Over time, I have heard many people (including myself) complaining about their parents, childhood and even their birth and in utero life, and I have also heard many people (including myself) complain about their ungrateful or difficult children. Each time I listen and nodd and never know quite what to say. But overtime I have come to realize that people (and I) can complain about just anything, and I find this baffling. Not that I think that complaining is bad, because behind these complaints there are emotions like pain, sorrow and repressed anger, and it makes you feel better and more human to share your thoughts and emotions, it makes the burden lighter. But somehow I wonder if somewhere there's somebody who has the perfect life, or has nothing to complain about.
Today, I read this piece by Clarissa Pinkola Estes :
"I think being born, no matter how a person came to be conceived, is like winning the lottery. Most of us were not planned. Some of us were not ‘wanted.’ Some of us arrived through a loveless act or a perfunctory one. Some of us came by accident. Some of us are called ‘the ooopsie baby.’ Some of us came from unsanctioned moments and are called ‘love child.’ Some of us were sick in utero, even sick unto death, but somehow recovered. And some of us, well…