Why does who I am matter? If I know “myself” in most contexts, what does it matter if a part of me remains hidden even to myself? Is it really all that important? What difference could it possibly make to anyone?
This past Tuesday morning my daughter gave birth to a baby girl. She arrived eight weeks before she was expected. Much of who she is has already been decided…we are all just unaware of it as yet. For the next ninety years or so, she will be exploring and discovering and testing and failing and trying again to discover who she is and how to express that to the world. (I will only be around for the first forty-five or so.) Some of who she is might be what others expect, some will probably not be.
I never want her to feel that she needs to hide from herself or from anyone else. I never want her to feel ashamed or afraid of any truth about her own identity, gender, sexuality or spirituality. I want her to be free to express her love and her beauty and her happiness in any way that she feels is right for her. I want her to know always just how amazing she is.
If I cannot embrace my own secrets, my own desires, if I cannot challenge my own hidden truths and bring them into the open where I can see them and embrace them and express them, how can I ever guide her in doing the same?
She will no doubt surprise me, but I pray that I will never fail her. She is why any of this matters. I want her to know her Nanna as a fearlessly, shamelessly happy woman who knows herself and loves with warmth, generosity and abandon.
I thank the Gods that I still have time to become that woman.