Those We Carry

In Africa, it is customary for women to carry their babies on their backs. As a child I remember watching my nanny bend from her hips and deftly place her baby chest-down on her back. Then, wrapping a blanket around them both, she would stand to tie a knot at the front of her chest. With her baby securely fastened, she would go about the house singing and sweeping, humming and hoovering. It was mesmerizing to watch. If the baby was fussy to start with, it was soon lulled to sleep by the rhythm of her voice and the gentle swaying of her hips.

When I had my own babies in London, I found myself favoring a sling over a stroller, a pouch over a pram. I would carry my babies on my chest in a BabyBjorn that I fondly called my “hands-free kit”. It allowed me to move about doing my own housework and, when I needed to settle a crying baby, I would pop her in the pouch and take a walk around Wimbledon Park. Long before I reached the tennis courts, the once screwed-up face would be transformed: eyes closed, lips parted, deep heavy breaths. What a privilege it seemed, to absorb their pain.

Those we carry.

My girls are grown now, two of them in their teens, but as a mother I find myself carrying them still. Not on my chest or even on my back like those years when I could piggy-back them, but in my heart, which can oftentimes feel heavier. Especially in a year like this one. I may have comforted my children through broken bones and failed friendships, but never through a time in history where the world they leave my side to engage in is fraught with fear and confusion. Yes, they have been resilient and yes, we are making it through, but the emotional toll on our family has been great.

Those who carry.

Not only are our kids struggling, but those who carry them are feeling the weight too. Parents, caregivers, teachers, and counselors - in fact anyone in arms reach of this generation growing up in a global pandemic. We have hugged, reassured, championed, and consoled, but we are tired. With May being national Mental Health Awareness month, I want to acknowledge this difficult season and encourage families to seek support where needed.

More often than not, this starts with us. I’ve had to learn when to ask for help, hoping that one day my daughters will know when to ask for it too. Sharing some of my anxiety gives them permission for their own feelings. Expressing a need to “cast my burdens unto Jesus” shows them a faith that they will need to choose for themselves. If I only model self-reliance, or project the image of a near-perfect mother who can cope with almost anything, I’m actually doing them a disservice. Admitting my limits allows them to set limits too and modeling a message of self-compassion over shame gives them the tools to be kind to themselves as they tackle future challenges.

Carry and be carried.

Carrying people in our hearts can be a burden, but also a testimony to how we love and are loved in return. Burdens are also not meant to be carried alone. Just this week I had a call with two friends and as we listened to each other and were vulnerable with our struggles, our tears for and validation of each other lightened the load. Almost as if it were me crying into the chest of a universal mother until I felt my body relax and my breathing slow.