With Mother’s Day recently passed and Father’s Day quickly approaching, I feel compelled to write about my experience of navigating through parenthood without living parents of my own.

I am an adult orphan. Nobody living’s daughter. There is a feeling of disconnect from my roots, from my childhood history. My parents took more than themselves when they left their physical bodies. Part of my identity went with them.

My dad died unexpectedly in a car accident when I was 23. We never saw that coming. I dove head first into a spiral of self destruction with substance abuse that lasted most of my 20s. I couldn’t numb myself enough. It wasn’t until 7 years after his death that I decided to crawl out from under the fog and deal with my reality. My health was suffering from the abuse I put my body through. I had chronic migraines, anxiety, and depression. Attending free bereavement groups through San Diego Hospice and getting serious about therapy helped me begin to deal with my suppressed grief.

Just as I was making a new life for myself by moving to a new state, buying a house, and starting a family with my husband; my mom lost her 14 year battle with autoimmune diseases that snuffed out her life. I was 32, in the midst of my first pregnancy and had just found out I was pregnant with a boy. Fortunately, I was able to fly home to her in time and spend her last night with her; holding her hand and stroking her hair while she put her hand on my life-filled belly, feeling my baby kick. I am beyond grateful for that precious time with her. Being on the path to healing and pregnant helped me stay sober and deal directly with the familiarity of grief when it struck again.

I dealt with the extremely stressful burden of handling my parents’ estate and tying up all the loose ends. I discovered natural remedies in the form of flower essences (Star of Bethlehem in particular) to be invaluable in coping. I juggled reading Motherless Daughters, Parentless Parents, and The Orphaned Adult with What to Expect When You’re Expecting and Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth to prepare me for transitioning to my new role that lie ahead. Nothing could have prepared me enough.

It is a lonely world to parent without support in this modern age. No doting grandparents to provide much needed breaks. The people I want here the most to witness all that I’ve become cannot give me any validation or encouragement in the ways I need. I grieve not only what was lost, but what can never be. And the jealousy, oh the jealousy of seeing friends and others with their children and their parents– generations of love– just rips me to pieces.

With time, I have found gratitude in my loss. The space has provided me with a blank slate to forge the path that my husband and I want to navigate in raising our children. Neither one of us wants to go down the same road we were raised on so this distance has been a blessing in disguise. We are building our own life that suits our ideals of being unconditionally loving, respectful, compassionate, connected parents.

Through healing, I have been able to discover who I really am and find my path in life. It has taken a lot of deep work to lose the conditioning and domestication that my upbringing instilled in me. It began with questioning everything and feeling if it was truly something that resonated within me or not. I chose to keep what truths were mine and leave the rest. It is still a work in progress, one that I don’t know will ever be over. It doesn’t end, just evolves as life does.

Although I can’t have them in my life, my parents will always be a part of it because they are a part of me. Through stories, music, and family traditions they live on. My boys know they have a Grammy and a Grampy watching over them, and sometimes when I’m lucky, I can feel them watching over me.

Hummingbird is one of my animal allies. Through silent observation and listening to the stillness within me, I have received lessons from this wise teacher.

The hummingbird is an interesting creature. He reminds me to be playful and to find joy in the mundane. I usually hear him coming by the distinct zooming sound of the rapidly beating wings when speeding through the air. Then I see him and am captivated by its beauty. The shimmering iridescent feathers capturing the sunlight brings pleasure to my eyes.

Seemingly fragile because of its dainty size, hummingbird embodies love and light… and a little go fuck yourself. This is where I noticed the deeper lesson. I witnessed a hummingbird aggressively charge off another bird in its territory. It sped like a dart cutting through the air. A tiny torpedo. Fearless. Fierce.

There is balance of light and dark all around us if we look closely. Denying this IN ourselves will only lead to suffering. Acknowledging the shadow side and loving your whole self fully is healing.

I have fought against my temper for years. It is something that I don’t like about myself, a part that is so hard to tame. Motherhood really brought it out in me, oh how many times a day I’m triggered! But over the years I have resisted to no avail. It persists. No matter how much I want to embody Goddess, I can’t deny the warrior within.

Like hummingbird taught me, every shadow side has its place. Instead of suppressing anger, I am learning to transform it into maintaining my boundaries. The same energy has another use, one that serves a purpose that is aligned with my values. Transmute the fury. Let the fire burn.

Surrender to what is. I am enough. You are enough. The good, the bad, the ugly– that is what makes us real. That is true beauty. Beauty in imperfection. Total acceptance. Balance in energy.

“There is no growth in comfort.”

– Rachel Rainbolt

Beautiful things can grow in unexpected places. Putting myself out there in this public way is difficult for me. With a Virgo natal moon guiding my emotions, I second guess myself, hearing my inner critic tear away at any confidence. “Why would anyone care what I have to say?” “I sound like a crazy person.” “What are people going to think?!” are just some of the things going on in my head. Ego speaks from fear. Instead of getting sucked into that spiral of negative thoughts, I’m choosing to breathe through it. “I hear you Ego, but I don’t believe you. I know it is risky to be vulnerable and you are trying to protect me, that’s what you are designed for. Thank you for being diligent. ”

When I acknowledge the fear and big feelings I have, I notice they pass more quickly. Space is made in my body and I can hear the softer, gentler voice of my higher self. The feelings of confidence and strength in speaking my truth wash over me like a warm blanket. This warm and cozy feeling is how I feel when I know I am in alignment with myself and Spirit. The feeling of expansiveness and goodness, love and light is where I choose to be guided from.

So, I am going to dive right into it. Bare my soul and share one of my most intimate experiences with you. Here. Out in the open on the Internet. I take a deep breath and walk through the fire to come out stronger on the other side.

I used to be a writer. And then I stopped. This is the story:

When I was young, I had a natural love and talent for writing. I wrote poems and stories, and of course kept a diary. I remember being asked to go into other classrooms in elementary school to read my stories aloud. My proud mom would share her vision of me going to Pepperdine and becoming a famous journalist one day.

In the middle of my senior year of high school, we moved to a different part of San Diego which meant I had to change schools. Just before we made the move, I was in the bedroom I had for most of my life until then, my safe space. I remember laying on my bed, writing in my diary, and confiding the intimate details that I had given my virginity to a close friend of mine earlier that week. My mom gave me a smile from the doorway as she watched me close the diary up and pack it away in a box. The movers were coming the next morning and I had plans to spend the night at a friend’s who was hosting a little going-away slumber party for me. My secret little side-plan was to meet and hook up with my guy-friend again, he conveniently lived across the street.

In the midst of having a blast with my friends, I got a frantic phone call from my mom. “Come home now.” The sound of her voice made my stomach drop and get stuck in my throat at the same time. Something was very wrong. I asked if my brother and dad were ok, thinking they must have been in an accident or some other terrible news was to follow. She repeated for me to “come home now.” I immediately did as I was told.

I never expected what I faced when I walked through that door. A hysterical mother holding my diary, waving it around while my brother and dad uncomfortably looked on. “Friends don’t fuck, Christen.” Those words still sting inside me like the first time I heard them over twenty years ago. She knew. She had read my diary. My inner-most secrets and details of the.most.vulnerable. time I had encountered in my life up until that point, was being thrown against me and used to bring me great feelings of embarrassment and shame. The rest of the night is a blur, I remember crying myself to sleep.

I was 17. That was when I stopped writing. I didn’t feel like I could open up and share myself again. No more diary. No more poems. No more stories. My trust was broken. My voice silenced.

And now here I am. With encouragement from a mentor, I finally started keeping a diary again last year. I purchased one with a combination lock to help me break through my wall I had built around that hurt from years ago. I had to work through the deep-seated betrayal by someone I trusted. Then the poems started coming.

And now, I am sharing myself with you in this intimate way. Open, honest, raw, and completely vulnerable. The wounds have healed but scars remain. The scars have stories to tell. I am reclaiming my voice.