Your children are not your children
They are the sons and daughters of life's longing for itself
They come through you but not from you
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
The above shortened passage is from Lebanese artist, writer and poet Kahlil Gibran and his amazing book, The Prophet
When I first heard this passage I thought it far from the truth. How could our children not be ours? After all we carry them in our womb, birth then and nurture them until they are able to do so themselves.
But as my four children get older this passage has brought more meaning to me. I remember when I had all four of them under the age of eight, and thinking that I could not wait until they were older, because once they'd be older, surely it would be much easier! As they got older, they became more of who they are and very set in their ways, just like me. Now I long for the days I could just pick them up and plunk them in a chair, or dress them and get them into the car. I can no longer guarantee what time we will all be at school, and with four children I have learned that there is always someone who is ill or upset, someone who needs help with homework, someone who has outgrown imperative clothing or footwear, someone who is in trouble with some schoolwork or a friend, or someone who just needs a hug.
As they go into their teen years there are times that have been unbearable! I want to send them away, but I know I cannot.
Deep breathing and prayer, or a good rant has been my salvation; often not bringing too much success to the situation.
In particular, one of my daughters had an extremely challenging year recently.
As a single mom, you have little to depend on but yourself at the end of the day.
The courage and stamina it took to endure that year and survive was debilitating at times - to continue to love someone who was breaking out and away and against in any ways she knew how was one of the hardest things I have had to do as a mother. But to survive for her, and my others, is all I could do, and I am proud that we made it through that year, when the odds were against us. It is hard to keep the love and stand tall like a tree, planted solidly in the ground, offering your children shade and security, yet allowing them to find their own way to the light.
The following is something I wrote (my way of keeping my sanity) during that time. A time when my child seemed not my child, and I was often afraid, but inside all that drama she was still there, and I clung to that:
I still see YOU
I will hold your pain as it oozes from your screams
I will hold your hand while you give me all your blame
Twist your worries in those dreads, shield your view with smoke spirals
I still see you...
Tell them you love them, while you spit in our face
Run from us, yet demand our security
Know that you are loved, yet hurt the ones that love you most
Little girl, budding woman
Caught between worlds
Your freedom is what serves you, yet holds you in shackles
What can I do? How do I hold up?
To the pain of your prejudice
Like walking a land mine, with a parachute on my back
You are something and they see it
Your beauty, strength, brilliant mind
I wait for you to own your power
And be the goddess of goodness
A shining example, which is your destiny
But perhaps this is necessary
Clearing the cobwebs of your mind
Tasting the poison of your passion
Making a balance of days gone past
I pray your stillness come soon
That you find peace in patience
Brightness on the horizon of your mind
A desire to taste and become the goodness of human kind
Until then I will dodge your bullets
Continually open my arms to you
Give you a safe haven to rest
Be patient, time, time and time again
For you have come to me for a reason
The reason I am not sure
I will squelch the resentment and take this challenge
Because one day soon
The dust will settle, the storm will calm
Clarity will come, and all will be known
This time will be a small blip in eternity
And our minds will be eased, our hearts healed
This I know for sure...
And so our children are really participating in our lives, within their own lives. They have their own agenda, no matter how much we'd like to steer them. Finding that place to stand firm, yet allow them to be themselves can be difficult, but we are not alone. Sometimes coming closer to them, when you want to scream and run the other way is all that is needed. To love when you do not feel loved is hard, but as the parent, I believe we have that built in reserve...
About the author:
Robbin Whachell
has been a resident of Grand
Bahama since 1998.
She moved to Freeport from Vancouver, Canada.
She is the mother of four children and is an involved volunteer in the community, in particular with the YMCA.
She is a founding
member of the Grand Bahama Writer's Circle, and The Bahamas representative for the International Women's Writer's Guild. Her passion for life on Grand Bahama comes across in her innovative and intuitive sharing and networking of information within the community she lives.
She is appreciative of her opportunity to live in The Bahamas and looks forward to the continuance of being a team player within the community of Grand Bahama.
Robbin is the Editor of TheBahamasWeekly.com and can be reached at robbin@thebahamasweekly.com
