When I was a little girl, and well into teenage years and adulthood, I had a dream. I dreamt of being a mother. I had my life planned out, I would get married young and have a family young – so that by the time I’d reached my forties, my children would be old enough to live their lives, and I’d be able to begin my life for me. In retrospect, I think having a child for me, represented a love that, in my younger years, I’d only dreamt of experiencing. Someone who would love me for me. My little love bundle. I wanted my heart to feel full; I wanted to experience that love.
It turns out; life didn’t quite roll out the way I thought I would’ve liked it to. I didn’t meet the man of my dreams, marry and fall pregnant. I was not the sort of person who would do it on my own, though I did consider it for the teeniest moment. I just went with the flow, living my life and thought that one day it might eventuate and if so, I’d go with whatever happened.
Then I blinked, and I was forty. What??? How did that happen, wasn’t I supposed to have had kids by now. Did my life even mean anything if I wasn’t a mother? Sure, I’d achieved a lot in my teaching years, and then also when I moved into the Personal Development industry…. but that wasn’t enough. The one thing I’d always wanted wasn’t there, so I was just a massive failure. I could not even be a real woman if I didn’t have kids. What was life going to be like when I was older? Who would come to visit? So many questions with no apparent answers.
I felt like my heart was starting to break. And yet, a part of me still didn’t know. If the circumstances were right and I had the option right now of becoming a mother, would I go through with it? Or did I not want my life to change that much anymore? More questions with no answers.
A few years go by, with these questions in my head, and still with no answers. And one day, while getting some bodywork done, the therapist stops and says to me that she feels something in my abdomen, a lump of some sort and will not continue to treat me until I visit a GP. I panicked that it was something serious, told no-one and didn’t go and get it checked for at least a few months.
Once I finally summoned the courage to find out one way or the other, I was immediately relieved to find that the fatalistic story I’d made up in my head was not true. I was going to be alright. Then the full extent of the news hit me. My uterus was never going to support life. I would never become a mother. I could continue to do nothing, and I would be ok, but ultimately, for a better quality of life, the recommended treatment was a hysterectomy.
All of a sudden, I didn’t know who I was. The questions were all gone because all the answers had been decided for me. It wasn’t going to happen. And I felt I didn’t even get to make that choice. Life did. It was a tough week. I mourned in that week the dream of a little girl. I mourned the legacy I would not leave. I keenly felt the sadness in my soul for the love I would not get to experience. I felt like I was not a whole woman. I felt empty.
I allowed the feelings to come, and although I feared they would break me, I also had moments of calm. Moments of knowing it would be ok. Moments of love for myself and from others. Moments of clarity.
Once the first week passed, I felt like I had expressed all there was to express about the situation and life carried on. I didn’t choose to go through with the surgery as I felt I could manage the symptoms for long enough. But now almost three years later, I realised that the side effects of not going through with the surgery were taking a toll on my life. I had just recently fainted from my iron levels being so low, and I can not physically move in a way I’d like as I don’t have the energy – to name a few of the many ways this affects me.
So, this week, I am being admitted to hospital, and experiencing a general anaesthetic for the very first time in my life. The whole reason I thought I was here, to give birth and become a mother, is literally being cut out of me. And do you know what? I’m ok.
Because ultimately, it wasn’t life that made this choice, it was me. That little girl had a dream of love that she thought could only come one way. But she was destined to know love in many, many ways. And…she was destined to know motherhood.
My work with MJB Seminars and The Process of Equilibration® (which I co-created) is my baby – the way where so many get to find and experience the love they’ve been looking for their whole lives – inside of themselves. Because a part of me always innately knew that no other human being could substitute the love for self, not even a beautiful little bundle. The moment that this process provides is so profound that it was always in my destiny to contribute to its birth.
Then I have all the little children who were reborn in love when we sat together through The Process of Equilibration™. The children inside of the adults, who I know were awakened to their own light and love by my capacity to connect to my own ability to nurture and mother. I have a gift, born from a desire to nurture and love, that coaxed the children out of the adult form, like a mother speaking to her young.
And, I have all my beautiful kiddies around me – at present count a precious 11 of them from as young as one to the eldest who are young adults – all given birth to by other biological mothers, but are my children none-the-less. They are my heart. If not for where my life has led me, I would not have such a profound and deep love with these precious little souls, all of whom require a part of me that I know I could not give had my life taken a different path.
So I go in this week knowing that I that little girl’s dream is alive and well. My heart is full.
I finally know that what I thought I was waiting for, to become a biological mother, was never destined to be because I had missed a crucial piece of the puzzle. There was nothing more to become, because, in so many ways beyond what I could have already imagined, I already was a mother!
A very special thanks:
To my fellow equilibrators – you girls are a massive part of the reason that I can write this. Your guidance along the way, showing me parts of myself that were hidden to my consciousness, will never be forgotten. You allow me not only take this time out for myself but also know that while I’m away, you will hold the fort. Your skills and love for what we do give me the certainty that our legacies are intrinsically entwined. Thank you.
To the adults who have sat with me during the process: Thank you for entrusting yourselves with me. I am humbled to have had a small part in the moment of transformation you experienced. For your courage, trust and love, I thank you.
To the mothers who birthed my precious kiddies – thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing your little ones with me. Your gift is so precious, and there are no words that do justice to how grateful I am. Your generosity and love profoundly move me. Thank you.