My Mother’s Love

Unwittingly I entered this strange place, vulnerable and naked. I was met with my mother’s love. Consistent and pure, it sustained me. Never confused, diluted, or adulterated. Unmistakably identifiable and present amidst the darkness and the confusion of the journey. I built an identity on solid ground, a ground I was given, not one I made.

A Mother’s Love, in its pure form, is primal. It is part of the bedrock of the human psyche. Without this love in a concentrated dose, there is a wound, a missing space left open and vulnerable. It is unquestionable and unreplaceable as no substitute will do. It can not be supplemented with any other love.

I know the primal nature of this love to be true. I have experienced the ego’s death and been unraveled. Deconstructed to my core. My soul has spent one too many dark nights, but I was not alone. Remnants of a structure once built up to represent me lay in shambles. As I looked around the reality of my inner world, I was shown only a couple parts to rebuild with. Gifts I had been given long ago and one was my mother’s love.

When doubt and hopelessness seem to make the most sense, they quickly dissipate and are proven useless in the presence of my mother’s love. Believe me, I have tried to be angry, to give up, and accept defeat. Circumstances seem to prove all parts of me worthless, I have no value to offer, but then I have this token, this part of my soul; I have my mother’s love.

If you have read this far, thank you! I would love to hear your feedback, have a discussion, or debate these concepts. Let’s connect at, PsychologyToday, Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter or shoot me an email at rjblcpc@gmail.com.