Reading time: 3 minutes

Most days I want to write without the pressure of an audience. Writing to express without the idea of projected judgment by the reader. If I did write without the agenda, what would it be.

The most recent experience that deserves reflection is the contemplation of how I would parent. Balancing the child’s autonomy while providing guidance. Parenting from a place that would not require deconditioning. It is all hypothetical in the controlled environment of my mind. How I would react, what lens I would be observing from. Understanding and integrating the awareness that I will be operating from a lens of my own conditioning and “trauma”. Remembering that they are also destined for a life that includes learning opportunities that will likely come from heart wrenching experiences. The learning opportunities that allow struggle and growth. To walk with them, without carrying them.

Their souls purpose is their own. My “job” is to love and nurture. Show them they are safe being themselves. Exploring, feeling, not fitting into the mold, being exactly who they are without the outside influence of conformity. Prioritizing showing up with love and compassion to support their experience. Once again, my fantasy of how things would unfold. I am sure the readers that are parents are rolling their eyes in the knowledge that it is not reality.

I know the reality will test my patience and ability to love and not revert to the ways that are impulsive reactions. In this moment, I am well rested, not in scarcity, my time is my own, and I am nurturing self. I am operating from my highest octave. When I am not rested or fed, I am not that person. The insecurities and frustrations are in the driver’s seat.

It is so easy to speak in black and white and ignore the gray that will be the everyday. We all have ideals and stories that we create and imagine. Ideals of how we imagine life will be. Striving for our “perfect” existence. The magic is in the moments that do not fit the ideals. The hard, heartbreaking moments where we spend time with self, learning who we are and what our reactions are made of and come from. The reasons we react the way we do, not in judgment, but compassion and curiosity. Easier to say, harder to do. Being the observer and not immersed in the wave of emotions.

My imagination runs wild with the type of parent I would be, and I may never experience the growth that comes from being a parent. The pint-sized teacher may not be in my future. My heart aches with an understanding that it may not be on my trajectory. The teacher for me may be in the want and not the actualization. Either way, I will be okay and grow from this experience.

I am consciously choosing growth. Spending these moments sitting with the ebb and flow. The cyclical flow of the emotions that is the feminine experience. We are not meant to feel the same every day and to have the same output day in and day out.

Birth, growth, creation, and death are our lifecycles. This desire for creation may not need to only result in a child. It can be a life that you love, a business, a book, a community. In this creation phase of my life cycle, I am not sure what I will birth. I know here, in this space I am in flow. The words pour out. The expanses of my experiences are explored from the depths of my mind and soul. Interconnected and co-mingling to create what is my story. Maybe what I will birth will be love for myself in a way that I would a child. A primal love. A fierceness, a feeling I have never felt.

Continue pondering..