Awakening my inner lioness

Rachel O’Hagan | @rachohag

_The day my son was born, I felt a new version of myself emerge. I realize now that it wasn't a new version, but a reconnection to my true self—a lioness. Past traumas and societal expectations had caused me to disconnect from this part. I looked to others for guidance and ended up suppressing my brave lioness. 

In the animal kingdom, the lioness is known for her relentless protection of her young, and I have always seen myself as someone who protects and serves others. When my son was born, my lioness was awakened, but I was wounded. Postpartum is a sacred time to solidify your bond with your child and your understanding of yourself—the birth of the mother—but I had relied on others for guidance for so long that I didn't know how to remove the mask I created and embrace my true nature.  

“I’ve overcome a lot in this life, and I wasn’t going to let anything ruin my lifelong dream of becoming a mother. I couldn’t understand why my pain felt so deep—my son was happy, so why couldn’t I be?”

I felt incredibly scared as a new mom. I could feel my needs changing and I gained the courage to voice my boundaries—and then felt incredibly small when they were ignored. When my voice went unheard, I diminished myself, retreating into my cage. I thought others were responsible for my confinement, but in reality, I held the power all along. 

At the time of my son’s diagnosis, it felt like a part of me was dying. I never wanted to say that out loud—I never wanted my son to feel the gravity of that. I hated my thoughts—I gave him this disease, I hate myself, I hate everything—so I would pretend I didn’t have them. I hid in my cage, suppressing all I was feeling. I’ve overcome a lot in this life, and I wasn’t going to let anything ruin my lifelong dream of becoming a mother. I couldn’t understand why my pain felt so deep—my son was happy, so why couldn’tI be?

I began seeking answers through various mental health resources while simultaneously diving into advocacy work. The more I engaged with the disability community to learn how to support my son, the more my heart broke. The world is cruel to a very large population of people, making them feel powerless and ashamed. Society continuously tells disabled people that they aren’t welcome, silencing their voices and experiences. Being a voice and advocate for my son, I too felt that hostility.  

My son was diagnosed amid the pandemic, and my only means for connection was my phone.  To raise funds for treatment and therapies that would enhance my son’s quality of life, I was incredibly public about his journey on social media. I began sharing the feelings I was experiencing, disconnected from my own journey. Attributing those feelings to my son, I began begging my son’s followers for words of encouragement to lift me up so I could continue. The support we were given was second to none, but I was sharing my feelings while hiding my truth, and my invisible load was becoming too much to carry. Shame was drowning me.

“My cub was in danger, and my protective instincts resurfaced, but I was also terrified for him. I wanted to control his experience, and my anger became too much.”

Voices from my past echoed in my mind, telling me I was too much, that I needed to make myself small. Every day I would silence these voices to be what my children needed, wounded but a lioness nonetheless.

My wounded lioness began lashing out at those around me. I became incredibly angry towards anyone and everything, directing my pain in all the wrong directions. I could not allow my son to experience the feelings that I battled every day. My cub was in danger, and my protective instincts resurfaced, but I was also terrified for him. I wanted to control his experience, and my anger became too much.

This anger wasn’t me, not my purpose or who I knew I was at my core. To understand my anger, I had to process my pain. Through therapy, I realized that advocating for my son always brought overwhelming shame and fear. I realized my shame was keeping my inner strength locked away. To fully overcome it, I needed to surrender to my experiences and see them as opportunities for growth.

My pain blinded me from seeing these opportunities while my son suffered. I didn’t feel strong enough to advocate for him, and I didn’t even feel strong enough to watch the ride. I was suffering, too. I had one child with a disability who I was failing, a newborn child who was desperate to connect—and don’t even get me started on my marriage. I knew I needed help. But my mind was bullying my heart into believing I didn’t deserve it.

To combat shame, I needed to understand where it came from. I wasn’t ashamed of my son’s disability, I was proud of him, so why did I feel this way? Each time I spoke up, I ran and hid back in my cage. I needed to eliminate my cage and create a compassionate container within myself so I could stop hiding for good. I never wanted my son to feel like he had to hide, so I began listening to others' stories.  

I used others' journeys as words of encouragement for my own, and the stories I heard within the disability community helped me escape my cage. It was within this community that I found my truth. Hearing the voices of other brave lions and lionesses showed me that I could roar.

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