“Show me where it hurts, baby girl”, says the loving mother to her daughter.
And the daughter points here to her knee, or here to her belly, or here to her head, or here to her tooth and says, “Here mummy. It hurts here.”
And the mother fetches medicine, if there is medicine to be had. A squirt of antiseptic spray, maybe. A blob of ointment, a spoonful of cherry cough syrup, or a day under the duvets.
And then, whatever the ailment and whatever the medicine, the mother seals it with kindness and kisses. Because without kindness and kisses, the mother knows that the medicine can’t take full effect.
Now, fully grown, we have to become the loving mother to ourselves. For some of us, perhaps, the loving mother we never had.
When we feel pain, we learn to ask, “Show me where it hurts, baby girl.”
And the little girl still within us shows us where it hurts. Deep in the heart, maybe. Or the gut, the head, or pervasive throughout the whole body.
Listening carefully and compassionately, the wise loving mother knows exactly the right medicine for the little one. An early night, a call to a friend or therapist, a break from caffeine, a walk in the fresh air, a week off.
And so the mother fetches the right medicine on behalf of the little one within. And then, no matter the ailment or medicine, she seals it with kindness and kisses. Because without kindness and kisses, she knows that the medicine can’t take full effect.
“I love you, baby girl”, she whispers as she strokes her hair and cheek.
The little one, knowing she is loved and taken care of, falls into a restful sleep.
Love and courage,