Fearless Motherhood…a contradiction in terms.

Motherhood!

This above all else has shaped my adult life, and beliefs.

I always wanted to be a mother, not to have someone to love me, and not just to have someone to love. I wanted to become a mother on purpose, to offer to the world thinking, caring, responsible, educated citizens. I always saw motherhood as a choice worth making, and worth doing more than my best at; let’s face it somedays our best isn’t good enough, some days we need to find better than that!

Why did I want to do this?

Well, I was abused as a child, not just a little bit abused (which is a thought that bothers me a lot that we can grade abuse in such a foolish manner), I was “alot” abused. From the age of 2 1/2 years until I was 15, I was molested and raped by my father; my mother claims she knew nothing of it until she walked in on my father raping me.

From that I was thrown into the hands of some very inept, torturous, and psychologically depraved Behavorial Therapists who I will not name due to the fact they are vindictive and well known enough to sue the pants off me. They never reported what happened to me to the authorities, they claim they didn’t have to due to the law in Oregon at the time. (Well, not having to and what is right are two different matters, don’t you think? I  know I think differently.)

I came from an “average middle class” American family. We looked good on the outside, and crappy on the inside. I was given all the advantages, music lessons, I got to raise rabbits, I had beautiful clothes, enough food and healthy food, I was an over achiever. No one could have guessed at what was happening in my home. My story is not unique, there are millions of families like mine, they just don’t get caught, because they look good, kind of like in the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, you know, “Look Fair but Feel Foul”… I’d rather look foul and feal fair like Strider.

I got a lot of excuses from my family, and told how much I was loved. I had an odd dichotomy growing up, one of having the appearance of love, and the actions that are the antithesis of love.

I left home at 18 years old, and went as far a field as I could, London, England. There I studied International Relations, met my first (and late ex) husband.  He and I were Young and FOOLISH, a perfect pair of youthful passions and issues. We played each other like a symphony, nearly destroying each other, but what we did right was produce two gorgeous, intelligent, thoughtful, respectful, loving individuals.

I left that marriage, from Dubai, UAE against terrible odds, bringing my two children home with me. I like to think I made it home on the wings of angels, because truly my getting home wasn’t easy, could have been foiled in a million ways, and I could have easily lost my children, been deported and never seen them again. As luck (or providence) would have it, I had good friends in powerful places that I am sure (but not truly knowledgeable about how) helped my escape.

I returned with two kids, and a lot of emotional baggage, severe PTSD…and the desire to heal… (Healing happened through NLP therapy, Body Electronics, Reiki, Meditation and diet adjustments, and a lot of love and support from friends and family)

I got into therapy first, then got a job, and set about raising my kids on nothing. I never received any child support from my ex-husband for the first five years after I left, and then he was hospitalized for the last five years of his life and recently passed away. 

I was introduced to my husband, Jeff, who is a kind, gentle, loving and accepting man. He has been an anchor in my life, not a knight in shining armor, not a rescuer, but a person who accepts me for who I am and even more important for who I am not.

He and I have raised the children together for the past nine years, and both of us have learned a lot. He has valued and accepted my choices to stay at home to raise the children, and to home school them.

I chose to home school the children after 9/11 because of the intolerance that was rife after the bombings. My children being part Arabic with Arabic names became the target of cruelty and our local school district would not deal with the issue. They were very young, and did not have the ability to protect themselves from that kind of harm. It wasn’t my only reason though, I was also unhappy with the education being provided by the district, which is semi-rural. Our family has access to many educational resources that range from hands on environmental sciences to development of clear communications skills.

To end this section, I would like to point out that although I have a very strong mothering instict, my skill set did not start out more enlightened than anyone else’s. I was a product of my own socialization, and had only the tools in my “parenting toolbox” that I had been raised with, I sought out new tools.

One of the most effective being the recipient of Developing Capable Young People training in 2001, both as a student of the program as a volunteer for the Stanwood-Camano Family Resource Center, and then as a participant in the facilitator training with the late H. Stephen Glenn, Ph.D.  Unlike many “parenting classes” this is not a “how to” raise your children course, but more of a how to commicate and understand humans course. The key principle is in seeing children as people with their own unique perceptions, and capabilities. I have taught over 200 hrs of this course in both my community and in Portland, Oregon.