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Breaking Down “The Mother Wound”

Hello, my name is April Nichole & I have a mother wound.

I’ve had one since day one. Literally.

My mother found out she was pregnant with me when my older brother was 3 months old and tried her hardest to terminate me. However, every attempt wasn’t a success and she ended up having me. I found out this year that she was put on bedrest and had her cervix stitched to hold me.

My father was in rehab her entire pregnancy. According to her, she found out about his drug use right before she found out she was pregnant with me-thus her decision to abort me. “It wasn’t personal Nichole”, she’d say, “I just wanted to get away from him and divorce him-NOT have another child with him. You understand right?”

Did I also mention that I knew this story about being unwanted by the time I was 4 years old?

Did I mention it was my brother who told me (and how the fuck did his 5 year old ass know)?

Did I mention he taunted me about it to no end and my mother NEVER corrected him or disciplined him for it (oh but my older sisters got in that ass-and I did too later once I had enough and learned how to beat his punk ass)?

Anyhoo, my mother gave birth to me and the day we came home from the hospital, my mother had to be readmitted to the same hospital due to an infection (they didn’t get all of my placenta out of her) and would from there go on to be hospitalized in a psych ward. Clearly postpartum and bipolar disorder aren’t a good mix coupled with having 4 other childen at home and a hubby in rehab.

I spent the first few months of my life in the care of my nanny. As a baby, I never bonded with my mother and what was the use? She didn’t want me anyway. Then once my parents split for good when I was 3, my mom checked out. That’s when my sister Kimmie (who was only 15 years older than me) stepped in. I shuffled back and forth between my sister and my nanny until my nanny died. I was 9 years old. My mother was out living her best life in Houston without a care in the world about her two youngest children. Although she wasn’t present, she always made sure we were provided for. She sent us the best of everything and we never wanted for anything-just her.

When she returned to bring us back in her care after my nanny’s funeral, I was so happy. I was finally going to get to have my mom to myself. I had missed her so much and was tired of writing her letters. I was finally going to have a mom just like all my classmates at school and they could finally stop teasing me about not having one. I imagined my mom to be so happy to be coming home to her babies.

Chileeeeee. My naive 9 year old ass was dead ass wrong. Instead of experiencing a happy mom running through the airport with her arms stretched open for me, I experienced an upset and bitter woman angry that she had to leave her posh life in Houston to be dragged back into motherhood with her last two children who were the walking memoirs of her failed marriage. The nurturing, patient, and loving mom that I thought I was going to receive turned out to be an angry and very selfish woman who didn’t have the time or patience for me. Then add the fact that she preferred my brother (the only boy of her 5 children) over me.

My childhood was spent staying out of my mother’s way. She kept us in extracurricular activities and my schedule was always full. Even in the summer when she sent us to away camps. It was like she was saying: “Yeah I might have had to return to DC, but I still ain’t raising nobody“. To be honest, I preferred it this way too. I didn’t like the bipolar lunatic that I was now forced to live with and protect myself from. I gladly stayed the fuck out of the house. The library and neighboring Rock Creek Park were my refuges. I’d stay out until the library closed at 9pm. Then I’d painfully make my way home, unsure of what mood my mom would be in when I got home.

”Will this be a manic day and she’s happy? Or will she rage?

”Will this be a low day and she’s depressed?” These would be the questions I’d ask myself on the way home. Sometimes I wouldn’t even go home. I’d go to Kimmie‘s house and stay there. By the time I was 13, I was living with my sister full time and so happy. 4 years later, I’d be out the house and on my own.

Looking back on the early part of my life, I can see the true magnitude of my mother wound. I never had a chance. So much was stolen from me by it. I can see how it not only affected me as a child but also an adult. It’s the main reason I love being by myself-I’m used to only having my own company and only having to worry about myself . I allowed women in my life as friends who acted just like my mom. I can see why I lacked emotional maturity and an ability to be soft. I’ve even told my mother that she stole my femininity away from me.

But the silver lining was that I could steal it the fuck back by healing my mother wound. Healing my mother wound, softening, and stepping into my divine feminine has allowed me to heal and foster an awesome relationship with my inner child. In all the ways that my mother failed me, I have exonerated me. In all the ways that she has wounded me, I have healed me. My mother wound has shown me just how magical I am. It has also motivated me to break the generational curse of its presence in my bloodline.

My mother has a mother wound from her mother, who has a mother wound from her mother, and so on. This is also the reason why I was TERRIFIED to have a girl and was so glad Kingston turned out to be a boy. I didn’t want the same relationship with my daughter that my mother had with me and so on.

15 years into motherhood myself and I see just how much my mothering differs from hers. I see just how capable I am to foster a loving and nurturing relationship with my son in ways that my mother could not with me. I couldn’t imagine not wanting my son. I couldn’t imagine being ok with not seeing my child for years, months, or even days. I couldn’t imagine raising my child any way like how how I was raised. I couldn’t imagine being comfortable with having others raise my child and I damn sure made it my mission not to even put the burden on him to help me raise his younger siblings like my mom did with my older sisters. I take my baby with me everywhere. I include him in everything. My mother even tells me that experiencing me mother my son is also healing for her because I am patient, loving, and understanding with him in ways that she wishes her mother was with her (both she and my son are Geminis). It’s crazy because I feel those same sentiments about her with me that she feels about her mother with her. The difference between the two of us is I was strong enough to do something about it and say: This shit ends with me.

Do you think you have a mother wound? Here are a few dope articles that go in depth about signs, how it manifests and what you can do about it:

Also, here are some links to chime music and guided meditation that I use when meditating and sleeping to heal my inner child:

Guided meditation

Healing chime music

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