About Hope


I’ve been circling blog topics for days. Epigenetics and mothering for example. Then. Someone recently asked me how I can still hope. It was in the context of world events and specifically, the shootings in New Zealand. 

I thought immediately, we are at a loss, done for, if we don’t have hope. Yes there are times when we lose hope. And. If I think back as far as I can in childhood, I can say, hope is something I always held to. Maybe instinctively and even intrinsically. Perhaps integrally. My childhood, like many, wasn’t always a happy one.  

Hope is existential for me. And I know I carry that into the ways I mother. My adult children and grandchildren. Extended family and friends. Neighbours. Colleagues. Students. Acquaintances. People I hardly know. 

Hope leads me to believe for example that there is always a way of getting something done. Hope shows me that there is always more: more than I understand, know, am aware of, have read, realized, or experienced. It brings me to wonder.

Sometimes my belief in hope can get me in trouble; in holding to it, I can come across as idealist, or as negating the experiences of others, their emotional responses, their hurt. But you see, even in my darkest moments, and especially those I’ve had as a mother, I have felt, and moved, although not always immediately, in the direction of hope. 

When I come to mothering I want to guide with hope. For the future, yours, mine, ours. And it is hope that holds me up when, I feel the lightness and fear of letting go and letting be. In relinquishing, as Heidi put it in her March 21st blog. 

And so. As incredibly complex and frightening and convoluted as our world is right now, and because the gifts of mothering and being mothered were given to me, I strive to offer and share hope. As a gift of optimism and expectation, of change. Always.