Sage, this has touched me deeply as well. I see myself in both you and your daughter. As an adolescent I also stopped eating, and had panic attacks so awful it was hard to leave the house. Therapists and doctors did not help me, in fact they made me worse because they were proof that something terrible was wrong with me - when it was actually extreme sensitivity. "Motherhood as a soft place for her nervous system to rest" is such a beautiful line and it is exactly what I needed and didn't get - and what I aspire to give my son.
Oh my beautiful Rachel. Thank you for sharing this so vulnerably. Your longing to offer your son “a soft place to rest” feels like a powerful act of intergenerational repair—especially when our own nervous systems were never met that way. these ruptures aren’t signs of personal brokenness, but traces of systemic harm—where sensitivity was pathologized instead of honored… Creating that softness now, even imperfectly, is not just parenting—it’s a radical relational offering, and a weaving toward something wise. Sending love, 🧡 Sage
Dearest Sage, this is the fourth time I came back to read your piece again. Thank you for writing it, thank you for publishing it. A dear friend forwarded it to me. Reading this has been so validating. My daughter is 16 years old and have different challenges, yet it is so similar. Acknowledging the wounds that are carried through our genes, making it room for it, witnessing the implications is a courageous act in itself. Creating the container, being present - that is how I see my work. Your words resonated deeply with me and validated my 3D doubts. I tried to pick my favourite phrases but it was futile, as there are too many so I will return again and again, reading it in its entirety. Your words are a soothing herb and proof of deep, deep knowing. Warm wishes to you and your daugther.
I am so very grateful for you passing by, and beyond happy that my words have reached you. I still find it fascinating is that by telling my story, it opens up for beautiful connections. it opens our hearts ...even if it is "just" through words, and just in front of a computer. Words are strong medicine.
I also see that I have formed (unwillingly) a small alliance of motherhood(s), a sort of companionship into pain. So much is happening in the world. We need new eyes, old eyes, oh my god, all possible eyes, and souls and hearts and tenderness...
So thank you for being a mother who sees.
And if you feel like, if it makes sense, please tell your daughter there is a lady on the net that told me to tell you "Thank you for being our guide in the darkness of times".
Sage, this has touched me deeply as well. I see myself in both you and your daughter. As an adolescent I also stopped eating, and had panic attacks so awful it was hard to leave the house. Therapists and doctors did not help me, in fact they made me worse because they were proof that something terrible was wrong with me - when it was actually extreme sensitivity. "Motherhood as a soft place for her nervous system to rest" is such a beautiful line and it is exactly what I needed and didn't get - and what I aspire to give my son.
Oh my beautiful Rachel. Thank you for sharing this so vulnerably. Your longing to offer your son “a soft place to rest” feels like a powerful act of intergenerational repair—especially when our own nervous systems were never met that way. these ruptures aren’t signs of personal brokenness, but traces of systemic harm—where sensitivity was pathologized instead of honored… Creating that softness now, even imperfectly, is not just parenting—it’s a radical relational offering, and a weaving toward something wise. Sending love, 🧡 Sage
This has touched me deeply. Thank you. I sent you an email. With love ❤️
Dearest Sage, this is the fourth time I came back to read your piece again. Thank you for writing it, thank you for publishing it. A dear friend forwarded it to me. Reading this has been so validating. My daughter is 16 years old and have different challenges, yet it is so similar. Acknowledging the wounds that are carried through our genes, making it room for it, witnessing the implications is a courageous act in itself. Creating the container, being present - that is how I see my work. Your words resonated deeply with me and validated my 3D doubts. I tried to pick my favourite phrases but it was futile, as there are too many so I will return again and again, reading it in its entirety. Your words are a soothing herb and proof of deep, deep knowing. Warm wishes to you and your daugther.
dear Sonja,
I am so very grateful for you passing by, and beyond happy that my words have reached you. I still find it fascinating is that by telling my story, it opens up for beautiful connections. it opens our hearts ...even if it is "just" through words, and just in front of a computer. Words are strong medicine.
I also see that I have formed (unwillingly) a small alliance of motherhood(s), a sort of companionship into pain. So much is happening in the world. We need new eyes, old eyes, oh my god, all possible eyes, and souls and hearts and tenderness...
So thank you for being a mother who sees.
And if you feel like, if it makes sense, please tell your daughter there is a lady on the net that told me to tell you "Thank you for being our guide in the darkness of times".
With love, Sage