Where Life Begins

Another Mother’s Day is quickly approaching and my thoughts are on the mothers who raised me; my biological mother, my grandmothers, my aunties, and the many older women that have mentored me along the way; they are countless and each holds a special place in my heart. I have been a mother now for 22 years and it is by far the toughest job I’ve been tasked with. It’s also a role that continues to grow me, teach me, strengthen me, and motherhood continuously challenges me. I would say the challenges are because I operate a single-parent household, but that’s not it. I would say it’s because I’m raising my youngest child whose biological father has abandoned her, but that’s not it either. The challenges come with raising children to respect, honor, and love themselves and others unconditionally; not allowing anyone to take advantage of them. The challenges come from making sure that they are well educated, active, and occupied. The challenges come from ensuring that they are safe, healthy, and supported. The challenges come from trying to be the best possible parent to them that we know-how, while coping with our own unresolved issues.

My thoughts are also on the many fathers that are raising children where the mothers are absent, the fathers that struggle with grooming their little girl’s hair, but try their best and keep it moving. My thoughts are on countless grandparents raising children, hats off to you. My thoughts are on the women who lost their children in the womb, after birth, to the streets, and those taken unapologetically by racists and rogue devils in uniforms, my heart cries out with yours. Raising children takes conscious effort; it’s a testament to our unselfishness as parents; putting their needs before our own.

The past few weeks I’ve been quiet and I can’t put my finger on it. My mood has been slightly pensive, in a good way. As a mother, I miss the mark often and I’ve been exploring two very tough questions that I never thought to ask myself before; “What did I miss and How did I miss it,” relating to several situations that caused me pain beyond belief. Maybe these questions have caused my quietness. Some of us love to criticize our peers regarding the way we raise our children, but truth be told, not one of us has any room to do so, which doesn’t stop us, but we need to be careful about that. We all do our best and sometimes our best isn’t good enough and that’s just the reality of it all. In exploring the “what did I miss and how” I hope to become enlightened, recognizing what to do differently next time, that’s all I can do.

This mother’s day, send love and light to the many mothers you know, the many fathers you know raising children without the help of the mother, your aunts, grandmothers, and your sister-friends; especially those who are hoping to conceive.

Wishing you a very special and hopeful and Happy Mother’s Day, with love,

~Shamina

THE RHYTHM

The rhythm is in my being

Wrapped up in every fiber I was created with

My womb was created to procreate

What’s between my inner thighs is more than an opening for you to come inside

The rhythm was placed in my bosom

Hearty

Beating

Blood pumping to be a mother

Not for you to use and abuse

My soul was not for me to taint with distasteful morality

The rhythm is in my innateness to nurture

To love unconditionally, trusting blindly

Sexed to oblivion and left with resentment stained on my sheets

Savaged violently as if I were a piece of meat

The rhythm lies in my throne to which I am queen

Esteemed with royalty and crowned

You were dethroned as I’ve come into my own

Kingdom of motherhood I own

Written by Shamina Nicole Williams

May 2020