Zephyr Mother

I was lucky enough to be raised by many of the goddesses themselves. My aunt Natalie, goddess of the earth, my aunt Jodie, goddess of the water, my aunt Ruth, goddess of reason, and my grandma Linda, goddess of compassion. While I cannot attribute my incredible childhood to one single individual, my mother not only created a perfect life for my sister and me but blew sunflower seeds onto the soil we grew out of, turning our faces to the sun.

Hauch. My mother’s maiden name, translated from German and meaning ‘wind’ or ‘zephyr - the gentle breeze’. When I was little my mother used to tell me that our ancestors were sailmakers, voyaging across the seas - the ones who mended the ghastly holes torn through the fabric by the wind’s fangs. But when I looked at my mother I failed to see a careful sailmaker or a gentle breeze. My mother, bold, brave and unfaltering could grip the shrieking wind by its ear and make it hear sense. She could rule the ferocious waves that clamored at the hull. She could move the tides to hasten their cycles and banish each ominous cloud from the sky. But she would not mend sails. If anything, my mother would command the very winds the ships sailed upon.

This is the most important lesson my mother taught me: that women, whether they be the sailmakers or the commanders, are capable of everything. The power of all the women who have written on the pages of my life rests in my belly today, making me unstoppable. My mother’s whispered words are like a mantra, you are powerful, you are intelligent, you are capable. As a young woman it was sometimes hard to believe these words. I felt small, inconsequential, as the earth continued to orbit the sun faster and faster without heeding my pleas. Feelings of inadequacy snuck into my room at night, writing nasty messages on my mirror and leaving the taste of hopelessness in my mouth. Fears began to slink out of my nightmares and into my everyday life. They hid behind my bedroom door and in my locker at school, biding their time, but I could feel their presence like humidity hanging around my shoulders. The challenges of young adulthood began to toss me about, like the wild winds did the seabound ships, and I would run to my mother. I begged her to grab the wind by its ear and make it hear sense. But she simply laughed, and told me that I was strong enough to calm any rough sea and to reason with the wind.

When presented with a challenge my mother bares her teeth at it and meets it head on, like she is leaning into a gale force wind. And over time, my mother has taught me to face my challenges and my fears, instead of always running for the comfort of her arms. Her hand in mine we stand, sizing up my opponent just as we used to size up the wind and the waves for body surfing at our family cottage each summer. Mothers are not simply supposed to steer our ships away from storms for us but instead are meant to teach us how to navigate through them on our own with courage. To realize my own strength has been the greatest lesson of my young life. And my mother taught me how to not only embrace my womanhood, from the supple curve of my chest to the power of my thighs, but also how to stand my ground against the wind and waves that sometimes threaten to topple me, before I steer myself into deeper, calmer waters.