Qadishtu is something that I do for others to help them with their lives, to help them with their pain, to help them with their self-image, and to help them with their sexuality. I help seekers: any kind and all kinds of seekers. I help individuals and couples and groups who come to me, or to my co-priest(ess) and myself, wanting help. I help acquaintances or friends or strangers. Sometimes I help dear friends and loved ones.
But something changed the other night. That night I was wearing my ‘Mom’ hat. I was helping my kids with homework and fixing dinner – doing the normal home/Mom stuff. Things were going smoothly all night long. About 10:PM my son says goodnight and heads up for bed. I was sitting at my computer enjoying the unusual quiet and getting some work done.
I hear a whimper and my head jerks up and around. My daughter was standing in the doorway. It was clear that she had cried as her was face wet from tears. I noticed that she was trembling. So I practically dropped my laptop down to the ground and asked her what was wrong.
She moved much faster than I thought possible. She fell into my lap and curled into me as she broke out in full sobs. Since I had been in Mom mode, I continued to quiz her. I asked, ‘what happened?’ I asked, ‘had she heard a strange noise?’ I asked, ‘ had she seen something strange on the computer’? Each question she answered with a shrug. Since I had no idea what she had been doing before she came rushing into see me, I had no idea what direction my questions should follow.
I remember feeling so helpless: I mean what kind of Mom was I when I was unable to get the to speak to anything? I was unable to comfort her. At that point, I just rocked her while I racked my thoughts as to what had possibly caused this melt down.
Then I realized that I had been slowly stroking her from her shoulder, down her arm and across her hip and leg until I was no longer able to reach. It dawned on me that when I reached the end of her leg; my hand would automatically brush off the negativity.
‘Duh!’ I had to remind myself that while I am Mom first, I was also a priestess of Qadishtu. At this point all I needed to change was the ‘hat’ that I wore from the ‘Mom hat’ to my ‘Qadishtu hat’. I realized that my hands and my soul had been telling me what my mind had not heard: different tools were needed. It struck me that my ‘Mom hat’ was getting in the way of my helping my daughter.
So I then took several deep, cleansing breathes. I re-focused my mind. I opened my soul and began pulling out the pain. The wailing strengthened. I hesitated and pulled back. She calmed down a bit. I started pulling pain again and the wailing worsened again. Again I hesitated. Again she calmed. I decided then to just push on again and so I did. After another 10 minutes of wailing her breathing had begun to fluctuate. I continued to pull out the pain. After 20 minutes, she started to blow her nose quietly, but she was still curled in my lap. It became time to heal. I began to push in warmth.
After some time, she sat up and pushed off my lap. I waited to see what she would do next. I watched as she gave herself a whole body shake and rolled her neck as if to shake out the rest of the hurt.
I sat and studied her. I was tempted to say or ask something. Anything. But I let her be alone in her head and pull herself together. It was probably only 5 minutes even though it felt longer in Mom years. Suddenly she turned and began to walk into the other room without saying a word. Startled, I asked, “So can you tell me what just happened?” She said she ‘just needed me.’ With that she just turned and left the room.
Sometimes it is easier to be a Qadishti priestess than a Mom.
But something changed the other night. That night I was wearing my ‘Mom’ hat. I was helping my kids with homework and fixing dinner – doing the normal home/Mom stuff. Things were going smoothly all night long. About 10:PM my son says goodnight and heads up for bed. I was sitting at my computer enjoying the unusual quiet and getting some work done.
I hear a whimper and my head jerks up and around. My daughter was standing in the doorway. It was clear that she had cried as her was face wet from tears. I noticed that she was trembling. So I practically dropped my laptop down to the ground and asked her what was wrong.
She moved much faster than I thought possible. She fell into my lap and curled into me as she broke out in full sobs. Since I had been in Mom mode, I continued to quiz her. I asked, ‘what happened?’ I asked, ‘had she heard a strange noise?’ I asked, ‘ had she seen something strange on the computer’? Each question she answered with a shrug. Since I had no idea what she had been doing before she came rushing into see me, I had no idea what direction my questions should follow.
I remember feeling so helpless: I mean what kind of Mom was I when I was unable to get the to speak to anything? I was unable to comfort her. At that point, I just rocked her while I racked my thoughts as to what had possibly caused this melt down.
Then I realized that I had been slowly stroking her from her shoulder, down her arm and across her hip and leg until I was no longer able to reach. It dawned on me that when I reached the end of her leg; my hand would automatically brush off the negativity.
‘Duh!’ I had to remind myself that while I am Mom first, I was also a priestess of Qadishtu. At this point all I needed to change was the ‘hat’ that I wore from the ‘Mom hat’ to my ‘Qadishtu hat’. I realized that my hands and my soul had been telling me what my mind had not heard: different tools were needed. It struck me that my ‘Mom hat’ was getting in the way of my helping my daughter.
So I then took several deep, cleansing breathes. I re-focused my mind. I opened my soul and began pulling out the pain. The wailing strengthened. I hesitated and pulled back. She calmed down a bit. I started pulling pain again and the wailing worsened again. Again I hesitated. Again she calmed. I decided then to just push on again and so I did. After another 10 minutes of wailing her breathing had begun to fluctuate. I continued to pull out the pain. After 20 minutes, she started to blow her nose quietly, but she was still curled in my lap. It became time to heal. I began to push in warmth.
After some time, she sat up and pushed off my lap. I waited to see what she would do next. I watched as she gave herself a whole body shake and rolled her neck as if to shake out the rest of the hurt.
I sat and studied her. I was tempted to say or ask something. Anything. But I let her be alone in her head and pull herself together. It was probably only 5 minutes even though it felt longer in Mom years. Suddenly she turned and began to walk into the other room without saying a word. Startled, I asked, “So can you tell me what just happened?” She said she ‘just needed me.’ With that she just turned and left the room.
Sometimes it is easier to be a Qadishti priestess than a Mom.
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1 comment:
I absolutely think parenting makes us better Qadishti, but I'd never really thought about how being Qadishti makes us more skilled parents.
Excellent story Lyndsay!
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