I can’t sleep.
Partially because I had a cup of coffee for dinner, but mostly because I’m watching my daughter sleep. Not in a creepy mom can’t separate herself from her
baby toddler like the I’ll Love You Forever book way, but because I’m scared…..and it’s completely irrational…and I know this….but….
What the fuck am I supposed to thinkfeeldo right now?!
Another person I had a friendship with has passed away and there is not a ding dang flim flam thing I can do about it. So. I’m gonna write. That’s one thing I can do. I can share
his my story and then hopefully I will be able to sleep again. Truth be told, I haven’t slept well in 13 days -since another loved one’s passing- but that’s my thing… I think. That’s how I process the unprocessable. I stay up late or wake up early and I think, write, or draw and then I hopefully sleep and feel a little better.
Tonight though I don’t know how to feel better. I found old drawings my friend Jeremy and I used to send each other, because we used to do exquisite corpse through the mail. If you don’t know what I mean by through the mail then let me explain: In the Olden Days (10/15 years ago) before internets and smart phones, we used to do this thing called “write letters” or actually cut and paste pictures, drawings etc and send them to each other through, what is lovingly referred to as Snail Mail. We would have to wait days or weeks (especially if you live in Chicago’s post codes) for a response.
My friend Jeremy and I used to keep in touch via letters, pictures, presents, drawing collaborations and a few emails and phone calls from time to time. He did the most exquisite drawing of my ex fiancé and I when we got engaged like a million years ago (2007) and also sent me a healing potion when my ex and I broke up in 2010, cause he was awesome like that. He was also a dad, a scholar, a husband from what I hear, and from what I know- one of the kindest hearts out there. Of course he was, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing about him, now would I?
He also had juvenile diabetes, which finally took his young life at 35 and left a little -now 12 year old- girl, fatherless. We used to make fun of his disease and say “Oh, how juvenile!” In much the same way that people say “Oh how pedestrian.” And really that’s all I can speak of his disease. Except that a lot of my good eating habits come from discussions he and I had about Heath, Wellness, the body, and the mind. And in case anyone is wondering, no he wasn’t some obese ‘Murican who slovenly ate his way to death, though if that had been his story I would NOT be any less hurt by his loss. He was in fact cut like a mutha and fit as _____. At least he was when we were young (er) and dumb and danced till the sun came upmost days, then went to work/school or sometimes both, then turned around and did it all over again. I don’t need to get into specifics, because if you were there you knew what was up. We had fun, we grew up, and we took care of each other….
Then Life Started Happening and some of us lost touch, broke up, fell out, or just moved on. But J and I kept in touch. Even when my then boyfriend became jealous of our correspondence and “forbade me” from communicating with J. Ugh, I’m so embarrassed to even write that, let alone admit that I listened to him and stopped communication with J for a while. Even during that
stupid confusing time, we still kept in touch. Because he was family to me, not some secret snail mail- artist-Wiccan-side piece I had stashed away.
It’s hard though. You “get busy” and you lose touch.
Sadly, we did lose touch after 2010, because Life Happened and….well, it’s why I’m sitting here in Chicago writing about this instead of participating in a memorial for him in Vt. Just for the record no one is keeping, I’m none too fond of having to talk to parents who’ve just lost their children. Don’t get me wrong, I will do whatever I have to when the moment calls for it, but I think I’m okay now with having to make the phonecall no one wants to make. At least, maybe for this year mmm kay? And in regards to young people passing away, because 35 is still too young friends; I’m cool with not having any more young people leave here just yet. Its too young to die and too young to leave behind a child.
Which I guess brings me to the last part of this piece.
This is the part where I ask you to take a moment from your busy day and send some love to a girl who’s lost her dad. Send some love to his entire family. They need it right now….
Yep, my daughter is still next to me and is still breathing.
And so am I.
Which means I can make a good choice to try and go to sleep so I can be a good mama tomorrow.
Praise be to my friend and parenting partner, who also is breathing next to me on my other side, for coming home quick today so that I could “take some time for myself.” He’s been (of course) great these last 13 days, hours, minutes and I’m thankful for that.
I’m also thankful for you if you’re reading this.
Maybe we can write letters to each other, or better yet -hang out soon.
Love and Light to all who are hurting tonight,
It’s been a heavy 6/7 days around our homestead and I keep trying to make sure at the very least, our two year old empathetic smarty pants doesn’t pick up on my great deep sadness. Which is why a few days ago, as soon as I started to feel it, I got us out of the house and directly to an awesome little corner in Chicago that houses Bang Bang Pies. I reached out to a friend (who happens to have a degree in counseling) to meet up with us so that we could
distract me catch up.
It was the perfect
distraction day date. My little bit got to run around in the garden out back and play with the customers and the shop dog, while we ate our breakfasts and drank coffees at the mini picnic tables. And I got to talk. Talk about how I was feeling. Talk about how I was doing with all these past few days. Talk about how absolutely, deeply, and profoundly sad I am for this loss and for my best friend’s family. Talk about what it was like seeing old friends again after year(s) of not talking. Talk, talk, talk. I got to talk without feeling guilty for putting any attention on myself, because after all this is NOT about me. This is about a family that I love dearly and have grown close with over these 10 years, and their greatest loss.
But I’m still a human being.
And I have feelings.
And it’s hard to watch someone(s) you love be in such pain, because you just want to make it all go away for them. You want to have that special hug, that magic touch, those perfect words, that will ease their intense pain. But the truth is, there are no words, special hugs, nor magic touch that will make anyone come back.
I’m also deeply sad that this enigmatic creature has left our earth.
Did I spend every waking minute with him? No.
Did I grow up with him? Not really, although I first met him when he was just 17.
Did he call me all the time looking for advice from a big sister figure? No.
Was I there for holidays and birthdays and did we laugh together and have fun together and take stupid silly pictures? Yes.
Did he make the only thing my daughter would actually eat at thanksgiving last year -because, two year old- and was I looking forward to more holidays with him? Yes.
Did we band together to help move his sister with what ended up being an all night move, and make fun of her? You betcha.
Did I laugh a lot with him? Absolutely.
Did I listen to his sister talk about how worried she was about him at times? Yep.
Do I miss him now and this really sucks and I’m so sorry for this family I love and wish I could change this for them? Yes.
Does my two year old understand what’s going on right now?
In her own way.
Because she’s two.
She knows that mom left at 5am a week ago and was gone for 18 hours. She knows that her “Auntie T and Auntie S and Gramma L” are incredibly sad. She knows that someone wasn’t there last Sunday at Gramma L’s house. She knows that mama has been crying and that mama has been sad and that it’s okay to cry because there are “smiley faces at the end of sadness.” (Her words friends. My two year old said that)
She knows that we went to a good breakfast and the park on Monday -after what was a confusing, kinda scary, but then okay because we were all together at the house weekend- and she got to run around and play with mom. She knows that her first real experience with sadness and being able to verbally express it happened 3 weeks prior, when an orange balloon doggie (made for her by the weirdo Lincoln Square bead shoppe guy) popped on our walk to the train.
She has been saying, “balloon doggie popped and it’s making me sad,” for the past three weeks. So of course on Monday we sure did go back into the bead shoppe and the old man sure did make her not one but TWO balloon doggies (1 orange, 1 white). We of course had to take her doggies to the park and of course they ended up popping… Kind of. They’re balloons, they pop. This time it was different, and not just because this is our second occurrence with balloon doggies popping.
***Sidenote/advice to all new and aspiring parents out there: one of you should learn how to make balloon animals, seriously it’s gonna come in handy. They don’t tell you this in any of those parenting books nor classes, so this is my friendly advice to you.***
Back to our balloon doggies though….
We took them to the park and were having a great time, when the white one popped and a big gust of wind blew it away. My little lady Lost. Her. Shit. And hey, I get it. It’s effing sad when your balloon doggie pops on grass that’s supposed to be as soft on the balloon as it is on your feet. Then, you discover hidden amongst all that soft grass lie these weirdo small prickly plants that *pop* *pop* crash your balloon animal party. I of course just held her and told her that everything was going to be okay. And then it happened. She looked up at me with all the waters of the Great Lakes and asked, “But what about auntie T and S and g-am Liz? Did their balloon doggy pop too?”
In that moment, I could see my sweet little old soul of a beautiful two year old trying to comprehend the concept of death. To me this is a beautiful, powerful, and profound thing. Not something to be scared of or try to shield her from. It’s an awful occurrence when a child leaves this earth before their parents. It’s not natural, it doesn’t make any sense, and it doesn’t seem right nor real. Why wouldn’t my two year old have some understanding of this?
Our special soul who transitioned from this earth, now just a week ago, is the brother of my BFF, but I saw him as my little brother too. Like I said above. We didn’t spend every waking moment together or even every few months together. But I had a lot of love for that guy, especially seeing him with my little girl. I’m an only child with one non-existent parent by choice, the other because of mental illness; so I kind of infuse myself into other families. My friends Are My Family, and this family is very very very special to me. We are all hurting with them.
This is no different for my little girl. She knew someone was missing on Sunday and she asked me about it at breakfast on Monday. We looked at some pictures from holidays past with him and she just kept saying, “so we will see him soon then, ok.” Oh my little sweet girl. How I wish that we’re true….
So as we were sitting on that lawn, the white balloon doggie popped and carried off by the wind, we sat and cried and held onto our orange balloon doggie. We started looking at more pictures of our “family” and I explained further that we would not be seeing brother A because he turned into a rocket ship and blasted off into space….and wouldn’t you freaking know it (and I am so not even close to lying at all) the orange balloon doggie unfolded under my weird tight mom grip and stretched out to look like… you guessed it….a Rocket Ship. Then… you guessed it…..that same wind blew up again and it blasted off (then popped somewhere not far from us but far enough from the two year old gaze). And we said goodbye to the Rocket Ship….
She’s still talking about the balloon doggies, but now she talks about the Rocket Ship and how it took off and how AWESOME that was, and how we shouldn’t be sad, and “don’t cry anymore mama.” And I could not have created a better way to explain the loss of someone so special to people who are so special to us. It’s almost as if he were here helping me come up with a way to explain this.
Who knows where we really go after our time here. I have no idea. I have concepts, thoughts, hopes, and dreams that we all see our loved ones again, but nobody really knows. So just in case we don’t see them again….let’s make our time here, now, on this earth, with these people…make it count. Make it important and loving and wonderful and painfully beautiful too. Make it count folks. Make it count.
Tell your people you love them
Tell them as often as you can
Scream it louder when they don’t want to hear it
And quietly whisper it to them when they’re not looking
Because sometimes balloon doggies pop, or turn into rocket ships and blast off into space. RIP sweet Abdu.
No, this isn’t a nod to that Waiting to Exhale, though some times over the past 16 months I have felt a bit on the verge of a good Bernadine’s Rage coming on. What? I loves me some Angela Basset, especially when she’s ranting about a cheating husband and throwing expensive clothings out the house. Just to be clear- lest anyone think my partner suddenly became a philandering, rich, well attired scallywag- MY Bernadine’s Rage was more geared towards all this Lead Poisoning business and the seemingly unfair manner in which everything transpired last year. My Bernadine’s Rage was ignited every time another person told me (or I heard through the grapevine) that I was making a big deal out of this because “we all grew up with lead,” and “you’re still nursing your child? it’s not like she still has lead poisoning or is retarded,” and “when are you going to go back to work? you need to be a productive part of society again now that your daughter isn’t lead poisoned,” and “you can’t save the world, Jess,” and “F*&% You Enviro-Nazi!” and “Oh that’s just Jess being overly dramatic, you know how she can be. Her daughter is fine.”
The funny thing about rage is that it can be the perfect motivator for change, and change I sure have….for the better of course. I have no other choice but to be better; for myself, my family, and for this amazing little girl who teaches ME every day how to be a better person. Admittedly, most of the rage that fueled up inside me eventually lead to a deep depression and/or anxiety attacks for me. But through all of that, I stayed focused on what was important and worked very hard to get this stupid lead out of my daughter’s body. And guess what? It worked, because now we can sit here in our new lovely home and finally feel safe and secure that at least our home will not poison our child. Even with all the testing we did here before moving in, I still have been nervous that something wasn’t going to be okay. That lurking in some corner would be that one thing that would turn our lives upside down again. That because of all the unpacking and lead dust on all our things from storage, this would negatively impact my child. That no matter what we did, we would never be able to really get our daughter’s lead levels down because “we live in an old city afterall.” But…..
WE DID IT!!!!!!!
We got to that number that I’ve been wanting to see since Dec 3, 2012.
We are now at a 2 for our BLL.
Yes, it is not a 0 which is where any person would want to see their Blood Lead Level, let alone a parent like me who just wanted lead to not be a freaking issue anymore.
But considering where we started 16 months ago at a 15, and even just where we disappointingly (to me) were just four months ago with a 4 . Well, today I am damned proud that we were able to get down to a 2.
So what do all these numbers mean?
I get asked this all the time, and I think depending on who you talk to you will hear a different perspective. However, the CDC states: “Experts now use a reference level of 5 micrograms per deciliter to identify children with blood lead levels that are much higher than most children’s levels” and “Until recently, children were identified as having a blood lead “level of concern” if the test result is 10 or more micrograms per deciliter of lead in blood. CDC is no longer using the term “level of concern” and is instead using the reference value to identify children who have been exposed to lead and who require case management” and “In the past, blood lead level tests below 10 micrograms per deciliter of lead in blood may, or may not, have been reported to parents. The new lower value means that more children will likely be identified as having lead exposure allowing parents, doctors, public health officials, and communities to take action earlier to reduce the child’s future exposure to lead.”
Got all that?
Yeah, I didn’t think so either.
It can be confusing-ish, but here’s what you should know if you have children, are planning to have children, are pregnant, or planning to become pregnant- whether or not you live in an old home:
“In America today 1 in 3 children under the age of 18 has had a blood lead level of 2.5 or higher in their lifetime”
– from Lead Safe America
Just because lead was “outlawed” in 1978 does not mean that it was eradicated and has just gone away. In fact it’s quite the opposite. Old homes with old windows and old, old, old structures are deteriorating (duh because that what happens with time) and all those lovely old paints are chipping, peeling, and poisoning our children. It also is still being used in products from lipstick to dishware and in a LOT of children’s products- most of them “made in China.” You would assume that this couldn’t happen today because we know that lead in any content is not safe, but it is. So please everyone be aware, get educated, and make good choices for you, your family, and ALL of our futures. Also, check out and support good organizations doing the tough work of advocating for all of us with work like the film MisLEAD. Consider donating, time-money-resources to Tamara Rubin and her Lead Safe America Foundation.
In our case, our child was poisoned due to our “gut rehabbed” home not being so greatly gut rehabbed. The major culprit was the improper way that the building owners/property managers never updated duct work, porches, interior stains and ledges, and NEVER tested for lead -because they’re not required to by law. Our entire basement was still lead paint and we had GFA from the basement, therefore we had all been breathing in lead dust for years. Not only are we lucky and thankful that our daughter is as healthy as she is and that I had zero complications in pregnancy, but so far it appears as though her high lead levels have had minimal effects on her development.
Here’s a funny thought for, oh I don’t know- EVERYONE: How’s about some laws are put in place that if you purchase an old home/building you have to test for the presence of lead and are required to remediate it properly. How’s about we get some federal and state funding to help building and home owners do the right thing? How’s about we have something more in place than just some stupid photo copied pamphlet on the “dangers of lead poisoning” if you rent a home/apartment in Chicago? How’s about the Healthy Homes Initiative actually helps create ohIdon’tknow HEALTHY HOMES!! Grrrr
So here’s the part where I talk about Waiting to Exhale for the past 16 months…..
Just so you know, its difficult to really live when you’re constantly holding your breath and waiting for the other shoe to drop…. And I love shoes…and I have a LOT of shoes…..so there was a LOT of dropping…. Since we got that phone call on Dec 3rd, 2012 I have been holding my breath under a strong current of fear- for my child’s health and future, for my health and future. I’ve been too nervous to take deep breathes just in case all that lung power was needed to fight for my child- it was. I was too scared to celebrate and expel with full lung capacity all the small victories of the past year, just in case something else was lurking around the corner it was. TREPIDATION, THY NAME IS JAM. Mind you, I did not waste time in fretting or in unnecessary manifestation of false fears or circumstances. When you’re basically homeless with a toddler, you don’t have time for that nonsense. As my British Nanny would say, “Well you sure did get yourself into a dither now didn’t you?” Yes Nan I did, I sure did. And that’s okay, because that coping mechanism allowed me to keep on going, keep on fighting, keep on holding my breaths.
And now, now I can breathe again.
And it feels good.
And I feel full.
Our lives can finally start again and get on with it already.
The only alarm I hear is that of my partner hitting snooze 20 times before finally dragging himself out of bed.
My glaciers of apprehension are melting, along with this stupid Midwest winter.
My unease with being back in this city is still there but isn’t the first thing on my mind.
I’ve gotten more deep healing sleep in the past two days than I have in 16 months.
I can start really planning instead of just reacting and surviving.
(For the record I have a love/hate with “survival mode” living. It is both necessary for the immediate and really just not a lot of fun for the long term)
Before I Get On With It Already, I would like to stop for just a bit and be proud of myself. Yep, just little ole me. I have been a brilliant motherfucking human being and mother through all of these past 16 months. I have always kept my priorities in line while trying to navigate some pretty rough waters by myself and with my partner and family. A day did not go by where I wasn’t “working for the greater good of my child.” There is still (and always) work ahead for us as parents, that is the nature of parenting, but maybe it won’t be so fucking god damned shit stormed scary-as-hell hard, ya know? I’m not saying that I’m some all encompassing, holier-than-thou, Mother Theresa, Mommy-Martyr; cause honestly everyone who is a GOOD PARENT can claim that title. But for what we have endured as a family; and what I’ve had to watch, witness, experience, process, and creatively filter for my child- I should get an award….or at least a big hug the next time you see me….or maybe a taco dinner and strong margarita….or a haircut….or a massage….or at least a high five ;-)
Yes, I have some pretty big decisions and possible big shake ups and changes ahead for me personally, but now I can do it without this constant fear that our home is going to harm our child. Until you’ve been in a situation like ours, where the one place that is supposed to keep you safe from all the bullshit out there in the big bad city world, fails miserably- you don’t know and you can’t judge. I don’t know if I’ve expressed it enough or if I can even eloquently write about yet, but what this situation like ours has changed in me is something profound. The past 16 months have simultaneously totally altered me as a human being, a woman, and a mother AND it also allowed me to really and truly get back to who I really am inside and be a kid again with my little girl. Through all the tears and pain I found laughter, love, and trust in myself that I AM ONE HECK OF A GREAT MOTHER and I love with everything I am. That’s actually how I’ve always been; but somewhere between horrible bike incidents, break ups, loss of jobs, changing friendship dynamics, becoming a mother, leaving a great job, and stupid lead poisoning- I started to feel some of that which makes me, me fade away.
But, I mom ramble.
Simply put, the past 16 months have been a cluster-butt-fuck and I am really truly finally looking forward to moving onward, upward, and forward. I deserve it. My daughter deserves it. Our family deserves it.
For today though, we enjoy our small victory over lead and go treat ourselves to a Hot Doug’s lunch and visit with a dear friend at his frame shoppe (and pick up our awesome framed goodies).
Hellos from our SAFE Chicago Homestead,
This is just one part of my story as Teacher to my amazing little girl I love so much ;-)
For better or worse / ultimate cheese factor or not, I have been a bit inspired by the TV series True Detective and it’s writer Nick Pizzolatto’s interviews on writing the show. Perhaps it’s because of my flare for the dramatic (thanks theater degree), or my love of the long narrative (and 6 years of managing an inde bookstore), or my experience in live storytelling in Chicago (and on the radio), or that I really needed to be inspired by something lately that didn’t have to do with being a mother (as lovely as it is)…but I found just a simple statement from the TD writer, “We are the stories we tell ourselves…” to be a jolt I’ve needed for a long time. Yes, the rest of his statement includes a more dark interpretation of how we should be careful of the stories we tell because blah, blah, blah gloom and doom etc. That’s not what I got out of what he said.
First off, I thoroughly enjoyed the show and think that a.) it should have been longer than 8 episodes (duh who didn’t want that) and b.) regardless of where the writer and the series goes from here, it’s been fun to watch a show that came the closest to (what I think) reading a pulp, noir, weird fiction-ish, short story feels like. Perhaps its because the last book I read was Gone Girl (which seems like a forever ago now), but this show really encapsulated for once what it was like to turn good writing into a great visual narrative. Now, who I am but just an ex public radio working/theater educated/used to be well read bookstore managing literary invested citizen of Chicago so my opinion doesn’t carry much “weight” in the greater scheme of things I suppose. So take my thoughts/expressions here at whatever value you choose, but I do know of which I speak because of my background/love of all things books and reading and literature and weird fiction and curiosity and life and art and love and theater and storytelling etc.
So yes, I REALLY liked the series. I was fine with the ending. I didn’t think it had a “come to jesus” moment at the end but more of a “gain some humanity moment and allow yourself to finally feel” for the Rust character. I didn’t need it to take a supernatural full occult spin with the Carcosa/Yellow King themes- it was amazing just to see those things being referenced in a well received show. As a woman I was fine with the female characters, once I realized by episode 2 what their purpose was- it was not a show about them- and I don’t always need a show to have some fantastical representation of female strength and power, though I do have hopes for the next season with 2 lady detectives, yes! In regards to “issues of race” around the show, again I wasn’t looking for this show to give me some moral non-stereotypical representations of race; which guess what it didn’t. It was one story, just shy of 8 hours of screen time revolving around these two main characters, The True Detectives, and “getting their guy” while also getting pretty changed themselves in the end.
Moving back to me…
The whole “We are the stories we tell ourselves…” and I will further add to that
“…. and others” really hit me hard in my guts and my brains. Not so much in my heart, that’s reserved for more romantic ideas of my story. For reals though, my mind has been swirling with ideas and thoughts and thoughts and ideas since reading this statement from an interview with the TD writer. Sure, it’s a simple idea that honestly I’ve heard before from so many of my people in the storytelling gang here in Chicago, online, and across the country; so it’s not a new concept to me. For some reason though, it just happens to ring so much more true for me write right now, during what is still an unsettling chapter in my story. So much has happened the past 15 months, heck the past 4/5 years, and yet here I am still in Chicago living out my story.
Using the word “still” above is very much intended to impart some level of “ugh” and “dread” from me to you. I have tried in earnest to leave Chicago 3 times since 2004. It is now 10 years later and here I am. Not only can I “not quit this city” it would seem, but to reference another TD theme, I also seem to be living in that circular crushed Lone Star can top / time wrap / always living the same story thing. However, do not mistake this statement for any type of regret, I do not live in regret at all. In 2004 I stayed for a boy, even though I had two very big opportunities on either of the US coasts (NYC and LA). In 2010; I tired to pack it all up again, but having just gone through a major break up, finally secured decent work with insurance after being unemployed for 18 months, and not ready to leave everyone yet…I stayed. And then I got pregnant. And then came the awesome job. And then came leaving the awesome job to pursue being an awesome mom for a while. And then came the lead poisoning….and our wanderlust, traveling, challenging, but adventurous lifestyle…. for 12 whole months. Now, I am/we are back here in Chicago till either there’s a big change in our family dynamic, a big opportunity for mom to take care of the family, or something else that I can’t creatively come up with quite yet.
But I digress on my Chicago story, because the truth is I knew what I was getting into coming back here and I have to be okay with it. For my daughter’s sake/sanity/growth/ development; and my own. There are “worse places” to live, I know this. I also know how absolutely horrific the winters are, how isolating our financial status can make us, and how stupidly difficult it seems to be just to make some other mom friends -which is a whole other topic I’ve been talking with my few other (lovely and wonderful) mom friends that I do have- and am very thankful for always. I’m not here though to write about how sad, isolating, depressing, and downright challenging life in Chicago can be for someone like me. I’m not even interested in reading about my own woe-is-meisms.
What I’ve been most interested in is Changing one’s own narrative…. Changing my narrative to be more precise. Which is way, way, way more than just “changing my attitude,” (as I’ve been so nicely reminded by others). It doesn’t have to do with just “my attitude” or “my outlook” or “perspective,” though I won’t argue that those attributes for self sufficiency and possible happiness are important. I wish changing my narrative was as easy as just breaking things down to a “victim/non victim” “letting go vs living in the past” or “taking control vs being taken advantage of” or “hurt/loss/pain vs change and growth through process” or “light vs dark” “good vs evil” “sanity vs insanity” “maturity vs immaturity.” Those are all easy concepts to see, understand, feel, and change.
If we are the stories we tell ourselves, then my current narrative work lies in two stories:
1.) Give an ending to the painful/complex/nuanced/confusing PLOT TWIST that occurred last year when multiple what I thought were important, meaningful, long term friendships were abruptly ended. This has been something that has keeps me up late at night and rudely jolts me awake in the morning; trying to figure out the hows-what’s-whys. It is the first thing that pops into my head during my meditation practices, and it lives in my chest-back-neck-throat during my yoga work. I’ve tried to deny that this lives in me, but it does. Actually, it’s only gotten more deeply imbedded in my psyche and my muscles since moving back here, because simply put- I don’t have a lot of mom friends and am terribly lonely and sad. I thought my only choice was to let go and just work on me, but it’s not that simple. I thought maybe I just needed more time to process everything, but I’m not a fan of inactive ways of working through things. I thought after getting a much needed and deserved apology, that everything would just be “okay,” and it’s not. It’s not because I miss my friends. I miss sharing my life with them and them with me. I miss having more people around my daughter, that I honestly thought would be there forever, as silly as that sounds.
Which leads me to 2.) Writing the next BIG STORY of MY LIFE as JAM.
Not Mama Jess. Not Partner Jess. Not Anxiety Jess. Not Panic Attack Jess. Not the Reluctant Lead Poisoning Activist Jess. Not the Pity Party Jess. Not the wish I had money so I could take care of myself Jess. Not “When do I FINALLY get to go to King Spa” Jess. Not “Can I please just get a break or take a little vacation” Jess. Not “Can we get another date night seeing as how we’ve only had ONE since before our daughter was born” Jess. Not this now super greying, only able to get Medicaid for myself (luckily my daughter’s father is forced to get her decent insurance because of the ACA), can’t put my daughter in classes that she could really use, lonely, sad all the time because I have very little mom friends, isolated in basic poverty because my “partner” can barely make ends meet with his all-the-time consuming job, isolated, still trying to unpack our home without any help from anyone, wishing more family would take an active role in our lives and HELP, wishing I had more creative success, jealous of others and their happiness and relationship success, done with all the lead BS from last year, angry that things just can’t seem to work out for me…person. NOT THAT PERSON. This story is not going to be for THAT PERSON. That person needs to go away because she is helping no one and she is NOT FUN AT PARTIES.
This story is for the future me. For THE FUTURE of my daughter, and hopefully for any future little me’s that may want to join us…even though we only have so much time little guys and gals, so if anyone out there is going to expand our family it should happen kinda-sorta within the next 3,4,5 years tops ya. This story is for the future creative me who is desperately aching to JUST DO SOMETHING ANYTHING PLEASE!!!! Ahem, pardon me. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to truly create from myself and not just for or with my daughter. I mean for crying out loud, I started this blog as a means to get things going for me as a creative force. My goal and dream with both this blogspot and my full site was to really get something going ya know? Now it’s just turned into my bitching post of everything that is wrong with society, the city we live in, my personal life, with hints of how amazing my little girl is. I swear that’s not all that I am. I used to be a really happy, fun, outgoing, lively, energetic, excited, creative, woman. Now. Well, let’s just say that I never expected to be in this part of the story where my whole identity is wrapped up into being a mom and figuring out how best to get my two year old to wean, start using the potty, and sleep in her own bed. I’m not ungrateful that I have gotten to have all this time with my darling daughter, minus all the stress of last year, but it would seem that I am ready for this SAHM chapter to come to a close as well.
If I’m going to continue being real here, like I have time to be anything else at this point, I don’t know that I am cut out for this: Stay-At-Home-All-The-Time-And-Neglected-By-My-Supposed-Partner-So-Where-Do-We-Go-From-Here-Because-I-Have-To-Do-Full-Time-Childcare-And-Any-Job-I-Get-Will-Have-To-Work-With-Me-Because-My-Supposed-Partner-Cannot. I’m okay with not just “being okay” with this kind of life story. Who would be happy in this? Surely, noone I know. Which is probably why most of my friends here have nothing to do with me beyond FB and Instagram likes and comments. Also, to not make this future story turn me into a huge asshole, I have to be fair and say that I don’t think either one of us thought things would end up this way. Yes, when you become parents you expect there to be sacrifices, challenges, obstacles and such THAT YOU WORK THROUGH TOGETHER but….what we have here folks is a failure to communicate for fear the communication will lead to separation. And I know, no good-caring-loving-thoughtful human like us enters into this kind of emotional, social, and moral parental contract thinking they’re not going to stay together. But those chapters have yet to be written, they are merely storyboard ideas written in pencil. We will see if that chapter heads to the ink press….
In the meantime, I am going to start working hard again on those things which made me, me BEFORE my daughter was born. Embroideries, sewing, storytelling, writing, drawing, painting, collecting, yoga, meditation, getting my hair cut, pedicures, time with friends, homemade pizza, not being a slouchy grey haired sad faced girl all the time, maybe a fricken beer every now and then sheesh, dancing, cooking, securing a good job so I can have decent insurance and stability for my daughter and I, reaching out to MY FAMILY who makes an effort instead of focusing on those who excuse away their lack of involvement in our lives beyond stupid FB. In my future story, I’m going to have a chapter where the character reminds us that it’s not over for you at 37. You have a whole (hopefully) 50/60 years to live, and look at the amazing life you’ve lead thus far. Yes, that is what I’m going to try to focus on starting today, starting now, starting with the writing, editing, and sharing of this blog. For this is the story I am telling myself and now others…..
Thanks for reading.
Hellos from our Can Anyone come watch my kiddo so I can finally unpack my home after 3 months, ugh Homestead,
*People cared about toxic LEAD exposure to children the way they care about how some dudes tackle each other in tight pants with an oblonged shaped ball.
* People got “up in arms” when a family like mine could not hold those accountable for our daughter’s high lead exposure, the way they do over whether Beyoncé is a true feminist icon or if Macklemore deserves to be in the rap game.
* Sherman Willams, lead producers, and other paint companies were held LIABLE EVERYWHERE for their creation, development, marketing (to children), and disgusting lobbying of the lead paint industry; like how a judge in California ruled late last year and continues to uphold his ruling against said companies.
* The laws were set up to actually protect children and families in Chicago instead of just allowing for some arbitrary space to exist where landlords and property owners don’t have to test for lead and provide a safe space, so long as they pass out some stupid photocopied “lead safety pamphlet” and make renters sign a waiver.
*Lead Remediation was a phrase that didn’t instill the fear of too many dollar signs in property owners/homeowners/renters so that everyone could do The Right Thing to properly remove, ahem remediate, lead hazards from ALL homes. All the them. Every single last solitary home where a child is residing.
* Lead paint wasn’t still being used today on childrens’s products…I get at least one monthly recall notice regarding some child’s clothing or toy or furniture that high higher than allowed levels of lead paint. What. The…..???
* The film MisLEAD by Tamara Rubin would get the same kind of traction, attention as some of these other “very important” documentaries.
* Most people didn’t roll their eyes when they start to hear me talk about “our experience” this past year, or try to brush me along by quickly saying “S is fine, she doesn’t seem affected by the exposure at all.”
* I had a good space and place, besides this blog, to talk about all this and get it out and away from my every day.
* We knew exactly how our daughter was affected (or not) by her high lead exposure so that we could plan for the rest of our lives.
* Submissions I entered regarding lead poisoning and awareness, were taken as seriously as some stupid posts about traveling with a toddler or how I made some cardboard tube Halloween Village for my daughter.
* I could write about something other than this experience, my feelings, the uneasiness with which acclimating back to Chicago has dumped on me- more than the 50 plus inches of snowfall thus far.
If anyone is tired of hearing me talk about LEAD, trust me…it’s ME. I didn’t want to know everything I know now. I also didn’t want my daughter to be the one who suffered for her parent’s ignorance, so of course as soon as we got the call that our girl had a BLL of 15 back in Dec 2012, I began to educate OUR ENTIRE FAMILY….. And anyone else who wanted to listen/read.
Most of my thoughtful planned out writing pieces have not been delivered (to you readers) on the wings of cartoon blue birds flying alongside adorable deers prancing through the woods to magikal education/awareness land. I’ve written completely in-the-moment, raw, real, and honest accounts of what we have gone through as a family since December 3, 2012; and what I have been working through as a caring, loving, wanting-better-than-the-best-for-my-child mama. Is that all I am made up of? I am only the sum of these past 14 months of differing parts? Obviously not. Otherwise I don’t think I would even be writing what I’m writing right now….right? But you see, it’s hard not to feel like now I am only ever going to be the mama of a lead poisoned child who at the scariest moments when everything was transpiring was treated like absolute shite by those she thought she loved and trusted. I suppose that is my still very hurt heart speaking, but it is makes it no less the truth, my truth.
The truth is, a part of me always hopes or believes that something good has to come out of our trials & tribulations – which I’ve seen with my own eyes how other families I know have taken the necessary steps to protect their own families because of us, yay. So when I’ve doubted pressing that “Publish” button because “Nobody reads my blog anyway, I’m not famous, I’m not selling or hawking anything, I’m not giving lifestyle techniques, I’m just another mom with a lead poisoned child that can sometimes put words together nicely,” I ALWAYS hit that Publish button. In fact, when I would doubt myself the most is when I would hit that button faster, because I believed somewhere inside me, that someone would appreciate what I was writing….
I would love nothing more than to refocus back in on my creative self, on my creative life with my daughter. That in fact was my original plan with starting up this blog, linking up on social networking sites, trying to join up with other creative mamas… I would love the time and head/heart space to devote back to how I express myself creatively. All those half embroideries over there in that unpacked box in the corner? Yeah, I’d like to finish them. That (really cute vintage B&W samsonite) suitcase with journals and journals and journals and journals and journals filled with writing? Yeah, I’d still like to get those going too. That additional suitcase of sketchbooks filled with children’s book ideas that I only started a couple years ago when I found out I was preggo? Yeah I’d like to do something with those. All my metal working tools and metal stock sitting atop my jewelry making cabinet that was passed down to me from Columbia? Yeah, I’d LOVE to make more awesome rings and necklaces. All those awesome tattoo sketches I’ve been carrying around for years? It’d be great if I could afford those. Wanting to spruce up my hair color and cut? That’d be nice. And lastly, that huge file folder of all my research on lead poisoning (the history, lobbying industry, current remediating conditions, other articles like the big Mother Jones one from last year) that I wanted to write some kind of piece de Fuck Off Lead!?? Yeah, that’s something I still have my mind on pretty much every time I read another new story of another family experiencing what we have.
If Only I had the time…..
Look, I get it. When I signed up for this parenting gig, they told me at the audition that there was a distinct possibility that my creative self as I knew it then would have to be put on hold for a while… Or that perhaps the creative self would be changed in some way by my motherhood experience. I knew what I was getting into with becoming a parent and so I in NO WAY harbor resentment towards my child for taking some precious time away from me. If anything, I only continue to be inspired and motivated more with every day and moment I spend raising our beautiful little girl. Although it is nice to have a break every now and then and I relish any moment of mom reprieve that I can have when my AuntMom or UnclePapa come to visit and spend time with our girl. So me writing about wanting more time for my creative self has nothing to do with my parenting of the past two years.
However it does have EVERYTHING to do with this lead poisoning business…. This “must move out and be without a home with all our belonging in storage to protect our child business.” This finding out how the world really works, or doesn’t in most cases, business… This overcoming crippling anxiety and depression business…..This losing of multiple friendships/close relationships business….This acclimation back to a city I still love, but no longer trust business…… This 1,000 weight of relationship instability put on my 130 lb frame is as my little girl would say! “Too much.” They did not talk to me about this in the audition. So this as “they” would say is LIFE. It’s unpredictable and messy and gross and lovelybeautifulwonderful, and scary, and challenging and I wouldn’t change any of it. Okay, except for the stupid lead exposure bs, that I would totally change. But everything else, we cool.
Now, if only I had the time, monetary, and family-watch-the-kiddo resources to finally get our home unpacked, organized, and together enough so that my brain could be clear again to either finish up some of these creations just sitting around in old suitcases and boxes OR start up new ones. If only, not everyone we knew was busy hustling to make there own way in this world so that we could see people again. If only this stupidgross winter would kindly pack it up and head to a place that’s a bit more welcoming to its ways, like Antarctica. No really, that would be nice. If only I didn’t have to now go wake up my daughter out of her deep slumber, that she really needs to stay in, so that I can take 20 mins just trying to get our winter gear on and the car started, so that we can spend the day taking good care of another’s kiddo…. But I’m loving the work and the family, so there you go. If only there were magikal elves who came out at night to unpack and organize the rest of our unpacked house…That would be nice.
If you read my previous pieces from the past month or so, I’m happy to report and share that through some regular at home yoga practice, good hard work, and just taking moments to be and breathe, I have totally kicked all those panic attacks of late last year. I knew I would have to for my own sake and my family’s, but I’ve been able to really work through the processing of all these changes on my own terms and in my own way. I’m still really interested in going back to doing some talk therapy again, because therapy why not? But this will be more as a proactive measure vs a must find a helpful solution because this is all just too much right now solution. So there’s that.
To finish out my earlier thoughts from above….
Look I “get it” okay? There’s a whole big crazy, complex, annoying, frighteningly beautiful, complex, totally simple, frustrating, quite lovely, intense, strange, challenging, graceful, clumsy, bewitching world out there. Everyone has a struggle story. Everyone has their goals, dreams, desires, wants, needs that they get to address and play out (if they’re lucky). So I understand the eye rolls, lack of seriousness with which our situation has been perceived by SOME, and general disinterest in something like Lead Poisoning. I actually really don’t see why anyone wouldn’t want to be interested in removing lead hazards for ALL CHILDREN, but most people don’t want to do anything about anything until it affects them personally My concern is that I see my space for activism on behalf of my family becoming smaller and smaller now that we’re in a new home and trying to “settle.” But let me reiterate that just because we are in a new home and (thankfully) our girl’s lead levels are at a 4 -which is just under the “level of concern.” That does NOT mean that this is all over. This will never be all over because I am a loving, involved, caring, active parent and I am my child’s advocate. She needs me to help her learn this world she’s been brought into and protect her as best I can. I take this job very seriously; because I know in just a few short years, I will have to let her go out there on her own to live out her own goals, dreams, and desires in this beautiful, crazy, challenging, bewitching world. After the past 14 months I fully understand that I will not be able to control everything for my child….
What I will never understand is how anyone could have been a close part of our lives, cared about this amazing little girl in any possible way, or maybe they didn’t like me that much anymore but heard of our story…. And for some reason couldn’t be human enough to at least reach out. Or at the very least NOT be completely, totally, and utterly absent. I try to find peace every day with “this part” of the past 14 months, and it is a challenge. It is MY BIG
FRUSTRATION CHALLENGE right now as I nest comfortably in our beautiful new home and continue processing everything. I know that I cannot make others care about our family or even take a moment to educate themselves on the dangers of toxic lead exposure in their homes. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop writing, talking, nor advocating for my child. If anything it will only make my fingers weak from typing so much, my voice hoarse from projecting loudly & proudly, and my awaken my inner activist again. strong>IF ONLY I could get others to jump on board with us…..
Thanks for taking the time to read my mom/me musings.
Hellos from Our Most Lovely (still unpacking) Chicago Homestead,
If you’ve come here to read some more of my words, thank you.
I know I have a tendency to write pretty stream-of-consciousness, free write kind of stuffs; and I can be a bit windy, turning, swirly with some of my points. Usually though if you hang in there with me, I will get there eventually…. I promise. Actually “hanging in there with me and I will get there eventually I promise,” is pretty much my MO as of late.
This post is coming out of a need, desire, drive to transcend this very deep, dark, anxiety fueled, depressive place I can no longer fight and must continue to admit that I am in right now. If you know me, know me; then you KNOW that ideally I am a happy, outgoing, fun, hilarious, sarcastic, honest, open, loving, all-around-good-gal-to-know. I would do anything to help a friend and am a pretty good listener. The past year has not changed me entirely as a person, but it has impacted me greatly.
Of course it has. I mean le duh: we find out our daughter has lead poisoning from our home, put all our belongings in storage and start bouncing around all over the MW and NE United States staying with family FOR A YEAR, I loose not one but three long time (and I thought dear) friendships, due to the natural progression of life I have to let go of previous friend dynamics I thought I had with my old future family because that’s how things are (just really bad timing for my heartmind), my relationship with my daughter’s father is pretty non existent except we definitely love each other as people and are good friends (and he is standing by me with strong support as I work through all this stuff now), the holidays sucked -like chock full of suck so bad- and I’m coming to terms with the fact that my daughter will have very little active family time when it comes to her dad’s family because they all have their own lives. Lastly, we are now in this new home with old stuff that I simultaneously want to “just get rid of it all!” and “No No wait, don’t throw that out and don’t tell me I have to get rid of everything, I need to choose to let stuff go!”
Got all that?
So I “get” that we all have our own roads/paths/struggles/trials/tribulations etc. I respect that perhaps another person in this same situation might not feel the need to write all this stuff out and they may not even need to process anything because “life is life and you just need to keep on moving forward.” I am NOT that person. I’m not going to apologize for who I am but instead embrace who I am and this great time of intense melancholia I am living through; and figure this out, work through my shit, come out a better, stronger, and happier version of myself. I have to. I am MOM. My daughter cannot wait around while I try to process, work through, and heal. Nor can MY anxieties become HER anxieties. In just this simple statement and acknowledgement of who I am and where we are, I feel like I am already breaking free of my mother’s curse.
My Mother’s Curse.
I’ve been fearful that I too was going to have schizophrenia (or the bad voices disease) since I was 10. Slowly over the years and with a lot of expensive talk therapy, I have been breaking free of it. When I turned 35 and my daughter was only a month and a half old, I sighed all the sighs of relief because statistically, if schizophrenia is going to come on (in the way it did for my mother) it would have been in the late 20’s/early 30’s range. So at 35, I felt I was in the clear, and could carry on with a normal life. I was also reassured constantly by all my health care peoples, that my percentage was so little that it was nothing to worry about. Has it been a perfect, smooth ride, kind of journey all these years? Absolutely not. Would I change any of it? Maybe little bits for the sake of others who had to “deal with me” and my emotional upheavals, recoveries, and “growth processing,” aka my entire mid-late 20’s and early 30’s. For the most part though, I’ve always come out of every scenario, situation, challenging circumstance a stronger, confident, and more mature woman. Becoming a mother to this amazing little creature is truly the best thing that could have “happened.” Which is why I am so aware, so concerned, so trying to take control of these latest panic attacks, anxieties, and deep waves of depression.
The panic attacks and anxiety are new to me. The way that they appear to come on, overtake me, and paralyze my thinking, rational brain is intense for me. It was (note I say was) all encompassing. Like, I couldn’t get out of bed and just stayed in the fetal position crying all day on Christmas and the day after.
Happy fucking Holidays eah? Barf! Then, the panic attacks started two days after Christmas. I couldn’t breathe nor get a grip on my physical body; after just trying to start to unpack and clean the dust off of things. My only coping mechanism was to talk it out with my partner and breathe slowly. Because realistically what else can I do? Up till about 6 days ago, I couldn’t even say the sentence: The worst that happens is that Lil S’s lead levels go up again because of re-exposure to lead dust and we work to get them down. I couldn’t even think this, let alone say this out loud to others without having a full on I feel like I’m having a heart attack and my brain is falling out panic attack. I’m fine to admit, that it’s been bad for me. Not for our daughter, just for me, and my partner who’s had to support me as best he can. He is a good friend to me, which is what I need right now.
Great, so how does this play into the whole “Mentally Ill Mama” thing?
When I feel like I’m out of control (even though I’m not), I immediately think “What if THIS is the thing that finally makes me crack? What if I end up like my mom? What if my behaviors negatively impact my daughter? What if my daughter ends up having emotional issues?” What if, what if, what if??? Just FYI, the WHAT IF GAME is not a good place to live and grow a family, I know this and for the most part I do not live in this world, it has just been the past year. This seriously go effe yourself 2013 year I had. The thing is, no matter how much I research, no matter how many times I’ve been told by professionals how non existent my chances are to be stricken with My Mother’s Curse, it still enters my coping process, which is so not helpful when trying to just handle the things directly in front of me.
This. This is one of the most effed up things about having a mother with a severe mental illness and it may be something I struggle with my whole life till……
Good news though. As of today, the panic attacks are lessening and my general mood is getting “better.” The more we unpack and clean and test our house for lead dust and I CAN SEE WITH MY OWN TWO EYES that everything is okay here, the less anxious I’ve become. Which makes sense right? Of course it does. Unpacking, cleaning, and testing our home&stuff is something that is active and is something I have control of right now. Pardon me, but it’s a fuck of a lot to just “handle gracefully,” as was suggested to me that I do by one of my family members over the holidays. They know fuck all about me and my life, so I took what they said with a laugh. A big belly laugh.
So yes, I am feeling better today.
I’m feeling a bit more in control of things today.
I’m feeling less like I’m swinging around my mother’s curse and more like I’ve landed in my own life, and am exactly where I need to be right now, for me and for my family.
I’m feeling strong and confident in my mothering skills and my dedication to my daughter’s health, well being, and happiness.
I’m feeling mostly okay with turning 37 in 3 days. I mean, even with all this stress and a few grey hairs dancing atop my head, I still look pretty young and I have a lot of energy -thanks for my BFF coffee addiction. So I got that going for me….
Actually, I have a whole heck of a lot going for me. I really do. I have people who care about me and my daughter. I have at least two good people who have stepped up as Lil S’s grandparent figures and are active and present in her life. We’ve got a safe and beautiful home with two wonderful landlord/neighbors. I’ve got my physical health in tact and eat pretty darned well. I’ve got a good, loving, partnership with my dear friend. I’ve got an amazing bond/relationship with my little girl. Things ARE GOOD. I see this, I know this.
The nanny job I have for a little while here is helping a lot. Like a whole bunch a lot. Like it really means so very much to my heartmindsoul that these wonderful friends trust me with their daughter and are happy to have Lil S and I in their day- to-days. At first I was concerned that with being still very unsettled in our new home, adding on a full time job may not be the best thing for us, but it’s turning out to be exactly what WE need right now :-) (thank you C for this opportunity, because I know you read my blog). I get to teach Lil S about playing with and helping younger children (which she just loves by the way- especially the feeding part, she loves to feed the baby). I get to teach myself even greater patience and treat each moment with the girls with love, respect, and a calmness I haven’t had in the past year or so. Let’s not forget, I also get to hang out with a cool cutie baby who is the sweetest little soul on this planet. It’s a very healing workspace, which is what I need right now.
All of this makes me feel good about myself, my place in this world, my mothering, our future, and even my current state of melancholia. An old friend expanded my way of thinking about our dips into melancholic times in our lives, to basically pay attention to what is happening within you and around you. These “low” or “down” times are there to inform us about different parts of ourselves, and if we pay close attention -and if you’re lucky to be any type of artist/expresser etc- then something really amazing, profound, and beautiful can come out of such a dark time. To be a complete and total nerd for all things introspective, I hope I’m able to gain a lot out of this period in my life and maybe even get back to my art again now that we have a home.
Eventually I will appreciate where we came from; in regards to all the lead poisoning nonsense, education/truth telling about the state of lead in this country, and helping others through our experience; not yet though. I am still most definitely processing and working through everything from the past year. It’s not going to change over night, I know this. Just as I know my brief respite from panic attacks may be just that- a brief respite. The work and healing starts now, for me and myself and my heartmindsoul. The fact that I can do this, still be present and active with my child, admit where I am weak & struggling, and start to make some jokes about it while doing the work to heal and process; is a pretty good sign that I again have broken free of My Mother’s Curse.
Because the truth is, and my reality is: While I may have a mother with a mental illness, her illness is NOT my life. I do not have to accept nor display weirdo pictures of her. I do not owe her anything more than allowing her to know her granddaughter and get to know me again. I do not have to answer any one of her NINE phone calls in three days (15 phone calls as of today). Yes, she’s just calling to ask if I got the card with the pictures, but because of her illness since I haven’t answered nor returned her calls, her messages get more and more impatient and erratic. Yay! Fun! Which just so you don’t think me the asshole, I’ve already explained to her that we can talk on the weekend. I am too busy with my 7:30am-5:30 pm work schedule and home life by myself M-F, that having chats on the phone are not my priority. She said she understood. And yet, here I am with a full VM box of all of her messages. Jealous? Yeah, I thought so.
Whatever. It is what it is. Just like this blog and these two posts are what they are. I’m doing a follow up list post after I finish this one, just to make my thoughts more succinct for …… myself? You who are reading this? My friends and family who read this? My daughter? My processing? My healing? All of it? Its such a shame that I purchased the domain for “HellosFromTheHomestead.com” as a way to start my own artistic business while incorporating elements of this new motherhood thing and even collaboration with my little human. Instead, it wound up being a a documentation and personal journal of dealing with stupid lead poisoning the past year. Hopefully THIS YEAR will be the year I can pull it all together, turn things around, transcend the lead thing; and get this blog&me working again….
All this and more is what makes me ME. And not just the daughter of a Mother who is Mentally Ill.
Thanks for reading.
Light and Love from the New Homestead,
***also you should really read this post titled “Why It is Crucial for Women to Heal the Mother Wound : http://womboflight.com/2014/01/18/why-its-crucial-for-women-to-heal-the-mother-wound/
Talk about wow!!!