The tent
catches the breeze and billows out as we grab hold of the edges, filled with
strength as it pulls at our hands. Hammering the tent pegs into the soil, the
scent of the earth fills the warm air. And my child laughs. The sound fills my
ear canals, the middle ear sending vibrations along the nerves into my cortex.
And then my soul billows like the tent, the breeze of her laughter filling me
up, the joy of it so sweet, so precious. My eyes brim with tears as she runs
across the field, the dog trotting beside her. Not sadness but a deep sense of
gratitude for the moment.
I recall the professional telling me that perfect mothers do not exist. He hands
me a tissue as I cry tears of regret, of fear. Being enough was all I could
be, perfection was a lie I had been fed. Now, sitting around the campfire, the
flames staining our skin with an orange glow, the night velvet around us, I
understand that I have spent too long being deceived. For 15 years I have carried
with me a conviction, a constant regret, a piercing fear that I would get it
wrong. That my precious girls would be damaged by my inequities. So many
moments lost, forever tainted with the cold feeling of ‘not good enough’. 
If I could
time travel, I would go back 15 years and sit beside myself on the
hospital bed. My body aching from giving birth, my belly empty, exhausted but
unable to sleep as I watch my newborn girl, swaddled, exquisite. I would wrap
my arms around this new mother and I would whisper in my ear, ‘You will do
well, you will not be perfect but you will be enough.’ Perhaps I would go and
sit beside the mother again, on the kitchen floor as I cry tears of
frustration, my strong willed, intelligent toddler refusing to do as she is
asked. I would hand myself a cup of tea and whisper, ‘Breath. You are not perfect
but you are enough. God has healed you, he has taken the anger and resentment,
washed them from your innermost being.’ If I could time travel.
My girl and
I lie on the beach, the sun baking on our shoulders, the dog panting at our
side. We collect little pebbles and shells. They will fill the miniature glass
pots we have just emptied of jam onto warm scones. Each stone represents the
tiny steps we have taken towards this moment. We could not carry her as the anorexia
consumed her, we could only walk beside her, guide her. This moment. I look up
at the blue sky, I hear the waves, their rhythm a worship song. And I am filled with a
deep gratitude. Now I know that I am enough. God is the only perfect
parent. I whisper to my girl, ‘Do you know how loved you are?’ She smiles and
my soul swells. She does. 
