The Wound We Never Talk About

Why the break-up of a family is one of the most painful losses.

​I wept on my yoga mat. Deep, heaving sobs that wouldn’t stop. The song the yoga instructor played about unraveling your ego only adding to the deluge of my tears.

I’ve wanted to be a mother for as long as I could remember.

When I was 29 I had a dream about a blonde, curly-haired girl. She was sitting at the foot of my bed, looking at me with her big crystal blue eyes. “I’m your daughter,” she said to me. I remember waking up confused. My daughter? Other than her blue eyes, she looked nothing like me.

Three years later I gave birth to a blue-eyed baby girl. It took three years for her blonde curls to grow in. In quiet moments, when she sat in the living room reading books or playing with toys, her blonde ringlets rippling around her eyes, I remembered that dream and felt a wave of comfort wash over my soul. The daughter of my dreams had become real.

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