The Myth of Happy Families - Why it Just Can't Work... and How You're Doing Just Fine

How's your day?

Chances are you're tired. Or beating yourself up at getting cross with a child. Or have just had to break up a fight. Or are hiding on the internet just to get five minutes peace.

Or perhaps you are feeling very chuffed because for the last half an hour everything has gone perfectly. You are, for the moment anyway, living the dream. You ARE the perfect parent.

The Wait is Over... It's Here!!!!!

THE WAIT IS OVER!

I know, it feels like forever... but it's finally here!

THE RAINBOW WAY!!!!! My book baby. The biggest book I've ever written - over 2 1/2 times the pages and almost 4 times the words of Moon Time. The Rainbow Way is 335 pages of life-changing glorious words, ideas, exercises, reflections and support which are about to be let loose on the world and I am so excited I can barely contain myself. I keep reminding myself it's "just" a book. 

But who I am kidding? 

It is SO much more! It's massive in every way! It is pure creative energy, insight and inspiration in page form. It's the book that changed my life in the writing of it. Totally transformed me, from depressed stay at home mama to the rainbow coloured creative entrepreneur you see glowing before you.

I am SO excited that you can finally ORDER YOUR VERY OWN COPY NOW! And then tell me what YOU think about it, and how it's transforming YOUR life. Do leave reviews on Amazon or email them to me! It's available from Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk too! W

ant to know what glory stuff is packed into it? Check out the list of contents and extracts.

"Is this is the creative rainbow mama book?" people keep asking me - yes, yes, yes it is!

It's the very first book I started writing... and the most recent book I have written. It's been two and a half FULL years. This book has carried me from aspiring writer through self-published to now published author. 

This is the book that when I am skating on the edge of burn out refer myself back too. Or when I am feeling uninspired and all dried up, or frustrated with the creative process. It is my go-to guide... even though I wrote it! How mad is that - to read your own book? 

But don't just take my word for it. Read what some of my biggest creative heroines have said about it - their words of praise for it leave me truly breathless.

Wow, look a nice, shiny BUY NOW button. I dare you to press it... butterflies will fly out of your computer screen... 

Wow! Magic! ... Well not now... but when you open its pages. So say the women who've already gotten their hands on a copy.

Buy one for yourself, for your sister, your best friend, your grown up daughter, put it on your Christmas wishlist!

The first 200 copies are signed and include:

• an inspiring book-mark
• a vibrant greetings card of one of my paintings (you can even put in a request for your favourite!!)
• exclusive access to private Facebook group for creative mothers. 

But even more exciting there is a SPECIAL BONUS GIFT!!!!!!!!!!!! Remember when I was designing covers for it? Well 10 4 lucky customers will receive an original labyrinth mono-print that I made (7x5 inches). Each picture is totally unique, and naturally quite rainbow-ish. (*Orders number 1,12, 25,38, 52, 71, 84 and 99 and the first 2 orders of 2+ copies will all receive a print!)

I'll see you over in our secret hang out on Facebook - there are already nearly 50 women there: it is a supportive place to network, meet other creative mamas, find resources and get inspired. After the busyness of the launch I will be doing some group projects in there too!

And don't forget to join us for the online launch - 4 glorious weeks of creative mothers around the world writing about nurturing creativity, creative heroines, creative inheritance and the creative process, linking up in blog land... starting tomorrow!!! We have over 70 women from around the world signed up already! You can find out more and JOIN US here!

PS. Kindle and paperbacks editions are available from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com too - I just don't make much of a living from them. (Please do leave me a review!)

Paperback editions are also stocked by Book Depository, Barnes and Noble...or order it from your local bookshop!

ISBN: 978-1-78279-028-0
ebook ISBN: 978-1-78279-027-3

Extract from The Rainbow Way: Cultivating Creativity in the Midst of Motherhood

I am so sorry things are so quiet round here - I am proofing The Rainbow Way for the final time before I send it off to the publishers to edit and proof all over again! It is currently out with a number of my heroines awaiting possible endorsements, so do keep your fingers crossed for me!

 So whilst I don't have the time or energy to be writing a post right now, I thought I could share some of my words from the book with you, as I know so many of you are dying to get your hands on it!

Summer Dreams - Lucy H Pearce

Catching Creativity 

Often inspiration comes at the most unlikely of times – when you are driving the kids to school or changing a nappy, making dinner or falling asleep. Creative mothers recall with a laugh, writing ideas down on the nearest thing to hand, old envelopes, shopping lists and even toilet paper, so that they did not disappear forever. That was certainly my experience in writing this book. This is because the conscious mind is not in charge of creativity – instead it emerges when the mind is relaxed and the body is engaged in a repetitive, habitual activity, or is deeply relaxed, so that the brain is ticking over, but not fully engaged.

Like falling in love or giving birth, the creative process has been described by thousands of voices over the years. But each of us can only touch on the memory of this elusive experience. We cannot transmit it to others through words alone. This is where the power of metaphor can help.

Catching creativity is like catching butterflies – fast-flying, bright coloured sparks darting here and there, it requires quick wits, good eyes and desire to net them. And once you have them, you need to act fast. An idea, like a butterfly doesn't last long: it is ephemeral. It is here, and now it is gone – so quick, grab your laptop, your pen and paper, your Dictaphone, your sketch pad, whatever your mode of expression or recording, swoop and catch.

Another metaphor – it is like spotting wild horses in the desert, all is quiet and calm on the horizon of the desert mind, a dust storm here, a vulture here, then suddenly over the horizon there thunders a herd of wild horses. Where they came from is not known, nor where they are going. If you spot them you can follow them on foot, running fast to keep up, you might get a sense of their size, their energy, their number and colour, and then they are gone, as quickly as they arrived. You are left with the bones, the bare bones in the desert. Your expression will never be the horses, it can never match them, it will be your impression of the horses. You will always be matching it up to that illusive, fleeting perfection of their vision when you saw and felt them. No one else saw them, so no one else can really know. Only your expression can, in some way, communicate these wild horses to the world. And if you choose not to chase them, because you're too busy, you didn't know how or you weren't ready, the image of these escaped horses may haunt you, lurking in your creative mind forever more – you will see other horses, other landscapes, but those horses, that desert, that day, are gone for good.

Catching creativity is like hearing the music of the carnival in the distance, carrying on the wind. It sounds enticing, though you cannot see it, you can imagine the colours, the smells, the energy of carnival. The wind changes direction and you lose the sound again. All you have is the impression, the memory. Without the sounds there to reawaken your sensory memory it's more challenging to recall it and recreate it, but when you do, the sounds waft closer, the carnival is alive in your mind.

Copyright Lucy H Pearce, this extract is from  The Rainbow Way: Cultivating Creativity in the Midst of Motherhood, out late 2013, published by SoulRocks.

OOO

The Rainbow Way…

• o   Embraces the many different shades of creative mother and provides structure, support and possibility for your own unique journey.
• o   Shares a lost feminine archetype, the Creative Rainbow Mother.
• o   Integrates creative, personal and spiritual development.
• o   Honours a creative mother’s dual soul yearnings in a practical way, offering a “road map” to creative motherhood which speaks to body, mind and soul.

Visioned as the guide and mentor that most creative women yearn for, but never find in their daily lives, The Rainbow Way explores the depths of the creative urge, from psychological, biological, spiritual and cultural perspectives. This positive, nurturing and practical book will help to empower you to unlock your creative potential within the constraints of your demanding life as a mother.

Featuring the words of over fifty creative mothers: artists, writers, film-makers, performers and crafters, including:

• ·         Jennifer Louden (multiple best-selling author)
• ·         Pam England (author , artist and founder Birthing From Within)
• ·         Julie Daley (writer, photographer, dancer and creator of Unabashedly Female)
• ·         Indigo Bacal (founder of WILDE Tribe)
• ·         Foreword by Leonie Dawson, author, artist, entrepreneur and women’s business and creativity mentor).

Dearest Mama...

Dearest mama,

You started out with such high hopes, big dreams – how you would help the world to embrace your dear sweet children. You whispered your promises to them in the womb. Of how you would be the perfect mother – ever gentle, kind and patient. Of how you would do everything for them, with them. And you truly meant it.

For years you tried to be the perfect mama. But the pain that you weren’t was almost unbearable. You felt a failure. You felt guilty. You felt like giving up, running away. Often you threatened to quit.

Don’t be hard on yourself. You are the only mama they know. The only mama they love. The only mama you know how to be. And that is more than enough.

You wanted to make your past better through your mothering. But you can’t. You can’t erase your own pain, however hard you try to be perfect or love your children more.

You do your best not to recreate your own suffering it in their lives. You are committed to love. You are conscientious. And that has to be enough. The world does not change in a day, and neither will you. Remember you are your ancestors’ hopes and dreams incarnate. But you are also their hurts and failings writ large.

You love your children, though you may shout at them. You feed them and put up with their complaints when they don’t like dinner.  You clothe them and weather their tantrums over too-tight clothes. You mother them at six in the morning, at lunchtime, at midnight when they wake with sore teeth. When you are sick, you mother them still. You tend to their hurt knees with a mother’s love.  You help them to find the answers their souls are seeking. You tickle and tumble with them. You show them the size of a mother’s love and the reality of a mother’s life. You give them language with which to engage with the world. You hold their hearts in your hand and ask them about their dreams. You throw your sticks together into the river of life. Now watch them float. You are not meant to be their pilot. Let go with the flow. Let it wash over you all.

You spend so long focusing on the minutiae – the moments that you yell, not the moments that you embrace them, which in the bigger picture far out-number the cross words and impatience which you feel colours your days.

Be sure that what they will hold in their souls are all the things you cannot see – the way your hair falls over your face as you kiss them goodnight, the soft pillow of breast as they snuggle up to you at night, the way you say certain words, the magical contents of your jewellery box, your love of books, the way you loved them when they felt ill and frightened. When you cheered loudly for them in the school play or showed your heartfelt appreciation of their picture. And fleeting moments when you stood hand in hand on the edge of the ocean in the light of the full moon.

Just try, for a moment to see yourself through their eyes. See yourself as the most important woman in their world.

Because that is what you are. You, dearest woman, are a goddess to them, though they will never tell you. You are love incarnate. Your perceived flaws just make you human.

Allow yourself to feel the depth and breadth of your love. Their love. Nothing else matters.

  

Lucy x

This is my contribution to a very special book which has just been published. Note to Self : The Secret to Becoming your own Best Friend invites you to discover the beauty and power of self-love, acceptance and becoming your own best friend. Exploring topics such as Healing, Menstruation, Motherhood and Body Image, Note to Self shows you how to embrace who you are and write love letters for your soul. It includes a collection of letters from 30 inspiring women around the world including Tabby Biddle, Jane Harwicke Collings ... and me!!

Heartfelt and loving, it was the creative child of the lovely Jo MacDonald from The Red Box Company whom I met on the Goddess Circle who, like me, works in the field of women's and girl's empowerment.

E-books and paperback versions of Note to Self are available to buy from Jo, here...

"A truly inspiring read filled with encouragement on speaking your truth and living authentically!" Kimberly Wilson, Author of Hip Tranquil Chick and Tranquilista

“Every woman, in fact every teenage girl, should read this book...” Jen Saunders, Founder & Editor-in-chief Wild Sister Magazine
 
10% of all profits go to Plan's 'BECAUSE I AM A GIRL' charity project 

A Mother's Prayer

Just going through the archives and saw this - love it, so wanted to share it again!

All mothers 

Who art down the road, in the house next door, all around the world,

Hallowed be thy names,

Thy time will come, thy work will be done.

You give this day the daily bread - endless sandwiches (with crusts off, and cut the right way), wraps and pittas, with hummous or ham, jam or peanut butter, with butter or without, that will be left half-eaten.

Forgive us our shouting and lack of patience,

As we forgive those grubby fingered little sods who drew on the walls with our lipstick, sat on their sister, spat out their dinner and said mean things to their brother, and decided he'd prefer another mama.

And lead us not into temptation - three slices of cake is enough for a mama, and the grass is not always greener despite what you might think.

But deliver us from repeating cycles of abuse, hurt and destruction upon our precious charges,

For theirs is the future,

The power and the glory are not apparent right now,

Forever, and ever, and ever they seem to take to go to sleep, and it all seems a blur,

But one day we will see the results of this daily drudge and give thanks for our part in this miracle.

Ah men, don't know how good they've got it…or what they're missing out on!

Mama's home!

So after my last post and a couple of comments (all of which I deeply appreciated - they touched my soul), I saw the light. I realised I could ask for what I needed, which was to escape. I asked in love. Mr Dreaming Aloud knew where I was at, knew I wasn't doing a runner on him, and released me with love.

And so I got online, found some wonderful places to retreat - if it wasn't the night before, during the Xmas hols... and so I was left with no final destination.

So I headed for one of my favourite places in the world - West Cork. There is a line that I pass, about 10 miles West of Cork city, where the landscape shifts gears, and opens up, and I go ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I feel like I have crossed a kind of time and date line, into a different land, both internally and externally.

So I drove to a beautiful castle overlooking Kinsale bay.

Image: tripadvisor.ie

It was stormy, wind and rain, my tears were appropriate to the day. I sobbed and felt lost. And there, walking past my car, just as I had done on precious times before, were parents walking with their little children. And my heart strings went. That's what I wanted. You weren't expecting that dear reader, and nor was I. So I drove back past the hotels, past the colourful craft shops and galleries, past the little cafes. I didn't want to eat out, I didn't want a strange bed, I didn't want to be alone with myself. I wanted home and my children, and my husband, and my bed, and my friends. I missed my baby, I was sad that she would be sad about not feeding. I realised that although I may want to escape from being a mama, I was a mama deep in my soul. something deep had shifted, unseen, these past few years. I just hadn't had the space to really feel it, to touch it, and so I doubted it was there.

As I was pondering, whether to wimp out and turn around, a friend called to finalise lunch plans, not knowing that I did not know about them, nor that I was over an hour away.

And so I turned my (sister's) car around and headed for the little fishing village next to ours. And there round a table were some of my dearest friends in the world, a spread of home-cooked food, a baby reaching out to me - mama, milkie!

I sat down, late, unannounced and burst into tears. And being true friends, not an eyebrow was raised, not a comment made. My plate was filled - I fed my baby and ate my dinner. And then we talked and laughed and our children played and our menfolk played Scrabble.

Then I had an early night, baby curled in one side of me and my son the other side.

Mama's home!


p.s. Let it be known that I felt a total wuss chickening out on two precious days alone time,and know that many of my mama readers are yearning for that right now and are probably hurling rocks at me through my computer screen. I just knew that I was getting anxious and needed to be somewhere familiar. So I am taking a 6 hour creative retreat here at the Tea house (and cafe) today, then a late lunch with other dear friends. And I have special retreat places on my to-do list for later in the year once baba is weaned and I am not feeling anxious.

The motherland: a journey of the heart

Yesterday, in a synchronistic overview which the Universe sometimes provides, I saw all sides of the miracle of motherhood writ large in the women in my life...

In the course of my day I was honoured to spend quality time with:

A woman who is about to give birth to her third child
A woman recently pregnant with her first, seeking out knowledge about birth
A woman with a little baby
A woman who had just had a wanted abortion
A woman who is desperately wanting to conceive but is struggling
A woman with a dearly wanted adopted child
A woman whose youngest child is about to leave home
Women with children in the prime of childhood

So many different women,  who from different departure points in their lives, have undertaken this journey of the heart into the unknown motherland. Each of them at different places of the journey of motherhood. The wide-eyed innocence of the first time mother. The hard won wisdom of the mother whose children are making their way in the world. The blooming unseen potential of the burgeoning pregnant mama's belly. The aching heart of the woman who wants with every cell of her being, to be a mother whose body is not cooperating with her dream. And the one who knows that now is just not the right time.

With courage and surrender these women face the unknowable each day, as the miracle of life unfolds within their bodies and hearts. As they deal with the difficult decisions which call to be taken. They learn to follow their intuition, the quiet voice within, to find responses to questions that have no answer but their own. They strive for health, for wellbeing, for balance, for love in a world that does not acknowledge the value of these things. They give of themselves endlessly, constantly, for the soul reward of being a part of the dance of life whose gift is life itself and love, deeper than we could ever have imagined.

And there, somewhere in the centre of it all, subsumed under other people's bodies, and cries, and multiplying cells, and hormonal cycles sits a woman: a woman who through the sacred journey of motherhood, loses and finds herself, her body, her sanity on a daily basis. And in the midst of it all, gives birth to something so precious: a deeper sense of self.

Blessings to you all dear women, dear mothers in your journey, wherever on the path you may be.

Stop with the sunshine posts!

After speaking to a couple of mother friends over the past few days who feel overwhelmed and despondent, I realise that I'm in danger of turning into one of those annoying mamas who wears hippy skirts, bakes cakes, makes endless craft with their kids and is always happy... oh wait a minute, I am that woman. Hurray! I have made it. For a while anyway!

But let me share a secret with you- I used to read posts by people like me and HATE them! Bloody earth mothers! How do they bake their own bread and write a blog and home school and be NICE all day?

Well they are not, I'm sure, and I'm not either. Only 2 months ago I was bawling my eyes out at women's group cos life was shit, I was shit and I HATED being a mother and wasn't doing ANYTHING, I was barely surviving, let alone baking bread.

So dear reader, you and I need a little agreement here, that just cos all is roses in my world today, just cos I had a home birth, just cos I am a mighty fine cake baker, doesn't mean all is perfect, nor does it mean everything in your life is not perfect in comparison. so don't begrudge me the roses. I share them to share a little happiness, not to make you feel shit in comparison if your day was less than rosy.

The waves and the shore

I am the shore, the stony shore,
Rocky, hardened by time.
Impenetrable.
You, my children, the waves
The ever-crashing, bashing, smashing waves.

The infinite ocean of your possibilities leads as far as the eye can see
Sometimes grey and stormy,
Sometimes calm and blue
Ever changing, ever changing.

Sometimes throwing up seaweed, slimy green and brown
Decorating the mothershore in stinky stickiness.
You wear down my edges, weathering my sharp corners,
Rounding me into something more beautiful and enduring.

Sometimes the storm winds sing so loud I cannot hear my own thoughts,
You pound so insistently I cannot feel my own body
I am storm tossed, wind blown, wave washed, all at sea.

But the tide turns, the waves retreat to play on other shores,
I am still here, and all I can hear is the echo of your roar
Haunting my ears, filling the spaces between my thoughts.

Broken into smaller pebbles, here I lie.
And wait for you,
The tide will turn and back you come to the mothersoul
Seashell souls held close to my stony breast.

A Women's Circle of Deep Compassion

What can I do?

That was my first question. A good friend approached me almost immediately she heard the news - you're tapped into a large mother's network in the area, what can we do?

I felt blank. Empty. In complete shock. Helpless in the face of a tragedy so large, so local, so raw. We all did.

Yesterday my blog page had 240 visitors. Writing it was scary - would people find it tasteless, me writing about such a raw subject? But it seemed to touch a chord with many. And it moved me on in my own process of grief.

I have been asking local mums who are church goers "what are the arrangements". I attend church things in support of the local community here, at sad times, but I am not a church attendee.

But I do lead womens circles. And it is women who are needing to share their feelings of sadness, shock, and deep compassion. Both women in the local community, and those who live further afield but have connections to the area, either geographical, familial or simply soul connections.

So a plan has developed (thanks to a night of not much sleep due to a hot, cross, teething baby).

Tomorrow morning will be a Women's Time of Deep Compassion. 

At 11 am, tomorrow, Friday 19th November, I would like to invite you to add your focused awareness, love and compassion. Take a moment to remember Una, her beautiful daughters, her family and friends, and her husband, and his family and friends. Widening your circle of love and deep compassion for them all.

Please attend my house if you can and would like to (RSVP please). Or gather a circle of women together at your own. Or take a moment whilst sitting with friends having a coffee.  Or at your Jamie Oliver Party (I don't want to steal your attendees Bree!) or just by yourself. Spread the word to as many other women friends as you think would be interested.

1) Light a candle if you can
2) Take a moment to breathe deeply and mindfully
3) Sit in awareness/ prayer/meditation for a few minutes
4) Perhaps take time to make the gifts (see below) together, or share those you have made already and brought
5) On extinguishing the candles, each person sends a wish/ hope/prayer for Una, if possible speaking it aloud.
6) It is always nice to open and close a women's circle by holding hands and closing eyes, perhaps singing together, but only if you feel comfortable doing this!


And a gift...

A friend at her motherblessing was given a beautiful handmade book, where each of us contributed a page. I would like to do a variation partly on this, and partly on a conventional communally signed card. A pack of mother-blessed, "angel"/ "inspiration" cards for her to keep with her journal, or on her mantle piece, or handbag.

If each person who wishes could make a "postcard": 6" x 4" (standard photo size), just single (not a folded card). On one side might be a photograph, drawing, collage, piece of mounted sewing, a quotation, message, symbol, a word, a prayer, a poem - a gift of hope/love/peace from your heart to hers. Something to light her darkness and add a new, brighter thought or image into her days.

On the other side please put your name at least, and perhaps your contact details or where you live, so that if ever she feels herself alone in this world she can phone, text, call in, drive past your house, look at a map and know that someone out there cares and that she is not alone.

Please mail me these cards (to arrive for the end of next week - email me for address), or scan them in and email them and I will print them off and put them onto card.

I will compile the cards in a beautiful folder/ envelope and get them to her next week.

So 11 am PROMPT tomorrow, Friday 19th November. Start arriving from 10.45, we will be finished by 11.30. I am not intending for it to last more than half an hour, as I know people will have to disappear to collect children and do nap time.

Please do bring any prayers/ poems/ reflections etc that you might want to share at this time.

And do bring cake etc if wanted. We will of course have tea and cake afterwards for those who do not need to race off.

I look forward to welcoming as many of you as possible to the Pink House tomorrow - please do RSVP by text/email.

Practical note:  I am planning it for a Friday as then a lot of mothers have children in school or playschool. I feel it is appropriate for babies to be there. Toddlers too (if they can have a favourite toy/ book/ food to keep them quiet for a little that would be great.) I would be concerned about older children asking questions that mothers may be wanting to avoid, but they are welcome to play upstairs.

The grieving mother soul

For Una, and all who grieve,

I send you a prayer with every breath. I cannot begin to comprehend your pain, the scale of your loss.

The storm winds of the mother soul howled around this house last night, and every other house in the area, the tears of God raining down upon us as we battened down our hatches and sent continual prayers that you are finding peace and comfort somehow. We are counting and recounting our own blessings with every prayer. Wishing we could transfer them to you.

Words cannot begin to express the sense of deep, deep sadness that every mother and father in our community feels at this moment. We hold our own, dear children closely to us, as though we can immunize them and ourselves from suffering and pain through our tiny, repeated act of love, wishing, wishing that this would bring your children back to you.

We wake to a blue sky, the rays of sunshine promising hope. But the mood is dark and sombre. The usual school gate chatter is gone. Even the playground is eerily quiet. We are united in your pain: we are all one.

We want to talk but talking changes nothing. Nor does the news. It is like scratching an itch, it momentarily makes things feel better, and then worse. The facts are not what we want. We seek to find a way through the shock, the senselessness, the destructive possibilities of the human spirit. The knife edge of normality which we unknowingly walk along every day and which disaster can shatter in an instant. As I feed our chickens and empty our bins, I wish you the soothing tedium of mundanity.

The mother soul is grieving for one of its own. Know that we are united around you, though you cannot see us or may not know us. We hold the space for you, for you to be as you need, in this moment. We open our Madonna's cloaks, fall into their soft folds, let us hold you and croon you a lullaby to soothe you into sleep and the momentary forgetfulness that it will bring, let us wail together, let us wash you clean of your pain in our tears, let us feed you and hold you as you cry and scream and rage and then lie silent.

I pray that you might find life after death. Someday, somehow.

With love, deepest love, dear Una and all your family.