"Remembering is not a pre-requisite for care, and I don’t need to ensure that my identity or needs are understood in order to embody love, or patience."
This reminds me of what Ram Dass says about the importance of "becoming nobody." Reading this letter, I find myself wondering if I'd be able to summon the kind of courage you have summoned to lean into (as you described it) the feeling of "insignificance" while providing critical care. My parents have chosen lives that don't include each other--or my sister and me--and they made those choices in disturbingly cruel ways. Could I be the kind of person that shows up as a "nobody," ready to help if ever they should need me, regardless of the damage they've done? I'm not certain I'm that giving or understanding. Could my sister? Most likely yes. Could I be firm enough in my indifference to let her do it all alone? I don't know yet.
Those thoughts aside, I wanted to say that your writing is both graceful and precise, and I have been at various points moved, reassured, and laid bare by reading your letters. I know it's going to be a good day when your work hits my inbox, and I think it's a safe bet that I'm not the only one who feels that way.
This is such a beautiful reflection Alexandra. Thank you for your praise and for sharing your own experience. I deeply resonate with this sentiment, as my brother is admittedly stomaching most of the discomfort: "Could I be firm enough in my indifference to let her do it all alone? I don't know yet."
I didn't know how it would look, or how I would show up for my mother, until it was really happening (and by "it" I mean the shit-to-fan pipeline). I don't think it would have been possible for me to know earlier. What ultimately propelled me to arrive was not the love I have for my mother, but the desire to stand beside my brother.
Alexandra, this really resonates with me. Your use of the word "disturbing" is one that I haven't applied to some of my mother's recent actions until now, and I feel that it really articulates the conflict between being a person of compassion and being a person who has been hurt.
So well said, Alexandra. Unsupervised just became my very first paid subscription for all those reasons you described.
As someone who recently survived the loss of my mother, an intense, soul-crushing period of caring for her when she needed me most, and the complicated relationships with siblings and family that surround it all, I can tell you that you never truly know how you’ll show up until you’re in it.
Such a beautiful letter, I’m going to be thinking about it for a long time. Whenever I’m reading something of yours, I never want it to end so I try to read as slowly as I can and savour it…but it’s hard as your words are just so perfect I want to gobble them up!
Gosh, THANK YOU. I am going to remember this comment, will probably print it out and tape it to my laptop monitor the next time I wonder what I'm doing.
Oof, my heart. This resonates so deeply within me. Thank you for sharing your experiences and reflections so vulnerably. Writing is so therapeutic, sharing our stories is so healing. I feel like I've bounced in and out of grief and healing and grief and healing over and over again when trying to navigate the complicated relationships I have with family. When I write it out, I feel free. But my family then find my writing and shame and guilt me for sharing my experiences. I laud you for having the courage to share, no matter what. I respect you for trying your best to love and care for your mother despite her lack of mothering of you. And I admire your ability to say no more when treated unkindly by someone who birthed you. I see you mothering yourself now, here, in the community and relationships and most importantly, the relationship you have with yourself. And that is powerful. It's encouraging to witness. And I thank you for being you, sharing, and speaking truth <3
Oof right back. I hope you are mothering yourself where needed too. And as far as your family reading your writing, tell them to get off of your porch if they don't like it. Keep going.
I needed this now, as I begin to navigate a world in which my mother has become a different, disconnected person overnight and as I witness the reshuffling of my historically consistent* family unit. I know that the other side, of the grief and of the dread, is there. I know one day I'll be on that side of it. Thanks.
Somehow this was exactly what I needed to read today, Anna. The phrase "I don’t need to ensure that my identity or needs are understood in order to embody love, or patience" will stay with me for a long time. Thank you for sharing your beautiful writing with me, with all of us.
I really connected with how your community reflected on the loss of a parent. After my mom died (just before the start of the pandemic, which shut down many of life's systems we had been told were necessary - including work), the perspective of giving zero fucks for so many inconsequential aspects of life was almost overwhelming. It was hard to bear, but as my life has grown around my grief I'm thankful for it.
On my first date with my now partner, we spent a large part of our walk up a large hill talking about the death of our mothers. Now, two years later I feel like it's an important perspective we share. We seem to have let our guards down - to question protective mechanisms and to let the important things in, even when they are the hard/scary/vulnerable thing(s).
I’m in the South West of Australia . Also lush in the winter and currently dry like honey 🍯 at the end of Spring ... I also have wildfire trauma and hold my breathe every time I see inklings of smoke drifting . So I feel you !
I built an off grid home ( with a lot of help) in an old town bus for my daughter and I to live in , from my art that I made and sold . The plot of land our homes rests upon , is lined with fig trees - so we call it Fig Lane . They are almost ripe ! Cannot wait to make fig cakes , pies , jams !
We all ride our bikes around the property , visiting each other for cuppas and feeding the horses . We have a naked dam to swim in . And a big octagon meeting house that has a huge library of books collected by the last owner and gold velvet couches, a big round fireplace & beds upstairs , outside a lavender labyrinth . People come to hold their own artists and healing retreats and sometimes we do live music gigs .
My friends have owned the land for 2 years . I’ve been here the whole journey so far . There have been some people that have come and gone as they have not been ready for the level of communication and true listening required to be in community . Even though we all live in our own cosy abodes and there is plenty of space ... what ever you are holding will effect the whole land .
There has been juicy phases of learning for everyone .
Sometimes we require meetings/ gatherings (always with delicious food ) to get clear on things . We need to be able to put our selves in the others shoes and see and feel from their perspective . The ones that are here , truly want to be here for the growth and care of the land .
Some days there is music floating around and everyone is out and about working on projects , building / gardening / and the energy is insanely beautiful.
Cakes are dropped off on doorsteps .
Hugs are had walking from the driveway to the shed .
Ideas buzz and bounce and are caught and created .
Outside fire cookups , sweat lodges and live music .
My daughter runs off and comes home with a mulberry stained face and a story about one of her farm Aunties or Uncles .
The first couple of years have probably been the hardest as there has been a lot of foundation creating . And everyone learning (even more) how to receive and be held and helped - and how to ask for it . Everything we are feeling effects the whole community
I feel super blessed to be living here
And my next project is bringing a van back in to my life so we can go on adventures again . There’s nothing like adventures and then coming home again .
"Remembering is not a pre-requisite for care, and I don’t need to ensure that my identity or needs are understood in order to embody love, or patience."
This reminds me of what Ram Dass says about the importance of "becoming nobody." Reading this letter, I find myself wondering if I'd be able to summon the kind of courage you have summoned to lean into (as you described it) the feeling of "insignificance" while providing critical care. My parents have chosen lives that don't include each other--or my sister and me--and they made those choices in disturbingly cruel ways. Could I be the kind of person that shows up as a "nobody," ready to help if ever they should need me, regardless of the damage they've done? I'm not certain I'm that giving or understanding. Could my sister? Most likely yes. Could I be firm enough in my indifference to let her do it all alone? I don't know yet.
Those thoughts aside, I wanted to say that your writing is both graceful and precise, and I have been at various points moved, reassured, and laid bare by reading your letters. I know it's going to be a good day when your work hits my inbox, and I think it's a safe bet that I'm not the only one who feels that way.
This is such a beautiful reflection Alexandra. Thank you for your praise and for sharing your own experience. I deeply resonate with this sentiment, as my brother is admittedly stomaching most of the discomfort: "Could I be firm enough in my indifference to let her do it all alone? I don't know yet."
I didn't know how it would look, or how I would show up for my mother, until it was really happening (and by "it" I mean the shit-to-fan pipeline). I don't think it would have been possible for me to know earlier. What ultimately propelled me to arrive was not the love I have for my mother, but the desire to stand beside my brother.
Alexandra, this really resonates with me. Your use of the word "disturbing" is one that I haven't applied to some of my mother's recent actions until now, and I feel that it really articulates the conflict between being a person of compassion and being a person who has been hurt.
So well said, Alexandra. Unsupervised just became my very first paid subscription for all those reasons you described.
As someone who recently survived the loss of my mother, an intense, soul-crushing period of caring for her when she needed me most, and the complicated relationships with siblings and family that surround it all, I can tell you that you never truly know how you’ll show up until you’re in it.
Such a beautiful letter, I’m going to be thinking about it for a long time. Whenever I’m reading something of yours, I never want it to end so I try to read as slowly as I can and savour it…but it’s hard as your words are just so perfect I want to gobble them up!
Gosh, THANK YOU. I am going to remember this comment, will probably print it out and tape it to my laptop monitor the next time I wonder what I'm doing.
Oof, my heart. This resonates so deeply within me. Thank you for sharing your experiences and reflections so vulnerably. Writing is so therapeutic, sharing our stories is so healing. I feel like I've bounced in and out of grief and healing and grief and healing over and over again when trying to navigate the complicated relationships I have with family. When I write it out, I feel free. But my family then find my writing and shame and guilt me for sharing my experiences. I laud you for having the courage to share, no matter what. I respect you for trying your best to love and care for your mother despite her lack of mothering of you. And I admire your ability to say no more when treated unkindly by someone who birthed you. I see you mothering yourself now, here, in the community and relationships and most importantly, the relationship you have with yourself. And that is powerful. It's encouraging to witness. And I thank you for being you, sharing, and speaking truth <3
Oof right back. I hope you are mothering yourself where needed too. And as far as your family reading your writing, tell them to get off of your porch if they don't like it. Keep going.
I needed this now, as I begin to navigate a world in which my mother has become a different, disconnected person overnight and as I witness the reshuffling of my historically consistent* family unit. I know that the other side, of the grief and of the dread, is there. I know one day I'll be on that side of it. Thanks.
Sending you so much resilience and the free pass to let yourself feel as much comfort or agitation as you need to without making meaning from it.
Thank you, again, Anna. One of my fave letters of yours
thanks for reading Diane <3
Somehow this was exactly what I needed to read today, Anna. The phrase "I don’t need to ensure that my identity or needs are understood in order to embody love, or patience" will stay with me for a long time. Thank you for sharing your beautiful writing with me, with all of us.
Thanks so much for reading. I value comments like these and really take them to heart because often it is scary or wild sharing mine.
I really connected with how your community reflected on the loss of a parent. After my mom died (just before the start of the pandemic, which shut down many of life's systems we had been told were necessary - including work), the perspective of giving zero fucks for so many inconsequential aspects of life was almost overwhelming. It was hard to bear, but as my life has grown around my grief I'm thankful for it.
On my first date with my now partner, we spent a large part of our walk up a large hill talking about the death of our mothers. Now, two years later I feel like it's an important perspective we share. We seem to have let our guards down - to question protective mechanisms and to let the important things in, even when they are the hard/scary/vulnerable thing(s).
Sarah, I'm sorry for the loss of your mother. "As my life has grown around my grief" - I will carry that one with me.
Stunning🙏🏼 Thank you. One of the most beautiful pieces I have ever read, ever.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Thank you for reading. Needed this reassurance today.
This is so beautiful, maybe my favorite so far. It resonates deeply as I try to grow through my grief. You are a wonder.
Thanks for reading Kathy <3
Ohhh the way you share your stories
melts me
Every time !
“Fed by many hands”
I also love on land with 9 others and have never felt so held before .
I look forward to reading more community tales .
X
Where do you live!?! I want to know more.
Hey Darlin heart
I’m in the South West of Australia . Also lush in the winter and currently dry like honey 🍯 at the end of Spring ... I also have wildfire trauma and hold my breathe every time I see inklings of smoke drifting . So I feel you !
I built an off grid home ( with a lot of help) in an old town bus for my daughter and I to live in , from my art that I made and sold . The plot of land our homes rests upon , is lined with fig trees - so we call it Fig Lane . They are almost ripe ! Cannot wait to make fig cakes , pies , jams !
We all ride our bikes around the property , visiting each other for cuppas and feeding the horses . We have a naked dam to swim in . And a big octagon meeting house that has a huge library of books collected by the last owner and gold velvet couches, a big round fireplace & beds upstairs , outside a lavender labyrinth . People come to hold their own artists and healing retreats and sometimes we do live music gigs .
My friends have owned the land for 2 years . I’ve been here the whole journey so far . There have been some people that have come and gone as they have not been ready for the level of communication and true listening required to be in community . Even though we all live in our own cosy abodes and there is plenty of space ... what ever you are holding will effect the whole land .
There has been juicy phases of learning for everyone .
Sometimes we require meetings/ gatherings (always with delicious food ) to get clear on things . We need to be able to put our selves in the others shoes and see and feel from their perspective . The ones that are here , truly want to be here for the growth and care of the land .
Some days there is music floating around and everyone is out and about working on projects , building / gardening / and the energy is insanely beautiful.
Cakes are dropped off on doorsteps .
Hugs are had walking from the driveway to the shed .
Ideas buzz and bounce and are caught and created .
Outside fire cookups , sweat lodges and live music .
My daughter runs off and comes home with a mulberry stained face and a story about one of her farm Aunties or Uncles .
The first couple of years have probably been the hardest as there has been a lot of foundation creating . And everyone learning (even more) how to receive and be held and helped - and how to ask for it . Everything we are feeling effects the whole community
I feel super blessed to be living here
And my next project is bringing a van back in to my life so we can go on adventures again . There’s nothing like adventures and then coming home again .
Love your writing ! Can’t wait to hear more
X
this is a balm for a deep longing to return home to central california, to lean back into community, to cast spells for my deepest desires. thank you.
Thank you for reading :) <3
Beautifully written, a story that feels so bare and honest. Thank you for sharing!
Beauty-full. ✨
thanks for reading Lisa <3
I love this and you. thank you for sharing.
this is so resonant. thank you so much for putting it to words and sharing.
I'm so glad. It pours out of me over the course of a few days, but I still always wonder if it will land.
Thank you.
Thank you for reading and saying so.