Dear Woman by Bronwyn Hawksworth

Jade Beall Photography

Dear Woman,

I know it doesn’t feel like it but it’s gonna be OK. One day. This is the pain of your birthing and it hurts more than you can say. You are being ripped apart. Cry out when you must. Do all that you can to breathe, and rest whenever there is pause. 

 

You walked away with nothing just to get out. Just so it would all stop. Just because you had finally realised there was no you left anyway.

It was over.

Liberation.

Fear - but of the unknown, not the known.

Chance and hope.

How could you have known you would not get away that easy? 

 

Your two children in the middle of a battlefield and there was absolutely nothing you could do to prevent it. Nothing. You tried. How do you mother through that? What is mother through that?

Your forever fear of ending up homeless and on the street. Your fear of the checkout. Your constant prayer. Your loss of career that couldn’t take single parenting into account. You had nowhere to go. Nobody to turn to. No way but down.

You look back 10 years and you didn’t know a term ‘ongoing abuse’. You just thought you were wrong. You were bad. You should be different. You should know how to cope. 
 

So you hid from yourself. You tried to pretend.

Where did that get you?

In the queue at welfare again, at 40 with two kids and baby on the way. Another man. You couldn’t see him for dust as he sprinted for the hills at the confirmation that you and he, your loving, had produced a baby. Two minus two equals: one left holding the baby.

Then just plain bewilderment. Friends, pals, acquantainces, people you respected and trusted, people you didn’t, your own inner judge—all came from far and wide to confirm that, yes indeed, you were the worst person in the world for letting yourself get into this situation.

Babe!

Then surreptitiously your 10-year-old son is ‘relocated’ and the deal is complete! The last soul shuddering wrench that leads you to full surrender. Or was it death of hope?

Legal advise? Tough shit sister.

Family advice? Best of British luck to you.

Friends advice? Oh yes and plenty of it!

What was it like to live on the poverty line with no financial support from two fathers—to raise beautiful human beings while completely falling apart?

Healing.

Excuse me?!

I know …but hear me out. It’s good.

You will learn humility.

You will learn what you really value, what is truly important, what you will not compromise.

You will learn that you too, were complicit with the patriarchal system you had no idea you were swimming in.

You will learn that healthy masculine exists, mostly through your son first. That He deserves healthy feminine.

You will learn to dig deep and find where your goddess had been buried under your Princess/GoodGirl/ButBrashExteriorSoNo-oneCouldFindHer.

You will learn about your Mother God.

You will learn to swim and dive and dance with grief.

You will learn forgiveness.

You will learn how not to be an innocent. How not to let naivety lead. How being heart led must come from true wisdom and be grounded with strong boundaries.

You will learn vulnerability is courage and courage is often found in what seems like weakness.

You will learn what is mother.

And you do learn all this! All this whilst raising your beautiful, humanistic, kind children. And you will continue learning this because you are amazing.

And you will continue to learn this for the beautiful man who entered your life when you finally accepted yourself.

And you will continue to learn this for other women. For your grandchildren.

You will continue to learn this for men. But not in the way that you used to.

But most of all you will continue to learn this because there is nothing more important to do.

So dear Woman, yes, being the victim hurts—but hang in there girl! Cling to the edges and cry out in those pains of labour ripping through you! Let them teach you Survivor. Learn to be Warrior and become a student of your One Precious Life.
 

Then, dear Woman, step into your destiny. You have become Teacher. Crone. Wise Woman.

Sing your song. Tell your story. Dance your life into love.

And know, right down to the soles of your earth covered feet,

You are so loved.

An excerpt from The Abuse After the Abuse: How Men use Money to Destroy Women, available for pre-order.