Life in Journal

Goes on.
Sometimes that is comforting. Sometimes it really isn’t.
I would like for my own children to experience a slow, but very dear, childhood.
I’ve gone a long way to providing that. And that is really something I am immensely proud of. Having had no experience of this myself-in fact near to the opposite- it is at times very disconcerting for me.

We’re getting very much into the Waldorf rhythm. The time that we wake up and go to bed vary sometimes, but the pace of our day, the simple rituals and sequence are always the same. It has been very therapeutic for me, and downright nourishing for my son.
Three year olds can’t be naughty, or bad. So when he started to exhibit some behaviors like do exactly what I said not to, or spill a drink or just, be rebellious etc, I started to not enjoy being his mom very much. And something I committed to preserving at any cost is my love for being his mom. I needed to find a way to bring the discipline and guidance he needs without disliking the job. I found that in the Waldorf approach, I think.
Now I think back to how I was treated, and I am appalled. As a small child, I was put in time out, beaten, made to eat soap, made to go outside, locked in my room, told I was bad, called a brat, called selfish, mean, many other more horrible names, but I also wasn’t. I was not loved. I was not cuddled, hugged, told I was loved, or special, or beautiful, or good. I was not taught or shown the expectations of me. I had no models or names for my emotions or how to regulate them. I was put in daycare from an early age. I was sleep deprived, and stressed out. And they punished me, a small little child, for the effects of their bad parenting.
Calling it bad parenting is like calling a fast food diet bad cooking. It’s not cooking. It’s not parenting.

So I start to feel anger. I feel riteous anger at the absolutely unacceptable treatment that I was subject to as a baby, small child, etc.
I also know in my bones that my parents are paying for their evils. I do not believe that anyone can abuse children and not suffer the consequences. They are living out their own hell. And I’m fine with leaving them to it.
But I am… Disquieted, as it says in the quote.

Achieving health does not mean one was not once sick. The effects of that illness may never be gone.
This book talks about the grandmother-mother-baby triangle. How every mother will experience that shift from daughter to mother. She will inevitably become poignantly aware of the new relationship she has not just with her baby, but with her own mother. It is fascinating to think about. For me, the shift was very disturbing to experience. I never expected it. For my entire experience as the daughter, I never questioned anything. I was complete and well fitted to my role in my parent’s family of origin.
Becoming a mother brought the inevitable shift for me from daughter to mother. I was now faced with a new perspective; a new role, and a new job. I was so disoriented, shiftless, lost! Completely out of place and uncomfortable. Yet I didn’t fight it, exactly. I did for a time believe that I needed to work through these new feelings, and everything would sort itself out on the other side.
That didn’t happen.
I am amazed and grateful that I have a new perspective- I don’t suppose that I ever would have gotten free of my parents without it.

Last updated October 30, 2023