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Change can be scary and is almost always difficult. Change can force us to question both the reasons we stayed and the reasons we left. Learning to begin again has been challenging but life-giving, even more so as I settle into midlife. This list may resonate with some of you, so I thought I would share several scenarios in which I have learned to begin again.
While so many of the circumstances in my list above are quite personal, I know many of you can relate. In fact, just reaching a decision to begin again can feel overwhelming. I will link a resource below of a book that really helped me make some hard decisions in my life. I love this author's work, her podcast, and her platform. Her words have provided both comfort and fuel for my body and soul. She writes from a Christian perspective, so if that is not a fit for you, you may not enjoy her work. Let's take a deeper dive into a few of the life scenarios that forced me to begin again as I share anecdotes and resources that helped me get through the muck of starting over.
These real-life examples are very personal and may not apply to your life. I do hope they give you some insight, however, either for your own life or for someone that you love. Connection is the entire reason I started pouring my heart out over the internet, so please leave a comment below if any of this resonates with you. I see you and you are not alone. I love interacting with my readers. For more of an inside look into my days, you can follow me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook. Please support my fellow hope*writers by reading their works inspired by the prompt word BEGIN: Begin Moving Toward Your Soul’s Lifework by Lisa Crowder https://lisacrowder.substack.com/p/begin-moving-toward-your-souls-lifework The Beginning of Stories from the Supper Table Series by Jessica Haberman http://www.storytellerfarm.com/beginning-of-stories-from-the-supper-table-series How To Begin a New Career by Ashley Olivine https://ashleyolivine.com/how-to-begin-a-new-career/
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What do we say when we don't know what to say? We have good intentions of encouraging our loved ones, but we have no idea how to do so. Encouragement can feel obligatory on the sending end and inauthentic on the receiving end. And that FEELS BAD for both parties. We have all been there. Someone dies unexpectedly. Someone receives a terrible diagnosis. A divorce comes out of nowhere. A tragic accident. Our partner says something cruel or doesn't meet our emotional needs. A friend is struggling with infertility or has a miscarriage. Our friend is venting about a difficult situation. Here are some tips for what to say and what not to say:
Do/say this:
Don't do/say this:
Encouragement should feel good for the giver and the recipient. It takes practice on BOTH ends to make it work. At times, we are simply in too much pain to receive any encouragement and that is okay. Other times, we as givers are not in the best mental head space and must take care of ourselves before we can expend energy dolling out encouragement to friends or family members. In those situations, communication is key. Boundaries are vital. And reassurance that your person is important to you is paramount.
I love interacting with my readers. For more of an inside look into my days, you can follow me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook. Please support my fellow hope*writers by reading their works inspired by the prompt word ENCOURAGE: 4 Ways to Encourage Yourself in the Lord by Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/4-ways-to-encourage-yourself-in-the-lord/ Simple Is Better – Never Underestimate the Power of Encouragement by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2023/08/01/simple-is-better-never-underestimate-the-power-of-encouragement/ Encouragement to Bloom by Lisa Crowder https://lisacrowder.substack.com/p/encouragement-to-bloom How Can Parents Encourage Emotional Development? By Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/how-can-parents-encourage-emotional-development/ As of today, I have read 64 books in 2023. That is more than I have read in the past 3 years COMBINED (thanks to my new job and some life changes). While I have given over 20 five-star ratings and reviews, there are 10 books that are still following me around and dancing in my soul. I think about the characters or the story or the emotions they evoked and THAT is why I love to read. These 10 books have all taken up residence in my heart for 2023:
If you want to feel sad or reflective:
I hope these recommendations have come to you at the exact time you needed them. Please comment below if you have read any of these! I also review books regularly on TikTok and would love to connect with you there! Someday life will be more than laundry and dishes and grocery pick-ups and practices. Someday life will be lazy mornings reading and lonely afternoons of reflection. Someday I will be as happy with my body as I was when I was four years old, running, jumping, splashing, smiling, and living life uninhibited. Someday my heart will break again. More than it has ever broken. And it will heal. Slowly and unintentionally. On its own schedule. Resuming a new shape and capacity. Without my direction. No need to brace for it - what does bracing do anyway? Someday I will have little versions of myself climbing onto my lap again. But they will also be the little versions of my original little versions. And I won't know what to do with all the love that trickles down from me, to my boys, to their tiny little replicates full of life and wonder. I will supervise less and sympathize more. I will be less rigid and more engaged. I won't do this on purpose. It will just happen. Someday my identity won't be wrapped in a stethoscope or initials behind my name. My healing touch will never leave, but my paycheck will. I will be sad. I will feel funny. And eventually I will wonder how I ever let such bureaucracy define me. Someday I will look at my partner across the table and wonder how we got through all the muck. I will forget most of the junk and remember the highlights. I will be proud of us and happy for us. And I will sit at the table with the family we built. Someday I will sit on a porch, hopefully on a lake. I will feel a cool breeze and hear the birds and the squirrels. I will think of Mary and Martha, both my grandmothers, and I will explode with nostalgia. The men we loved. The families we created. The mess we endured. I will thank Martha for my fire and Mary for my loyalty. I will dance with both of them in my kitchen, windows up, music on high, supper in the oven, conviction in my heart. Please support my fellow hope*writers by reading their work surrounding the prompt "someday": Your Someday Will Come by Lisa Crowder https://lisacrowder.substack.com/p/your-someday-will-come Make Someday Happen by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/make-someday-happen/ Are You Waiting on Someday? by Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/are-you-waiting-on-someday/ Simple Is Better – The “Some Day” that Doesn’t Ever Quite Happen by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2023/07/01/simple-is-better-the-some-day-that-doesnt-ever-quite-happen/ You're on a roadtrip. You're headed to the beach. You have 10 hours start to finish and it seems like it is taking FOREVER. You stop a few times for bathroom breaks and lunch. The travelers are getting cranky. They JUST WANT TO GET THERE. When will we get there? How much longer? And then you realize. We are over halfway there. At 47 with 2 gnarly autoimmune diseases, I'm probably well over halfway there. I rushed the beginning. I looked so closely towards the end goal that I forgot to enjoy all the scenery I passed. Or did I? So I slow it way down.
As much as I can. I watch each inning of my youngest boy on the mound or at bat or hovering just off third like it's the bottom of the 9th in the World Series. I sit patiently before the curtain rises at every one of my middle boy's performances. I have no where else to be. I am his mom, and I am watching him shine. And I dance at my oldest son's wedding. I laugh. I smile. And I remember what it was like to be twenty years old and in love, the whole universe at my feet. I sip my coffee with my husband on the rare occasion we are enjoying breakfast together. I look out over my back deck at the spring leaves, the blooms of each flower, the squirrels scurrying, and the birds in flight. Slow down, Mr. Squirrel. Not so fast, Mrs. Bird. What's the hurry? You see I just left Mr. Jones or Mrs. Smith and they remind me each day that the end is not always easy. The end can be lonely, painful, or both. The end can be joyous and abundant, but we have no guarantees. So I slow it down. This line between my eyes on my forehead is from my Granddaddy Taylor. He earned his and so did I. I am reminded of him each time I look at it and I remember his favorite line: "aren't you glad you got to see me?" 🥰 If I cover it up, needle it away with miniscule doses of botulism, does that mean life never happened? The tears I cried and the belly laughs I bellowed - weren't those worth these lines on my face? And here we are, old friends. Me and my impatience. Me and my ambition. Me and my PLANS. What a farce. What irony. What next? The sun will rise and the sun will set. I choose to embrace these next decades with a little LESS energy and a little more PRESENCE. I'm showing up this time. I'm all in. I want to love hard and laugh often. Will you join me? Spring Break. Panama City Beach. 1995. 4 girls and without a care in the world. Bikinis. Coppertone. Alcohol we scrounged up from our older friends. Junk food and rap music mixed with Southern Rock on our 6-disc CD player in our car. No social media. No Life360. No palm-sized demons tracking us or telling us who to be. Sand. Sun. Free time and Free Bird. No likes. No followers. No shares. Real time. Analog. Conversations without abbreviations or acronyms. Spoken not typed. Love. Relationships. Heartbreak. Hormones. Naivety. Learning as we go without Siri, Alexa, or YouTube to help us. Is it better or is it worse? Public coming of age or private memories? These "stories" told in 2023... are they even the truth? I can't stop it. I can't change it. My boys are in it. Will they survive it like we did? Corona with a lime. 19, 20, 21 and a beach breeze. Music as the soundtrack to youth in the night. Some things remain true. Love and heartache. Friendship and comparison. The vigor and the pain of growing up. Goodnight sweet sunset. I see you in my rearview. Sweet Home on my Apple Car Play. Blue eyes smiling back at me. Bicycle lights, bicycle lights Riding with friends from the neighborhood after dark With the crisp spring air and the sounds of the night Getting that last lap in before bedtime My boys have those lights on their scooters and bikes And I wish they were around in my day But I recognize that feeling they give anyway It's a feeling we have all felt A Swagger; a JuJu A pep in our step and a smile from the rearview Remember being a kid? No worries, no stress No finances or relationships that need to be addressed I wish we, as adults, spent more time having fun and left more cleaning to wait more dishes undone If we all had bicycle lights and the feeling they give us We would dance more in the kitchen We would not be so serious We would tell those around us that we love them and that we need them We would sing and act silly Do you remember that freedom? Bicycle lights, bicycle lights Can I borrow you for a while? I need an hour of smiles and giggles I need the energy of a child I want the confidence of youth I ache for the ease of those years The innocence, the imagination Before all these doubts, hurts, and fears Let's go play in the neighborhood Until the street lights come on Let's soar on our bikes down a hill And remember where we came from We sold our van. A van I never wanted. A van I swore I would never drive (pre-kids that is). In preparation to complete the sale with its new owner, I searched every file, binder, drawer, and cabinet looking for the title. When did we buy this van? Oh yeah, 2012 when my middle son was 1 and his baby brother was 6 weeks from his debut. When did we pay it off? Oh yeah, late 2016 when I was diagnosed with an incurable autoimmune disease out of the blue. Where did I put this title??? I marched around the house the bulk of the day scouring every nook and cranny of file-space I have ever used. Since we once owned 3 houses, a fully operational lawn business, and we have 3 kids... there's a LOT of filing that goes on around here. Especially for 2 Gen-X parents who are a little more analog than digital. A few stressful hours later, the tag office informs us that Honda never even sent us the title. I'm not sure about all the details, but we should receive our updated title next week so that we can complete the sale. I'm sure we must have missed something on our end, but again: 3 kids, 3 houses, me being sick with a rare disease, and husband returning to the airline industry after selling his lawn business... we had a few things going on at that time in our lives. Back to the van, though. I noticed my body and my breathing as I was searching for that title. I was frustrated and self-loathing for a while figuring I must have misplaced this golden ticket we needed today (buyer was on his way to our house), but I was also something else. I was sad. A tiny little part of me didn't want to find the title. I was about to hand over the keys to a vehicle I never wanted that carried the life I always dreamed of... That van survived infant carriers and booster seats. My oldest son's middle school football era and me coaching my middle son in my beloved soccer. It got us home from the beach and the lake too many times to count. It started this crazy baseball journey that now rules our weekends. It took me to see loved ones that are no longer here. Today, in my search for that precious piece of paper, I found the boys' old school pictures, artwork, and growth charts. I found old debts we had long forgotten and remembered old arguments we have now outgrown. I thought of all the DVD's I rented from the Dollar General Redbox that literally saved my life (I owe a post to my "rides to the Redbox" for sure). I remembered each time one of the boys got carsick (sorry New Owners) and each time I filled that trunk with groceries. I remember being 30 and divorced and wanting to be a mother more than anything in this world. I remember spending holidays alone and thinking my ship had sailed. So I sit here typing these words to you, my friends. Let us not overlook what has brought us where we are today. The stops we have made. The wrong turns and the right ones. I am handing over the keys to an era of my life I could have never imagined. A life so full I could not hold it some days. Here's to velcro sneakers and sippy cups. Frozen on the DVD player and 3 boys in my backseat. Godspeed. Legos and Laundry. These have been in my living room and dining room for over 10 years now. Should legos be in the rooms where we eat or relax? Should laundry? I say - YES. I have wanted to be a mother since I can remember. I babysat most of the kids in my neighborhood. Back when 12-year-olds could safely keep a few toddlers without any cell phones to reach any adults. Back when toddlers were thrilled to have said 12-year-old-neighbor-girl to make them pretend-school-worksheets and teach them how to hopscotch. Those were the days. Back to the legos and the laundry, there are many days where "I can't wait until this house is in order and everything is in its place and nobody's dirty socks or underwear will be on the floor!". But now that I've had one successfully leave the nest, I don't catch myself wincing over the legos or the laundry as much. See I know those cleats will be gone one day. I know that clarinet practice I hear from upstairs will be a distant memory. I know the messy rooms and the slammed doors and the "WHATTTTT?" of a teenager (with the required eye roll) will soon be in my rearview. And sometimes it catches my breath. Because I know. I know I will go from discussions around algebra to conversations about mortgages. From little league to stadiums. From junior Broadway productions to a college stage, perhaps. It's the perhaps that gets me too. See they were little, hard to believe but true. No bigger than my short arms could nuzzle. And I rocked them every night. And I picked out their nursery furniture and their first backpack and their first set of beliefs in many ways. But they're growing up. And they're SO smart. They can think for themselves and they challenge me, too. Make my brain stretch. Make my heart explode. I didn't know it could feel so good and so awful at the same time. Good that they're becoming themselves and that they're happy. Awful that I can't protect them and keep them from getting bumped and bruised like we all did. Now when I hang up that uniform or listen to the show soundtrack for the 100th time, I just smile. I let the legos pile up. I keep the clean clothes folded in the basket on the dining room table. And I hold my breath just a few more years and soak in every minute that I can get with them. How many more loads of laundry will I get? I think any mother would agree there is never enough. Written by one sappy mom to anyone else who feels this. Written when my boys are 10, 12, and 20. Written when I'm sandwiched between launching children and caring for aging parents. Written when the world seems automated and conversations seem rare. Written with my own youth creeping toward my rearview, with a coffee mug in my hand, and a knowing heart swollen in my chest. Godspeed. I love Christmas. I know for some the holidays are hard. Very hard. And as I get older, they are harder for me too. But I still have that child-like wonder and love for the holiday season. And I hope by traveling this list with me, you'll find a little whimsy inside your soul too.
Every year, we have a Cookie Decorating competition and an Ornament Decorating competition. The kids get super competitive and the husband and I simply enjoy all the time together as a family. We post pictures on Facebook and tally votes for the winners. In today's age of go-go-go and scroll-scroll-scroll, we cherish every minute of time together, unplugged, as a family. ❤️ photo credit: Naassom Azevedo I remember being 20 years old. Planning a wedding. Looking at houses like a 16 year old looks at cars. Aren’t we always looking for, searching for, planning for that next thing? After the wedding and the house came the baby fever a few years later. All the nursery furniture and books of baby names. Once the kids are born we start planning for school. Backpacks and school supplies. We spend the next decade or so driving everyone to everything and wondering when it will be our turn again. Even though these are the very dreams we prayed for and clung to for so long. Next we plan their launch. College visits or military recruiters. Sheets for twin beds and $10 dorm skillets. The excitement builds and then evaporates with one set of taillights or one giant aircraft in the distance. We wait. We wonder. We hear from them now on their terms and we count the weeks between visits. And we realize one Wednesday morning while we sip our coffee and type in the glow of the Christmas tree that now they’re us. Now THEY are 20 years old. We are no longer even a daily thought to them because they are planning that wedding and looking at that house with the very same vigor we did so many years ago. And they know everything just like we did. To that we just smile and think “so that’s why my parents never really said much and just watched it all unfold.” So what do we do now? See we have been to therapy and had all these intense life lessons since we were 20. We know so much. Alas we really know so little. We control so very little (only our own thoughts and actions). We could say now we are planning for grandchildren but we have also stopped all the cookie cutter “this comes next” because we have been on the very train that derailed those best laid plans. So I just revel in the warmth of my coffee mug in my hands. Stare at the lights on my tree. Remember the excitement of buying my very first house. Give thanks for the bumps and bruises I have endured. And look forward to making my Mammaw’s dressing from scratch tonight like she and my mother have done since the 1940’s. Mammaw was 20 years old. Mama was 20 years old. I was 20 years old. Thank you Lord for all the 20-year-olds, the hopes and dreams, the excitement of building a life. May we never forget that feeling. Godspeed. The whir of the wall heater lulls me to sleep. I’m in seventh grade again, at my friend’s house, dreaming of my life as an adult. We just watched Dirty Dancing and inhaled a bag of Doritos with a 2L of Dr Pepper and no one considered the carbohydrates involved. In reality, I am an adult. With children. And two husbands by now. And a whole lot of disappointments and triumphs along the way. I still feel like that awkward seventh grader when, I’m actually the mother of a seventh grader. How did this happen? I’m typing this in a cottage in the woods. A writer’s weekend, that’s what I claimed it to be. And in late 2022, I am stuck trying to decide how much of my life to share on social media and how many posts are “enough” to promote my writing. The internet connection is poor here and it’s a blessing and a curse. When did we become so tied to people we’ve never met and numbers oft generated by bots? Do I measure the importance of my work by likes, shares, and follows or by actual lives impacted? And let’s be honest, we rarely know when we impact a life because the Enneagram and Myers-Briggs tells us that a certain % of folks are introverts and would never tell us if we helped them, to no fault of our own. And the trauma we have all endured. I am not joking. The real actual trauma and pain I have seen my fellow GenXers and patients and friends endure. We all go to therapy and spend countless hours trying to right some of the wrongs between scrolling and TikToking, working our regular jobs, raising tiny to full-sized humans, and trying to eat whole foods. In this world of 2-4 second attention spans, I feel lost. I feel lonely. I feel drained. Am I the only one? And so I sit. In Midlife. In the Southeast. In middle school bleachers and while planning a wedding for the oldest. I sit at baseball tournaments and in my car traveling to see my patients. I sit at kitchen tables discussing hospice the same morning I sit with my fifth grader studying vocabulary. I know I’m not alone. The Middle is weird. It’s not the beginning, like I am reminded of with my oldest and his fiancé. The furniture shopping and the bedspread and dishes selections. It’s not the end either. The disbursement of family heirlooms and quiet days sparsely populated by visiting friends or family. It’s not the days of toddler-parent-survival where bath time and nap time ruled the schedule. But it’s not the days where everyone can drive yet either. And oh yeah a pandemic happened. School shootings. A nation so divided I can’t even recognize it. But just keep on going folks. Keep on posting and hashtagging and hustling. Meh. I will take this Middle. I will take the Menopause and the investment planning and the figuring out how to parent adult children. I will take it and try to learn from it and admit that it’s uncomfortable. See, we are too old to fake stuff in this Middle. We have seen too much. I think my writing will continue to be what it is. Real. Raw. With a flimsy filter and a side of sarcasm. It will grow as I do. I hope you join me. If anything in this little diary entry stirred your insides, then know that we are in this together. Let’s go. Awkward but not alone. It's 3 o'clock on a Sunday with laundry caught up and dishes done There's a wedding now to plan and a full household to run There are 2 in a hormone surge well 3 counting me We have been rushing for so long that we don't know what "still" means There are reels and shorts that lazily pass the time and make the tweens laugh while the husband and I just sigh See we are in The Middle Not the Beginning or the End We have pill organizers and good socks but we still eye the newest trends And we don't have grandbabies to rock Not yet, hopefully one day we will There are 2 still in the nest here So we can't yet seek every thrill We have jobs that we enjoy and hobbies we hope to do one day But on this Sunday away from the ballpark we aren't sure what keeps the itching at bay It's an itch we can't scratch It's a question about life and loss We are thankful for every moment we have but those uncertainties still come across So to all my friends who are also in the middle Let us lean on one another We are husbands, wives, friends, and family We are more than just father and mother One day at a time. One milestone, one crisis, one joy at a time. Let us hold tightly to each other in This Middle. The End will come no matter how we spend our days. Godspeed. Please consider supporting my fellow Hope*Writers by reading their work: The Resurrection and What it Means for Believers by Lisa Granger https://lisamarcelina.net/the-resurrection-and-what-it-means-for-believers/ Finding Meaning in Life … and Death by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2021/05/14/my-most-important-3-ring-binder/ The New Stage of Grief: Finding Meaning in Hardship by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/the-new-stage-of-grief/ If you are a mother, you know the feeling. You're at work instead of field day. You're at one child's band performance while the other child has an academic bowl meet. You missed that baseball practice out of sheer exhaustion and that's the one where he hit it over the fence. "Mom, can you pick me up car rider? Can you check me out early like all my friends? When are you going to be off work again? Mom, why are you on your laptop so much? Mom, are you listening?" Some of those innocent but real questions can cut me like a knife, leaving me gutted and riddled with GUILT. Mom Guilt. It's a thing. And I think we should talk about it. AND we certainly do not help ourselves as a gender or a community. Not only do our KIDS make us feel guilty, our fellow moms can inadvertently or purposefully trigger shame and guilt at any given moment. Pam made homemade Christmas cookies for the entire class while we can barely pack lunches each day. Trisha made Halloween goodie bags with a punny handmade tag using her Cricut. Allison sewed personalized pencil pouches for the entire third grade while we are struggling to sign each kid's agenda every night. Then there's social media. Be sure to only buy non-GMO Organic foods. Is your car seat in the top 3 for safety? How often is your child brushing their teeth? Gluten is the devil. ADHD is real - oh wait, no it's not - you're just a lazy parent. Discipline your kids. Don't discipline them, let them find their own way. All babies should cry it out. Babies who cry it out have attachment issues and end up in therapy before age 30. Limit that screen time. Make sure they play outside, but you must watch them outside AND still get all your paid-work done and maintain a spotless house with home-cooked meals. Cloth diapers. Breastfeeding. Well, if you work then store-bought baby food might be okay- but only if you work now. And don't forget to recycle. Make it stop. When my boys were 2, 4, and 12, I walked into my CEO's office and said "I quit. Other women are raising my children and I quit." I didn't have another job lined up. Fortunately, I had some savings, but that was mainly because I was working SO HARD and barely had my head above water that I never had time to shop or vacation (ie spend money). I was justifying myself to a man (my CEO) whose wife did not work and I "knew" he was coming home to beautifully home-cooked meals, a clean house, freshly washed and ironed clothes, and a wife who probably still had energy for sex instead of one who was collapsing into bed every night. OR SO I THOUGHT. He kindly and calmly asked me to take a deep breath, sit down, and reconsider. What about part time or PRN (the medical term for as needed)? Did I want to lose my 6-7 years of tenure with the company? Did I always want to stay home or did I just need a break? Did I still enjoy being a nurse practitioner? The truth was, I did not know the answers to his questions. I had ZERO plans, which goes against my basic core (search "plan" on this blog and you'll quickly see I plan everything). I had not asked myself if I enjoyed my work because I barely knew what day it was. I felt pulled in every direction by every person in my life and I was dreaming of ways to "get off the treadmill." My husband's lawn business was booming, and I was quickly running out of bandwidth to help him with that as well as my other demands at home and work. I felt like I was choking, but I wasn't sure WHAT was choking me the most. I just knew in my SOUL that I had to make a change. I prayed about it. I took a few days to write it all out - not my feelings - I had not found a therapist yet. 👀 Who had time for therapy? BUT, I did somehow remember some of my high school and college skills for decision making and scribbled down ALL the reasons that quitting my job would make me happier overnight. In the end, I heeded my younger-than-me CEO's advice and worked PRN the first year and part-time the second year before returning full-time when my youngest started pre-K. Since I am not independently wealthy, I did eventually have to bring home some more bacon. So, then what happened? Was my life immediately better once I was home more? Did the MOM GUILT end over night? Was I making beautifully home-cooked meals, providing freshly washed and ironed clothes, maintaining a perfectly clean house, and bursting with energy for sex every night since I no longer "worked" every day? Turns out, the joke was on me. Not really a joke though my friends. It's the truth. My 4 year old was in Pre-K, but my 2 year old was suddenly out of daycare. My 12 year old was in honors classes in middle school and I found myself juggling potty training, phonics, and puberty. 3 P's that should never go together. 😜 I was waking almost as early as I had been when I commuted to my demanding NP job. I was feeding kids, washing clothes, and picking up toys all day it seemed. I was helping with homework instead of paying my babysitter to do that. I was making brownies for the PTO instead of money for retirement. I was just as tired, but it was more of a physical tired than a mental exhaustion. I was able to go to the gym regularly, and THAT was amazing. Our gym had childcare, so I would tell the boys if they wanted a "nice mommy and not a mean mommy" then we would be going to the gym, thank you very much. I DID have more downtime. I laughed regularly. For the first time in YEARS. I WAS able to take and pickup my kids from school. I had never before and never since had that luxury. The pure joy of seeing my boys' faces when I picked them up each day was worth the frequent melt-downs when I had to wake the 2 year old to go pick up the 4 year old. (How do we do these things and no one discusses it?) I learned lyrics to Disney movies instead of new treatment guidelines for diabetes. I never took the kids to school in my pajamas, but I suddenly realized why so many women did. I dropped ALL judgment of other mothers, because I was IN THE TRENCHES. I missed adult conversation. I missed feeling important- there - I said it. I lost my temper, and I raised my voice on occasion. Sadly... and this really does make me sad... I simply had not been around my babies enough HOURS of the day to really, really lose my patience with them. Not until I was home. Cutting coupons. Cutting Play-doh with tiny plastic scissors. And realizing that THIS was the real work. THIS was the important work. And so I sit here tonight with tears in my eyes.
One launched and doing well. One in middle school with puberty and insecurity competing for his time. One who still lets me hug him in front of his friends. And I don't know much more than I did 8 years ago when I walked in my boss's office overwhelmed and undone. I'm still in awe of and in love with those 3 beautiful minds and faces that call me Mom. But guilt? Will I wallow in guilt when I reflect over my presence in their lives? Maybe on a bad day. Maybe for a minute or two when I have a "mom fail." BUT I BEG OF YOU. OF ALL OF US. TO MAKE IT STOP. WE ARE WARRIORS IN OUR OWN RIGHT. WE KISS THE BOO-BOOS AND SCARE AWAY THE MONSTERS. WE QUIZ THE SIGHT WORDS AND TIE THE LACES. WE FEED THEM SOMETHING SEVERAL TIMES A DAY, AND WE ENSURE THEY ARE CLOTHED. WE ARE DOING THE BEST WE CAN. WE ARE FLAWED BUT PHENOMENAL. WE ARE IMPERFECT BUT IRREPLACEABLE. WE ARE MOTHERS. LET US UNITE AND HOLD SPACE FOR ONE ANOTHER. Godspeed. My story is different than most step-moms. Almost seven when I met him he already had a mom. So I did what thought a step-mom would do. I had no child of my own. Lord knows I did not have a clue how to parent this sweet boy who slept down the hall every other week for a week. Thus we stumbled; there were falls. Those early years of homework and karate class. Parent-teacher conferences where I was often asked if I was his mom, since I was the only one who seemed tuned in who emailed and would come to all his events, I was all in. Meanwhile I had my babies 20 months apart, back to back. Boys upon boys, our schedules were packed. Those years of one on the hip and one in the belly and one hitting puberty. I wish THIS wiser me could tell THAT younger me that it would all work out one way or another; but his daddy and I we fought over and over. I saw coddling. He saw support. I saw side-taking. He saw retort. Step-son soon lived with us full-time and that was that. I was really his mom. She stopped putting on the act. So I again tried to treat all 3 the same "we have rules in this house" "If you did it, take the blame." But Daddy (to me) just couldn't allow his oldest who had been hurt to be kept in tow. Maybe by him, but never by me. Maybe on a Tuesday, but never consistently. So the marital battle of blended families began. It wasn't "yours, mine, and ours" it was "Me & The Little Two versus Them." And it divided us, collided us, excised us from the family that I had prayed for and dreamed of and waited for... But I didn't know how to fix it, The divide between the 5 of us. I was "always too hard on him," I needed to "chill out and stop caring so much." This passionate mama doesn't know how to do that. I see my children and I want them to try and to do their best. Thus the battle continued. There were wounds. There were scars. Being a full-time step-parent has left its mark. On our marriage. On my spirit. On my step-son, I'm sure. The war still continues as we are almost 2 years in to him being an adult and out of the house. I have certain expectations. I require a text or call now and then. I wish I could tell you it's easy or fun. Maybe for some folks it is, but not for us. Trying to glue us back together has been the hardest thing I have EVER done. But we keep on trying Keep on fighting Is it Fighting or is it Trying? The world keeps spinning The time keeps ticking The years seem shorter The road can seem colder... but sometimes on a Saturday when I watch my children smile and play, I remember that it's worth it and HE is worth it and WE are worth it. I sigh and sleep the hurt away. So if you love someone you didn't make You see their soul, and you feel their ache, Remember that they know the truth And love is really all they need from you. Keep loving. Love heals. If you love someone you didn't make, I see you. You are seen. And you matter. I have a beefy cardiology post that was supposed to drop today, but I don't wanna. I've started it, and it's important, but it's way too serious after coming off a glorious restful vacation. Instead, I thought I would share all the random thoughts that have been filling up and overflowing from my overworked brain. Maybe you can relate. Maybe not. Either way, you might find these entertaining.
Anywho, it's Saturday- the sun in shining - and if you're exhausted parenting toddlers right now, just enjoy the Duplos and Play-Doh. Starbucks and Xbox await! Entitlement and minimal communication are just chillin' - they'll come soon enough! Godspeed moms and dads. How did our parents survive us? 🥰 When was the last time I felt challenged? I wake up, sip my coffee, trudge through my morning routine. Mouthful of medicine for my chronic illness. I write, I pray, I listen (to a book, podcast, or music). I chew my breakfast while I drive to my same place of employment for 14 years. I continue to listen (to the book, podcast, or music) OR I stare off into space while I drive. I get out of my car, unlock my office door, log into my work computers, and it begins. I get back in my car, return a million missed texts, phone calls, and emails as safely as I can using Apple Car Play / Siri Safe Drive. I pull into the garage and count down the hours until bedtime. I chew my supper while I try to remember my name. I chat with my family and aging parents about mostly-trivial but sometimes-important details. Another mouthful of medicine for my chronic illness. I look at my beautiful children in awe, and I wonder what kind of men they will be. I sit with my husband for an hour (if we are lucky) before he leaves for his night shift job. Bedtime routine for kiddos, occasionally a TV show that makes me think, and then I'm staring at my palm-sized demon looking for answers it does not contain. Is this it? Is this the peak or the valley? The joy or the pain? The calm or the storm? I don't know anymore. It all feels the same. Yes, yes a global pandemic has stripped me of some of my best days. It has calcified my heart and further thickened my skin. My eyes grow both weak and clouded. My soul is but an echo of its youthful GLOW. My mind, once invigorated and eager... my mind sits solemnly in the corner silently daring someone or something to call upon it. Goodnight, my once-lively darling. I have tucked you in every night for almost 2 years now. Your light is weak now, sweet darling. I see a glimmer. A flicker of promise. Can life wake you and shake you before your final flame burns? That is the challenge. No one else will save us or light our fire. We must find the spark, the ignition, the catalyst. Find a mirror, sweet darling - and DIG. DIG DEEP my darling. She is in there. Let us LIGHT HER ON FIRE again. That is the challenge. I wrote this for any person anywhere who feels like they are sleep-walking through life. You are not alone. We are all struggling. I stand with you. Let us find our fire again. Please help support my fellow hope*writers by visiting their work: Writing Consistently is a Challenge by Regina Marcazzo-Skarka https://reginamarcazzoskarka.wordpress.com/2022/02/15/writing-consistently-is-a-challenge/ The Motherhood Penalty Challenge by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/the-motherhood-penalty-challenge/ Insomnia With Anxiety and How to Overcome the Challenge by Epigen Wellness Group https://www.epigenwellness.com/insomnia-with-anxiety-how-to-overcome-challenge/ Challenging Times and 3 Ways to Endure the Struggle by Lindsey Gibson https://lindseygibson.com/2021/02/21/challenging-times-3-ways-to-endure-the-struggle/ Jar Full of Manna 31 Day Discipleship Challenge by Kelly Heath https://jarfullofmanna.blog/2021/03/01/31-day-discipleship-challenge-how-to-follow-jesus/ photo credit: Josh Hild Have you ever been in a crowded room Conversations buzzing Bass guitar, drums kaboom Fun is in the air Laughter all around Does anyone notice I haven't been found? Sure, I am talking pushing out a nod yes Does anyone notice my brand new dress? I have so many ideas, fresh perspectives, big dreams Does anyone notice my ship is moving downstream? Hey, Listen! Watch this! Help me decide what to do! Does anyone notice I have dilemmas and crises too? Take, take, take Always dolling out the goods But I want to receive Dear Therapist told me I could! How do I ask for it? I thought I told them what I need. They can't handle me needing them. For I am the Savior indeed. Not the Savior like Jesus but the Solver, the Lover The Healer, The Lifter The Fixer, The Mother I want to be picked up. I want to be tucked in. I want to be protected. I want to be the less friend. Did I say less? Oh wow. I did. I'm too tired to be the best. I'm too broken to always mend. And pick up and clean up and listen and console. I want to be picked up. I'm no longer willing to be told that something else is more important and you can't handle anymore. I need a net, a pillow, a soft spot. I need a knock on my door. So if you're sitting at that table feeling overlooked and used. I see you, my fellow Fixer, Let's blow up this one-sided ruse. To all the Takers in this world. From all the tired, used Givers.
I recently had a situation in my life as a mother which brought connection and shared experience to the forefront of my mind. One of my children has not felt connected to one of his teachers and has expressed concern that this teacher may not like him. As a mom, I knew I needed to explore this since this child in particular craves connection. Words of affirmation are definitely his love language. We are working through this issue, and I have hope that only good things will come from our conversations with the teacher, the principal, and other teachers who are on his team. These conversations were definitely a lightbulb moment for me. All of us, young and old, rich or poor, of any faith or no faith at all, no matter where we live… We all want to feel connected to other people. Loneliness is an epidemic and I am on a crusade to at least put a small dent in its wrath. During our brainstorming sessions, we realized that students in general are receiving positive and negative feedback mostly in a digital format. When I learned that my child received praise through an app that was cast on a screen in his classroom for all to see (and negative feedback in the same way), I was speechless. Do you not verbally praise or reinforce my child? What about in writing on his assignments? I was met with a blank stare. I cringed. And then I thought about my own life and the life of all adults in 2022. All the likes, the comments, the shares, the tags, the texts instead of a phone call, the email instead of a conversation, the gift card instead of a thoughtful handmade or store-bought item, and I cringed again. How do I give my boys positive and negative feedback? Will they only remember the text I sent? Will they remember evenings of me responding to lab values and MRI results on an inanimate object instead of cuddling with them on the couch? Will they think that when I am texting a friend in crisis that my friend is more important? I only have one child with a cell phone- thank you Jesus, but that will change. Will my communication with these precious boys change? Will I sit idly by and watch it happen? I was not going to watch my child’s love for learning unravel due to one disconnected teacher. I was on that like white on rice. Even the school administration agreed that children need verbal feedback today more than ever since most instruction includes a screen unfortunately. That said, am I walking the walk and talking the talk that I am demanding for my own child? How do I let the people I love know that I love them? Is it a text, an email? When is the last time we spoke on the phone - or better yet - saw each other in person? Yes a pandemic shut a lot of things down, but there are safe ways to connect. FaceTime is actually a beautiful thing. The Marco Polo app has improved my marriage tremendously since my husband and I work opposite shifts. And my family members that live under my roof? I have no excuse if I do not connect with them daily. About a year ago, I placed time limits on my social media apps. I allow myself 30 minutes total between Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok per day. Gasp. When my timer is up, those apps go dark. Some days I override the limit if there are particular things I am interested in or if I am looking for something to make me feel better (did I just type that? Yes. Sadly, I did). But on those days that I stick to that limit, I am a better parent, a better wife, a better daughter, a better nurse practitioner, and a better friend. This may not be true for you, but it is for me. So, if I’m not on my phone, what in the world am I doing? Have you ever considered how much time you would have if you plugged your phone in another room the minute you arrived home in the evening? What would you do? How would your spouse feel if you gave them an hour of your undivided attention each day? How would your child feel? And if you live alone, are not in a relationship, or do not have children, this still applies. I’m sure you have friends, other family members, and hobbies. What about your faith or your mental health? What if you dedicated 10 minutes per day to either one of those? In 2022, nobody knows what to do with themselves. It is a real problem I see every day in my practice. Rarely do I enter an exam room when a patient is not on their phone. I cannot remember the last time I went into a restaurant and didn’t see a couple who were both on their phone during the meal. Children do not know how to sit in a waiting room or in a car or at a dining table without a screen, and that literally breaks my heart. And what breaks my heart even more, is most of the faces on those screens are of strangers. They are not the child’s parent, grandparent, cousin, mentor, coach. They are someone being paid by a marketing group to make our children feel good. And adults are just as guilty. When did mothers and fathers stop making their children feel good? When did teachers stop making their students feel loved? When did friends stop talking with actual words that come out of their mouths? When did spouses start sending each other videos and memes instead of talking about hopes and dreams and struggles? I do not have all the answers. I only have my house, my family, my thoughts and behaviors that I can somewhat control. And I am ready to take back the reigns, ditch the digital input, and turn on the lights in my own life. I will no longer be an avatar of a human. I will be live and in person. My boys and my husband will hear my voice and feel my touch if I have any say so at all. We need a revolution my friends. Our children will never survive a marriage if they cannot talk to each other. They need us, and quite frankly we need them too. We are the solution. We just have to put our devices down and show up. Godspeed. Please support my fellow hope*writers by checking out their posts about LIFE: A Radiant Life By MelAnn of Grace and Rapture https://graceandrapture.com/publish/post/44999942 Pursuing Life By Jessica Weaver www.rootedunrooted.com/blog/pursuing-life Parenting Advice for a Better Life By Ashley Olivine https://louvaria.com/parenting-advice/ Embrace Eternal Life in Jesus Christ By Lisa Granger https://lisamarcelina.net/embrace-eternal-life-in-jesus-christ Living a Life Well Worth Living By Lori Shoaf https://www.lorishoaf.com/stories-to-encourage/living-a-life-well-worth-living. 1% Living Every Single Day By Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=10546&action=edit How on earth is it already time for 2022? Where did 2021 go? I'm not sure, BUT, I am ready for 2022. 2021 was messy and ugly in many ways. On a personal level, it was unkind to my health. I received a new diagnosis of psoriasis in March and had to miss an entire month of work while my body was adjusting to new medications and my skin was trying to heal. October revealed an unexpected opportunistic infection (since I'm immunocompromised) that required strong antibiotics and made me feel pretty lousy. Since November 1, I have been hobbling around on painful swollen knees and am facing unexpected knee surgery. Pity party? Nah, not my style. Swallowing it all? That's my go-to. When I think about my health and how unfair it is that I've tried to take care of my body my whole life and I'm still getting the short end of the health stick, I can get pretty low. Then I think of all my patients who have it "worse." And I swallow it. I shove it down. I brush it off. But is that healthy? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. So I'm learning to acknowledge my own feelings. I'm sad that my body is not behaving. I'm angry in some ways. I'm frustrated for sure. I'm still thankful that I can work for right now. I am beyond grateful for my parents who live 2 doors down and help me daily. I'm tired. I'm realizing I have X amount of energy each day and my family needs the bulk of it. If my job takes most of it then I'm robbing my family of my best self. Filing for disability has been on my mind more in the past 9 months than it ever has during this 5 year sarcoidosis journey. So what next? New year, new adventures, new planner, new goals, new.... what else is new now that I'm 45? I have a lot of old. Old hurts. Old unmet needs. Old furniture. Old clothes. Old shame. Old junk in my kitchen drawers. Old relationship issues that deserve a conversation. An old van that has chipping paint but it's paid for and gets us to ball tournaments. I think the reflex for all of us is to replace the old with the new and that will make it all better. New clothes. The newest kitchen gadget. New furniture or decor, ON TREND, my dear! A shiny new SUV that costs more than most people's annual salary and gets 12 mpg. But boy does it look good and that's what counts, right? I'm no longer trying to replace the old just by reflex. It's harder to keep it and try to keep it running. Purging the clothes and kids' toys is definitely good, but when we throw out things that still work but aren't "good enough" for whatever standards, what does that say about us? Who and what have you thrown away and replaced with newer and easier? (ouch)... I'm falling apart health-wise in a lot of ways, but I "still work." Will my family or employer throw me out? Will my friends forget about me if I'm not as active and fun as I used to be? Where does that leave me? As an Enneagram 3 (Performer, Success Driven), I've been gut-punched this year by my body's betrayal. But God must be telling me something. I know He has a plan. I have to trust and slow down and just be. NOT. MY. STRONG. SUIT. Perhaps 2021 leaves you feeling like I do. Maybe you lost someone you loved. Maybe you were also betrayed by either your body or someone you trusted. Maybe you felt out of control all year like I did? Maybe you spent too many hours googling vaccines and viruses and death tolls like most of the world. Maybe you feel all the "junk" you've shoved down and swallowed for however long starting to surface and want to be named and noticed. I feel that with you. 2022 can be a renewal for us, my friends. I'm going to intentionally name what's working, what's not working, what is worth repair, and what really needs to be purged from my life. This goes for relationships, time spent, health choices, what I consume digitally and physically, items in my home and closet, and my thought life. I'm going to check myself when I just want to replace the old for that quick dopamine hit. I'm going to try to sit in the uncomfortable and define what's causing it. I can't keep running 90 mph. 2022 is for slowing down. It is for evaluation. It is for growing up, finally. Godspeed. There are SO many ways to use a daily planner. Over the years, I have tried numerous daily planners: Planner Perfect Traveler's Notebook system, Passion Planner Daily, Erin Condren Daily Petite Planner, bullet journaling, Michael Hyatt's Full Focus Planner, and Emily Ley's Simplified Planner Daily. The 3 that I stuck with the longest are Planner Perfect, Passion Planner, and EC Daily Petite. I really enjoyed bullet journaling, but it seemed to take more time than I currently have available since everything is blank and undated. Planner Perfect is also blank and undated (other than the pre-printed week-at-a-glance and month-at-a-glance in each of her monthly journals), BUT if you receive her monthly subscription box, you'll get 3 coordinating washi tapes for the month and 4 coordinating sticker pages for the month which make it easy to set up your monthly book. I also find it calming and rhythmic to lay down washi and stickers every month in a freshly printed traveler's notebook that I know will change out of my beautiful, rich, fabulously-leather-smelling Coco TN each and every month. It really is like a fresh start and a new beginning each month. There is something to be said for that. ☀️ Ways to use a daily planner (what to write in it):
Using a daily planner may seem cumbersome, time-wasting, like overkill, or even pointless to some. At times, I agree. Other times, however, I feel like I'm in 4th grade again - unable to drive yet- unable to see my friends freely - and full of creative energy and thoughts that need to land somewhere. I have markers, pens, coloring pencils, stamps, washi tape, and a TV with streaming services or Audible with any book I want or a phone with YouTube and AirPods to fill my creative or avoidant needs.
Planning CAN be numbing, and that's okay. I know a 40-something woman decorating paper with stickers is a much healthier outlet than substance abuse or an eating disorder and I do not say that lightly. Addiction is real. Trauma is real. Numbing is real. Self-soothing is real. Finding healthy and safe ways to calm our nervous system can be both life-giving and life-saving. YOU may just like pens and paper. I encourage you to take your planning love for what it is and enjoy it. I never met a dual-tip marker I didn't like. 😜✍️📝🌻 Hey, I know you. I share a bed, a remote, and a living room with you. I ride in the front seat with you. I talk to you numerous times a day about kids and groceries and logistics. I know how you take your coffee and what you like on your pizza. But, do I know you right now, at this very moment, 12 years in, more or less than I did say 10 years ago? BEFORE our conversations revolved around schedules and pickups and homework. I know I have changed in the last 12 years. Surely you have as well? Have I asked? Have I noticed? Have you seen the changes in me? Have you noticed? Are we giving each other what we need? (my therapist is ALWAYS in my ear- "tell them what you NEED Amy! tell that person what you NEED.") Every year we try to take a trip sans kiddos to regroup, reconnect, unplug, and just have fun together. It is a WORTHY investment (time and money) in a marriage or relationship. Parenting is hard! Adulting is hard! Marriage is hard! Sure, some people make it look easy, but let's leave them out of it and talk about the real work that staying married involves. We usually try some "games" or conversation starters to break our habit of only talking about our kids, our jobs, or our day-to-day frustrations. Sometimes we play "would you rather?". Here are some of the ones we asked this last date night:
Wait, what just happened? We soon realized that the frivolous conversations led to deeper ones and that was the eventual goal anyway, BUT had we ever really talked about any of these things? We have not crossed into some of those territories personally, but we have witnessed other loved ones facing different challenges. Those various challenges have seemed more frequent as we age, or perhaps our reservoirs of empathy grow deeper with maturity and life experience. To be quite frank, husband and I had not attended many funerals together prior to the last 2-3 years. We were busy attending weddings or baby showers. That dress with heels and coat and tie now have a different destination it seems. And so it goes. This weekend we've discussed our future grandparent names, how we picture retirement for each of us individually as well as together, and trips we plan to take. We have discussed aging parents and various family caregiving scenarios. Our first few "just us" getaways involved naps and recovery from pure exhaustion and planning out toddler birthday parties, Halloween costume ideas, or Santa ideas. Now we are brainstorming passive income ideas, retirement goals, and our own personal dreams and desires. We are transforming, both together and separately, from Mom & Dad, to 2 people with our own passions, fears, and personal insecurities. I am by no means a marriage expert.
I have seen a beautiful example of marriage in my parents and some of my other family members. Husband and I have each had a failed marriage prior to this one, so we know how painful divorce is and we are each way too stubborn to go down without a fight. I'm not writing this as a beacon of marital bliss, but rather as a tired working mom in the thick of motherhood, menopause, and midlife (try having kids in your mid-30's) 😜. I am writing this as an imperfect, hard-to-please, bleeding-heart woman married to an imperfect, hard-headed, scared-of-abandonment man that didn't see the example of marriage that I saw growing up. We are actually two scared-of-being-vulnerable humans bound together by beautiful boys and God, fate, the universe - but we, too, are still trying to figure it all out. If you find yourself still figuring it all out, it's OKAY. Stay the course. My Uncle Don told me one time many years ago, "Amy, you know how to stay married, right? long pause. You just never leave. Neither of you. You stay and you don't leave." Time and space apart can sometimes be good for a marriage. They can allow room to think and heal. But time TOGETHER has been our best strategy. Make your marriage a priority. Make your spouse a priority. He or she is a worthy investment. You can read all the books and try all the counseling, but sometimes you just need TIME together and conversations that bring you closer than you thought you might ever be. Godspeed. I was pretty sure an acorn grew into a tree. I haven't been in first grade for a while, but I thought I remembered an acorn grew into an oak tree. I decided I better look it up before I wrote an entire post about it, and alas... an acorn does grow into an oak tree. Wikipedia expounded upon acorns being used in art, cuisine, customs, and as food for various birds and mammals. When I took the picture of the acorn in my husband's hand this morning, I wasn't thinking about anything but stored potential. Stored potential. I remembered squirrels collect and store acorns for the winter. And they eat the acorns. And those eaten acorns never reach their calling of becoming a beautiful oak tree.
There are all kinds of books and stories and even a finance app regarding the acorn as a tool for storage, delayed potential, growth. And yet... Here we are, scrolling on our phones or our laptops or our tablets (thank you, dear readers, and I do mean that)... Did we write that book we wanted to write? Did we take that ballroom dance class we wanted to take? Did we belt it at karaoke night like we'd been rehearsing with our brush mic in front of our bathroom mirror? (Okay, Susie did but that was the bottomless margaritas singing, not her true heart's desire to sing on a stage in front of strangers and have someone's heart beat a little faster and someone's eyes water at the sheer sound of her voice... wait, maybe that's just me)? Did we finally tell our friend we were sorry when we did that thing that's rolled around in the back of our minds for 20 years? Did we hold our child close to our chest and tell them everything is going to be okay even though we know it might not be okay and we don't want to be the reason they're in therapy later but we don't want to pretend everything is okay, oh my goodness, what is the right answer? Did we apply for the promotion we know we deserve or let another opportunity pass us by? Did we sign up for the race we know we aren't ready for but really, really want to try? Did we tell the person that hurt us repeatedly that they did hurt us and going forward, did we define what we need from them? Did we look in the mirror this morning and like every single inch of our bodies and every single fiber of our heart and soul because God designed us as a masterpiece, beautifully and wonderfully made, despite society's measuring sticks? Or, did we remain on the leaf-covered ground like the acorn... waiting for a squirrel or bird or toddler to scoop us up? Were we stored away for another day? Were we consumed before we ever began our destiny? An oak tree is a beautiful destiny. She is strong, tall, sturdy, and beautiful, with colors that change with the seasons. She provides shelter, shade, and structure. She never leaves us and she stays the same for the most part. You know what else is beautiful? A mother who tells her children she has been hurt too, and that it really is all going to be okay. That she KNOWS it's going to be okay, because she is okay and she will help them be okay as long as she is on this earth. A wife who tells her partner what she needs from them even if she doesn't know if they can give her what she needs. A friend who tells the truth when asked if she's okay. And a friend who recognizes her own flaws and asks for patience and understanding. A daughter who can look at her elderly parents and recognize every line on their face and hands for all its good and bad and steadfastness. She can see herself acquiring those same lines and she knows the toll each one has taken. She knows that her own children will see her lines one day, and she hopes they give her the same recognition. I'm typing this on the porch of a cabin on a lake in north Georgia and the acorns are literally spilling from the treetops hitting the ground HARD and abruptly and with force and determination. Each one comes down on this cabin rooftop or leaf-scattered ground with a POUND or a BOOM or a SNAP. And my heart is full. For I know the destiny of each tiny acorn. She is yearning to become a beautiful oak. She is waiting for her moment to rise. Now it is your turn. What path will you choose? Will you make the hard decisions, let your voice be heard, show up for those who love and need you? Or will you stay on the ground... waiting... watching... allowing life to happen all around you? I dare you to stand. I will stand with you.
Those are the 3 phrases that come to mind when I think of intention. And boy do I try to live intentionally. I even chose a name for my blog / business/ alter ego etc with the word INTENT. So why do I feel ill-equipped to write about intention?!? I have all the planners, techniques, vision, and skills to live a life well-planned. I have mastered and honed the Home CEO, Working Mom, and Grown Adult roles so much so that I even write blog posts dedicated to living with intention, being more productive, and living your best life. And then I consider the best days and moments I have experienced. They weren’t planned or perfect. Most of them were a result of unforeseen circumstance. I’m living in a state that never crossed my mind prior to my dad losing his job in 1994 when I was a freshman in college. I’m a mother to a child I never knew existed until he was six. I have AMAZING friends, patients, and coworkers I never would have met had my first marriage not ended. And I’m married to a man who gave me 2 gorgeous, smart, funny, loving boys that never would have known my name if all my plans had worked out. Those that know us would agree we would probably have never been in the same room if it weren’t for someone somewhere creating the internet. So I will continue to plan, manifest, set goals, and make to-do lists. It makes me happy and I like to think I’m in control. Then I will watch some of it unfold, unravel, get messy, hurt, and burn - I will be better, wiser, and more compassionate in the aftermath of my intention. ❤️ |