Another horrifying video of the forced starvation being inflicted on the Palestinian people in the Gaza Strip was lying in my scroll feed for me to watch one Pisces moon Saturday evening.
It made provoked two memories for me, which I initially thought were unrelated but soon discovered were intrinsically linked. The first was the memory and shame I have of starving myself at ages 13 through 16, and the perceived helplessness I acquired as a result, pretty doggedly in tandem. This erred helplessness, or depression, as I think it might be clinically referred to, was a reaction to my inability to stand up to the voice of tyranny inside my head. I didn’t realise until many years of bargaining, cooperating or painfully rebelling against that voice that my real work, was to embody a much softer, stronger, safer and wiser voice that knew how to fight off bullies like that.
My Mum, bless her heart, and much to my protest, dragged me to every dietician, counsellor and psychologist she could to try and pull me out of my distress. She couldn’t bear to witness such immense war between her daughter’s mind and body, that harboured such conflicting messaging. My journey since that time has been slowly needling my way back to an inner seat of authority in my life, through the many twists and turns of precarious circumstances.
My Mother devoted her life to being the best stay at home mum and wife she possibly could, enacting love in her actions, as only a good Venus in Virgo gal can. She is the eternal volunteer, the endless child carer, the constant meal cooker, always for our family of course but particularly for those in times of need. She always did it with a smile and in style, quoting a good lipstick and a great pair of shoes to be her personal secret weapons.
My Mum isn”t one to mull over things lightly and when asked about her purpose in life, she told me recently that she has come to define it as “being on call for God.” “Jesus is my motivator!” She proudly states. The compass and anchor for all the destinations in her heart. My Mother is a passionate warrior for justice, who demonstrated to us, no less and thence to the rest of the world, that change takes place in the smallest of gestures, the slight tweak of a routine, the gentle probe of an existing belief system. She demonstrated the antidote to helplessness, by being a sacred servant of a mission that holds hope, love and equality, a world she is convicted to believe can exist, if people could only embody her “there’s always room for one more!” mentality.
So now, when that old, very familiar feeling of helplessness in the face of tyranny arises within me, which on any given day can manifest as any emotion ranging from rage to hopelessness, I can’t help but to think of my Mum, always at the ready, with a smile and the willingness to have an interesting conversation, to be on call, malleable with a balance of pride and humility, for whoever crosses her path that particular day.