I was sitting in a meeting yesterday and was given a reminder that felt like a slap in the face. It jarred me fully awake, shaking the dust out of a corner of my subconscious mind where I had stored this fundamental rule in the greatest job I have, as mom: It’s not what you say. It’s what you do.
To date, my most diligent effort had to do with safety, and mainly driving, going back to my daughter riding in her car seat in the back of the car: Mama isn’t going to answer that phone because she is driving. That was mommy’s phone that beeped but I cannot look at a text right now. We are in a parking lot, so we have to look for lights that show you that someone is getting ready to back up. They cannot see you. We are going to stop on our bikes and pull over when we hear a car to make certain they see us. Some people believe that bikes don’t belong on the road. See how I signal that I am stopping on my bike?
Safety. Not psyche.
In this meeting I was reminded of all of the other messages we as women give their daughters. “I shouldn’t eat this, I need to lose weight.” She is looking at my slender frame thinking I am perfect in every way. And I just demonstrated I wasn’t. Won’t she turn inward and say, well if mom needs to lose weight how am I? Despite the fact that I tell her that bodies come in all shapes and sizes. Beauty is about what’s inside. I just showed her my scale is off. And in that single moment, I became someone she couldn’t trust on such issues. Now she will get her validation somewhere else. She will use other metrics to size up her beauty.
If I am working all the time and not having any fun, what does she have to look forward to as an adult? What makes me think that my ever intuitive, absorbent young girl doesn’t pick up on stress? If our adult conversations frequently focus on money should we be surprised if she places too much emphasis on its importance? Here we are scrambling every day, sending messages like: I’ve got so much work to do. I don’t know how I’m going to get it all done. She computes: adult + work = stress. Or work = stress + unhappiness. How does this fly against the mantra we tell her all the time, do work you love?
And finally, what message am I sending my ten year old when I have a phone in my hand while I am listening or talking to her? What message am I sending my daughter while I scan through email or Facebook or Instagram in front of my husband or at the dinner table. How about when I am unloading the dishwasher and she is sharing her day. My sweet girl is standing still and looking at my face expectantly, eager for eye contact while I keep moving around her.
It took this meeting to realize the dozen unspoken messages I give to my daughter every day. Literally programming her young psyche for her future self: her self esteem, her self worth. Her choice in a husband. Her beliefs about marriage and work and what we do for entertainment.
This writer, the one who chooses her words so carefully. The one who speaks freely and openly about emotions and values expression. This writer was reminded of just how powerless words can be in the face of what is demonstrated. So today when she comes home from school and shares with me her day, we will sit down at the table across from one another so I can concentrate wholly on her face. Because I can tell her all day long just how important she is to me — how worthy and beautiful. How much she is enough. But it is what I do that she hears loud and clear.
Early on in my personal spiritual journey, I went through a phase of watching and reading stories of NDE’s or near death experiences. It was an integral part of shedding my ingrained catholic beliefs of heaven and hell and life ending at death.
This led me to the work of Dr. Michael Newton (Journey of Souls: Case Studies of Life Between Lives), which quite literally blew my mind and made me eager to experience my own past life regression; which I later did with the fabulous Nancy Hajek right here in Nashville.
In the forward to Frank Ostaskeski’s beautiful book, The Five Invitations* is this quote by Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D.:
Chances are until you have experienced that one great loss, this will read to you as more ominous than catalytic. Like grief itself, these types of statements can’t fully be absorbed and understood until you experience them yourself.