MOTHERHOOD HEALS OLD WOUNDS

 
- Desiree Samuels, Contributing Writer

I never knew how much healing motherhood could bring to the soul.  You see, I used to call myself a transplanted potted plant. That is because, at age 14, due to the political climate of Iran, I had no choice but to leave my home, parents, family, friends, and the environment that I loved so much growing up.  Life was like a fairy tale then.  All I remember was laughter, vacations all over the world, relaxed parents … and lots and lots of love going around.  Then suddenly the tables turned, and I had to leave abruptly in the hope of returning one day as soon as the political environment settled.

Well, that never happened.  What I thought was a brief exit from my homeland turned into a new life, a new home and brand new people to trust and share with.  At first it was just so overwhelming. I felt that, through no fault of my own, I had lost a life that I knew and loved so well.  Time went on.  I lingered on, hoping in the back of my mind that one day the gate would open and I would run back to that life.  But as time passed, that never happened.  Instead, I had to learn to make a new life, a life that would have resembled what I would have known had I had continued to live my life the way I was accustomed to in Iran.  I adapted well to the American life.  I went to college, built a mortgage banking business and basked in material gains and successes, yet I never felt complete.  I felt like the transplanted plant yearning to be placed back in the soil it originated from. Though I had learned to trust and live in America, I never felt complete.

Then I married my soul-mate, who completed me and grounded me.  However, the potted plant syndrome still lingered on.  I felt a huge chapter from my book of life was pulled out and I was missing that chapter. I could not revisit that chapter when I wanted.  Then, finally I decided to make a leap to grab a hold of that missing chapter.  So in the summer of 2003, after 24 years, I decided to visit Iran, my homeland, the land I yearned to visit again so badly.  It was a great trip.  Life had changed so very much for the new generation of Iranians, much more different life than I knew.  Yet some things remained unchanged.  The parks, playgrounds, schools, restaurants … all those familiar places were still there, but just serving a newer generation and a newer life.

I returned back to the US more confused.  Now I had no idea where the transplanted plant should be permanently planted.  It certainly did not belong in Iran and even thought it had acclimated to the American climate, it still was uncertain about a permanent placement in American soil.  So, as I went back and forth in my thoughts, I was informed that I was pregnant.  This was a beginning of a new chapter of my life.  One that I never expected to give me back all that life had ever taken away from me. 

When my son William was born, the healing process for my soul took root.   I realized, right then and there, that the transplanted tree must be placed firmly in the ground.  I had a new responsibility, and that was presenting a decent, loving, honest human being to society in a matter of 18 years.  I could no longer linger around wondering about what was and what may have been.  I had been entrusted and rewarded with the biggest job of my life, and that was William, who needed my guidance, watchful eyes and ears.  Nowadays, William is 3 ½ years old.  Every day he accomplishes a new challenge, whether it’s conquering preschool, making new friends, putting on his own shoes, playing in the park. Each of his successes brings about much laughter and much joy.  It takes me back to my days, way back then. But this time, the pain no longer persists.  I wake up every day in the hope of spending another day with that apple that I am nurturing on that strong firmly grounded tree.  Motherhood finally healed my pain and anxiety of the past.