Shame, Fear and Music... (w/ an excerpt from my book!)

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When Shame Got Triggered

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I had to take a break from social media for the weekend. When I shared my story on the podcast, "This is Actually Happening", I was warned that negative, harsh feedback is common. I talked about this with my therapist and identified potential parts of my story that could be misunderstood. I didn't think it would bother me. I thought I had prepared for any potentially triggering comments on social media. I was not prepared.

I can be incredibly harsh on myself about my parenting abilities. I sometimes struggles to see my positives, but I know without a shadow of a doubt how fiercely I love my children. In my story, my focus is my healing and part of that is forgiving myself for my part of what my children went through.

There were comments that suggested that I refused to ever do the work with my children to heal our relationships or initiate professionally-based help for them. Some suggested that "as a therapist", I should have known better than to leave them with unaddressed trauma. Somehow that aspect of my life being discussed started a fiery rage in my heart. I cried. I raged. I messaged my therapist. And I wept again for any pain that my actions or decisions caused any of my children at any point in their lives. I wondered what I did right and wrong, what I could have done better. That's something that's been on my mind since day one of parenthood almost 27 years ago.

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About Being a Mom

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The following is taken from the chapter entitled, "Beautiful Boy", part of my book, "Unpacking Hawaii" that is in currently in editing with plans for release summer, 2025. I think it illustrates very well those "mom fears" that I've always grappled with.

"When Hunter was less than a month old, a tornado was headed right for our neighborhood. We lived in a two-bedroom mobile home that my parents had bought for us just before Hunter was born. The tornado sirens were blaring. That was the alert that all residents were to get to the underground shelter. The underground shelter was too far to walk to, and Jordan, Hunter's father, had been MIA with the car for the last 3 days. Golf ball sized hail was coming down and the wind was blowing harder than never seen or heard before. The trailer was literally rocking side to side. This was definitely not the kind of weather to bring a newborn out in, so I sat in the hallway of my trailer, cradling my tiny little baby boy, rocking, crying, praying that he wouldn’t get hurt, that we wouldn’t die. The trailer shook and rocked while hail pelted the metal sides and roof. It sounded like a train was going to crash into us. How would I keep this baby safe alive for the next 30 minutes, let alone 18 years? When everything finally settled, and the wind stopped blowing and the trailer stopped rocking, I sobbed. I looked down into Hunter’s big, hazel, all knowing eyes, eyes that looked at me like I was the most important person on the earth, eyes that looked up at me with the most innocently trusting love, eyes that believed I could do no wrong, eyes that saw his protector. Then I begged my little almost one-month-old baby boy to forgive me for what I bore him into, for the hardships that we had experienced already, this soon into his life.

When I became a parent, my biggest fear was always that I was going to wreck my children. I knew the importance of creating a safe, nurturing home for them and trying to keep them from experiencing some of the pain that I had endured as a child. That they would be “messed up” because of the choices that I made. I looked at little Hunter in his wooden cradle, the one that my grandpa made for me when I was born. I stared at his wise little eyes, eyes that bore the twinkle that made me know that he was an old soul. He looked like he knew more than he should, from the moment his beautiful eyes opened. I remember looking at him one morning when I had laid him down after holding him to my breast and feeding him. Like a plant, a pet, or any living thing the simple concept of “If I don’t feed it, it will die”, made my sense of responsibility even greater. My love for my son was so strong and I was terrified that I would fail as a parent. I brought him into this world in a less than perfect scenario. I didn’t know how to do this right.

I went on to make choices that were not in his best interest. I sometimes had put him in situations that turned out to be harmful and dangerous and not completely physically, mentally or emotionally safe for him. I didn’t keep him safe. I watched him get hurt. There were times that I did not put him first. None of this was done on purpose. Not one time. But I was still terrified I "wrecked him". Sometimes I still think I did, just a little. That he would be different, better somehow if he hadn’t gone through life enduring some of the pain that he was made to feel. Pain that I have believed was a result of the choices that I made. But he’s amazing. He really is. He’s handsome and talented and athletic and smart and independent and charismatic and he loves fiercely. He is beautiful. He is perfect. But he is wounded. He has demons. And I hate that for him. It’s something that I will continue to deal with and likely there will always be a part of me that feels that guilt and shame.

I was his first connection. Mine was the first heartbeat he heard; my voice, softly singing him to sleep while the old wooden rocking chair I sat in creaked in rhythm. The same rocking chair that my mama sat in while she nursed me and rocked me to sleep. I gave him comfort like no other could. The sound of gentle suckling and swallowing, the moaning and sighing and other little perfect sounds that a breastfeeding baby makes, I still believe it’s one of the most perfect sounds. His little eyes, sometimes only one, locked with yours, that little nose smashed in so tight that I wondered how he could possibly breathe. The little half smile that he would give me while he lay snuggled in my arms, not drinking any more, but not wanting to break our bond and unlatch from my breast. That connection was one that was like no other that I had ever experienced. Even now, if I close my eyes and imagine holding him, staring at his perfect, little face, I can still hear the sounds and see his little face. It’s a beautiful memory. Once upon a time, I was his definition of perfect, unconditional love.

I am haunted by the notion that there still exists a part of my sweet little boy that wonders why I didn’t protect him. That I didn’t demand that he be treated better. That I didn’t leave situations that were bad. That I always thought of him and his needs first, like a mom is supposed to do. I worry there will always be a part of him that hates me.

I feel like I’m going to be unpacking Hawaii for some time. My Island story is very different than Hunter’s. Mine is awful, devastating, heartbreaking and disgusting. But then I brought a child into the story, though. I realize there was no ill intent, that I wasn’t doing it knowingly, not attempting to wreck him. But yet there he was. And here we are. I hope our relationship continues to improve and that he finds ongoing healing and peace. I want him to know and be able to trust that his connection with his mama is safe again."

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Planning More Healing & About the Music...

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After spending time in contemplation about all things children-related for the weekend, then processing all of this with my therapist, I realized something. I was once told that anytime you get feedback and it stings, and you get immediately defensive, look for something that you resemble in there, just in case. And I did. And there is. And I am grateful for all feedback that I got, even some that was hard to read. There is more that I can do to aid in all of our healing journeys. I will do anything for my children and realize that healing is not linear for them, either, and if there is more to do, then I will do it.. That being said, I'm working on a plan for even more continued healing and growth. I'll share more about that as the plan evolves!

I added links to a few of the amazing songs that were part on my playlist tonight. I've recently discovered the magic of 8D audio!! I have ADHD and it was recommended to me...it feels like a massage for my brain (you HAVE to have headphones on, BTW!!) I always have music on and it's fun to share what's working for me. Let me know what music helps your brain focus and get creative!

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Sending Good Vibes!!

Naazh

*Disclaimer: I hereby declare that I do not own the rights to any of the music/songs on this page/site. All right belong to the owner. No Copyright Infringement Intended.