Hands down the hardest, most painful moments of motherhood is being witness to your child’s pain and being powerless to fix it. And hands down the thing that has equipped me to know how to handle it has been my training and experience as a psychotherapist. Don’t get me wrong it is a VERY different thing to be witness to a clients pain versus your offspring who’s soul is tethered to yours! However, at its core the process is the same. My child is her own person, living her own story. I might feel her pain much deeper than I do my clients but it is still HERS. It is about Her. Not me. When I am in session it is about my client. Not me.
Am I affected by it? Hell yeah I am. The biggest difference is the window of time I am attuned and directly connected in. With a client it is one hour. With my kid it is forever. She can feel when a disconnection happens and it affects her. It is this very thing actually that has led me to this current musing.
If you read my last post “Death of a Phantasy” or even my very first post “Burnout” then you are well aware I am a solo parent. There are very real reasons for this and none of them are because “he’s a dead beat dad.” The truth is he is a father that comes from complex childhood trauma that was centralized around disconnection and it set him up to struggle. This struggle led him into toxic relationships with substances, the streets, and the criminal justice system. All of which only added insult to injury and deepened the feelings and experiences of disconnection. It is a sick and unjust cycle that too many people fall victim to. That good people fall victim to.
Unfortunately trauma is a beast that will rear its fierce ugly head in parallel to the ages or developmental stages of our children. My daughter’s father’s trauma goes deep. Like pre-conception deep and it took him out when I got pregnant and whooped his ass through the first three rounds. It eventually whooped his ass right back into the penitentiary and honestly I am grateful because I will take that call over death any day.
Anywho, it’s been a painful journey but through all of it he has always remained connected to his kid. And she could feel it. Even when long periods of time would pass without them seeing each other she always knew who her daddy was. We have had lots of talks about where daddy is and how we can only talk with him on the phone, no video (hopefully soon though) and no visits. It is mutually agreed that our daughter will never step foot into any jail or prison.
About a month ago he was transferred from the county jail to state prison where he is currently going through reception and is unable to make phone calls. This is the longest period of time my kid has gone without hearing the sound of her father’s voice. And she felt it. I felt it.
One night while doing our normal evening routine she lost her shit about brushing her teeth. Now this wasn’t the normal, I don’t want to brush my teeth just kidding I do just kidding how dare you put that thing in my mouth after I just said I wanted to brush my teeth, insanity. This was hyperventilating crying, trying to push my 5x the size of her body out of the way and bloody murder screaming kind of meltdown. It didn’t fit, not even for a 2 year old. So I stopped and tuned in. I asked myself what could be causing this level of distress in my kid? My mind ran through various pieces of the past few days and my own intuitive feelings I had just processed with her Godmother earlier.
She felt disconnected from her daddy and it was breaking her heart.
So I did what a good-enough mother and therapist does, I put it into words for her. I validated her. I helped her to feel seen and heard and understood. I bore Witness to her pain and I told her it was okay to feel her big feelings. Eventually she was able to verbalize that she misses her daddy and that she wants him here with her.
A wound I am powerless to fix.
A wound I would give anything to heal (for both of them) but I can’t.
So instead I sat in it with her, holding her laced up in my lap, riding the waves as they came. And it broke my fucking heart.
My own tears began to flow and soon enough my daughter noticed. This bothered her and she told me to stop. She asked me why I was crying and I told her the truth, “Because your heart is hurting and when your heart hurts my heart hurts.” To which she responded, “Two hearts hurt.”
That’s right baby, two hearts hurt.
That is the power of the mother. That is the power of the healer. We hurt with them, holding their hand and stroking their hair and telling them with soft, warm words that it’s okay. It’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to be confused and angry and scared. It’s okay to want to break shit or to curl up into a ball of hot liquid mess and disappear into the darkness. It’s okay to surrender to the waves because in the surrender we stop feeling like we are going to drown and we begin to float.
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Side muse: While walking through this with my daughter my heart became heavy for all of those other kids whose parents are locked up. For all of the kids who aren’t being given the words or the safe space to feel these feelings. I offer a prayer of peace and comfort to their sweet innocent little hearts. May The Mother of Creation hold you tight and warm to her bosom and in that place may you find connection to her divine safety and love ❤️ I see you. I hear you. I bear witness to your story and your pain. You are worthy.
Some great moments are full of joy and others are full of sorrow. Giving your daughter the space to grieve will create a core memory. Despite it being a sorrowful one, it will have a resolution that is innately hopeful. You’re teaching her to sit in emotion, turn it each way, know that it will pass, and that she is still loved, connected and whole. God job mom.