A Mother’s Day memory forever burned in my soul.
Waking up with gratitude
Mother’s Day, a very tender day for the majority of my adult life. Anxiety, nightmares, panic attacks, and depression filled my life. Accompanied by multiple problematic learned coping mechanisms, each filling up an expandable carry-on of their own. Needless to say, I carried around A LOT for the majority of the month of May.
However, the nearing of Mother’s Day and the day itself drastically changed for me the year I turned 40. I finally began to see the fruits of therapy and shadow work.
While at 40, I focused on myself and my happiness on Mother’s Day, choosing to protect my energy; this year, after gingerly reparenting my porcelain inner child, the days leading up to this celebrated day were no longer full of unbearable torment.
Dreams persisted the night before, this time more curious than panic-induced, and were easily chased away by the rising sun.
Without the looming dread of a nightmare to commence Mother’s Day, the morning was brighter and already promising. Followed by the best cuddles from my senior fur baby. It’s like he sensed the importance of this morning. He probably did.
Putting my healthy coping skills to werk 🫰🏼
I still hesitated to begin my getting ready process, I always do. It’s that one giant leap from bed to shower that gets me every👏🏼damn👏🏼time.
But on this day, it felt like all my maternal ancestors were rallying for me. My tias and abuelas cheering for me through generations of emotional oppression.
I felt them smiling down on me as I played my carefully curated Uplifting Spotify playlist, meticulously washing away any residual anxiety in the shower, savoring my breakfast of choice, applying the skin care and full glam from my palette, and polishing off the finishing touches with extra time to spare.
I felt the relief trickle down the vein of our lineage. I wasn’t doing this alone today. I was subconsciously fueled by the matriarchs of the past and the inner work I had painstakingly traversed.
To top it all off, I was early and had time to spare! I finished everything I planned to do and added an extra stop. Check … me … out. I do not know this person … dare I say, Doña.
Although I felt myself dissociating through the morning, I was still taking pleasure in the absence of that fight or flight “rushed” feeling I am so used to. That panic drove me through the accomplishment of tasks for years. Finally, I’m reaping the benefits of a morning of intent and purpose.
Whenever I started to overthink and second guess myself, what I tend to do if my mind is allotted extra time, I kept reminding myself how far I had made it and to keep going. And if all else failed, I had my writing outlet waiting to help me process.
Making memories
When I arrived at the house of the gathering, several family members were present. Tios and tias coming together to spend the day with Mita (a colloquial term of endearment for grandma in Spanish).
No “presentations” were prepared by Mami. Everyone was just hanging out. It felt natural. My emotions didn’t physically feel attached to Mami’s. Usually, it feels like a red sewing thread tightly connecting my heart to hers. Every frustrated disapproving look when things wouldn’t go as planned tightened the string between us tighter and tighter to the point where I could feel Mami’s stress squeezing my heart, clenching my chest, and suffocating me.
Not today though. Mami is different when other people are around, especially her older siblings. Almost like she relaxes a bit because she doesn’t feel the need to “take charge” of the situation.
The codependent leash that once strangled our hearts seemed to be hung up for the day. A brief thought crossed my mind to throw it away before Mami reached for it again. But I couldn’t do it. What if Mami needs me?
As Mami became more and more relaxed to sit down longer and engage with everyone, without second guessing myself, I went and sat next to her. Mami started to move her chair away from mine as I tried to nudge my chair up to hers, “Mami, stop moving your chair away, I’m trying to get close to you,” I told her.
Together we sat there watching table games proceed in the foreground. Sitting close to Mami like this was new, but it felt natural like I was sitting parallel to her and not below her. I felt like I was a woman to her.
In this moment, I wasn’t on alert waiting to be summoned to do something for Mami or to be told to be cautious of something. We delighted in carefree pop culture references, not quite talking to each other, but about the same randomness and how it applied in our own lives.
This was my Huckleberry Finn moment, a game we used to play when I was little. We were on an adventure again, together instead of my hand being handcuffed to hers to ensure my safety.
I enjoyed the time I spent with my tios. A Mother’s Day absent of children and young adults. In their place, the fragile souls of pets, backyard dwellers, elderly parents, and family members with mental disorders. No kids, yet the same level of innocence guiding our time together.
Our gatherings are dry celebrations, imbibing water, tea, and trending drinks to try together while indulging in cards, dice, and laughs. A modest setting full of tios and Mita, playing together like they were kids again.
It was a beautiful thing to see. A beautiful moment to feel.
The power of perspective
This was a much-needed break from the daily caregiving and financial and estate planning that comes with caring for elders and family members with mental disorders.
I approached this day with a “let it be” mentality. I observed how underrepresented this family dynamic is in society. There is an awareness in younger generations, paving the way for lifestyles without children, focusing on careers, self-improvement, traveling, and a work-life balance.
I didn’t miss the absence of emotional struggle this Mother’s Day. I’m used to carrying a bit of sadness with me everywhere I go. She accompanies me, tucked safely in my pocket so I’m not completely lonely as I long for what I don’t have. Today though, I left sadness behind. In the void of this imaginary safe place, I filled it with love. Love for the life I do have. Love for Mami. Love for these memories burned in my soul. And love for myself.
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