The mother in me knows that I am perfectly imperfect. She knows that nothing in the past left me any less sacred, beloved, and precious than I was on the day I was born. She knows that nothing I’ve chosen — even in my darkest hour — could cast out the divine that dances deep within me. Even when it feels as if I’m coming undone, I will always be woven tightly into the fabric of the universe. And while a great many things cannot be rewound, she whispers into the warmth of an early morning sun, “Unconditional love is strong enough to heal the broken.”
The mother in me knows that my life has a purpose. She knows that for us to live together peacefully and successfully on this planet, a great many things must be done. She knows that I was crafted — specifically and intentionally — to be a part of that perfection. My nature, talents, and abilities are my currency. The missteps, miscalculations, and mistakes have strengthened me in ways I have only begun to understand. She knows that there are no accidents, and that I am not an accident.
The mother in me knows that my life is a journey and my dreams are my guide. She knows that my truth is written on my bones, and that all of my answers swim in the endless spring of my own soul. When I don’t know which way to turn, she urges me to look within, and when the truth appears painfully unlikely, she smiles and nods to reassure me. Living the dream is not a luxury; it is the call into being that pulls my every breath into this body. She knows that living my dream is the only way to make me make sense.