Is there any harder thing in the life of a parent than the moments of deep pain in their child’s heart that they cannot appease? Is there a moment when parents feel less able than the moment when they sit next to their hurting child, who can’t even utter their pain and when there is nothing to be done?
Sometimes we are fortunate enough to be able to overwrite memories.
This morning I am lending my space to my newly discovered Minister and church. A blessing on Orthodox Palm Sunday. I have long broken off the hypocritical and greedy Orthodox Church but Easter still holds a special place in my heart as the quintessential celebration of resurrection and hope against all odds.
The mantra I am repeating in order to unlearn what I know is “my value lies in my competence not in my exhaustion”. And the road is curvy and uphill and many are the times when I take two steps back to maybe half one ahead.
Reading it, breathlessly many times, I felt this book took me back through a tunnel of time, to moments of gut wrenching angst, deep questioning or immense joy, to crossroads where a force larger than what I can explain pushed me in the direction or progress and good and left me feeling, in my bones, the two words that have now become such a feminist statement: #metoo.
Before we know it … a day turned into a week, a month and one day we remember we had started something good way back in the day but fell off the wagon. This is when, ashamed and unenergised, we reach the crossroads between the trap of magic thinking and the power of one step.