A new year gift

A new year gift : a new born (the fifth one) If I were to tell you that at 18, I didn’t want children, you probably wouldn’t believe me. At 18, my friends described me as very optimistic, pragmatic, and self-assured. Looking back, I realized my desire not to have children was closely linked to all my romantic failures. I think I had lost hope of finding the man, the one who would win my heart. I’ll admit, I had set the bar very high. My friends would tease me, saying I’d end up alone. And yet, when I was ready, I found him. I had always seen motherhood as a permanent sacrifice. And yet, a child always comes with priceless gifts for those who choose to walk alongside them. It took me until my fifth to truly recognize the gifts I had received. Perhaps I was too conditioned to think of a gift as something material. The first came violently—a rare illness for me, a semi-coma, and two years of memory loss. A gentle voice inside me whispered, “Don’t be afraid, everything will return to normal. You can’t fill a cup that’s already full. You’ve read too many books. Forget your upbringing, too. Just observe this child and learn from experience what a child’s development truly is.” Thanks to her, I questioned everything—for the better. The second taught me faith. The doctors kept warning me I was in danger because of my first delivery. To hold back the rising tide of panic, I meditated every morning for an hour, telling myself this child would be born healthy. And that’s exactly what happened. By the third, fear was just a memory. I didn’t even go to the hospital. Instead, I held a dream close to my heart: return back home. And that dream came true. I took a plane in my eighth month and, for the first time, understood the meaning of contentment—that silent firework, that joy so intense yet utterly quiet, because it lies deep within you. It was divinely celestial. I had a very special bond with this child. With him, I became gentleness, patience, understanding incarnate. I hadn’t even known that was possible. The fourth was a pure gift from heaven. She arrived right after I finished writing my book. I had always given everything to my children, losing myself and my dreams, forgetting along the way who I was. I got lost trying to be what others wanted me to be. For the first time, someone looked at me the way I had always looked at others. This child rekindled a fire within me. She had such gentleness. She treated me as if I were exceptional. She reminded me how beautiful it feels to be truly loved—with respect and gratitude. She woke in me the woman I had silenced all those years to please others. The fifth helped me put myself back in order. No more pretending. I could no longer settle for less. This child reminded me that “impossible” is a word created on Earth to make us give up on our dreams. A difficult pregnancy—body broken and weary—led me to do what I do best: pray and breathe (neuroscience). And I received every answer I had been searching for. Each of them was vital in my quest to become myself. I understood that all those spiritual practices had only one purpose: to rediscover the real me.

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