Sometimes Motherhood can be a real…Mutha…

Motherhood has given me some of the most beautiful days of my life. And some of the darkest hours of my life. As a mom, I am a bullet proof vest, covering my children from what life would throw at them. And once the shots are done being fired, and all that is left are the shell casings and the residue, and after everyone has ran to the one wearing the vest, the wearer will eventually throw the vest on the ground and complain about the vest being too heavy or not padded enough, but no one thinks twice about the vest in the aftermath. They forgot that while the vest was covering the child, it was taking the bullets, and those bullets tore at the vest, sometimes puncturing it almost to the point of it being unrecognizable…

I was 19 years old, 23 days’ shy of my 20th birthday when I became a mother for the first time. I was scared. Scared that I wasn’t fit enough to be someone’s mother, someone’s guiding light. I was really going to be someone’s mother…Fast forward 5 years and I became a mother for the second time around and again, two years later, would be the third and final time I became a biological mother. And I thought maybe I had a handle on being someone’s mother, being a mommy, being the mother I thought I was supposed to be. Gathering the husband and children together in the car for surprise picnics at the park for dinner, having family tv night where we would bond over the latest family sitcoms while discussing our day and having movie nights out at AMC Movie Theater (daddy thought they needed the movie experience with all the snacks from the snack bar while I was trying to sneak them in from the outside in my purse) just to name a few things. And then what felt like out of nowhere, my motherhood axis shifted to a place where the music wasn’t as loud, the laughs weren’t as frequent and the sun didn’t shine as bright. I went from being looked at as someone’s Mother, to being perceived as a real Mutha… Everyday became a battle of wills, a war zone of sorts and a protective vest was needed, only I couldn’t wear myself could I? So I did what many mothers do, I continued to be the best parent I knew how to be, while dealing with the voices that where swirling around me like a tornado telling me I needed to do better, should do better and could do better. Those voices unknowingly became the bricks that were used to build walls between parent and child, all the while pointing to me as the brick layer. And yet there is only so many times you can run into a brick wall without doing harm to yourself and potentially knocking yourself out. So you numb yourself to the pain of loving the very thing that feels like every day it is taking a piece of you, a piece of your heart, a piece of your soul, a piece of your sanity and you continue to be a mother, the best you know…but it’s still not good enough.

I remember the day my husband and I grabbed hands filled with love and hope and he prayed and asked GOD for clarity… and the answer came as clear as day. We decided to let one of our children choose where they wanted to live, to choose who would win the blessing of their presence and my household felt like it lost. And I felt like I lost a piece of Taria, the piece that knew who she was and where she fit in this world as a mother. I no longer felt like I was even really present with my family, I felt like I was outside of myself looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars, my family out of my reach. I felt like I had been in a fight going 12 rounds and I was hit with a blow that pierced me to the deepest part of my skin, down to my hypodermis, and in order for it to heal, I had to keep it stuffed with gauze and covered with a bandage. But there were times when I felt like the wound was healed, so I would open up the bandage and share my tales of motherhood that seemed hopeless, hoping for relief from this weight of guilt and sadness that was clinging to me, only to realize that I in fact wasn’t healing, and was making the wound worse by continuously opening my bandage and exposing my pain to others who could potentially infect the wound and leave me feeling worse than when I started. And I did…I felt worse…With every time someone would say to me, “I would never send my child to someone else because it’s my child, or, “that couldn’t be me because I would do XYZ”, to “you’re the mother you need to fix it”, I fell just a little deeper into what felt like despair. It got to the point that I would leave my phone in whatever part of my house that I wasn’t, because I didn’t want to see the messages that would be carried over the cell tower wires reminding me of the mistakes that I made. I wanted to avoid the gatherings we were to attend as a family because I feared my every interaction with my child would be looked at and judged. I felt alone, lost, like I had been put on an island of mothers, but it was an island of one. And it was in these lonely moments, right before dawn, that GOD spoke to me and reminded me of who Taria Shondell was TO HIM and who Taria Shondell was IN HIM. I was HIS Taria before he formed the foundations of the world. I was HIS Taria when I was in my mother’s womb, BEFORE I was a mother. He had already laid out the plans for my life, and this was a part of HIS plan, for HIS glory. He reminded me that just like I prayed for clarity in the beginning of this process and he answered me, I still had to go THROUGH the process in order for my situation to be a testimony to other parents who may be going through the same situation, and he would be there, guiding me, comforting me and healing me through it. And it dawned on me that in order for him to heal the wound, I had to stop opening up the bandage and exposing it to the elements. I needed to leave it covered and in due season, it would be completely healed and I would be able to take the bandage off. But a scar would remain. It had to remain to remind me that I wasn’t just a survivor but that I was an overcomer. You see the word survivor means: “a person remaining alive after an event in which others have died” while the word overcomer means: “to succeed in dealing with (a problem or difficulty).” I had come out alive in a situation that could have killed my joy, stole my peace and destroyed me emotionally BUT by trusting in GOD even when I didn’t see him, when I felt like I didn’t know how this would all turn out for my family, I held onto my faith that felt as small as a mustard seed, and it was that faith that helped me to successfully deal with the process and come out stronger on the other side.

I want to encourage mothers from all walks of life, whether you’re a single mother, a married mother, a divorced mother, a mother who birthed children or a mother who inherited children via raising a family members child or through marriage, no matter how dark your situation seems, no matters how many voices you hear that make you feel as if you are being brought to your lowest point, no matter what other families and the mothers in those families around you look like, understand that YOU WILL get through it. There may be times when all you can do is cry through the night, and it is ok to do just that…but know that GOD will bring joy to your morning…he did it for me, and so I know he will do it for you…

I love you guys and thank you for reading!

Revelations 12 vs. 11 KJV

“And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony;……”