There was a shift in the paradigm. Just as I assured myself that I was fine and had begun to write about being ok, my world collapsed yet again. I wish there were a way to explain it but I can’t, however those who have experienced it are unfortunately familiar. It’s a different thing, an experience to say the least. And just when you think people may have forgotten, they rip your heart out in a completely different way. I don’t know what fair is, I never have. Don’t get me wrong my life wasn’t terrible I was shielded yet made aware of a lot of things. But I know what survival is and I’ve tasted the sour spoils of defeat. I can smile through anything except this one thing. I’m standing outside with the sun vaguely shining down on me and a warm breeze is sweeping by. I know I’m loved that’s never in question it’s just an experience that will never diminish or grow old. One I may often forget how it sometimes causes me to feel but one I’m reminded daily that it did indeed happen. Some days I get through, some days I merely exist. I never question the act itself because it’s not even remotely my experience just something I was affected by. I’m strong for a lot of things and for a lot of people but often times people forget to be strong for me. Yes, the zen master does weep.

Not only does the zen master weep but she also has an innate ability to grow angry. There was a time when she projected and dumped that anger onto others but that time is long gone. These days not only does she cry but she doesn’t hide it. The barriers life has caused her to build have slowly been broken down. Somewhere along the lines she found that there is strength in vulnerability and peace in expression. She did not have to be what she thought the world perceived strong to be because inside she was broken and weak. When she healed those pains everything about her changed. The way she carried herself, shared herself, accepted herself and all of those things changed how she loved.

I am not a motherless child. I can’t even disrespect the honor of the life given to me and the life from which I came by claiming that label and making that my story. When you are raised in the manner in which I was raised be it if your mother was around or not she was always with you. No matter how I would behave at home when I carried myself in public people would compliment to my mother and somewhere engulfed in pain I lost that. I had begun telling myself I was a motherless child and in fact I was a teenager coming into womanhood. Never mind the motherless part, I was referring to myself as a child and looking back I very well was one but I began to act even more like one yet carrying myself with the arrogance of an accomplished adult. I made my situation my story and it was never intended to be that.

My sorrows and self pity shifted the trajectory of my life and showed me how bad life could really get. We cannot measure ourselves to other seasons of our lives let alone the lives of others, the insanity gets real. After life showed me the pitfalls of making your situation your story I began to shift my life. Yes, some days I feel like my life absolutely sucks because I cannot pick up a phone and freely share with my mother the intricacies of my day be it good or bad. Yes, I wonder what she would be like and what my life would be like if she were still around. No, I do not question why her life’s path was purposed in the way that it was but it took me a VERY long time to get there. I also know that if my mother were still alive, I would not have been able to visit some of the amazing places that I’ve gone. I would not ¬†have met a lot of the people I’ve met. And I wouldn’t have so many angels conspiring to help me realize myself and my dreams. My mother was an encourager, a supporter, and a pusher…ok maybe not a pusher but she made me do things and did not allow me to quit once I was committed. She wasn’t a disciplinarian because she instilled principles that taught me respect. I still get by on lessons and scriptures and examples she’s given me in the short time I was blessed to share with her.

My mother was a REAL mother, not a perfect one. She raised me, she taught me, she loved me, she accepted me. She never put her burdens on me and she spoke life into me daily. If nothing else thats what I miss the most. The things I need to hear when I doubt myself and become uncertain about people and relationships. I cannot disrespect those things by saying I’m a motherless child. I am a beautiful woman unafraid to explore the world and find herself. I am a giver. I am tough. I am sensitive. I sometimes care too much even when people tell me I shouldn’t.

There are motherless children out in this world and I’m sure have had far worse lives than me. The time I was blessed with wasn’t long but it was enough to let me know that I am loved and to show me how to love others. My questions are far different than a lot of other kids who may have never even laid eyes on their mother or were raised by mothers who didn’t particularly treat them well. I’m blessed and although sometimes it gets uncomfortable, I know it’s merely reminders of the sacrifices made to get me here. It’s the rise in my adrenaline to do more, be more, and see more.

I am not a motherless child; I do not need nor do I desire your pity. I am not a motherless child; don’t cripple me by justifying my short comings as a result of my situation. I am not a motherless child; my choices are my own no matter how alike or different they may be in comparison to how you think I was raised. I know a lot of individuals who are worse are than me that by societies standards had a far better life than I had. I am not a motherless child; I am a woman who God trusted enough to allow me the responsibility to find my own way.