Passing the torch, how I wept in my 6 year olds arms

I should start by saying I’ve only been at this mom game for (almost) 7 years, when I had my daughter. Daughters, turns out, are our greatest mirrors and projections as mamas. 

I’m generally a pretty humble, accountable mama and I also have my insanely human moments. Often when I snap, yell or project I can easily and almost instantly apologize and repair. I like open conversation, I strive for honest connection and I do my best to create presence. 

Recently I experienced the most humbling, and healing, mama moment of my so far mama career. 

Let me backup just a bit. I was raised by a single mom until I was 7. My daughter was raised by a single mom for about the same. There are so many mirrors on our journey, too many to name, and I see those mirrors as offerings to repair my own broken pieces as well as send my daughter off into the world from a more whole, integrated place than I left off. 

Recently, I was having a sleep deprived, irritated day as a new postpartum mama of my son. My daughter was just being her bouncy, joy-fueled self and looking for a playmate. I continued to respond to her from a place of irritation and annoyance. How she doesn’t pick up on this and continues to want to play with a grumpy mama, I’m not sure! 

And then it came. 

The SNAP. 

The “go away.” 

The explosion of wanting space that I wasn’t getting and running out of tools. 

I raised my voice, turned my back to her and jumped off our ship of connection. 

Rightfully so, she turned into a well of tears and ran out of the room. 

In comes the worst mama shame and guilt. 

On a normal day, I would have found an apology, processed it with my partner and made a valiant effort to prioritize playing and connecting with her that eve or the next day. 

On this day, something was different. The veil was thinner perhaps, I was more broken open. 

I laid in bed silently stewing and processing what a shit mom I was and how my daughter didn’t deserve my outbursts. 

Then I saw myself. Streams and streams of images and moments shot through my consciousness. All the times I was the scape-goat of my own mothers anger, sleep deprivation and haste. How I had consciously come to realize that I had played this role, as the first daughter, and understood the karma that that role brings. 

I saw myself as pure and innocent. I saw my daughter as pure and innocent. 

I humbly crawled, with my head hung low and a sunken heart into her room. She was so generous with me, still so excited and open to receive me. 

I started with “I’m so sorry.” 

And then I could feel the well of tears bubbling from my broken mama heart that had now pierced the generational line. 

“Please know when I say hurtful things, that I am hurting inside.” 

I could hear my own voice inside my beating heart, telling me to hold it together. And another, kind of softer voice, telling me it was ok to let it go. 

That this is the moment, and this is the medicine I had been waiting for. 

My sobs started softly, and then uncontrollably. 

And my daughter, in her sweet pure innocence, reached out her little arms and embraced me. 

I bawled my eyes out, likely still apologizing and also feeling ridiculously embarrassed. And she just held me, kissed me and told me she loved me. 

Something shifted on that day, on our matriarchal timeline and I’ve felt softer since. 

My reaction times have expanded, my heart has softened and my appreciation for my daughter and this work has exponentially expanded. 

When we take our time to get curious, present and humble, we heal. 

We are all here, on our human journey, showing up with what was left behind from our parents. 

For those of us that are parents, there comes a very tangible sense that the torch we leave behind, is the very one they will be picking up. 

So I left my torch that day, for my daughter, a little lighter and a little brighter.