Learning To Mother Myself

If this is your first chapter, welcome. If you’ve been walking this journey with me, welcome

back. In the last chapter, I talked about what it felt like to never really feel like I was someone’s person. I shared how God began showing me that I had spent a lot of time looking for people to give me something only He could, but there was another feeling I was carrying that I couldn’t quite put into words. This feeling started after I lost my mother. I knew I was grieving, of course I missed her, but there was another feeling underneath the grief that took some time for me to understand.

I felt uncovered.That’s the best way I can describe it. There is nothing like the covering of a mother over her child, and it didn’t matter that I was turning 40 in a couple months. There is just something about knowing your mother is here, someone is thinking about you, someone is concerned about you, and in a way that only a mother can be. It’s a kind of protection you don’t necessarily think about while you have it. I know I didn’t, but that covering was gone, and I was feeling it.

I felt cold, exposed, and unprotected. A part of that feeling came from the realization that now both of my parents were gone. I kind of felt like an orphan. I know I wasn’t an orphan. I was a grown woman with a family of my own, but emotionally, that’s exactly how I felt. Momma gone. Daddy gone. To sit back and think about that did something to me. I remember having this feeling of, “Who’s covering me now?” I don’t even know if I would have used the word covering back then. I just knew something that had always made me feel safe was gone.

At the same time, I was dealing with my health. I was grieving. I was depressed. I was stressed. The world had shut down, and I was trying to figure out who I was in the middle of all of it. There were days when I desperately wanted someone to tell me, “Ive got you.” and I think that’s when learning to mother myself really began. I wasn’t trying to replace her. It was more about realizing that I had to learn how to give myself some of the care, compassion, protection, and grace I was missing. I knew how to show up, encourage, and check on people. I knew how to make sure everyone else was okay, but I wasn’t good at asking myself:

“Taisha, are you okay?”

Learning to mother myself meant learning to pay attention to me. If I was tired, that meant rest instead of pushing through.

If I needed to cry, then cry.

If I needed help, I could ask for it.

If I needed to say no, say no.

These things sound simple when I write them down, but weren’t simple for me. Honestly, I’m still learning, but somewhere in that process, God began showing me something deeper. I may have lost the covering of my earthly parents, but I was never uncovered. God is covering me. Even when I felt exposed, alone, grieving, and couldn’t feel Him, He was there. I think sometimes we recognize God’s covering differently after we’ve lost the people who once made us feel covered. I definitely did. I started understanding God as Father differently. Not just God somewhere in heaven, but Father. My Father. The One who was still watching over me when I felt like no one was watching over me anymore. No, it didn’t make me stop missing my parents, and it didn’t make losing my mother hurt less. It certainly didn’t mean I suddenly knew how to mother myself, but it gave me somewhere to begin.

Maybe mothering myself isn’t about becoming my own covering after all. Maybe it’s about learning to live under God’s covering while also learning to care for the woman underneath it. I’m still figuring out what that looks like. I’m learning to be gentler with myself. I’m learning to listen to myself. I’m learning that I don’t have to be strong every minute of every day. I’m learning that taking care of me doesn’t mean I’ve stopped taking care of everyone else. And I’m learning that sometimes the woman who is so good at making sure everybody else is okay needs someone to ask her if she’s okay too. Sometimes that person must be me. Losing my mother left a space in my life that will always belong to her. I’m not trying to fill it. I’m learning how to live with it, and I’m learning that even in that empty space, I am still covered.

Sip & Reflect

I didn’t realize how much being covered meant to me until that covering was gone. Maybe you can relate.

Maybe there’s someone in your life whose presence has always made you feel safe, protected, or simply reminded you that you weren’t alone. Have you ever stopped to think about what their covering has meant to you? Or maybe, like me, you’ve experienced what it feels like when that covering is no longer there. So today, I want you to sit with this question:

What does it mean for you to be covered? Not just by people—but by God?

For me, losing my parents made me realize that while the people who covered me were no longer here, I wasn’t left uncovered. I’m still learning what that means. I’m still learning how to care for myself in the absence of my mother’s covering, but I’m also learning that even in the moments when I feel exposed, alone, or unsure of who is looking out for me...

God is still here and I am still covered.

Until next time...

Sip with purpose. Live with intention. Heal one day at a time.