Good Mother

Today, a young refugee entered the bus and sat down beside me. The bus was almost empty. He looked like from Iraq. I was reading an English book, and he spoke in Arabic and pointed to it. His fingernails were bitten almost right down. Something in me instantly felt like The Good Mother. The man bent over close to me to look at each page I read, as if reading with me. Instead of being annoyed, I noticed that I almost offered him a place on my lap. There was such a loving Motherly space around us. When he left, he bowed to me. It felt like something huge and transformative had happened.

Later in the day I broke through an age old fear pattern  – I am so happy happy happy about it!

There is a pattern in me designed to scare me away from “going out there”, asking for what I want, and also being honest about feelings and things I do not like. An old outmoded way of “protecting me from being attacked.” It has prevented me many times for speaking up and being adult.There were about 2,5 zillion stories to substantiate the habit – and little Leelah believed in them all.

So we have had a team of roofers rehabilitating our rows of roofs. Excellent job – they were helpful, skillful, kind and willing. My little roof on a storeroom needed a new drain – and they managed to put it on a place where it did not collect the water.

I wrote a mail to the boss about it, and he has not answered it – which fires up this disaster part in me – it tells stories about how he doesn’t give a shit, will be rude, will be much more than rude, will in fact seek me up and stalk me until my last day.

You know, I am able to see the soooo over the board-scenario here – and still, each time I have thought about him, wanting to call him, the instant fear shock in the body – the old “don’t do this” overwhelms my nervous system, I lose my words and space out, my doctor calls it “near-psychotic.”  But Blue was making it quite clear that this situation was a gift, in the respect that I just needed to do what I abhor to do – tell people what may seem like criticizing them. It physically hurt like hell.

Blue said: do it anyway.

“I will lose my words!”

Oh, write what you want to say then -that will give you a feeling of some safety.

I called, and read a couple of sentences – no blame, just so – and he answered with the kindest voice that this was on his list, they would be there soon, and that it would me cost me anything.

All of my stories feel like an enormous domino chain.

The energetic release from this has been no less than enormous.

I think I was a good mother to myself there