I have but one Mother — I also have a mom.

In all the time that I’ve made references — primarily as Sophia, but Scott has made mention, too — about the Mother in my blog posts, until [note: name redacted]‘s comment on my last post, nobody has asked.  That’s fine; sometimes it’s okay to focus on the main message of things, and that certainly wasn’t the primary focus of any of my posts.

Now, I’m not particularly religious — at least, I hold in significant disdain organized religion of essentially any variety.  I grew up with my parents’ Mormon beliefs dominating my life and our home, and while at one point I was happy to accept that and go along, there came a time when I needed to break free.

When I was, oh… maybe 13 or 14 years old, I was feeling very restricted by my folks’ church, and in essentially an act of rebellion, crafted for myself a deity which was as much of a polar opposite to their Christian “God” as I could possibly make, and began occasionally “praying” in a manner which imitated what I had been taught as “the right way” while perverting it just enough to be as sacrilegious as possible.

Thus came into being The Mother of Sex, Masturbation, and All Good Things.  I found myself quickly growing bored with “worshiping” solely to show how much I was set against the worship my parents wished me to engage in, and soon the Mother was forgotten.

However, within the past year or so, as I began to explore — myself, my life, my sexuality — I found that I was truly grateful for a good many things in my life, things which were not the direct result of my actions, nor could I truly feel that they were simply random chance — and I knew for certain that the joys in my life had not come from this “God” my parents prayed to, nor were they gifts from their idea of “The Devil”… and the seed of thought from all those years before had matured into a “personal religion,” if you will, a god made to suit my own needs. After all, doesn’t every religious man create God in his own image?

And so I now, from time to time, say a quiet prayer to my Mother — the true maternal figure I never felt I had, a Mother who loved me sincerely, who not only approved of my choices but encouraged me to live to be happy.  Granted, recently there have been some things that my mom has told me (notice the reference to the woman who birthed me is “mom”) that have increased my love and respect for her enormously, and made me realize she’s not nearly so hateful and disapproving as I’d feared for so many years, but I still am content to speak as needed to my Mother to give thanks for the beautiful things in my life, or to ask for potential intervention on behalf of my close friends in matters of sexuality, and will continue to do so until I no longer see a need.

Now when you see mention made of “the Mother” or “my Mother” or “Her gifts” and so on, my meaning should be a bit more clear… I am referencing my own personal “sex goddess,” I suppose you might say!


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