There once was a gracious, compassionate, beautiful queen who ruled her kingdom in kindness. She was loved by all of her subjects because she loved each of them. She was just one queen, so she could not meet all of their needs, but she did her best - and she did a lot. Whether her capacity to serve her subjects on a given day was big or small, without exception, her subjects always felt loved. And this made the queen happy.
The queen had a small daughter. A young princess. She was good and pure with little experience. The little princess understood that her mother, the queen, was busy. She admired her queen very much, and was okay with taking the back burner. The queen needed to spend her time serving her subjects. The princess aspired to be like her one day.
The princess would make her own meals. Prepare herself for bed. Work on her lessons alone. All the while thinking how she wanted to be so compassionate and full of service that she would also be so busy, she would have no time to think of herself.
The princess sometimes got scared of the dark, but the queen would be off helping a subject. The princess understood. And waited for when the queen would have time.
The princess sometimes needed help with a project, but the queen was busy. The princess understood. And waited for when the queen would have time.
The princess sometimes became sad. But the queen was busy. The princess understood. And hoped one day the queen would make time for her.
Eventually, the princess realized the queen would never have time. She accepted it readily. Because of her deep respect of and loyalty to the queen, she grew a sense of identity in her support of the queen, rather than her acknowledgment of herself.
The queen's sense of identity also began to shift. As the princess hid her needs, she seemed more independent. And so the queen felt her identity in her work, rather than her care of her princess. Her service, though important, could not match the fulfillment of being needed by her child. And so "what she could do" became "never enough." The queen pushed her capacities and chased an unreachable sense of fulfillment in service, while the princess felt less and less valued.
The princess began to suspect service to others was more important than she was. And she understood. She admired her mother. Who could do anything. Who could be the best mother if she had time to do anything less important. Sometimes the princess felt sad about her role, but knew she wasn't important enough to detract from her mother's busy tasks.
Although she didn't want it to, the sadness built up inside the young princess. Sometimes it would burst out, and the queen - who used to be understanding - could not afford the time it took to calm her. For the queen was now overwhelmed by chasing the status of being able to do anything.
Now. You, reading this parable may behold this mess and think "This is a parable of a mother and a child, and the way to fix it is clear. The mother needs to rediscover her identity in the nurturing of the child, and the child needs to realize she is worth being nurtured." But this parable is not about two separate people. It is about two halves of the self. There are child-like pieces of us that need permission to feel sad and listened to; feel scared and comforted. And this is not wrong. There is a "queen" inside of us who can do many wonderful things, but must not forget her primary responsibility. The balance between the queen and the princess is who we really are. If we separate the two roles, be tear ourselves apart. In being a wise judge between the two halves we find our identity.
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