The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

“Light is creation. Darkness is the space necessary to create.”
― Erica Jasmin Cartaya

I have for a long time believed in coincidences, synchronicity and subtle messages from the Universe. It could be a fleeting rainbow that I see from my balcony after a blue day, or a lone bird that I spot in
the sky after a challenging day with people, or the jasmine that sits complete with itself on the wavering stem....when I see them, they speak to me.....they speak to my soul....and so I listen to them, to what they whisper into the deepest recesses of my being...it could be to look to the day with hope, or to sit with myself alone, or to just rest into my own being and life as it is unfolding to me now. I listen to the Universe. With my whole being. I wait for it to tell me what to do.

And so of late, when I have come across some posts on Facebook, watched some movies, read some emails and had conversations with my son about enemies and friends, good and evil amongst many other things, they all seemed to me, to be pointing to one thing....looking hard and straight into the eyes of darkness. I have been mulling over whether I should spill some beans or not, and when to do it, and not really finding the words to say what I want to....words that are rich, dark, with a strong flavour and unique smell like coffee beans :) But I gathered myself today and decided to take cues from the flow of my life over the last few weeks, and that it was time - about time I spoke.

So here it is.....the darkest of all my stories, from the darkest parts of my being. My heart just skipped a beat as I said that, and right now pounds loudly against my chest, wanting to be heard and opened to let out all the darkest secrets . Why do I write and share this? Because I cannot keep it inside anymore; because in sharing I get a glimpse of the oneness that is in you and me; because it needs to see the light of day and breathe free; because I need to feel and show my broken self naked to the world, not covered up in masks and cloches that people often mistake for saintly garbs. Yes, I am not a saint. I am a human being. An ordinary, broken human. Just like you. I am evil, I am good, I am ugly, I am beautiful. I am perfect with all my imperfections intact.

This morning while I was reading an email from a friend, an old movie tape started playing in my head. This time I watched it, but without being involved. Usually, I would have sat down and cried all over again, drowning in the pain and hurt of an old wound reopened. But not this time. It was a sombre, dark movie of one of the darkest periods of my life. I sat and watched it with wonder and empathy. I wondered how far I had walked since then, up to where I was now. It has been one challenging and yet fulfilling journey. But mine. Uniquely mine.

Then Raghav woke up and flowed into the hour long conversation about Mine Craft -  the first thing we do these days when he wakes up every morning. Just as he finished, I told him that I wanted to talk to him about something. I reminded him of our recent conversation about enemies and friends in Mine craft, and how he had said he could convert his enemies into his friends, even if they were seemingly 'evil' or 'bad'.
"So do you think there are bad or evil people in this world?", I asked quietly.
"Maybe", he said, a little doubtfully.
"I have done so many 'bad' things to you....I have hurt you with my angry words.....I have yelled at you.....I have even hit you so many times...all in my helplessness and frustration..... do you remember that? ....aren't you angry with me for that? Don't you hate me for all that?," I asked, now on the verge of a breakdown. The words and emotions were flowing out and fast.....in a rush....But I didn't break down. I held myself without holding myself. I held myself with love. I gave myself a huge hug as I said that to him. And I could feel myself being held by my dear son, with love. So much of it.

This was the first time we were having a conversation about this; it was the first time I was asking him these questions. I never had the guts to ask him this before. I guess I did not have the guts to face myself with him. Perhaps I was scared of losing his love, and hearing him say that he didn't love me.
I felt as if I was going to explode. But his quiet words calmed me instantly; they sucked up all the stormy winds that were blowing inside me, in one blow, in one instant.

"I remember, but I don't remember when," he said.
"Amma, I love you. You are my amma. How can I not love you? How can I hate you?", he said as he hugged me. My eyes burst open their tightly held bags of salt water. I held him tight, not wanting to let go of that moment. A moment of epiphany. An epiphany of true love.
"I was a horrible mother. Can you see that there is so much evil in me too?", I asked with a heavy heart.

It hurt to even say those words to myself. It stung like a scorpion. And yet, in that bone-chilling pain, there was a quiet relief and joy. Of letting go of a secret that I had held so consciously. A darkness that often put out all the other light that lit up my life, when I thought about it. A darkness that made me wallow in dirt and made me feel small and creepy like a little worm. A darkness that often ate me up whole on many a sleepless night. A darkness that made me feel alone and unwanted and unloved.

"Amma, I remember how you once told me that when people get angry, they are actually angry with themselves. You shouldn't be angry with yourself. You need to love yourself. That is the most important thing to do. I love you", he said, standing on the bed, gesticulating while he was talking. There was my guru. Standing on the bed. Churning out words of wisdom to a wretched old soul like me. But suddenly, I didn't feel so wretched anymore. I didn't feel wicked and evil and ugly. I felt beautiful, basking in the warm, unconditional love of a nine year old human being, who was the epitome of being human, embracing the fragility and power of being utterly human.

Yes. We are imperfect, and perfectly imperfect. We are human. And that is what makes this life worth living and dying for doesn't it? I have sunk to the darkest of depths in this humanness - depths in which I feared I would drown and never see the light of day. I stayed in those dark waters for many years.

I suffered from post-partum depression (according to my mother and doctor aunt) - a name given to a state that I was so scared of owning at first, but which I later embraced and grew from and with. I yearned for support from my husband, which he found hard to give me during  my pregnancy and after, because of the nature of his work and his fears of losing a job that we needed to sustain us. Pregnancy was a period of utter loneliness at times. There was no one who offered to cook me a meal or be with me or take care of me. I was also stubborn and wanted to do things my way, in my house. I cooked for myself, ate all alone, went for long walks all alone, listened to music, read a lot and did some work from home. Of course I enjoyed my pregnancy, but I yearned for all those things that soon-to-be moms long for. That did not happen. And I hit the worst possible lows. Lows that I had no control over, even to take care of my baby. And then, after he was born, I couldn't take care of him the way I wanted to. I was depressed a lot, cried a lot to myself, got hysterical and nervous, pushed the baby away, threw him on the bed one day in anger, called up my mother and even threatened to leave my dear husband. It was one of the most painful phases of my life. To think that I wanted a baby after so many years of marriage, and then being unable to enjoy my motherhood fully. It was heart-breaking. I kept judging myself and beating myself black and blue over all this. I drowned in guilt and shame and anger. I got into a cycle that I could not get myself out of.

I also often felt inadequate as a mother. I was not instantly and completely at ease while carrying my baby. It didn't just come naturally to me, like it came to others. I remember how jealous I used to feel when my friends came over and would pick up and play with him so naturally. I felt unfit to be a mother. I felt like giving up so many a time. But I didn't. I got through it all without any medication and lots of love from others around me. I survived. I learned how to get back in touch with my body, my urges, my feminine, my whole broken self and my wonderful baby. I learned how to become and be a mother. Absolutely perfect for my child. He showed me the way - the rugged, difficult, challenging, nerve-wrecking and yet most unique and  beautiful way to enjoy motherhood, through all my humanness. Just by being a mother. Just by being human. One doesn't need any other qualification or skill for those roles.

Later, these lows or 'depressions' came to haunt me over and over again, every now and then. Sometimes it stayed for longer; sometimes not for so long. And every time I hit this low, I would be in a state of utter helplessness. That fueled a raging fire of anger within me, which I would show to the only helpless soul who was with me through it all - my dearest son. The spark was an extreme fear of the unknown and the future, a wanting to control my life and fulfill all my desires and dreams of a smooth, creamy, cherry-on-the-top journey through parenthood. It was a cry to listen to my need for peace, joy, belonging, family, love and understanding. It was a cry that I was not listening to myself, but wanting others to listen to. But that was the best I knew then. I was being the best mother and human being I could then. I wanted my life, my world to change, without wanting to change myself or look within. I was caught in the rut of looking outside of myself for fulfilling all those dreams and not accepting and loving what is. I was stuck because I could not forgive myself. I could not see my own darkness face to face. I could not look at it in the eye. I was terrified of facing myself. I had fallen from the pedestal that I had placed myself in. I had let down my father, who never once raised his hand at us. I had let down myself.

Every time someone mentioned the words 'hitting a child' or if I saw a child being yelled at and beaten on the streets, I would cringe inside with fear. Tears would rise up and fall back inside like unrequited love, with no place to go, but back to where it came from. For a long time, I would look away or plug my ears with an instant deafness. For a long time, guilt plagued me and followed me like a ghost.  I could not see myself do something that I had detested and stood up against with teachers in schools. I hated myself for that. How could I be capable of that? And yet, from that rock-bottom loneliness and hatred grew the first green flags of love. I learned to stay with the hate and begin to love myself. I realised how much love I was capable of.....how much was waiting to flow outside...

What did I do to get myself back up from this rabbit hole?

The first thing I did was to sit with my son and cry. Every time. I relived the moment when I hit him - I could hear the slap of my hand on tender skin, I could feel the sting in my palm after, I could hear him cry and scream, and the sound of my voice like a witch who would not stop. But I could hear and feel all this only after. In that moment, I was blind, deaf and frozen in my raging anger. So many times as I sat with him (he never abandoned me) I would cry and silently scream to God - "Why is it that you make me hear and feel this only after? Why do you not stop me before?" And the scream would simply echo back to me. I didn't know what to do but to sit and cry my heart out until the tears dried up on their own. And then, with great difficulty, I would softly tell him how much I loved him. And tell him how much it hurt me to hurt him. It was hard to hug him and say "I love you", however much I wanted to. My body would not let me do that easily. Maybe because I was filled with so much hatred for myself. I don't know. And then when I could get myself to hug him, I just quietly allowed myself to drown in his love. Every single time that I hit him, he would come to me without any hesitation and put his arms around me and hug me tight. He would plant a kiss on my wet cheek and say that he loved me. He would wipe away my tears with his dainty little fingers. Every time. Without fail. Every single time. I guess he was never dependent on my love to love himself. For every single time, he would rise up and come to me as if nothing had ever happened. He would not walk away or yell back or hit out at me. He was always there with me, sitting through it all. It was I who wanted to run away and hide. It was I who wished that the ground would open up and take me in forever. Every time I saw his fingers, I would cringe at the sight of mine. I hated them for what they could do. It was difficult and painful to get my hands around him to hug him, without feeling hatred for my body and myself, and guilt and shame for what I had done. But he showed me without words how to love all of myself. He showed me how to make friends with the hatred I felt for myself and revel in my brokenness. He showed me how to find the light at the end of the tunnel always. All with a simple hug. The hug that swallowed my black dark energy. I found solace in that hug. It was like a safe cave where I could hide my wretched self. He loved me with all my darkness. He showed me the way out of it. He made me see that the rabbit hole was not something that I had accidentally fallen into, but something that I had dug myself and buried myself into.

And so did my husband. In spite of having a difficult childhood himself, being beaten up ever so often by his father for not conforming to the laid out rules, he never once told me off or raised his hand at our son. Our son was a very intense, very challenging baby and child, and we did not know many a time how to help or support him. We have both shown a lot of anger towards each other and him, but he has never hurt him the way I did. He held me with love and spoke to me gently. We groped our way through our darkness and found our way out, holding each other through it all.

Meditation - sitting in silence with myself, focusing on my breath and connecting with all the emotions that rose and fell like waves, helped me immensely. It helped me connect with my own body, my own broken self, and my own darkness. My anger almost vanished. I stopped being violent with myself and my son. And I found myself again. All over again. Fresh, new, and with a big gaping hole, that even now acts as a constant reminder of the past; but perfect in itself, with all the scars, stains and wounds. They are an inherent part of my inner landscape, reminding me of the journey I have made to get here - to where I am now in this moment. I can finally look them in the eye and smile and shed a tear. For I have grown to love them. I have grown to love my darkness. Because that is the only way I could have come out to see some light - my own light and the light that shines in everyone around me, through all the murky, spine-chilling blackness that often overshadows our lives.

Our greatest fear I feel, is our fear of love. We are too scared to love ourselves and others. Because we are terrified of darkness. We see darkness in others, but not in ourselves. Or we see it, but we don't love it. It is only when we learn how to love our darkness, do we begin to learn how to truly love. Darkness shows and lights up the path ..... to love.

Today I can rest in peace into life. Today I have come to love my darkness, without the fear of being judged or treated as an outcast by people I know and love. Because I don't judge myself with my mind anymore. Today I can stand under a new moon sky and love it for what it is, without thinking about the moon or the stars. Today I can stand up with my head held high and my heart bursting with love that has found a different way to flow, and say to myself that I am a good mother to my son. Perfect. As I am.


(I want to thank with all my heart, a very dear friend, who was instrumental in getting me to open those dark, hidden closets, and who always made the effort to take me in as I am; who helped me find the courage to be my utterly broken self and speak my heart without fear or favour. I want to thank the Universe for always holding me with love, even when I thought I was not being held, and for giving me all that I needed at every moment on this wonderful journey that is Life. Thank you.)