Hold fast; Mother’s Day is coming.
Every high street, every store, every advert and bar of chocolate is awash in a sea of yellow; our entire world is rebranded to portray the simple gentleness and love of a mother. Schoolrooms are filled with glue, glitter and ribbon for making tributes, and talk naturally turns to family.
CHT makes her card, but there is a troubled reluctance in her eyes; sure signs of the first wave of inner turmoil as she fights to decide just who she should be making it for.
As she gives up and just makes it anyway, a second wave tumbles her into a seething mass of rapids as she tries but fails to share in the easy, familial chatter of her peers.
The current has her now, and there is no escaping the third wave as it swamps her in a tempest of boiling resentment against a life story that does not fit their mould nor their expectation. The fourth then sweeps over her; like a tidal wave crashing through every defense releasing the power of her anguish out into the open for all to see.
Then the fifth and final wave – like a rip tide – claims her; drawing her back into thick primal fathoms that shut out all else but the crushing pain, and she is lost in the deeps once again.
These days plunge her headlong into unmapped depths of pain and murky uncertainty; force her back into those dreaded layers of endless salted questions that make her raw wounds sting and bleed once again. Drowning, not waving, her struggles go unnoticed. Worse still, the guidance and empathy she needs to help her through is missing; replaced with the censure of a teacher.
There is a heaviness in my heart as she comes home and retells the story of yet another day cast on the rocks of misunderstanding. The endless inner wrestling on these troubled oceans is hard enough without this battery that threatens and erodes our progress from the outside.
CHT’s life is what it is, and we cannot and should not protect her from the reality of its story. We can only work steadily on together, help her find some shelter from the onslaught long enough to make sense of it, to find some peace within it, and seek the patches of calm that show her it is possible to sometimes simply set it aside.
So for now we are bobbing in the shallows, waiting with lifelines; ready for the next typhoon to lash down as she bravely steps out through the yellow shoals of her mother’s day.
For further reading: see our Mother’s day Toolkit.