I spent hours yesterday writing a blog post about Mothering Sunday having nothing to do with ‘mothers.’ In the same tone I wrote Not another International Women’s Day!, I decried the commercialism of what was originally a sacred day. That ‘mothering’ isn’t confined to the female gender and to honour all the people who will have mothered you in your life so far. 

If I say so myself, my post was a challenging humdinger. Then, as I was editing, my laptop had a fit and all but the first few paragraphs were deleted. Mea also culpa. Attempting to control the fit, I pressed the wrong onscreen key which led to my post’s destruction. 

Apart from the loud explosion of an expletive from my mouth, that was it. No wailing or moaning. I’m clearly getting more sanguine in my old age, or perhaps more wise, because I accepted immediately there was no way I could clear up this particular mess. When that’s the case, the only sane thing to do is move on.  

So I did!

If you’re someone who berates yourself when things go wrong, give it up. If your actions led to the screw up, be compassionate and learn how to do the thing better next time. And whether it’s yours or some-one else’s screw up, be compassionate and check if there’s anything you can salvage which will help your future.  

Sometimes external events are responsible for things going wrong like being made redundant, a partner leaving or an earthquake destroying your home. Again, be compassionate with yourself and others, allow time to recover from the shock and then… move on! 

Oh… and, of course, swear like a trooper before all of that. Have you noticed most swear words begin with an explosive consonant which helps you release stress? Especially if you swear with passion and in your loudest-loudest voice. 

Yesterday, I couldn’t be arsed to recreate my Mothering Sunday blog post. It might or might not hit these pages sometime in the future. But who cares? It doesn’t matter. 

In fact, the older I get the more I realise very little does!

Here’s a Zen story…

A long time ago in ancient China a young teenager fell pregnant by another young teenager. Both their families were traders in the same market and her family wouldn’t be best pleased if they knew the identity of the father. 

So, when she could no longer hide her pregnancy, she told her parents the father was a local monk who lived in a hut near the market. Her father addressed him in fury, telling the monk he was to care for the baby when it was born. 

The monk calmly replied, ‘Of course!’ 

True to his word, the father brought the new born baby to the monk who willingly took her into his arms. And for two years the monk cared for and nurtured that little one as if she were his own. 

Two years on and the teenager had become bolder and no longer feared what her family would say. So she and her lover told both families they were together and that the baby belonged to them. 

After the initial blow up… you know how families can be… her father rushed to the monk with a very penitent look on his face. He explained what had passed, apologised for thinking the monk could be the father and asked for the now toddler back. 

The monk calmly replied, ‘Of course!’

A Mothering Sunday that was sacred and had nothing to do with ‘mothers.’ That ‘mothering’ isn’t gender specific. That things go wrong and to accept them with compassion… perhaps after a good swear… and then move on. A monk who compassionately raised a baby with care and nurture as his own. And, just as compassionately, gave her back when asked to by her blood family

Mmm… Magnificent woman, what meaning can you take away from this curious blog post? 

Love to you… 

PS If you know one or two women who should be receiving my blog posts, please forward this to them and encourage them to join us. Also, my #7Steps are here.

Photo by Aperture Vintage on Unsplash


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