Who Am I? The Missing Details of a Resume.

Reading my resume will bore you. Resumes and curriculum vitas never tell of who we really are. In the academic phase of my life, all that mattered was where I studied, what my Ph.D. was about, and my grades. Then, it shifted to focus on the classes I taught, and the papers and chapters I published, and the conferences my work was presented in—a type of (limited) perspective.

There was nothing about whether I am nice? Efficient? Great to work with? And what about the years-long gap of doing nothing of the sort? My “missing years” include a car crash.

Resumes and curriculum vitas never tell of who we really are.

When my daughters turned me into a mother, initially, with my first born, then when my twins were born, and last, after some years, again, when I found a way to be their mother (This is one of the threads leading my book: The Promise We Made), motherhood, in all of its facets, became a significant line in my heart’s CV (there is no place for it on the professional one).

I, too, started listing new friends by their relationships: “Deb, Mother of Zoe.” Sometimes, I remember to add the little brothers and sisters who join the family. Sometimes, after a while, I delete the names of the kids and shift to holding each mother in my circle, as herself.

Becoming a mother was a stage of narrowing the importance of many other self-definitions. Whether I was fun to hang around with, and whether it is nice to have me over for a coffee when the little ones play together became more important.

The car crash tilted everything. For a long time, I was not my daughters’ mother. Formally, yes, I was. In my intention, yes, I was. In our daily life, I was not. I was unable to do any of the caretaking I did before. I felt I had been fired from the one role in my life that still had meaning. Luckily, after some time, and considerations, and tests, and although I came back completely different, they accepted me back at the job. I kind of adopted my own daughters, the ones I gave birth to, with a new sense of love.

We usually do not share our real resume. Our true life stories: those that shaped us into becoming who we are.

We usually do not share our real resume. Our true life stories: those that shaped us into becoming who we are. If we are lucky, we have a supportive family, or childhood friends, who have walked it with us and know.

So who am I? I’ll try to sum it up briefly, and since this website and my book are all about my story and what I learned from it, the more you read here, the more you’ll know.

Sunday, January 2, 2011: I hosted a small gathering of mothers in our little house. It was a celebration of the twins’ first birthday. And for me, for surviving a challenging year. I had no idea what was waiting for me, just around the corner. 

Thursday, January 6, 2011: I brought my toddler to her daycare. I was on my way to teach, the one class I was teaching at the time. Then, the car crash happened, and I hovered in shimmering light.

We learned we are loved, and physically experienced Love’s great force.  

I was in the hospital for about two months, first in the ICU. I experienced multiple injuries. We can skip the details for now (You can find more in my…. book :)). In those two months in the hospital and then in the many months recovering at home, I learned it is OK to get help from others, to be dependent. To let others love my family and me, and help us. We were enveloped by our families, friends, and the amazing community we live in. We learned we are loved, and physically experienced Love’s great force.  

I peeled off and shed almost all the self-definitions I had carried before.

Since then, it has been over ten years. I peeled off and shed almost all the self-definitions I had carried before. Until slowly, I got rid of the smell of the peeling rotting onion and started seeing the new onion sprouting from its roots. I started on a motion towards who I am in my essence. The trail is continuously taking me to more and more new adventures, places, and self-discoveries. Sometimes fun, sometimes challenging me to the level of my cells. Luckily, always filling me with joy.

I found I must write, even if my grammar is not perfect. And more so, in English, which is not my first language. I write for myself. I now write to share. I write as a way of breathing. My book sharing what I learned from my combined experience of the car crash, near-death experience, and being absent as a mother, and the insights it brought regarding the spiritual aspects of parenting is now published, and a second book, about six more universal promises we made to our children is in the writing process.

On this path, I embraced the gift of the open gates left after the near-death experience and accepted (not easily) my ability to move between worlds. Between our seen physical reality, and that of the unseen. It brought me to study shamanic energy medicine, and I became a shamanic practitioner. You can read more about it here.

What story is missing in your resume?