Collateral Beauty
In the movie Collateral Beauty, Helen Miron, "Brigette,” tells Naomie Harris, "Madeline,” in the face of losing her 6-year-old daughter to cancer, “Watch out for the Collateral Beauty," a seemingly thoughtless comment when a mother is about to lose their child. I was reminded of how I knew this experience in the face of deep pain, this idea of collateral beauty.
When my mom passed almost 4 years ago, friends asked about my experience in the first year. I shared that it was both devastatingly heartbreaking and stunningly beautiful at the same time. I think it's fair to assume we all know why this would be the former experience, but what exactly was the latter? It turned out that the latter was the collateral beauty of it all.
As I began to deal with the anguishing pain of losing my mom without any warning, I was acutely aware I needed to dig into our combined bag of not-so-pretty dynamics. I sifted through what belonged to each of us, what was true, what was a story, and all the emotions surrounding it. It was an amazing, expansive time in my life. I retold all the stories I held onto for 45 years. I carried all the hurts and pains from my relationship with my mom, and in the process, I discovered who I was.
I became vulnerable and open in a way that stripped any facade from my being; it was exhausting and unmatched in the rewards and gifts it gave me. As I went into the deep pain of my past experiences and stories with my mom, I allowed myself to think, feel, and declare whatever came up. Even if some part of me knew it was MY story based on fear, I allowed myself to go deep into it. It didn’t have to be based on someone else’s truth or experience; it was my truth, and that was where the answers would be. Allowing myself to say whatever I believed to be real about my experience with my mother ultimately allowed me to reach the core of it. The unearthed parts, or what I refer to as the muck of it all—those parts we may or may not know about—were at the core. Once revealed, we can choose to lay them to rest and move on. Through this process, I also discovered falsehoods that I had created out of protection. Again, digging into why I was protecting myself and how that showed up ultimately allowed its release.
Along this almost 4-year journey, I have come to a place of understanding for myself, compassion for myself, and deep compassion for my mom and her experience. I’ve cried it out so many times, and each time I release the stuck pain of the experiences we had together and move closer to love.
There is still some hurt and pain, and over time, I know that if I am brave enough to dive into it, there is a gateway to expansion and love. This is the collateral beauty of losing my mother, seeing me, and loving myself for where and who I am.
As I move through the transition of a romantic relationship into whatever it will be next, I am again aware of the collateral beauty. As I grieve over this relationship not being what I had anticipated, the pain also allows me to gain insight into myself. How? I let myself tell the story in my head, and I get a chance to debunk it. If I stay with the hurt and let it out, I can see the underlying thread, understand where it originated from, and then let it go.
In honor of moms everywhere, I am sharing some of my favorites of these amazing humans with their children, including this first one of Lieselotte Anke and her beautiful mother, who passed shortly after our photoshoot. During our shoot, the beauty and depth of their love were so apparent. As in every shoot, I look for this depth and create from there.
