When I was a little girl, my mother used to wake me every morning, the sweet memory of her hand stroking me while I was asleep, drawing on my back circles, the warmth, the softness of her hand when she gently moved a hair off my face and with a soft whisper that could barely be heard. She would call my name to start the new day.
Between me and you, with that kind of alarm clock who is going to actually get up?
That voice invited me to roll over and to the other side, cuddle with my pillows, smile and float away into another dream or 2. This is a good time to point out that at this phase my mother was looking for a solution or incentive to help get me out of bed faster.
The hot chocolate appears in the morning, hot and sweet with a delicious aroma and I found myself with the best morning deal that I would indulge in while still grabbing a few more moments of sleep.
My Mum: “Mor chook, get up it is a beautiful brand new morning my love”
Mor, “MMMMMmmmmmm ohhhhh errrr, where is my hot chocolate.”
My Mum: “I am going to make your chocolate,in the meantime you can get up.”
Mor, “I will get up when the hot chocolate is ready.”
My Mum of course agreed that the habit where I get up only when the hot chocolate is served in bed was perfectly rooted in our routine.
One day around the age of 10, I felt a different taste in the hot chocolate, when I asked my mum about it, she said it is a new company. As I never stepped foot in the kitchen, I never bothered to check. At the age of 12, a new friend joined my class in school, we bonded immediately and she invited me to her home after school. She used to sit down in the afternoon hours to drink and eat something with her parents. She invited me to join in. When she asked if I wanted coffee and a cake, I answered that I am not allowed to drink coffee, only hot chocolate. While we were sitting, my friend offered to take a sip from her coffee. I felt so mature.
I tasted it.
I was in shock.
It was the taste of my mother’s hot chocolate that she had been making for me for the last 2 years, claiming that this was simply a new brand of hot chocolate.
I could not believe the deceit.
Did it change anything?
No.
I continued the habit of drinking coffee
As I grew up I found myself going out all times of the day and night to buy the groceries that I needed for my coffee. G-d forbid I wouldn’t have my coffee in the morning. I started drinking 3-4 coffees a day.
Every time I fancied something sweet – I drank my coffee.
Every Time I was sad – I drank my coffee.
Every Time I was hungry (and did not have the time to make myself something to eat) – I drank my coffee.
When I was invited to a friend’s place, I drank at least 2 coffees.
Coffee became my addiction.
When I got up in the morning and one of my kids had finished my milk, may g-d protect them and save us all as I was acting like a purpose with a Phd in madness.
After all this drama I would explain to myself, and my excuses to myself that I am entitled after all that happened around me to at least drink my perfect coffee the way I like it in my time. I became the author of my own bullshit story.
The only thing that was clear to me at that point was…
No one will ever get in the way of me and my coffee.
A certain obsession.
In part of the growth process, I started to observe everything That I feel that I can’t live without and everything that I am addicted to. I started to examine myself in order to understand the dependence that I developed towards coffee. The story above is one that I had totally forgotten about. One day while I was meditating, that memory came back to me and all the dots connected. One question followed the next:
What do I feel before I want to drink coffee?
When the coffee is ready, what do I feel?
In the process of drinking my coffee, what do I feel?
What do I gain from those emotions?
Comfort, softness and love.
That moment of coffee felt like the moment that I was taking care of and felt love unconditionally.
Actually it is really funny as I have not lived with my mum for over 20 years and still this is what was imprinted in my mind and in my heart when I was drinking my coffee.
Until today I still love to drink coffee.
No milk and a tiny bit of sugar and not more than 2 a day.
Until today, I get up in the morning, make myself coffee, come back to bed just in order to drink and experience the luxurious pleasure at its essence.
Now I am the one who pampers me.
I am the one that comforts me.
I am the one who is soft to myself.
I am the one who loves me.
And this time it is my choice.
