A while ago, I wrote that I was focusing on finishing my novel this year. I’m happy to report that it’s coming along nicely, although still a long way from being ready.
In the story, one of the minor characters is a psychic, so when a friend said she was hosting a psychic at her house, I went along for a reading. Admittedly, I went under the guise of research, but to tell the truth, I was curious.
The psychic had lots of fun and interesting observations about me, including the pain in my knee that had begun that morning, my grandmother as my spirit guardian, and my past life as a female falconer. She also predicted that my creative work, long life, and financial fortune were all positively intertwined. This was just what I wanted to hear.
It got even more interesting when she colored my aura chart and included a large pointed triangle of pain/difficulty pointing directly at my ovaries. Given that my infertility is due to premature ovarian failure, you’ll understand why she suddenly had my attention.
So I was already looking to keep proving her right when she told me she saw in my future a cute little girl in shorts and socks, calling me Mom.
Even though I knew this wasn’t probable, I was surprised at the impact it had on me. Although biological children are out of the question, the possibility of being someone’s “Mom,” whether a legal adoptive mother, a guardian, or mom stand-in, are within the realm of possibility, if not the realm of probability. But that flicker of possibilities triggered a painful and unexpected pang of sadness.
Children came up again when the psychic read my cards, but I kept shaking my head and telling her it wasn’t possible. I told her then about my situation and that I had made peace with it and that I was okay. Finally, she said, “There are three aspects to healing: the head, the heart, and the soul. You may have resolved this in your head, logically, and may even be on your way to resolving it in your heart, but your soul doesn’t know it yet, and you need to resolve that, too.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about this idea and I’m starting to think she’s onto something. I definitely lead with my head. I think things through, rationalize, and apply logic. My head was definitely the first to come around to never having children. I am ok because I decided I had to be okay. My head went first and my heart followed slowly behind. But I’ve never given much thought to my soul.
There is a part of me that will always feel the loss of not having children. There’s an element of my spirit that longs to mother (ask my cat; she’ll vouch for that) and that part of me is often unfulfilled.
I’m not sure how to heal the soul aspect of this journey. Perhaps the souls of my children are out there and are longing equally for the mother they didn’t get to have. Maybe they’ll have to find other bodies to inhabit and perhaps we’ll meet at some point and I will mother them in some other way. I honestly have no idea, and I’m not sure if my belief system accepts this idea or can even choose to simply accept it as a way to help my soul find peace.
I know how to heal my heart with logic, and healing a heart is mostly a matter of time. But how do you heal a soul? If anyone knows, I’d love to hear.
By Kathleen Guthrie Woods
After telling a friend recently that I haven’t had an invitation to a baby shower in years, guess what popped into my inbox last week?
I love books. I love stepping into the world of a character and waiting to see what happens next and I also love reading non-fiction accounts of people whose lives aren’t like mine. But I also know the enormous value of reading someone else’s story or philosophy and being able to say, “You get me. You understand exactly how I feel.”
