nancy's daughter

The mother wound.

I am Nancy’s daughter. Even after her death, I am Nancy’s daughter.

And when I look in the mirror, or at my hands or feet or hips, more and more I see her. I hear her coming out of my mouth. The woman had some unique expressions that I didn’t know were unique until pointed out by others. To me, they just were.

Our relationship was complicated.
Even after death, it is complicated.

In astrology, my Chiron bumps right up against my moon. The wounded healer and the mother archetype, inextricably linked.

It’s not her fault. It’s not my fault. Our souls seemed destined to both love each other deeply and break each others hearts.

And I know I’m not alone. So many of us live with the mother wound. Some of us were not mothered as we wished we were and deserved to be. Some of us lost our mothers too soon. Some of us grew up in homes of unhealed generational trauma. Sometimes it’s some messy mix of all of this and more.

And we don’t talk about it nearly enough. It seems that culture, society, our own human brain wants to either glorify or vilify mothers. There is no in between. Rarely do we allow for subtlety and nuance.

My mother was and is the relationship of my lifetime. No one has impacted my life, and continues to do so, as much as my mother. Not partners, not friends, not other family members, not my sweet husband who I adore.

At my core, so much of me is who I was, and am, in relation to her. Gifts and trauma.

And I share this with you for a couple of reasons.

1. If you are living with a mother wound, you are not alone. More people than we realize are in this unenviable club.

2. Mother’s Day is coming up and we will (it’s already started) be inundated with images and messages of saccharine and distorted motherhood. I have no fix for this. I just stand in tender solidarity with you if you’re feeling some kind of way at about it all.

3. This, the mother wound and tending to it, is the unexpected inspiration for my next collection. There is a stone that I was never drawn to. Until my mom died. And then I just couldn’t get enough of it. She held me softly. And this next collection will largely feature that stone.