All you need is love

Well, Monday’s post on guilt and parenting certainly struck a chord with people. We are not alone. Thank you to all who took the time to leave a comment or talk to me on Facebook or in person about it. It’s been a valuable discussion. Actually, it’s been a very profound discussion in some ways.

Last night I read a comment from Pat Bailey, and I hope she doesn’t mind but I’m going to quote it here: “What is funny is that all the guilt I carried around for YEARS about things done or not done – things that I knew scared my children for life and I would burn in hell for. Those were the things that my children didn’t remember, just gave me the “you got to be s##### me” look. Then they told me the things that I did that really hurt them, wounded them and I thought “you got to be s#### me.” So I guess I carried the wrong guilt around all those years which means I should have just given it up and let them lay the guilt on when they were ready. That guilt didn’t seem like a burden because I said I was really sorry, they said no big deal, and life goes on…”

I found that so profound that I copied it onto Facebook, and Debbie left me this response: “Megan, my mother shared with us at my dad’s funeral that he always regretted the time he overreacted to a ‘potty’ word from one of us when we were little. My sisters and I looked at each other and said, “It wasn’t me, it must have been you.” None of us remembered it. I think guilt gets worse when you age, unless of course, you can let it go.”

AND THEN…(it just gets better, folks), my friend Lisa left this comment on the blog too: “…Interestingly one of my colleagues, who is a child psychologist of many years experience,  told me recently that she read that children need a good parent for around 30% of the time and as long as the other 70% or so is not abusive or destructive they will be fine…”

For me this is hugely profound, and incredibly freeing.

Just yesterday I realised something about myself and the way I thought. I’ve been battling through a mindset shift for the better part of two years, some real foundational thinking that I got wrong many years ago. It was, of all things, a novel that showed me that I’d been wrong for all these years (and locking myself away and suffering in silence because of it), and the journey of accepting the truth has been as difficult and painful as it has been freeing and beautiful. Paradigm shifts are like that. But just yesterday I saw in my mind for the first time exactly when that thought had come in, the words that were used, the conversation, the chairs, the room, the clothes my friend was wearing. Sometimes memories are weird like that. He was wrong. I know that now. But he was also seventeen, and seventeen-year-olds are kind of known for not being altogether accurate on big theological or philosophical matters. It’s not his fault that my thinking about myself and the way I did life with people was skewed. I was in a vulnerable place at the time, and I’d pressured him for answers bigger than he could give. Then hot on the heels of that thought was another one, also from when I was seventeen, and this time it was ME handing out judgemental idealism with a good dose of heavy-handedness (ouch. Oh I’m glad to be not seventeen any more). There were probably more incidences as well…but that’s the one I remember. Ouch. Remembering that so close to the revelation of how big an impact my friend’s words had had on me was…confronting.

I wanted immediately to go write to her and apologise, hoping that her life and understanding of self hadn’t been limited by my rash words all those years ago. I didn’t. Maybe she’s forgotten. Maybe she hasn’t. Maybe I need to. In the end I prayed for forgiveness for myself, and asked God to release her from any baggage my stupid words had left her with.

And then this morning I read the comments I posted above. It’s the full circle. We all stuff up, pretty much all the time, somewhere. And, of all the responses, guilt is the least productive. There’s a bit in the bible that says “love covers over a multitude of sins”, which is kind of what Lisa’s child psychologist friend is saying too – so long as those sins aren’t abusive or destructive – we are doing okay.

So. Go love somebody today. Go shout your friend their coffee. Hug your kids. Say yes. Forgive yourself. Forgive someone else. Love yourself.

Go on, you deserve it.



I lost a child once, a little boy called Daniel. He was three. My back was turned, the door was opened, he went to find his mother.

It ended okay. Because this is Tasmania, even though he turned right when we all went left, he was picked up by a family friend while wandering on the highway, while we set our searches in the other direction. It could have been much, much worse.

I was lucky. I know that, although I don’t think I’ve ever really forgiven myself for that day. I ran into two of his brothers the other day at the supermarket, and they tell me he’s an apprentice painter now, all grown up. For me though there’ll always be a small Daniel wandering on the highway of my memory.

I’m thinking of this at the moment because all of a sudden it’s very fresh. I’m reading a book called Unraveled, by Sharon K Souza. Image

I loved her previous books because they were honest and fresh and original, and when I saw she’d published another I jumped at it. I thought early on that I might blog about it, share it, because she’s taken the wild leap of faith into publishing it herself and this is one author I feel deserves to be read widely, but…but I’d thought I’d at least finish the book first.

I’m still in the middle. The main character is feeling the guilt that I felt that day, she was responsible, and now a child is missing, and all indicators are pointing to kidnapping by sex-traffickers. It’s set in Eastern Europe. It’s a story that’s all-too true for so many people.

I’m scared to read, and I’m scared to not read. I have no guarantee that this book will end well, at least not for the stolen child. This story isn’t Tasmania, and there may not be a family friend who happens to be driving past on the highway. I’m scared because, fifteen years ago, my lost Daniel could have ended like this.

We don’t know how stories will turn out when we’re in the middle of them. Some stories are not at all fun.

The one I’m reading is fiction. Unfortunately it’s on Kindle, so I can’t skip to the end, but neither can we in life.

I don’t know today why I’m telling you all this, except that sometimes we need to reach out to people and say “help! I’m in a story and I don’t know how it ends. Hold my hand for a minute?” and sometimes we just need someone to say “I don’t know if you believe in it or not, but I’ll pray for you today”.

So this is me, saying to you my friend, I don’t know if you believe it or not, but All Stories End. And today, if you need it, I’m praying for you.