The Weight of Shame

By Catherine Beaton

In writing letters to her children, Catherine has, with rawness and honesty, imparted the tale of a mother and a woman as she journeys through a difficult part of being a single mom striving to raise her children with integrity and hope. The telling of this part of her life is intended to bring to the foreground the importance of understanding the past, the importance of forgiving, and the importance of continuing to learn about self. It is a tale told with depth and with love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491812631

Catherine Beaton

Catherine Beaton is a mother of two university aged children and a teacher in Calgary, Alberta. She has her Master’s Degree in Education and brings a wealth of life experience to her book. Everything she does is about teaching other people to grow in who they are. Her writing is no different. Her story is written to share and provide insights into learning and gives opportunities for other people to reflect, to look within themselves, and to ultimately help themselves grow.

Book preview

cover.jpg

AuthorHouse™ LLC

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2013, 2014 Catherine Beaton. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/03/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1265-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1264-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1263-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013915591

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

My dearest children:

Connor and Katelyn:

Hi guys! Let’s fast forward, 10 years:

Connor and Katelyn:

Hey all!

Lesson 4 Children:

Son my son:

Connor and Katelyn:

Connor and Katelyn:

Here’s one for the books kids:

Don’t get grossed out Katelyn:

Hey:

Hey there:

Katelyn and Connor:

This is a hard one kids:

H i :

Good evening my children:

Katelyn and Connor:

Connor and Katelyn, I know that you will relate to this:

Me again:

My children:

My littlest Angel:

My dearest children:

Katelyn and Connor:

My children:

Imagine children if you will:

Connor and Katelyn:

Hey you two:

And again:

Dear Connor and Katelyn:

Moving on my children:

Here is something that you both know:

Hi guys:

Connor and Katelyn;

My darling children:

About the Author

To my children, Connor and Katelyn: you have grown from amazing children to amazing young adults. I love you both with all that I am.

To my parents, Sally and Gus Beaton: I wouldn’t be who I am without you as parents.

To Cheryl Kennelly, for the use of your poem and for your ongoing friendship. You are one of my wise women friends.

To Joanne Ederer, for your thorough editing and for your friendship.

For mothers and young people everywhere, to help with an understanding of who your parents and your children are.

AFTERdedicationpagepicure.jpeg

My dearest children:

I wear the weight; much as a person wears an old bulky sweater that is tattered, torn and has seen better days. My weight provides protection; feeding it, provides comfort, filling an empty space that remains surprisingly vacuous, no matter how much I try to fill it.

At the time I am writing this, I weigh approximately 236 lbs. I am at least 100 lbs. overweight. My hips ache, my back protests, as do my feet. Yet, I continue to carry this weight because it reflects the shame that I have carried, learned from childhood and reinforced in my adult years. The pathways are so entrenched, so well-traveled that they are traversed by rote, by habit; because that is all that I know.

I write this to you now as I learn about myself; as I acknowledge where I have been, as I try to figure it all out so that I do not pass this weight onto the mantel of your shoulders.

You know that one of the greatest influences in my development has been my mother. This is not meant as a critique of her, her parenting style, who she was, is, as a person. This is not about blame. I am today what I am because of the cumulative experiences that I have lived throughout my life. I am who I am because of the choices that I have made. I am responsible for me. I tell you this so that you will have an understanding of who I am in relation to you. I will tell you things so that you will learn, hopefully, from what I have done. I tell you these things so that in knowing me a little better, you will know yourselves more.

I have come to know that my mother has lived her life looking through the lens of fear, anxiety and anger. Her view, like all of ours, is tainted by perspective. She made mistakes, but all that makes her is human. I write this so that you know, that I know, that I have made mistakes too. We do what we can with what we have, what we are. We live with the eternal hope that our children will be that much better at their lives that we were at ours.

I have had to come to terms with the guilt, and shame for marrying, then divorcing a man that was not suited. You know him as dad. You know him in a different way that I knew him, as you should. It sounds naïve and oh so simple. Yet, by its simplicity, is in itself complex. Your dad and I were good at bringing out the worst in each other. You know this. We were however, blessed with two incredible gifts: both of you. It is through you that I find the courage to take the risks needed to learn and grow as a person, as a woman, as a mother, as a friend. It is back to you that I come when I am reaching the end of one leg of this journey that is life.

Love,

Mom

Connor and Katelyn:

Do you remember the place on the northern part of Cape Breton Island called Wreck Cove? It is a magical place. The Atlantic Ocean laps up on its shore, and its shore is filled with rocks—big and small, multicolored, or black. I watched the two of you negotiate a path through and over the rocks to get to the water. You were around three and five. I watched you stand for the first time in an ocean, tasting the salt air. We walked the shore line, picking up rocks and putting them in our bags, rocks that appealed to us, rocks that spoke to us.

Standing, I once again began to stroll along the shore, looking at and for rocks that I knew I would take back to Alberta with me. I chose a variety of sizes and colours. I wondered about their journey. How did these rocks find their way to this cove? There were wondrous colours—the streaks of green against a black background; or the varying shades of pink with blue speckles. What made these colours?

I stopped to listen to the sound of the waves bringing in and taking out to sea more rocks. I listened to the sounds and voices of you, my children, as you laughed at a wave that caught you higher on your legs than you had anticipated. I listened to your squeals of delight when you found yet