There’s a picture I remember, from a storybook read to me when I was a little kid. In the picture a baby is being held upside down while two prostitutes look on- one in panic, the other in compliance.

The story is this. Two prostitutes each had a baby. During the night, one rolled over her baby killing it. She traded her dead baby with the other woman’s and pretended the live baby was her own.

When the situation was brought before the king he suggested that they cut the live baby in two and each would take half. The mother of the live baby pleaded with the King to let the other mother have the baby. The other mother agreed to the cutting so neither of them would have the child. The King knew immediately who the true mother was and returned her baby.

Even as a child this seemed like a very unrealistic story. What morbid person would allow someone to cut up a baby? For years I hadn’t thought of this story until a few days ago when I found myself thinking of the picture. Since I’m not a mother, I thought about the story metaphorically.

The first mother slept on her baby so by her own “fault”/horrible accident it was destroyed. Instead of dealing with it she took the other mother’s live baby and claimed it as her own.

This reclaiming situation happened to me twice. Once, in fourth grade, a girl stole my puzzle piece Christmas wreath, wrote her initials on the back, and claimed it was hers. When I hang it on my tree every year, I flip it over and see her permanent initials in black pen.  Three years later, on my first week of softball practice, another girl stole my green and purple sweatshirt claiming adamantly that it was her own even as she handed it back to me, rolling her eyes in dismissal.

The wreath, I was sure was mine, because I’d meticulously glued the pieces together. The sweater on the other hand, got me to questions whether I was wrong. Could it be possible that she had a sweater just like mine? I couldn’t remember if the shoulders had that stitching. What if I was wrongly accusing her? The more times she claimed it was hers it filled me with the little voice of doubt.

Now, as I look back, it saddens me that those girls wanted the wreath and the sweater enough to steal them and stay consistent with the lie that they belonged to them. Stealing them was probably a temporary fix for a deeper problem or inadequacy that the girls faced, but it hurt me in the process.

My past eating disorder gave me an outlet for my insecurities and anger but I wasn’t dealing with the real issues and I hurt people in the process.

In the baby story, the mother knew that the live baby was her own. But could there have been even a small level of doubt?

For the other woman, whose baby had died, there were 4 specific things that I noticed:

1) She didn’t deal with the reality of her dead baby.

2) Instead she passed off the blame and stole from someone else.

3) She lied about it.

4) She was cruel. She was willing to let the baby be cut in half so that neither of them would have a baby.

This woman’s heart was hardened because she was in pain. She made her decisions based on an emotional trauma (the death of her baby). She was not thinking clearly and was in the NEED mode, the ADDICT mode.  Her decisions made from this place resulted in more pain and abuse to others.

It reminded me of a bucket of BB’s. One in our pocket wouldn’t make us sink in the lake, but if we held buckets of them we could easily be pulled under. This is why it’s important to face our issues directly before they compile, and they will compile (Trust me on this one). Ask yourself: What is the #1 issue I am not facing in my life right now?

I often wonder how the story would have gone if the woman broke down crying in front of the King, apologized and gave the baby back.

In recovery the first step is to admit that you are powerless, which for people with addictions seems like the most depressing notion ever! However, if you accept that you are powerless and consumed you can stop fighting. Then you can clearly see the steps to regain your power.

It’s like emptying a glass of coke and washing it out before filling it with milk. If you don’t empty the soda first, then the milk would be ruined.  This mother had “soda” thoughts. She had just killed her baby and most likely there was a voice screaming, “You’re not a good mother!” (or worse).

We all have “soda” thoughts in our glass. Voices that hiss, “You’re not a good (fill in the blank).” The interesting part lies in all the negative things you do to cover up the “soda” instead of just washing out the glass?

Stealing someone’s baby, claiming it as your own, and standing by as it’s about to be cut in half isn’t something you may relate to today. However it is an applicable metaphor for what you deal with in your daily lives.

The metaphor of the mother of the dead child:

1) What is it that you are not facing directly?

2) How has it caused you pain and hardened your heart?

3) What do the “soda” voices say to you?

4) In what ways has the unhealed trauma caused you to act out in the world?

5) What is one thing you can do today to empty some “soda” from your glass?

The metaphor of the mother whose child was stolen:

1) What thoughts come up when you have been wronged?

2) How has doubt affected your ability to speak up for yourself?

3) Is there a higher good? There comes a point when you may have to give up something for a greater good. The mother was willing to give up her child to save it from death. In the end she got her child back, but in reality you may not get things back the way you might have liked. Still, what is the greater good?

Most of the negative decisions I’ve made have been a result of me being in hurt or in pain, even being unaware to the fact that I was in pain. I have seen myself in both women whether it was not dealing with hurt, having doubt, giving things up, or coveting others. I have experienced my heart being cruel and kind and I know that I am both of these women. Maybe that’s the truth: that we are not all or nothing, black or white. There is much to learn from both sides, if we choose to learn.

With Love,

Z :)