Let's chat Animö with Carö

  Dear son, As I am writing these lines, 17 years ago, I was doing the final sprint in a labor that had started over 15 hours prior. A lot had happened that beautiful day of May in San Francisco, starting with the nocturnal rupture of membranes that led to a spectacular gush of your pool of 9 months (like we see in the movies). The contractions became immediately painful, as if the liquid was some kind of attenuator to the sharp burning pain. In the afternoon, in the tub, no back rubbing or breathing would do. Between two deep breaths, I begged for the epidural. A male resident came and started it. I think it was too strong because I couldn't even move my legs. I started being scared I would be paralyzed forever. The resident said nothing when I expressed my concern. But my worst fear was when the midwife turned me on my left side and injected my butt with a tocolytic agent to stop the labor. She did that based on what she thought were decelerations of your heart from the fetal car...

  Dear son, Hard to believe you are at an age I found, if not dreadful, quite ordinary at the time. We had just moved into a new home, after my parents had gotten a divorce and my dad kept my childhood home. We were mostly at my mother's, visiting my dad and his girlfriend every other weekend. I didn't particularly find my life exciting. My two younger siblings were loud and annoying, there was never peace and quiet for me to study, and it took another year for me to get my own bedroom, since the basement was not finished, so I was sharing a space with my mom. Her most recent boyfriend was the father of one of my classmates and I was not too thrilled about that. I was not caring much about my appearance nor the expression of my femininity yet, wearing sweatpants and a Garfield t-shirt to school, keeping my hair short, not really combing it. I didn't understand why the optometrist would call me ''ma belle'' (''beautiful'') during the maddenin...

  We exist in the eyes of others. Remember when you were a child, asking your parents, your siblings, your friends, to look in your direction to applaud your latest exploit. And later, as a teen, waiting for your peers in the bus to comment on your new hoodie or sneakers. I remember those times very well, and even more so when I felt, well, unseen. Being unseen often took the form of not being chosen. I am no longer ashamed to tell you this because self-compassion finally liberated me, but I felt deeply hurt (and I am not exaggerating when I say this suffering probably persisted for decades) when my aunt and uncle chose my younger sister to be their flower lady for their wedding. I remember crying my eyeballs out, and I received no sympathy for my parents at the time. This made the pain only worse. I was doubly unseen. I just couldn't believe that Isa, the notorious tomboy who hated wearing dresses, would have a very special one with custom-made honeycomb embroidery ! Plus, she pro...