How to Parent Your Children Differently in a Culture That Says Difference is Unacceptable


My name is Chelsi Williamson, and I parent my children differently.  

I think that my culture of parenting is similar in some European and Asian cultures, but definitely not in American culture.  I love looking at parenting culture in Denmark, Finland, Norway, and Japan.  I think we would be right at home in these countries. 

With a new bean growing and forming in my womb, these things are at the forefront of my mind.  I have no doubt that this child was conceived in some delicate universal balance, as I feel most children come to fruition from some cosmic space – call it God or what name you are most comfortable with.  

Let’s just be real here, America is in a huge flux, and, well, our culture could use a bit of improvement in my opinion.  I am no expert, but I do have a lot of knowledge and good access to my intuition and faith.  Some restructuring of priorities could be very beneficial, I believe. 

I have some fear about birthing a baby into a country whose future is so unknown, and potentially poised for a profound shift, either good or bad. I cannot say.  

All I can control, though, is my environment, my thoughts, and the peace and love that I continue to try to embody in this world.  I keep seeking like minded families and resources that I can study.  I listen whole heartedly to what speaks to me. 

Today I had my first EMDR session.  If you aren’t familiar with EMDR, it stands for “Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing.”  It is a type of therapy used to treat post traumatic stress disorder in order to lessen unwarranted physiological responses to stressors.  It is similar in nature to a type of meditation or hypnotherapy which accesses your subconscious trauma in order to reprogram it.

In essence, it assists your brain in releasing trauma from your body.  


It was immensely uncomfortable for me.  I love talking to others about their souls, hopes, prayers, etc., but when it comes to me, I am pretty off limits.  That is why I started this blog.  Vulnerability for myself is extraordinarily difficult.  With as much insight as I have into others, I know that I would have to willingly give of myself, and that will likely not be appreciated as fully as I feel I deserve.  That is what it is to be human today, I believe. But in that, you find the rare gems that see your true beauty for what it is.  I love and appreciate these people in a way that words cannot describe. 

I have learned to talk lightly about my past in a factual, unemotional sense.  I have made the intuitive connections between my past and my current behavior.  I have gone to school for therapy (master of social work), and while working I did lots of trauma focused training.  I have even seen countless therapists over the years, who congratulated me on my ability to link all of the pieces between my past and my present. 

And, yet, the physiological response still occurs.  I have never talked deeply or emotionally about my childhood trauma, until today.  No one has ever asked me pointed, meaningful, digging questions, until today.  

I still struggle to cry in front of others.  I haven’t cried in front of a therapist since my supervisor when I actually WAS a therapist.  I sobbed in every supervision meeting.  Ugly crying.  Hyperventilating wails.  Luckily, this isn’t uncommon for us bunch and she just held space for me.  

I didn’t cry once in my session.  My heart raced and I had a terrible headache the entire time, but I got to my car, turned the ignition, and just started sobbing.  I drove down historical Music Row, blubbering everywhere.  

This is hard.  This journey I have stepped on.  This is stuff I have come to terms with logically, but not physically or spiritually.  It is hitting me at my core.  Deep, deep inside of me in places I have never let anyone in.  Never.  

I am trying to feel safe in the world.  Not just for me, but for my family.  For my husband and for my children.  I want them to know that they are also safe, despite what is reflected in our outer culture.  I want them to know that we are surrounded in love and light because we are in touch with ourselves.

And to impart this message, I have to do this work myself. 

My anxiety is through the roof.  Our finances are tighter than they have been in a very long time.  It seems like unexpected bills are rolling in every day, including my tiny bean growing in my womb.  I am struggling to tap into that feeling of safety and security right now, but I am desperately seeking it.  I am constantly prayerful and hopeful for continued miracles.  My heart, at least, isn’t failing me and is trusting the process like a boss.  


I am researching all of the alternative modes of parenting a newborn, particularly Waldorf focused and based in soul unfoldment.  Both of my children are highly sensitive (The Highly Sensitive Child is a great resource), so being conscious of that reality from birth onward will be interesting.  My Pinterest board is already filled with “strange” baby rearing items.  I’m quite pleased with myself.

  
In the meantime, though, I am curled up in bed, reading “Your Reincarnating Child: Welcoming a Soul to the World,” and truly contemplating the complexities of consciousness.  

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