When those tiny bumps begin to pop out, the exhilarating experience soon gives way to the horrific realisation of growth pain. Yes, those bumps are not just cute, sexy or ornamental—they are painful, they hurt, they are tender and highly sensitive to touch. Our world at large does not reward hard truth so the girls soon learn to focus on bra sizes.

The first shock

When I entered this stage years ago, I realised that apart from being excited about getting boobs, a lifetime of needing to protect these boobs also awaited me. How did I get introduced to this fact? Some pervert decided to teach me a lesson for having boobs. As I was trying to climb a very crowded bus, quite protected by my cautious mother, a hand slipped onto my chest and began to squeeze one of my literally tiny breasts. I was numb  with shock and pain. His excruciating grip only loosened because the crowd pushed us on to the bus.

After what felt like an eternity of pain, I took a breath and let go of the lips I was biting. As soon as I was on the bus, I made a vain attempt to identify the predator. Unfortunately, like for most girls, the world had to go on, everyone had to get back home and the crowd had little patience for a teenager’s lost look.

I wonder what made me silent that day? I had grown up watching my mother, an epitome of self respect, kick butts. She never forgave any encroachers. It was only decades later that I, too, learnt to embody Durga.

But the painful, traumatic and toxic experience of my first shock left me shaken for days afterwards. As I grew up, I learned to protect my boobs—just like all those who get molested, groped, touched, braised, all that stuff that is a “normal” for so many women.

Girls have feelings too

Growing up girls are beautiful, innocent, trusting beings. I say that from experience—I have been one. Girls feel pain just like others; they have feelings.; they are emotional too. They are pretty vulnerable to getting scarred for life. So tread carefully.

Watch the karmic trail your suppressed sexuality is leaving behind. Don’t grope their boobs and pussies (and, come to think of it, the willies of young innocent boys as well) against their wishes. If this turns you on then it’s not enough for you to know that you are twisted. You need to know that you are not the predator but a victim here; you are not functioning from choice but compulsion; you are not empowered but totally deprived; you are not a free man but an enslaved junkie. You need healing. Urgently!

Girls grow up and find ways to heal their wounds. It is the predators who never allow healing. They go unnoticed, unregistered… just like the countless domestic rapes in world. These men never find a way to heal themselves. They remain stuck in a loop, in an illusion of supremacy, that only drives them further down the abyss.

The perpetrators must heal

Girls and women reporting, confessing and healing themselves is not enough. It is the confessions and the healing of men that will actually change the world and make it friendlier.
As a society we also need to encourage this healing process. We need to have both an internal and external space for men where they can heal in confidentiality.

So those who are groping, braising, feeling up and giving friendly smooches to girls (and boys) Wake up! The victim will somehow handle it. But you, my dear, need help. Please reach out, seek help and give yourself a break. Cut yourself some slack. It is hard work to remain a perverted version of yourself; it has been too long.

Please give the girls and boys (many boys suffer worse traumas and go without healing for a whole life time) a chance to grow up without your sexual agenda. They need to have their childhood; leave them alone. Growing up is, in itself, a significant task and they have so much on their plates already. Let them be. Instead, focus on yourself, your healing and how to make healthier consensual choices.

Yes, try consent. It works wonders! A person’s consensual sexuality will blow your mind such that you will never need to abuse again.

The post Groping is the evidence of a twisted psyche, not a symbol of machismo appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

I know some folks think Marie is just plain intrusive. But most moms, whose priority in life is to help their children, will understand where she’s coming from. We moms may sometimes test the patience of a saint, and drive our grown-up children crazy by our seemingly meddlesome ways. But we will courageously carry on regardless, all for the love of our children. Or so we tell ourselves.

The early years

I remember how, when I was young, single and naïve, I used to wrinkle my nose at mothers who were overly involved in the lives of their children. But then I got married and had kids of my own, and soon I knew better. What seemed unpalatable before now seemed like the most natural thing to do. As for the mothers that I had thought of as control freaks earlier, I now saw them as conscientious, responsible and caring parents.

While the kids were growing up, I spent most of my waking hours doing what almost all moms do—cooking, cleaning, dusting, scrubbing, feeding, folding clothes, changing diapers and sheets, picking up stuff, putting the kids to sleep, hauling them out of bed in the morning, teaching, while handling a full-time day job. And what did I do the rest of the time? I worried about my kids.

I pestered the babysitter [and when the kids were older, our neighbours] to find out how the apples of my eye were doing in my absence. I attended every parent-teacher meeting and doled out requests for paying special attention to my sweet angels. I noticed the rolling of eyes my frequent requests elicited, but I ignored them from the goodness of my heart and for the good of my offspring.

We moms may sometimes test the patience of a saint, and drive our grown-up children crazy by our seemingly meddlesome ways

Parenting adolescents

Things were on an even keel until the kids were in school, when I could yell at them, “Shut your mouth and eat what’s on your plate!” and they actually obeyed. Or when their howling got on my nerves and I would scream, “Stop squealing for nothing, or I’ll give you something to really cry about,” and the tears of rage would stop flowing.

The going got tough when they started going to college. As is characteristic of adolescents, now they began trying to educate their parents. It seemed like just yesterday they exhibited insatiable curiosity, and suddenly, they didn’t want to know anything. They stopped asking me questions thinking they already knew all the answers. But that only got my antenna up. What were these smarties doing without my knowledge, I wondered.

Don’t know if the great Einstein flaunted his weirdo hairstyle even as a young man. But if he did, I’m sure his mom constantly bugged him to tone it down, just the way I badgered my children when I detected even a hint of strange tendencies.

 It seemed like just yesterday they exhibited insatiable curiosity, and suddenly, they didn’t want to know anything

Which is why we had some interesting interactions.

What’s that glittering thing on your tongue? Oh, it’s only candy, you haven’t got your tongue pierced? What a relief!;

My dear, you’re going out in that sleeveless dress? In this 20⁰ C weather? Cover up. Why? Because I know when you’re feeling cold;

Son, you’re going to the party like that? Can’t you wear an ironed shirt and proper shoes? And what’s that thing hanging over your collar, tied with a string? It’s the latest fashion? I don’t care, chop it off! You’ll do as I say. What do you mean why? Because Mommy always knows best. That’s why.

Stuff like that. And if we had mobile phones back then, I would have continued from where we had left off by texting them every hour.

When children are no longer kids

Despite our constant battles, it’s so satisfying to know I’ve raised smart kids. That’s why I’m hopeful that when they become parents they’ll understand what made me tick as a young mother, as also what motivates me now as an older parent. And I hope they won’t miss the point while undertaking such mental exercises.

I hope they’ll understand that when I insisted on knowing where and with whom they were going, when I punished them for watching TV during their study time, when I ignored their sulking and demanded they put their toys and clothes back in the proper place, when I let them feel the pain of getting poor grades in school as a result of not studying diligently, it was because I loved them.

The going got tough when they started going to college; now they began trying to educate their parents

I’ve long since loosened the proverbial apron strings. But I still dread having to watch my children live with the consequences of wrong decisions. At the same time, I don’t want to stop them learning from their own mistakes even now.

So yes, it’s still tough being a mom, even in the silver years. The hard part now is doling advice in matters of critical importance despite risking being labelled a meddlesome mom. But I believe, if you love your children, you will take that risk. Of course, it’s their prerogative to accept or reject your suggestions. But it’s still your prerogative to tell your children whatever you want to. Don’t get me wrong though. I’m not suggesting you should lecture your adult children about stuff like how to manage their money, their children, and their spouses. If you’re doing that, back off. Double quick.

Today, I’m focussed on making sure I’m helping, and not meddling. But that doesn’t mean that every once in a way I don’t revert to my old habits. My parting shot to my children during their student days was “Have some fruit after lunch”. Well, though they’re adults now, I still remind them of the same thing over Skype chats nowadays. But no harm done, for I’m sure they’re giving such unnecessary advice the treatment it deserves. After all, like I said before, I’ve raised smart kids.

The post Read these travails of a meddlesome mom appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.