Mothers

Well tonight, Movember Day One, just finished a Country wide Skype mens meeting. The house is quiet here, I'm exhausted after staying up for the Wallabies. However, the value of deep sharing from grown man to grown man, from the heart, is a currency of Kings! My mental Health and well being has been stabilized and foundationalized by fostering relationships with men, in a way that my fathers generation was not able to . Viva the Evolution!

Tonight's topic Mothers, I shared about my alcoholic birth Mother , my adopted mother and her challenges of dealing with mental illness, and my wife, who has health challenges now, but is one of the most deeply loving spirit-filled beings I have ever met. Our two beautiful boys have an anchor in them created by her commitment, every minute of everyday to this family.

She is my Queen Scout.

I am grateful to have met with and stayed in contact with my birth mother. I am grateful to recovery that I stayed through the grief process of growing up with my adopted mother and the impact of the trauma of mental illness, to now have healed from both our pasts and I have a loving relationship with my mum. She did the best with what she had, and he was given a rough start to. We have that in common, but we have both changed the family legacy.

I have a poem I will sign off on tonight , I wrote about being the surrogate spouse as the eldest to my mother, here it is. I was written years ago, but it is still important, that work and the wound.

A Gift from the Cook.

How long has my worth been determined by others?

My need to be needed,

Reflects my self perception.

It seems to be the only substance to fill this hole.

To make me complete.

Yet I have always been empty.

The approval have always been an illusionary filler,

For I remain always trying to fill the same hole.

Showing people I was worthy of their need.

And keeping them needy.

For if they grew beyond that place,

What would become of me?

To my mother I was a possession.

She needed me to need her,

So she could feel special,

Whole and complete.

And I grew to need her love, approval and protection.

Yet, there was something wrong.

An anger or resentment,

At my acquired need.

Like it sucked at some life blood that did not exist.

A hunger that was induced,

But no food could be supplied.

And as the years have past,

I have lived with this constant hunger.

To be needed or not feel complete.

And for the women of my life,

They served the same meal,

And for a while I enjoyed.

But somewhere the food soured,

And the hole inside grew to the size of a cavern.

My wife found she needed herself more and left.

My mother just grew tired,

And occasionally just turned off the stove.

And now I am alone,

Me and my need to be needed.

And for my father,

Who sat for my entire life

A spectator to this feast,

Resented me.

For I ate his food, from his wife,

And many times he went hungry.

And now we live many universes apart,

And speak very different tongues,

Both with a hole,

A gift from the cook.

S.J.S