I sent yesterday’s story to my mother, and there was a long space of time before she replied. At first I made that mean that perhaps she found something in my story offending in some way, so I reread it with her in mind, and found nothing. Then I made it mean that my story wasn’t good enough, or worth reading, and then I shut my head up and carried on with my day, forgetting that I’d sent it. Not long after I released my attachment to her response, I got one.
“Dearest H, thank you for sharing your heart with me, and I am so proud of the difficult inner work you are doing. My main thought is that you sell yourself short, ceding your very strong inner power to others (e.g. “The Universe”), rather than claiming your own authentic gifts. You are very special; I look forward to when you recognize and own Your self. With love, Mom”
I was a little busy when I first read her words and I responded saying “awe, what a nice thing to say...” but later when I really sat with her words, I cried. It wasn’t a sad cry, it was a I’m feeling some deep stuff cry, followed by a series of what ifs...
What if I claimed my authentic gifts?
What if I knew how special I was?
What if I let that knowing fully sink into how I thought and acted?
What if I owned my power rather than give it away to someone or something else?
I’m going to meditate on that today and see where I land in my stories tomorrow.