My Untimely Entry
It all started in the womb.
Some people have no idea what went on in there, but I do. It was hot and wet, and it tasted like blood. I felt the walls shaking like an earthquake from all her turmoil, all her hysteria and all her tears. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there, but when I did, I didn’t get the greeting that I still long for all these years later.
Somewhat understandably, I slid out into the arms of a tragic mess. Already heartbroken inside, upon my entry into this world, I immediately felt unsettled—scanning my environment for cues of safety amidst the danger that had already taken over my tiny newborn body in there. In that instant I knew it was MY job to take care of HER. After all she just lost her mother one week earlier who had battled cancer during her entire pregnancy. It was my job to make HER happy because a sad mommy had to be my fault.
My first few months after my untimely arrival, I was left to fend for myself instead of being wrapped in the safe and loving arms of a mother. There was no place to feel safe because she was too busy hiding in her bed dealing with her own grief to nurture her baby. The only arms I felt were from a hired baby nurse.
On top of this undesirable beginning, I learned many years later in a past life regression that I was surrounded by, and immersed in a battleground between the two people most important to my safety—my mom and dad. After that regression, I got confirmation from my mom that they had “the biggest fight of their life in that delivery room” and according to her, she “kicked my dad out of the hospital” as they viciously fought over my name. My dad wanted to name me after his father Sam who had passed 8 months earlier and my mom insisted, I be named after her mother Clare. This began a lifelong cycle of appeasing and keeping the peace in a very unpredictable and unstable environment.
Inside that spiraling womb and in that hospital room, I yearned for a mother’s love, nurturing, safety, and connection—a place to call home. But instead, the story continues, and I still yearn years later for the same.