Be my crying man. Why women can change the world by giving the men they love and care for a safe space to cry

My husband and I are going through covid right now which makes us a lot more difficult to hold the normally already challenging equilibrium between caring for and dealing with our three teens. Yesterday evening my husband got really upset and argued with one of them (16).

Later I went to my kid’s room to check out how he was doing. I didn’t want him to end the day feeling miserable and alone.

“I know this all sucks and it must be difficult for you to have both your parents feeling so cranky and being so demanding on you and your brothers. I’m sorry you had an argument with dad.”, I said.

He looked at me, overflowed eyes, and almost desperate said: “Mom that’s right on the spot and thank you for caring but please get out right now, don’t see me cry. Get out! Get out!”

It shocked me. We’ve raised them being so open about emotions, so eager to validate them, so non judgemental about crying and still there he was, my adored young man, feeling endangered and encrypted in his need to shed some very well earned tears.

We are experiencing a very rare collective transformation. Many say we’re giving birth to an integral consciousness. It’s evolutionary, it’s universal and it follows the bonding pattern of love, integrating and transcending parts into a wider whole. To manage this we need a very specific skill set in all our lines of development. Up to here, K. Wilber guided me. From here onwards…

In my understanding women are in a key position right now. Why is it everybody seems to be saying, “the change we need to see in the world is upon women’s shoulders”? Even the Dalai Lama says that the world will be saved by women.

I think this is because we women, at least western women but probably it applies globally too, have been raised in cultures that carefully trained us through family settings and educational systems to be caring, collaborative, forgiving and loving and, at the same time, we were highly discouraged to take roles or attitudes regarding leading positions since early childhood.

While little boys were similarly intensely trained to be individualistic, control masters, competitive, fast and tough (please note I don’t say men are this and women that way or the other. I’m saying we were trained that way conscious or unconsciously, there’s lots of scientific evidence here: girl is praised and rewarded for being caring, boy for outstanding his peers. A strong willed girl is identified as bossy and the boy as holding leadership skills. Such strong stereotypes on both sides).

Now it turns out we’re birthing a new consciousness because survival depends upon it and this integral consciousness requires above all the skill to cope with collective uncertainty. For this we have to connect with each other in unknown ways in order to be able to reach massive creativity and resilience levels capable of turning the increasingly perplexing major challenges into fertile fields for a bright future. This requires cooperation, ambiguity tolerance and team work.

Guess who’s standing better on her two feet to surf the gigantic wave? You’re right. Women.

It’s on our side. Which doesn’t mean that we’re better or anything in the like. It just means we were handed (and neuro-crafted) with the essential tools to adequately respond to the actual state of affairs. We were trained to be vulnerable, we were told we cry, we were shown in how many ways we’re the soft gender. Whether we accredited or fought against the mandate, it was there. That’s why our men count on us now. They need us to open dialogues around “how the hell you stay physiologically regulated when you are crying”. Gosh if there were a University teaching this I could lecture on the subject for hours. I hold a master in crying.

We’ve practiced a lot as girls. Many of us still do. I mean if I don’t cry in a full lunar month I start worrying. That’s how we learned to be able to cry and feel safe at the same time. We know how to stay connected inwards and with our surroundings not only while crying but by it.

Boys were not given the chance. They had to push their precious natural gift of vulnerability deep deep down out of their own reach. Now is the time for men to take their deepest breath, dive till the ground bottom and recover their tears trapped in a seashell. They’ll discover they’ve turned into pearls. And we women will know it because we’ll be there as their midwives. It’s on our shoulders but not in the heavy sense of bearing the weight. It’s offering ourselves just to listen and connect instead of fixing, a paused hand to caress his heavy head, a calm chest for his unsettled heart.

Come men of our world, come no matter your age, let’s cry together.
And then laugh together.
And then be silent all on our own.
And don’t worry.
Claim your tearful heritage of vulnerability. ‘Cause you still will be allowed to enjoy the competition, but knowing your belonging and worthiness are not cast by the results. Come, cry, experience the difference between game and free play maybe for the first time. And enjoy both; it’s integrating and transcending, remember.
Above all, come. Let your cascading river be with us. Come and understand. Get it first hand. Your tears are safe on this side of your eyes. Crying does not define who you are. You won’t lose your sense of self ever again.
You belong to us and we need you whole.
You are worth and lovable, no matter what.
You may ask me, “ok, I cry, then what?”
Cause you and I know this is not the end of the line, of course it’s not. But this might be the drop that fills the Holy Grail, the first step guiding you right to the entrance where your Self abides.
For now, I’ll wait and be sad.
‘Cause I couldn’t listen to my child’s cry, I couldn’t hold, my hand fell empty, my shoulder light. My child wouldn’t… But I trust him, he’ll find a path. May my writing be an open portal for my young man to be safe. Be safe my baby and please oh please and please come and cry.

Playfully. InNaPoWriMo Day 3

music dwarfAn imaginary poem on your biscuit

I read to you today.

Playfully…

Surprised your heart

a smile gave birth.

Twinkling eyes, curly hair

thought for a while

looking far away.

Then your light and mine

into our eyes simply met…

“The biscuit sounds, you said

the music dwarf is there”.

Oh tiny child, oh babe

just 30 months from birth away!

Surprised my heart,

a smile gave birth.

An imaginary poem on my memory

you drew for me today.

Playfully…

 

 

 

One doubt… here comes the sun

We are in the car, the 5 of us.

My husband and I are in a bad mood, it is late and we have to do a lot of errands.

Kids bear with us.

There is 90% possibilities of emotional storm in our family weather forecast.

Suddenly, from the back a little voice arrives (the very same that was mentioned here).

– I have one doubt, is it possible for a kid to be allergic to adults?

The sky clears all of a sudden. The sun shines bright within the car.

Impossible not to laugh.

P1130568

Maternity: fading beauty, eternally mine. (or why my boys wear flower crowns and feel proud).

A paper moon, a fading sky.

Evanescent daylight.

Stilled mind opens the gap for a flower hunt.

moon in the kitchen sky
Accomplished the task, hidden mischief, back home we are.

Now scattered perfumes, melted beauty fills the kitchen´s heart.

Nature´s palette embellishing the table of the newborn night.

Also scissors, tape, cardboard (recycled pizza boxes, actually… pizza always inspired us).

natures pallette

In and out flows our breath.

Harmonious creativity, a silent path.

Suddenly the surprise.

Oh my!
A little king emerges,
precious nature’s jewels adorning his inner sky!

the flower jewel

– I love you mom, his petal whispers fall into the fountain of my heart.

A new day arrives, get the camera, go outside.
Catch the best of morning light.

Apples, cheese and bread.

A royal breakfast, pure simplicity.

Three little kings sit and chit-chat.

So young, so proud.

Fulfilled, satisfied, I wear my crown.

Ripe dream, let me be a queen.

– Here son, take a picture of mine.

I extend the camera to the older child.

He takes his time, presses the shooter, shows me his art.

There´s no queen to be seen.

That´s only me, a simple smiling mom.

the mother queen

His focus is in my eyes.

– How I love you son, whispering petals fall into the fountain in his heart…

Now, could you let me see a picture of me wearing the crown?

Click.

– There you are, mom.  the queen´s crown

About falling down and getting hurt as an adult, as an infant. A not so far experience.

escalon colectivo
I am ok now. My right leg must be kept high for one more week, nothing to worry about. But a lot to learn from.

It was Saturday morning and my husband had gone to work to the Capital City driving our car. (We are a one car family – which is great because we were a no car family for some time and it gets tough to move around with three kids).
Anyhow, I had no car and around 10 AM my PC collapsed. I thought it could be easily repaired so I went to our local commercial center by bus. Two kids and the big PC case came with me. When I was stepping down from the bus, the big case covered my visual field, the floor was not flat, my ankle twisted and I fell down crashing the other leg knee strongly against the floor. Many buses in Argentina do have really stiff climbing steps so I fell down from a considerable height. (The upper photo shows it clearly). parada colectivo

subiendo bondi

The only thing I knew was I was suffering a tremendous pain in both my legs.

In the meanwhile, the PC case flew in the air banging against the sidewalk.
The bus dirver did not move.
My kids stepped down after me.
The little one was crying.
The bus supervisor started arguing with a lady passenger.
Two really big guys held me from both sides trying to set me on my feet.

I wished I were alone, nobody around me, to suffer my pain in peace. But I had to react and respond, speak and set limits, protect and comfort.

– Don´t pull me up, was the first I could say. I cannot stand.

– You two, stop arguing. (Their emotional energy was pouring over my head and it really disturbed me).

– Little one, come here. Mama got hurt but I will be ok. Sit on my lap.

It demanded me so much energy, so much experience, so much love to say those three sentences under those circumstances!

Slowly pain decreased, my good friend Irene picked me up, brought me home, placed a bandage and arnica cream on the swelled foot.

Time and patience did the rest.

I am ok now, just the right ankle must rest high for some more days and my mother / teacher heart must remember.

Remember.

My own children and my little students.

The youngest are 18 months, 2 and 3 years old. The more they learned to move independently and the more they grew in a safe caring environment, the less they get hurt or fall down. But still they go through this experience quite more often than we adults do.

Here and then they have an accident. And once and again it hurts.

What happens when a toddler falls down?

Does anyone wait for a child to overcome pain, comforting and allowing him or her to stay where he or she fell down as long as needed?

Do parents argue instead of assisting and comforting the hurt child? (“Where where you? Why did you let him fall?”… I have seen many parents fighting out of fear, their emotions set in the first place overwhelming the already stressed child).

Do infants have to “care” for the adult´s feelings?

A week later my little students came back to play. I told them what happened in a serene way, using few words, sharing my life with them.

Amber (2) pulled up her trouser and showed me her knee wound. She understood me well.

Benjamin (18mo) said “PUM!” and held his forehead adding sorround sound to my story.

Big Bus, commented Mily offering a sense of size.

Martin (20mo) went to his mom and retold her the story. He broadcasted the experience to the general public.

Sophie said: “wate, wate”.
– Are still you thirsty?
– Yes, she answered.

Mily had left the table to pick a soft ball next to Martin who already played with a transparent jar.

Life went on.

I poured a little water in Sophie´s glass and gratitude expanded within myself.

Feeling understood is such a wonderful experience…

And they understood me so well… They really did.

“Madge and her Magic”. What Magda Gerber has done for me (and other grown-ups).

You can stay at the shore, denying pearls exist.
Or you can dive into the sea, and find out the truth.

magda gerber

I admit I am a passionate woman and this is a passionate post. A post about a woman who turned to be an amazing friend although I didn´t get the chance to meet her in person. A post about the journey I started guided by her words. And about my gratitude for what I found following her path.

I met her around 4 years ago. Our encounter started softly, as a shy relationship. Somehow I came across her name… I don´t know how it happened nor when I read about her  for the first time. Never mind. The fact is it happened.

Magda Gerber, a Hungarian infant specialist came into my life. And changed me. As a mother, as a wife, as an educationist, as a parent advisor, as a human being.

In my working space I offer playgroups for babies and infants based on the free education movement. I particularly base my work on the research conducted by Dr. Emmi Pikler and the parenting philosophy provided by Magda Gerber at RIE.

Even when the playgroups are oriented to babies and infants, I notice a clear need in parents for guidance and help.

“How do you do it?”, they ask me. “You are respectful and loving. You don´t shout, you don´t scold, you don´t neither punish nor lose your temper at ANY time and toddlers play in such a self-regulated and harmonious way!”

They believe I am a magician (lol!). Just imagine… some hocus pocus here, some fairy dust there and, voilá! A peaceful active and engaged toddler playgroup emerges. But I know nothing about magic (ups!). Sorry to confess that. My only secret is this: I took to heart the treasure that Magda Gerber has left in her Educaring approach.

When I first read Magda Gerber, something deep within told me it was a great discovery. I didn´t have the need for further research to support what I found. None could have been better than my own, clear, intense and heartfelt understanding: her vision is TRUE. Or even better: her vision offered me a link to my inner TRUTH.

It is not about a theory. It´s about life expanding under a new light.

In my work field I have observed how much guilt parents feel when they cannot strictly follow this or that theory they´ve been recommended as the best one for rearing their babies, which is a real pity because guilt deprives parenting from the joy of being intuitional and respectful to oneself (and therefore to the rest of the world, starting with our babies).

In some cases, intelligent, loving parents even put their babies into real danger (physical danger I mean, such as driving with a baby on the lap or carrying a baby while dealing with boiling water on a stove) because they cannot stand hearing them cry. They know  they are doing wrong, still they  feel lost. When they ask me for help, we have noticed that having read about attachment parenting and brain damage caused by intense crying was a main influence on their risky decision.

Of course, sleep and limits are also always present in my playgroups parent´s agenda. In an endless insomniac chain of desperate days they have read all what they found on the topic and have tried a bunch of methods. Even when they really want it (and need it), still they can´t put their toddlers to sleep in their own beds and they feel  lost in the quicksand of confusion when facing their children´s need for limits.

Since they trust me, they tend to ask for help (they still think I have some magic powder somewhere – I have none, I insist). When I listen to their questions, I tune in. I check my own experiences. I accept them, share them and let them go. Then I connect: what would Magda have answered? God! I don´t know! So I wait… And trust…

I let her words come to me. What did she say related to the particular issue? That´s the lifesaving device that always helps. Parents start nodding in acknowledgment. They get touched. Usually this is enough for them to find their own way through. They start verbalizing themselves their own answers! And I feel a tremendous gratitude.

Differently from other theories, Gerber offers a philosophy, a way of questioning, understanding and interpreting infant education. If you just analyze it from “outside”, without testing it, you may criticize many topics, especially if they are taken out of context (such as misinterpreting “not immediately picking up a crying baby” as “abandonment”, or “not carrying babies” as “underestimating skin to skin contact”).

Accessing to a knowledge that points beyond the regular social standards  tends to be generally criticized, because it won´t fit into social accepted ideas of what is Truth. If you stay in that realm, you´d probably find lots of reasonable arguments to judge her approach and even think her philosophy is “outdated”, old-fashioned… as some people do say.

I´m convinced this is simple vain talk, just as staying in the shore, denying the existence of pearls. She was way advanced in the front line of humane vanguard.

But if you dive into Gerber´s vision, if you test it and get really soaked with its principles, that´s quite a different experience. Being it so wonderful, why is not everyone joining in, then?

I guess the hard part of Magda Gerber´s approach is that we, adults, need to reteach ourselves. At least this is what her magic guided me to 

  • relearn how to WAIT for life´s perfect timing, instead of pressuring into it,
  • relearn how to RESPECT in a deep humane way beyond stereotypes and age gaps,
  • relearn how to ACKNOWLEDGE and ACCEPT .

Imagine a world ruled under these statements. If we are in any way expanding into an evolutionary process, I would sow for a future guided by these principles. I cannot think of a better way to define LOVE.

She saw that future. She found the pathway to a better world by respecting life from the very beginning.

She did it for babies.

She did it for us.

So the other day, when my heart jumped in joy (one more time) while observing and working with peaceful, happy babies, toddlers and parents I could only say: Hey! There was some magic here after all, but it is not mine… it belongs to her.

Thank you Magda! May this be my humble tribute to you.

Tech Free Tree Fest (read this out loud and quick if you´re looking for a tongue-twister. For a nature love story read the post to the end).

We are back in town after a long stay in the countryside.

Those 4 months were intense, beautiful and tech free! We didn´t even have an oven, so we became experts in baking bread and cookies in the pan! Anyhow, this post is not about emergency cooking recipies, therefore you got my in-law (don´t miss her cooking blog). It´s not about countryside photography either, therefore you got my mom (her photo blog is beautiful).

This humble post is about what I could see from my kitchen window, beyond the house limits, in a world where kids had no TV, no internet, no phone, no mobile, no playstation… A tech free playful life! More specifically, this post is about how my kids rediscovered, enjoyed and loved trees.

It took them some time to realize trees were something they could interact with. The first weeks they explored the surroundings wanting to do the usual things they were used to: they asked us to take them to the playground and wanted to ride their bikes and skates on the road side (actually on the road, there was no “side” at all, but no traffic either).

It surprised me how many scrapes, minor cuts and bruises they collected in their feet and legs during this period. This brought me to think they were “city” kids, who never had a true extended opportunity to roam around freely, barefooted, without my constant warning advises behind. I trusted them, though. So I resisted the temptation to confine them into the house and they quickly developed the necessary skills to keep themselves safe during their games.

Slowly, they stopped asking for a daily visit to the playground and they started to realize there was a great world of play opportunities all around them, in front of their eyes. First thing they noticed was they could climb a big bush which they named “The Fat Sumo”. They literally went into the bush, took position on different branches and started moving them as the arms, legs and head of a big fat sumo wrestler.

Fat Sumo Wrestler (the bush, not the boy!)

It took three to four kids to complete the task and they spent hours and days repeating the game. Unfortunately the bush was not used to such high risk experiences and its left arm-branch broke. So we kindly invited them to explore real trees to climb and play with, remembering them trees are living creatures too.

From then on they chose a Weepping Willow as a King´s Court (throne included), a Shade Tree became a swing and a riding horse and some sort of Medlar was transformed into a den wherefrom some “fruit munitions” flew into the open field (some reached me and let me tell you the word munition applies perfectly well here). Finally, a beautiful Sweetgum in its Fall dress became the Everest, but only the older child in the troupe made it to the summit.

They didn´t left behind any tree to explore and play with. But the old grumpy Chestnut. It was that time in the year when the tree drops it´s distinctive spiny fruit shells  to the ground… did I mention kids were barefooted all day long? One or two stings were enough to establish safe zone limits.

So there it was, as a Selfish Chestnut Giant, standing alone, sorrounded by it´s own natural barrier, keeping kids at a distance. But as Oscar Wilde knew (and we parents all know) kids are not easily discouraged, specially when it comes about limits. Actually, kids love barriers… just to be able to cross them and see what´s up on the other side. And this is precisely what happened.

Slowly, very slowly, autumn neared winter and the good old Chestnut tree run out of its porcupine like little bombs and the field was cleared. Our gardener helped a lot, ignorant of the love battle that was going on he did score the final goal kids needed to win the game.

Helpless and naked, the tree surrendered. For good.

It became the most adored, trusted and cared for tree in the world. In my kids world at least. They lived great adventures around it and asked me to read them fun stories while sitting on its bare branches.

Finally, one sunny autumn afternoon it became the most fashionable spiritual Grandpa Tree there has been. Kids had organized a fest in its honor. They decorated the branches with silk wool and polyester wadding, wrote little love letters to hung on the threads, made invitations for neighbors, created tree masks and prepared fresh lemonade for everyone (I did help a bit with the little boy´s mask and cutting the lemons into halves). The lady opposite our home brought a copper inverted pyramid containing dry dung, rice and clarified butter (ghee) and offered us to burn a small fire praying for the healing of the Earth. She explained this was called HOMA Therapy.  We accepted.

So there we were, experiencing joy, unity and peace, praying for the healing of the Earth under the Great Tree our kids learned to conquer…

Recalling the whole experience I don´t feel anymore like advocating for the importance of playing in nature which was my first idea when I started writing this post. I don´t know you, but what my heart is whispering into my mind right now is a simple question: am I ready to release my well fostered ill-feelings towards thorny life experiences? Are you ready? I hope we all are. A true natural love story might be waiting behind.

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Excuse my English. It´s a sequel of British Colonies and other mixed spices.

Ah, Literature! A round trip to the heart.

I´m reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.

My good friend Irene lend me the book insisting I was going to stay awake till 3 am reading and warned my husband to be patient if I woke him up with my laughter.

So I grabbed the book and started reading, knowing in advance that such recommendations tend to overload expectations and you end up a bit disappointed with the real thing (this happens with movies too, have you noticed?). The thing is the book made me feel uncomfortable in the beginning when she starts crying in her bathroom confessing to herself a tough truth: “I don´t want to be married anymore”. Hum! I didn´t like this.

“The author is just like you, your lives are so similar and you even look alike”, Irene had said.

“I cannot relate to that”, I thought after reading Gilbert´s drama in the toilet. I do want to be married, I love my husband and the family we have together is a long cherished dream come true. And my husband loves me too. I know it for many reasons. Right now he´s at the supermarket with the three boys so I have some time for myself. And let me tell you three kids (the oldest is only eight) are a lot in a supermarket when you are trying to check your shopping list and keep your toddler in sight at the same time, while you explain the glutton preschooler he should remove that huge Kinder Surprise box from the cart.

Back to the book, the divorce thing in my novel was quite depressing. So I put it aside for a few days, until my inborn curiosity started wondering how Elizabeth Gilbert´s story went on. But now I had a new impediment: Eat, Pray, Love was missing in action. It wasn´t on my bedside anymore. Not much research was needed to find out where it went and why my husband was looking so sleepy. He had been reading the book, staying awake till late the last three nights.

“I´m almost in India”, he says. “I think this is a light book written for women”, he adds while he keeps on reading.

I´m delighted. He doesn´t read novels. He´s a musician and the only thing I´ve seen him reading apart from scores are sacred texts about spirituality. This is the first time after 10 years marriage I see him reading this way, just for fun, “a light book written for women”.

I have to catch up with him, I think. I´m still in the swamps of Gilbert´s divorce and he´s in rural India already, praying, loving, eating. So I take the book with me to the WC. This is not nice to say, but I confess is the safest place in my home to be alone and get a good read. (I agree with the author: bathrooms are very important in people´s emotional lives).

I go through Italy chapters as fast as I can, devouring pages as if they were Napolitan Pizzas.  I´ve been to Italy but it´s not my favorite target for holidays. It is beautiful, yes. But I believe there´s no other city in the world that feels more like Buenos Aires than Rome. Drivers bang their horns the millisecond after the traffic light changed to green, it feels like chaos, people talk really loud and lovers are all around twisting into each other publicly, kissing and fussing each other´s hair. Italy chapters made me feel at home rather than on vacation. And when I read “a light novel for women” I search some sort of mental vacation. That´s the reason why I would have left the book aside completely if my husband would not have been reading it too.

Finally after a few weeks I reached India. Yes, it took me two weeks! I´m not good at “stay awake to read and laugh” as Irene thought. Actually I´m not good for anything at night, except for sleeping which I do quite well.

Ah, India! I arrived! And I´m hoping to find my husband there… oh no! He has already left to Indonesia, the last chapter in the book, which he insists is the best of all. So I´ll have to continue reading.

But for now I´m still here and I feel overwhelmed by memories. I lived in India for more than two years in an ashram. And I would go back every time I could. India and cats have this in common: people love them or hate them. I´m the kind of person that loves India and hates cats. Probably that´s why my English got strongly influenced by the typical Indian accent, emphasis and lilt.

Just wait to see me talking, shaking my head towards the shoulders drawing little circles in the air while I let English words flow on the Telugu cadence. India is one of the most populated countries in the world and without having a look at statistics I guess that this lovely, expressive, poetic and sometimes disrespectful English might be the most spoken version of the language.

I didn´t realize my style was so much influenced by Indian English until Tulsi came into the Eat, Pray, Love scene. She is the Indian teenager that mops the temple floor next to Liz Gilbert and chats with her in “the kind of English you can find only in India -which includes such colonial words as splendid! and nonsense! and sometimes produces eloquent sentences like: It is beneficial to walk on the grass in the morning when the dew has already been accumulated, for it lowers naturally and pleasantly the body’s temperature. ”

FINALLY I know why I speak English as I do, combining all kinds of expressions and words in such a particular way. I´m never sure they´re just right. But I won´t worry any longer about it. It´s not completely my fault. Actually, British expansionism is responsible for that (too), you see?

So, please, be patient with me and keep on reading my posts even if you find auquard sentences and weird ways of expressing ideas. In fact, I´m quite sure excusing my English is much better than excusing my French!

Enough for now, I have to rush. My husband is in Bali already and I´ve heard everyone smiles a lot there. I must definitely catch up with him and bring him back to Argentina safely.

By the way, did I mention I met my husband in India? I must confess not only my English gained new flavors there!

From Deer to Lioness to Human. A mother´s search.

Last week I wrote a post about my learning process in parenting, renouncing perfection and accepting myself to be as simple and common as a mother can be. (you can find it here).

That article was not easy to write. Not for me.

While I wrote it I had flashes of my whole life: my story as a child, my daydreaming teenage, my spiritual search and my professional experience as educator. Somehow I had convinced myself I was going to be a “superior mother”, just wonderful, perfect in almost every way (some sort of Mary Poppins idealist). These ideas fell apart when motherhood showed me I still had so much more to learn, so much more to love and respect.

When I was young I compared myself to a deer. I can remember closing my eyes and feeling without doubt I was like a deer: calm, soft, delicate. And I thought this personality would stay forever.

But when we came back home with our sweet, beautiful, adorable newborn baby, a friend of us came to visit and I greeted him exultant, telling him I had become a lioness. This statement surprised me. I did not think about what I was saying, it just jumped out of my mouth. Sure enough, I was feeling a proud queen wanting to sleep all day with my puppy on my chest, ready to give my life to protect him. I could not think of a better comparison. The “lioness” had come to stay. There was no trace of the fearful deer I had once been. Now I was standing on the other side of the street.

Finally, as years went by I discovered being lioness is not the best thing for a human mother, not for me at least. It can lead you to indulge into some temperamental explotions no one wants and particularly not children.

Coincidently, this week I found there was a massive discussion around Amy Chua´s article in Wall Street Journal: “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior”, an essay excerpted from her book Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. (I hadn´t heard about this until I read this post at Not Just Cute´s blog, which is worth reading).

I won´t join the discussion about what Chua wrote in the WSJ though I could hardly finish reading her words. More than 7300 comments should have covered enough variety of thoughts, pros and cons. I understand the reasons for this social phenomena are way more complicated and profound than what it looks like at first sight but that´s not my point here. (There must be tons of posts considering this issue. I only read a few. In case you are wondering, the one I liked the most was:Superior parenting? That´s crazy talk. Children need only three things” by Ric Ackerly.)

The only thing I want to mention is the fact that she also compares motherhood to an animal. And for some inexplicable reason this helped me to complete a life circle, something I was really needing these days. Suddenly I understood I´m not the lioness anymore: I don´t want to be it.

Indeed, what I want for myself, for my little boys, for my husband, for our community and for the world at large is to be the only thing which can possibly make sense for me now: a human being. A real human being, not an animal like one. Because I firmly believe the main characteristic of human beings is being humane. No deer. No lioness. No tiger, thank you very much.

On my scale of values, my children will be successful in life if they can unfold their true potential, revealing in thought, word and deed how humane they can be. And what´s best than having a humane mother to get inspired?

I´m determined to fight for that.

Just one more thing: if you identify with any of the things I wrote here, you might be interested in reading this guest post by Suchanda froma Mama Eve at Janet Lansbury´s site: Breaking an abusive cycle through AP and RIE.