I’ve achieved a sort of peace, but my mothering instincts have presented in other ways over the years, mainly in caring for dogs and through activism; but I’ve also had a tendency to mother people in need of mothering (and some who were not). Our instincts are powerful things.
You were forced into a decision to save your eggs for health reasons, but it was a wise choice at such a young age. The fear of not being here to raise your children is a far deeper one when you’ve confronted a life-threatening illness, but you do have the resources and a loving partner. If Jon also wants children, you would be incredible parents. And you will remain an incredible human being even if you decide not to have children! Women are often made to feel we don’t reach our full potential and are never truly worthy unless we’re mothers, but you’ve already demonstrated that’s just not so. Whatever you decide, I hope and pray that you will have everything in life that brings you joy and fulfillment.
Susu - as always, thank you for opening your heart right up for those of us lucky enough to read your writing.
I wondered about posting about this because I am a healthy 62 year old mom of 2 sons in their early 20’s. They are the joy and light of my very full life. Though I have my own very successful coaching/consulting business (for which I am forever grateful), I imagine that anyone and everyone who knows me, knows me as the “over the top with love” mom of Benny and Jeremy.
When they were very young, I wrote a piece about the intensity of mother love and wondering if it was a blessing or a curse - to feel the pull of that love so deeply and without a break - the feeling of having your heart walk around outside of your body with no control.
I also designed a workshop for moms because I knew I couldn’t be the only one with the intensity of those feelings. I facilitated it for years because it kept me sane to be in a room of moms courageous enough to tell the truth about all of those feelings.
I would cry at the thought of something happening to them or to me. I lived for many years terrified at what life would be like for them without my love. I’m sure that came as a result of my mom leaving when I was very young - and I never wanted them to feel those feelings without me there by their side. Part of my learning as a mom (and motherhood is the great teacher) is that I can trust them and the other amazing people in their lives to deal with what comes at them...I suppose that’s the challenge for us all.
So, with all of that said, Le Bebe is adorable and so lucky to be with you and River and Jon...I wish you peace and trust as you continue to sort through the magnitude of this possible next season. Your heart and love and ability to “see” blow my mind consistently-and anyone would be lucky to be in your orbit.
I live in constant, persistent fear. It's part of me. It's not my friend. My amazing therapist Brian, has given me two questions to ask myself when I am in the depths of this Beast, and lost with how to proceed. They are: Is this coming from the goodness of your heart? Is it the best thing for (insert person, or situation)? And just like that (sans NYC and cast with amazing wardrobe) I am in my Frontal Lobe and out of my Limbic system just long enough to answer.
Thank you. This particular one feels so meant for me.. as a woman who lost her choice, is 6 months sober of alcohol and lost a parent at a young age.. every spectrum written I can find explicit resonance.. and I didn’t know I needed this. I look forward to continuing to read the comments and remember where I am connected as well as support. Again, grateful for this community and conversations.
Thank you for sharing your story Sulekia. When I was 23 I gave my daughter up for adoption. Years later I started to craft, in my art, pregnant baby dolls. I missed the feeling of being pregnant and I missed having a baby. I dreamt of baby stores where one could go to pick up any baby they wanted. As always, I appreciate or stand in awe, of the courage you show, in sharing stories or experiences that one carries so close to the heart. Thank you
Thank you for sharing & showing a way to embrace my greatest fear, which like yours, is about motherhood. Though now a grandma, I was a single-parent & suffered as most single-parents do, from guilt. My later adult journey, has brought me to a peace about such fears, as my children have grown into strong, respected & respectful, loving adults who themselves, have become excellent parents. But just recently, I interacted in a ‘too much mothering’ way with my son-in-law, who grew up with his own negative issues with his own mother. And he has temporarily closed communication with me. So the mothering fears have returned. Sigh...
My immediate response was, "of course you can say that!" And my response will not be, "that won't happen" because when you've been on that side of the curtain it's a different understanding, an acceptance. At least for me.
What an open hearted share Suleika. I also fully agree with Kiersten that the energy you put into the world is a type of mothering. A beautiful one. Whatever you decide you are already giving everyone lucky enough to be in your orbit mothering gifts.
Love the chess move Susu! 😂. Le bebe does seem quite happily settled
“If you do that, you’re possibly putting your life at risk.” I didn’t even know if I wanted a family of my own. But it didn’t take long before I realized it felt important to preserve that choice. It felt like hope—that I would exist in the future where I could make that choice.” Suleika, this is so incredible - that you had the wisdom at 22 to question your doctors and make a choice for you and your future. I’m so impressed with how you forged forward even after their response. It is brave and wise. I have no doubt you would make a wonderful mother and your children would be most loved but I also agree with Kiersten that there are many ways to mother. You mother those adorable pups and this entire community of thousands of people. We are grateful for you, and we love you.
Sarah, love the prompt- we are headed to Chicago this morning for no sound hours at the aquarium but I look forward to tackling it later. Thank you!
I felt so emotionally connected to your post about motherhood I wanted to write. I’m the other side of this for you - when I was diagnosed with an aggressive breast cancer I already had a 13 year old and a 6 year old. Every day I think about whether they will be left without a mother. But every day I also look at them as amazing people in the world in their own right. Who know for whatever time they’ve had a mum who adores them. My cancer was oestrogen fed and I’ve wondered to my partner was that the same hormones that let me have an easy natural pregnancy at 43. Would I have missed my girl being in the world for not being hormonal - not for a second. I’d take the cancer in a flash. I wish you all the best with your thinking and maybe decisions. Kids or no kids though your love for people and animals and the creative spirit shines through - you saved my sanity and I’m sure for so many others. And that’s also a kind of mothering.
My heart resonates deeply with this post, having been unable to have children due to an autoimmune illness that cast a shadow over my 30s and early 40s. Fear of failure was a strong theme through that whole chapter. In some ways I felt like I failed to graduate from the University of Womanhood, though these days I'm much more at peace with the reality that life had a different path for me. Wishing you well on your journey as you figure out your own path and whether motherhood is part of it. What I will say is there are many ways to embody and express the mothering energy (puppy love being one 😊❤️)
I understand your concern about having a family, and it’s completely valid. I grew up as a half orphan. My father died when I was in junior high school, and my mother did not remarry. But we managed, with a number of people playing different roles, and I think your children would be fine, too, if anything happened to you. Jon would be there, his family, your family, your friends, everyone pulls together. My mother had a saying, “Don’t let it stop you,” and I would wish the same for you.
Dearest Susu,
I loved today's post so much. I love all your letters, but this one was especially vulnerable and beautiful to me. I just wanted to say, as a healthy mother of two, that the fear of dying and leaving our children orphaned is universal, whether we're so-called healthy or not. I have gone through periods of terrible anxiety about it. Death can strike anytime, anywhere, in a million different ways, and the next breath is never guaranteed. We just never know, and lifespans are so very unpredictable. I LOVE the thought of you and Jon having a baby, OMG. You would be the most incredible parents. And if you do die when your child is still young, Jon will do a beautiful job of caring for it (sorry to call your future child an it, haha). I really, really hope you two bring a child or three into the world. And of course that's a stupid thing to say, because obviously it's 100% your decision. One of my dearest friends is currently dying of metastatic breast cancer, and she has a five-year-old. She's been fighting almost his entire life for one more day as his mother. I'm sooo proud of the battle she's waged. And wow, is her little boy ever gorgeous. He's bright and full of sunshine, and he brings her flowers and tells her how much he loves her. And she has come to a place of peace with it all.
Whatever you and Jon decide, I wish you endless happiness. Thank you so much for sharing your heart with us. It's so sweet of you to foster that pup, and I'm so glad you froze those eggs.
Love,
Heidi
Thank you for writing this.. The complexities of motherhood, the almost involuntary biology of wanting it, the possibly of perhaps not ever having it, the fear of having and then failing at it, or worse, losing it.. the kid losing you.. It's real. And it does and doesn't get better. Raising a kid feels like a Rubik's cube, the world's big hands twisting you, twisting the kid too.. and every day is just that, another day of trying to get sorted somehow. It's a lot. But it's also something very visceral, the way disease is, something to experience, embody, in the real space.. And if illness and motherhood has taught me anything, it's that.. That those 'mommy, mommy' morning cuddles, and late night tummy ache hair-holding episodes are love embodied, unlike any other love I've known before or since. Perhaps it's just oxytocin talking, but for me, however impossibly hard it can seem at times, it's been a joy ride like no other. And a learning curve. A mirroring. An exploration of self, as much as of this new life that didn't exist before me. And in all the instability of life, and the world none of us can really hold on to, there's a whiff of permanence through procreation, this grand equalizer and unifier. Perhaps a false hope and promise, but still.. Thank you for opening up the space to meditate on this. Thank you for sharing. I really appreciate it.
Dear Susu,
Your words spoke straight into my heart as I’ve had my own journey of debating on motherhood in the context of an illness. When I was in my 20s and pursuing my PhD, motherhood was a thing that could wait until I was in a better professional position, with a stable job, and a house. Then at age 30, when all the ingredients were starting to come together, I was diagnosed with MS. This diagnosis put my life on hold. The first thing I grieved while sitting in the doctors office and learning of my MS diagnosis was that I would never be able to have children. I felt a grief so deafening and so profound I could not even begin to put in words, lest say it out loud to anyone. I carried that grief for a long time. Eventually, as time passed and the new life sunk in and as I learned more about the disease and about living with it (dare I say, thrive with it?) these feelings changed. It went from mourning to a small curiosity that I didn’t dare touch yet, to starting to have conversations with my husband and therapist and other fellow patients who had had kids post diagnosis, to talking with my neurologist and learning that so many of the misconceptions I had about pregnancy and MS were actually wrong. I could have kids if I wished, and it’s generally safe, and the question shifted from “can I?” to “do I want to?”. That question haunted me for a long time too, because in it were all the fears that you mentioned. What if I’m physically unable to care for a child? What if I’m not around to care for them? It was so painful to go through this and it took another couple year. Then, little glimmers of hope started to appear. I kept thinking of my own mom, who had breast cancer at age 25 and a mastectomy at 27, and went on to have 2 daughters. How scared she must have felt too. And how glad I am she and my dad decided to have kids despite the fear, or I wouldn’t be here today. And that gave me hope. I also remembered that despite growing up thinking that my mom was the more fragile person and would likely not live a long life, that we can never predict the future and in the end, it was my healthy runner dad who passed away first, at age 52, after a 2 year battle with cancer. Into my mid thirties now, I’ve been untangling these griefs and feelings and though it’s been a long, multi-year process, my husband and I eventually landed in a place where we’d be happy to give parenthood a try. I’m often reminded of the words you shared on a newsletter some time ago: “this too shall pass”. The storm has passed, and it left clarity and hope. It reminded me that I have so much love to give, and that even if something were to happen, I’m surrounded by loved ones, that I’d be blessed to be a mother even if with limitations or for a short stint, and that loving and raising another human is a journey I wanted to embark on. Now, as I’m 5 weeks pregnant, I am filled with joy and hope. I wish much tenderness and grace to you as you continue through this journey and debate, and whatever your decision is on the other side, I hope you find peace in it. Much love to you, dear Suleika.
“We are afraid to fail at the things we care about”. Though I am a man, I imagine that my most dear and tender “egg” would be fertilized by my own secret fear of being a faulty male, unable to enter into a loving, fathering, parenting role. Hence, I have always feared giving birth to myself. What an ironic twist of fate, as I am an artist engaged daily in creating from and within Beauty. I see my life as a whole as a failure. Each day gone by is orphaned. I am constantly engaged in the next, new birth. Beauty is my lover, my parent, soulmate, and seducer. I care about living truthfully. Curiosity conducts my behavior, my purpose on this earth. So, as I write this and meet myself here before the next word arises, I nestle into my old, familiar fear: “am I fertile enough to create what life asks of me, with intention and humility, gratitude, and joy?” I whisper to you all that though I fear, I have created, and will continue to create, many beings of Beauty, whether they be called images or musical sounds. The greatest fear and challenge for me is this: “Can I keep alive and nurture the child within me who deserves to be born anew each day, and deserves to be nurtured and, yes, loved as a welcome journeyman on this Earthen path, this life.” Best, David 🏮
Suleika, that was such a beautiful and vulnerable post. It resonates deeply with me, albeit for different reasons. I had a perfectly normal childhood, grew up with my mom, dad, and brother, and a little sister who died at age one -- that loss was fear number one, though I didn’t realize until years later and always assumed I’d have my own family. My next fear presented in the form of our father leaving our mother just as we entered adulthood. It happens to lots of people, I know, but it rocked our worlds nonetheless. I then married and started a busy journalism career, delayed having children because we both worked so much, and then my own husband turned out not to be who I thought he was. Divorce deepened my fear of abandonment and mistrust of men. (Some of that realization came in hindsight after therapy years later.) For a long time, I remained optimistic and still thought I would remarry and have children. At various times, I also looked into adoption or becoming a single parent, but I would encounter career challenges or doubts about whether I would have the resources and support to raise children. I was very involved with my brother’s three and knew it took a village. I haven’t even written this in my journals before, but my fears led me to procrastinate until it was too late. On the other side of it, I’ve achieved a sort of peace, but my mothering instincts have presented in other ways over the years, mainly in caring for dogs and through activism; but I’ve also had a tendency to mother people in need of mothering (and some who were not). Our instincts are powerful things.
You were forced into a decision to save your eggs for health reasons, but it was a wise choice at such a young age. The fear of not being here to raise your children is a far deeper one when you’ve confronted a life-threatening illness, but you do have the resources and a loving partner. If Jon also wants children, you would be incredible parents. And you will remain an incredible human being even if you decide not to have children! Women are often made to feel we don’t reach our full potential and are never truly worthy unless we’re mothers, but you’ve already demonstrated that’s just not so. Whatever you decide, I hope and pray that you will have everything in life that brings you joy and fulfillment.
Susu - as always, thank you for opening your heart right up for those of us lucky enough to read your writing.
I wondered about posting about this because I am a healthy 62 year old mom of 2 sons in their early 20’s. They are the joy and light of my very full life. Though I have my own very successful coaching/consulting business (for which I am forever grateful), I imagine that anyone and everyone who knows me, knows me as the “over the top with love” mom of Benny and Jeremy.
When they were very young, I wrote a piece about the intensity of mother love and wondering if it was a blessing or a curse - to feel the pull of that love so deeply and without a break - the feeling of having your heart walk around outside of your body with no control.
I also designed a workshop for moms because I knew I couldn’t be the only one with the intensity of those feelings. I facilitated it for years because it kept me sane to be in a room of moms courageous enough to tell the truth about all of those feelings.
I would cry at the thought of something happening to them or to me. I lived for many years terrified at what life would be like for them without my love. I’m sure that came as a result of my mom leaving when I was very young - and I never wanted them to feel those feelings without me there by their side. Part of my learning as a mom (and motherhood is the great teacher) is that I can trust them and the other amazing people in their lives to deal with what comes at them...I suppose that’s the challenge for us all.
So, with all of that said, Le Bebe is adorable and so lucky to be with you and River and Jon...I wish you peace and trust as you continue to sort through the magnitude of this possible next season. Your heart and love and ability to “see” blow my mind consistently-and anyone would be lucky to be in your orbit.
I live in constant, persistent fear. It's part of me. It's not my friend. My amazing therapist Brian, has given me two questions to ask myself when I am in the depths of this Beast, and lost with how to proceed. They are: Is this coming from the goodness of your heart? Is it the best thing for (insert person, or situation)? And just like that (sans NYC and cast with amazing wardrobe) I am in my Frontal Lobe and out of my Limbic system just long enough to answer.
Thank you. This particular one feels so meant for me.. as a woman who lost her choice, is 6 months sober of alcohol and lost a parent at a young age.. every spectrum written I can find explicit resonance.. and I didn’t know I needed this. I look forward to continuing to read the comments and remember where I am connected as well as support. Again, grateful for this community and conversations.
Thank you for sharing your story Sulekia. When I was 23 I gave my daughter up for adoption. Years later I started to craft, in my art, pregnant baby dolls. I missed the feeling of being pregnant and I missed having a baby. I dreamt of baby stores where one could go to pick up any baby they wanted. As always, I appreciate or stand in awe, of the courage you show, in sharing stories or experiences that one carries so close to the heart. Thank you
Thank you for sharing & showing a way to embrace my greatest fear, which like yours, is about motherhood. Though now a grandma, I was a single-parent & suffered as most single-parents do, from guilt. My later adult journey, has brought me to a peace about such fears, as my children have grown into strong, respected & respectful, loving adults who themselves, have become excellent parents. But just recently, I interacted in a ‘too much mothering’ way with my son-in-law, who grew up with his own negative issues with his own mother. And he has temporarily closed communication with me. So the mothering fears have returned. Sigh...
Tears sprang forth reading today’s post. So I grabbed my pen and haiku journal (*started during the 100 Day Creative Project...)
afraid of failing
the things I care most about
see rear view mirror
past failings haunt me
crumbled wreckage of my past
threaten my future
behind or distant
fearful tug-of-war within
but what about NOW?
such a fool’s errand
forgetting to be PRESENT
right here and right now
past is behind me
future never guaranteed
NOW is true and here
stay in the moment
PRESENT is all that is
completely in this
My immediate response was, "of course you can say that!" And my response will not be, "that won't happen" because when you've been on that side of the curtain it's a different understanding, an acceptance. At least for me.
What an open hearted share Suleika. I also fully agree with Kiersten that the energy you put into the world is a type of mothering. A beautiful one. Whatever you decide you are already giving everyone lucky enough to be in your orbit mothering gifts.
Love the chess move Susu! 😂. Le bebe does seem quite happily settled
“If you do that, you’re possibly putting your life at risk.” I didn’t even know if I wanted a family of my own. But it didn’t take long before I realized it felt important to preserve that choice. It felt like hope—that I would exist in the future where I could make that choice.” Suleika, this is so incredible - that you had the wisdom at 22 to question your doctors and make a choice for you and your future. I’m so impressed with how you forged forward even after their response. It is brave and wise. I have no doubt you would make a wonderful mother and your children would be most loved but I also agree with Kiersten that there are many ways to mother. You mother those adorable pups and this entire community of thousands of people. We are grateful for you, and we love you.
Sarah, love the prompt- we are headed to Chicago this morning for no sound hours at the aquarium but I look forward to tackling it later. Thank you!