In Zayn’s World II
What does it mean to be a mature and connected mother in modern society? As I sit and watch my newborn slowly slip into the body of a one month old, I have been contemplating this question.
I want to be the best for my son, and to steward his life in accordance with nature’s law, yet I often find myself baffled and confused by the models of parenting I see projected. What feels right and true in my bones (Freebirthing, co-sleeping, breastfeeding on demand, no circumcision or vaccines, etc.) is often scoffed upon by the over culture. Yet when I look at the state of the world, I am puzzled by the collective desire to perpetuate the trauma. I feel a deep longing to heal and make whole again; to try something new (that is really old). I do not want to align with the culture of colonization where it is common to remove babies by knife, inject them full of chemicals, and place them in the care of strangers at 6 weeks old.
Our society has convinced us that all of this is normal. That there is something wrong with the exquisite biology of our babies and that they should neatly fit into our adult schedules and hurried lives. That trauma doesn’t count if they can’t logically remember it. Conform and comply is thrust down our baby’s throats with their first breaths.
In the age of information overload where wisdom is searched for everywhere except deep within our own DNA, there is an instagram account or Facebook real for literally every perspective of parenting. The mainstream narratives are force fed into our consciousnesses at lightning speed, hitting our brain’s dopamine receptors and promising that things will get easier, if you simply like and subscribe. I see young parents drowning and gasping for breath, desperate to try anything to keep themselves afloat, and a culture all too happy to profit from the isolation.
I have long grieved for the broken lineage of truth that was stolen from me many generations ago. As I sit typing this with my babe suckling at my breast, I wonder what the wise woman of the village would say about babies sleeping away from their mothers, and fathers being forced back to work without the chance of proper bonding with their child. I wonder what heartbreak she would face looking around at our broken communities and seeing mothers navigating the choppy waters of the postpartum period alone and unsupported.
I pray to the village wise woman that creeps and cooes in the trenches of my own soul. I ask her to share her wisdom, remedies, and stories, so that I may be a fully intact and healthy mother to my baby boy.
4 weeks with my beautiful son, and I am just starting to understand what it means to mother in the modern world. It is a call to listen so deeply to the song of my own intuition that it drowns out the overbearing noise of disapproval and judgment that is cast in words of stone from every direction. It is looking at my boy and realizing his innate perfection at every moment. Letting him call me into divine presence and realizing that my life is meant to adapt to his needs and not the other way around. It is profound gratitude at the miracle of continued life, and the privilege and safety of being able to align with innate wisdom. It is unconditional and ever growing love.
I do not know what will come of the choices I am making and who my son will grow to be. I do not know what is right in a world so filled with pain and broken spirits. I do know that I will make mistakes, and that I am searching blindly in the foothills for a small path that will lead me up the mountain of motherhood. But I trust that through faith and conscious intention we will find our way.
