And a community to keep the parents sane

"It takes a village to raise a child." Oh how true this is. Many people don't know the rest of that proverb continues, "and a community to keep the parents sane."

What becomes of the child without a village? What becomes of the parent without a community?

There was once a child born into a village. A large village full of love. Then one day life took her away. And the large village she'd once been a piece of continued on growing and thriving without her; adding more pieces as if her's was not missing. She'd lost all the love she'd ever known and this grief manifested in ways that hurt her mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually. She was lost. She was hurt. She was angry. She was impressionable. She was vulnerable. She was victimized. She was 15. And a child without a village.

At 20 she became a parent without a community.

Just after 5 am on the snowy Wednesday morning of March 6, 2013 a gorgeous babygirl is born. She is eager, intelligent and strong. She nurses every 90 minutes 'round-the-clock for six weeks. What a beautiful fat baby she quickly grows to be. She smiles and she laughs and she eats. And she loves her momma. Her momma fell short of a village. All that meant was Momma didn't have to share baby's love with anyone else.

That changed on June 9, 2014. Just after 7 am it goes from just a regular Monday morning to a memorable one and just after 8 am another perfect little girl is born via emergency c-section. She is born with a beautiful head full of hair and bright curious eyes. She is born brave. Brought into the world alone. Her momma has to be asleep so the surgeons can slice and stitch but as soon as she awakes from surgery, crying, she asks to- demands to be reunited with her newborn daughter. As she is born so is a sisterhood. A forever bond that will for life serve as medicine to the soul if nurtured and tended to properly. Sisterhood is a divine gift. Momma is humbled and grateful to deliver such a gift.

But Momma is distracted. The baby blues hit hard for an abandoned new mom and her lovesick broken heart. The man who was supposed to love and protect and provide for them has turned his back on her and their daughters. She arduously performs mothering duties day in and day out; nursing, diaper changes (sometimes 13 poopy ones before lunch), cooking, cleaning, feeding, washing, playing, reading. Not every day is the same. Some days have more books. Some days have none. Some days have balanced home cooked meals. Some days they don't eat a thing that has actually grown from the earth. Some days are filled with songs and love. Some are filled with desperate cries and soulful screams from both mom and her babes.

She is tired. She is hurt. She is angry. She is running on empty, on autopilot. Her rage spilling over in outbursts. She's feeling inadequate. She's not a village... which is exactly what it takes to raise two daughters. She does not have a community surrounding her... which is exactly what it takes to keep a mother sane.

Over the next few years Momma becomes consumed with anything and everything she can do to make her feel more adequate. She goes back to school. She goes back to work. They have a lovely little home but the "village" is still missing. It's just Mom and her babes. Momma is grateful they have each other but she is still overcome with overwhelm and the sense that she herself is not enough. Mom adds things to her plate like work and school with dreams of success and professional aspirations but school and work take up a lot of time and energy and attention. This was time and energy and attention being siphoned from her daughters. The little girls already living without a village. The little girls with just her.

So despite her excellent grades and seemingly good job she feels perpetually like a failure. She fails to be a village. She fails to be enough. She fails to learn balance and success... she fails to learn happiness. She doesn't have a community of support. She doesn't have someone in her corner seeing her fight, feeding her perseverance, starving her insecurities, reinforcing her strength and witnessing her efforts as a parent.

Momma doesn't feel seen. Momma doesn't feel like enough. Momma hasn't healed from her past. Momma's hurt keeps spilling over. Momma still feels like a girl without a village. She thinks what she needs is a someone... a someone is what she gets.

At first it's like a dream. He's great with the girls. He brings his daughter and they're all great together. They take day trips to the beach and have Sunday dinners at his mom's house. They're a family. They're a village. And soon the village is growing. A baby boy is on the way. She let herself trust. That's where the dream ends. And the abuse starts.

She got away more than once. Changing homes while he was incarcerated and then hoping he came home different. Learning the hard way that he was the same and then repeating the process. 

In the early morning hours of Tuesday December 19, 2017 he came home from work early. She doesn't get beat this night. She births their son into his hands before the ambulance arrives to take them to the hospital. A half ounce shy of 10 lbs he is, with a perfect fat face and big old pudgy cheeks. A peaceful, happy little love. His big sisters come to visit. Momma is so full of love. But momma is scared to go home.

She wonders how long it will be until those hands that helped birth her son will strike her again and knock her down. She continues to run but he stalks her. He breaks into every house if he's not invited in. She fights him. She fights for her safety. She fights for her sanity. She fights for her peace. She fights for her children's home. And he fights her. He fights her fight right out of her. It doesn't matter how many hits she takes our how many times she swings. He bests her physical strength. Everytime. She can't beat him. But he can never break her spirit. She will be free.

But by the time she really gets away, really escapes, her son is almost two and she's nearly a ghost. To some she looks the same but the young woman that she once was is gone. In her place is a more volatile, more traumatized lunatic. Everytime she hears a creek in the house, a knock at the door, or someone near the porch her body goes into survival mode. PTSD exhausts her every bit of energy. She has no processing time... loud ruckus triggers her and before she even knows what she heard there's a violent, angry outburst of yelling and profanities.

Frankly, she's a sad mess and a shadow of a woman who once was. She's a broken woman. A parent with no collection of bonds creating even a semblance of community. And she saw it. And she felt it. She fell to her knees feeling it. There she lay, alone and shattered, battered and defeated. Imploding with grief and exploding with rage. Do tell, how much sanity is to be expected?

She often contemplated. A disassociating, half minded, perpetually exhausted, radioactive black-hole. Of a mother.

That was her children's village.

Her.

The dark times were dark. She watches as her trauma transcends into her children. She sees the fear in their eyes. She feels the hurt in their hearts. She feels absolutely helpless against her rage and trauma responses. She causes harm. 

And it destroys her.

Completely.

More time passes.

There isn't much left now. The rage that carried her through the abuse had poisoned her as a mother. The guilt of this, in time, nearly snuffs out all the rage. The PTSD heals some as well but as the physical symptoms heal the mental and emotional ones become more pronounced. It's been two years since she last saw the man that beat her. It's been two years since he was so intent on beating her he beat his own son too whom she held in her arms as she ran through the street not quick enough to get away. She hardly has the energy left to be furious at the fact that she's still such a mess. That she still doesn't have her shit together. That she still isn't successful. She often gets lost in her mind as she wonders what success is to her. What does it even mean for her to have her shit together? What the fuck does she have to do to not be such a mess? Her mind tires. 

Now all she thinks about is what she hasn't yet cleaned.

She continues on in a haze. She is grateful for every beautiful experience her children are blessed with as she tries not to focus on every way she is failing to provide such times. She was grateful for every weekend they spent with family and friends they don't often get to see and every meal shared with loved ones who live near and far. She was grateful for every fun day at school and night out at the movies. It broke her heart to be grateful when her children had a reprieve from her. She knew the mother her children deserved. She would often think about all the changes she knew she needed to make within herself in order to provide her children with that mother. She was well aware of how much work she still needed to do to complete that transformation as a parent and she was happy her babies got to experience joy with others while she was not in a position to provide them the same experiences. She still did not feel her children had a village raising them. She still felt it was her mess of a self and her alone. This made every adventure her children were given all the more special. And then the world shut down.

Along with almost everyone in the world the lives of three small children flip upside-down. They become isolated from school friends. They miss family they already saw less frequently than desired. They become stir crazy cooped up in the house. They need more than just mom.

She's barely functioning. The isolation and exhaustion are on the brink of breaking her once and for all. She can't take the failure any longer.

Her rage grows as she comes face to face with how short she falls from being what her children deserve in a caregiver, nurturer and protector. She crumbles. She retreats into herself. In the real world she is distracted at best. Distraught at worst.

While sunken within herself she notices how her daughters take their little brother up under their wing. At 7 and 8 they are experts at bowls of cereal, bags of popcorn and pb&j. They never fail to include their 3 year old baby brother in their snacks. She notices how they all play. Together. Creating games, playing with their toys and playing Roblox together. She notices they all like to get washed together so they can play in the tub after they're cleaned up in the shower. She notices her son's tendency to want to wake his sisters up as soon as his eyes open because he is ready to play. She watches as her daughters are a little grumpy and annoyed but they snuggle with their baby brother as they softly tell him to be quiet because they're still sleepy. She watches how they typically choose to sleep all together in what looks like a "sleep pile" that they thought was so funny when they saw it watching The Croods. She laughs to herself as she's looking at them crammed in one bunk of the triple bunk bed she put together for them. They're their own little village she thinks to herself with a smile. She's so grateful they have each other and she holds tight to this gratitude.

The eldest is the leader and sometimes she likes to show it. But moreso she is the nurturer and the teacher. She supports her sister when her sister is afraid of the dark or scared to be downstairs alone. She comforts her brother when he's sad about losing his toy or about hearing the word "bedtime." She advocates for them whenever she feels one sibling has wronged another and she guides the guilty parties to apologize. She is also an artist. Momma is amazed at how beautifully her daughter can draw and inspired by how passionate her daughter is about learning techniques to become better. She loves watching her baby draw as much as she loves hearing her baby sing. Babygirl has a beautiful voice and great taste in music. She is wise and intelligent beyond her years. This was very clear early on as babygirl was having full blown conversations with complete sentences and endless questions before she was two years old. Momma never wanted her babygirl to have a lonely moment in life and was so happy and excited when she became a big sister.

Sometimes she still feels a darkness and emptiness when she thinks about her middle baby being born alone and whisked away for hours while momma was asleep on the operating table. But she does not think her babygirl was scared. Oh no. She remembers the fearlessness her daughter displayed on jungle-gyms jumping from heights with no fear, no sense of the danger, and no concern for her safety. The only way Momma can explain a few of the instances she managed to catch her daughter in the last moments before disaster is a sixth sense. Mothers' intuition. Looking at just the right moment to run across the park in just enough time to catch her babygirl right before hitting the ground. From nearly 10 ft high. No. No fear in that one. No bull shit either. While her first born is social and wants to soothe her second born is not interested in new people and doesn't pretend to care. She enjoys playing on her own in her own little world just as much as she enjoys playing with kids she likes only inviting them into her world when she wants. Middle baby has a kind, inviting temperament and a cold and blunt one. The one you get is either how she feels in general at the time or it's just how she feels about you. No pretending how she really feels and no effort in cushioning a blow. She always keeps it real and she makes sure all those around her do as well.

Now baby boy is a wildcard. Sweet, soft, screaming and crazy. A crybaby for sure. One for the record books. Once the quietest and most peaceful newborn and infant he's seemingly been making up for lost time ever since. He loves running. Momma doesn't think he ever walked. He was ready to run around and chase his big sisters since the moment he started watching them play. He is very high energy. He is very highly emotional. He is a Momma's boy and a love bug. He is excitable and sensitive. He very loudly proclaims his objections to anything that deviates from his ideal. There are a lot of daily deviations from the ideal of a toddler. Cookies and chips aren't good for breakfast. Screen time cannot be every waking minute of one's life. Sleep is a necessary activity for humans to partake in everyday. And so is bathing. Momma and her daughters often have a good laugh while baby boy goes through his emotions. He's very smart so momma and his sisters talk to him explaining the need for healthy breakfasts, screentime breaks, the importance of naptime and getting washed. He has a habit of responding, conversationally, while mid-scream and mid-cry. Everyone but him finds it hilarious. "After your nap we can all have snacks, ok?" in screams bellowing from the pit of his soul, "WAA! OKAY! AHH! AFTER NAPS WE CAN HAVE SNACKS... UGH!" and then stomps with every bit of strength he has up the stairs before throwing himself into his bunk. But no outburst is over until after snuggles and calm talks about what happened. That's always been the family way.

She makes maybe more mistakes than most. But one thing she does is make sure she explains herself to her children. When she uses bad words or raises her voice she explains that she is wrong. She apologizes and tells her children no one in the world is allowed to talk to them like that not even Mommy. She tells them that Mommy has hurt in her and anger in her already and that her hurt and her anger are not because of them or directed towards them and that she is sorry her hurt and her anger pour out onto them at times. She explains that she is in the wrong. She acknowledges her harm and she asks for forgiveness. And they never fail to forgive her. They never fail to freely offer their love to her. Her children are so caring, compassionate, bright, understanding, full of life, teeming with personality and overflowing with love.

No matter the storm there is never a shortage of love and hugs once it passes.

Momma is there to comfort after a temper tantrum. Even when the temper tantrum is her own. After she owns her shit to her babies, of course.

One day it dawn's on Momma that her babies have always been there for her. To give her comfort. Everytime she feels low or has made a mistake. Even when the mistake is being unkind to them... They are always there... Ready for the snuggles that mark the end of the day's strife. Momma can't remember one day since giving birth that she hasn't received love from her children. She can't recall one time they hadn't forgiven her for not being enough or for all the times she was too much. Everyday of their lives they took all the love their mother could give. They took it with grace and with gratitude whether it was a lot or a little. Everyday of their lives they forgave their mother for every mistake, for every shortcoming and for every violation. Every morning they awoke and wanted to give love to their mom. Every morning was a new day. A new opportunity to love, to laugh, to play. Momma had been struggling for so long... Her whole life it felt like... She could never count all the days it was her that interrupted her children's peace. Nor could she count the times they awoke the next morning unfazed and ready to love her all over again.

How often does her children's kindness heal her hurt? How often does her children's forgiveness revive her hope? How often does her children's embrace give her life? How often does her children's love raise her to her feet?

Everyday.

She realized her children, in her despair and unpresentness had become a village of their own for each other. Giving each other the love, laughs and lessons their mother at times had been unable to provide.

She realized her children had become her village and they're raising themselves a mother.

Now a child with a village raising her, guiding her with love and forgiving her with grace, Momma sets out to find her community so she may maintain what's left of her that is sane.