My Mother’s Recipe for How To Live

Published October 10, 2013

My mom never had someone to tell her that she was ever any better;
That she deserved better;
That she was worth more.
She lived her life hoping, dreaming, and wishing for more.
She even demanded it at one point (I think).
But no one ever told her SHE COULD HAVE IT!
And so this was the recipe that she taught me.

To live from the space of hoping and dreaming,
But never expecting to actually get…
From trying to control and manage;
But in the end disappointment was ever prevailing.

Disappointment was my lover, my friend, my way of being.
She taught me to love and to fear my own love.
To never really understand being a woman;
To fear it;
To fear men;
And women;
Because the entire story of sexuality was a mystery.
Trusting completely.

This was the recipe that my mother gave to me.

Preheat your life to 350 degrees.
Mix in other people whose dysfunction matches your own.
Add the ingredients of distrust, complications, and conditional love;
And never ever, ever, ever, no matter what,
Never ever believe in yourself!
No matter how perfect,
How divine,
How many times you prove to yourself that you have EVERYTHING you need
To make this life 100% whatever you want!
No matter how many people tell you “you’ve got it kid!”

No matter how beautiful the art you produce…
No matter how perfect your children are,
Suckling at your bosom,
Shining in your lap.
Reflections of the Creator.
No matter how many glimpses into the Eternal One Mind,
No matter how many times you are told by your Angels and Guides and by God,
“You are my Daughter
You are Whole
You are Perfect
You are Mine
Come Unto Me”.
Never ever, ever, ever, see.
Never Believe.

This is the recipe my mother gave to me.

So this is my recipe for her.
And for me.

I love you.
You are whole.
You are forgiven.
You are loved.
You were never broken.
You were never wrong.
Living from so much pain,
The lessons no one taught to you.
How cherished you really are.
How powerful you are.
How you REALLY can have ANYTHING you really, really want to have
Simply because you asked for it;
Simply because of WHO you are!
A creator.
A master.
A daughter of God.
Sculptor, painter, jeweler… Mother… daughter… lover… friend…
It wasn’t always bad, mom.
Remember the times when laughter echoed off of meager walls.
Remember the times when cracked houses were mended together by joy.
Turkey Dinners at Midnight.
Grandma Ellie’s chicken broth down the drain- what was she thinking?
No-bake peanut butter cookies and love novel brownies.
Snuggled in the van during earthquakes.
A roof and four walls
Of our making.
Our way.
A Mom.
A Dad.
That was really all that mattered.
No food in the house, but enough love to light New York City
For an eternity!
And the pain of losing a child to his own decisions,
And doing the best you could to hold on,
To see too little too late!
Acting from your own pain.
Blaming yourself
For someone else’s choices.

My recipe for you has one ingredient.
The true meaning.
Smother every wound.
Cover every sore.
Let it seep in.
Let it surround you.
Let it wrap you in fleecy warmth.
Like your favorite winter shawl.
Let it hold you close until the shaking subsides.
Let it hold your hands steady
And feel its callused knuckles
Against your palms.
You are loved.



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