In the name of Mother, Father and LOVE

A child is born.

Suddenly, a mother finds herself in a world she thought she knew—but everything feels new, unknown, overwhelming.

There are books, websites, courses, advice. There's the neighbor's child who walks earlier, talks more, eats better.
There's always someone doing it "better."

So the mother tries. She creates the best space she can. She chooses the wooden toys, the right food, the organic creams.
She watches, compares, adjusts. She doesn't want to miss anything.

Because deep down, she wants to get it right.
She wants to be a good parent.
She wants her child to be… enough.

But what if that striving—what if that quiet, constant voice saying this is not enough—has nothing to do with the child?
What if it begins somewhere else?

Maybe it starts with us.

We come into parenting carrying our own story. Our own wounds. Our own ideas of what's good, what's worthy, what's safe.

And many of those ideas come from our own childhood. From how we were loved. Or not loved. From what we were taught to hide. From what was praised and what was punished.

This is where Mother and Father live inside us.

Not just as people, but as forces.
Mother is love, softness, acceptance.
Father is strength, direction, focus.

When we haven't made peace with them—when we haven't accepted the mother and father we had, the love we received or missed, the guidance we longed for—we keep looking for those pieces elsewhere.

- We project our unfinished story onto our child.
- We create expectations.
- We turn our parenting into a project.
- And when the child doesn't fit the blueprint—we try to fix it.

But then something happens.

Each birth brings a transformation.
There is life before a child, and life after.
They are not the same.

And slowly, we start to notice…

This child, the one we were given—not the one we imagined—starts showing us something.
Through their stillness, their noise, their wildness, their fear. Through their joy. Through their resistance.
They are mirrors.

And if we stop resisting, if we stop labeling them as too much or not enough, we begin to learn.
We begin to see the world differently.

- They are not here for us to shape them into our idea of perfect.
- They are here to remind us that maybe the world isn't as fixed as we thought.
- That maybe they are already whole.

And maybe—just maybe—we are, too.

With the acceptance of how your own mother and father were—or were not—
comes a deep stream of love and calm.
In that space, everything is as it is.

From the quiet strength of the Father,
from the soft and loving presence of the Mother,
I can begin again.

From this calm and clear place,
I can create the next moment—
not from fear, not from anger, not from needing to prove something—
but from a quiet hope.
From trust.
From joy.

That's when the future opens.
Not louder. Not faster. But softer.
And more true.

Make the love you missed the peace you live.