My daughter teaches me to pray: time, fear, and the sacred
by
Bia barbosa
The time of motherhood does not hear prayer— it does not speed up because we want, nor does it go back because we need. Those who fight against time while caring for an infant lose connection to the earth that supports their steps. And without solid ground, where holds us up?
A mother who tries to run against the cycle of nature forgets that she is nature. The body knows. The baby knows. Life knows. The cure is to remember (collectively) that we are animal (bicho) and that hasting is a modern poison.
Care is sacred. It has its own rhythm, dances on its own time, and asks for presence to ward off fear. Fear of making a mistake, of failing, of losing control, of not being enough.
We must recognize that being a mother is a magical act. But fear and magic do not work together. You cannot ask for protection, strength, open paths— and at the same time feed fear. Anxiety sours care. It drains the present. It is the disastrous experience of trying to rock a baby while thinking of the worst. It is like praying with your body here and your mind fleeing.
A mother's compass cannot be fear because fear creates nothing. Fear paralyzes, repeats patterns, silences intuition.
This is why mothering is also learning to close the holes through which our energy escapes. It is remembering that your body, your voice, your presence— are sacred. Returning to yourself is the first magic.
