This is the daughter who lives right out to her edges, who gives herself to the moment, who is becoming, day by day, the fiercest, boldest spirit I know.
She has called to my attention recently, the ways in which I have been a less than perfect mother. The ways that my own obsessions and carelessness have wounded her. A part of me aches and sorrows. Another part is deeply proud of her courage in telling me. A hard and painful mother-daughter moment. And an opportunity for greater clarity and compassion moving forward. An opportunity too, to forgive myself.
I want nothing that I do or say to stand in the way of her greatness, her possibility, her love of herself and of the world she is moving into. Her name in Hindi means “shining moon.” And indeed she is.
There isn’t a mother in the world who hasn’t, whether meaning to or not, wounded her child in some way. This has gone on for generations.
We all try to do the best with what we’ve got and who we are at the moment. Some credit should be given for good intentions, and being a mom is as much of a learn-as-you-go process as being a child learning about the world. Forgiveness of self is tantamount to moving forward.