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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/
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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? Note the leaves clinging to the window. Thank God for slower days that allow me to notice and pay attention. Those leaves inspired this post. When I think about all the concepts and ideas I have clung to for my 46 years, I feel muddled inside. Everything happens for a reason. I don’t know about that. Some days I see God and the universe working and others I don’t. I’m just being honest here. Hurt people hurt people. I do believe this one. ☝️ But how do I maintain my self-worth and boundaries while being in the presence of those who don’t know how to get out of their own misery? This one is tough and affects most of us on a regular basis. True love. Soulmates. The jury is still out for me. People treat you how you teach them to treat you. I’m 50/50 on this one. I can hold my boundaries and even lower my expectations when needed and some folks will still be jerks. See #2 above. It will all work out. I’m 80/20 on this one. Yes the sun WILL rise tomorrow. Yes the world WILL keep spinning. I have (mostly) grown from all my life experiences, but I’m not sure if it always works out. I see injustice. I see inequality. I am not sure that always works out. Take the high road. I don’t know. Sometimes change needs a low road as a catalyst. Maybe relationships need real moments with raw conversations to truly grow. If we all took the high road at all times, would it even be a high road anymore? The truth will set you free. Usually. Almost always. But as a holder of many secrets (job hazard), I have seen situations where the truth might hold one hostage and cause immeasurable suffering for years to come. Say what you mean and mean what you say. I love this one. In theory. But with my silver tongue and deep emotions have come words I did not really mean in times of hurt or anger. I think this is a great ideal, a lofty goal. But when we mess up, apologize- and sooner rather than later. A quick imperfect apology generally means more than a well-stated overdue one. What about you? What have you clung to? What feels true and what feels forced when you consider the building blocks for your social or moral compass? Better yet, what feels fake? What makes you squirm when you say it out loud to another human? If you squirm, stop saying it. Stop believing it. Our truths can evolve. Our truths don’t have to match those of our parents or our spouse. Our truths are our own. Here’s to both of us building our own houses of morality and ideology. And leaving room for repairs. Godspeed. Turns out, my next right thing includes more writing. More creating. More TikToks. More singing. More reading. More sleeping. More dancing. More laughter. More fun. Adapted from several sources including MakseLife and Emily P. Freeman's Next Right Thing Journal, I try my best to do a monthly (and best practice- weekly) reflection. In that reflection, we should ask ourselves:
As I reflect on the past 6 months of my life, I wonder where the hours and the days have gone. I made such a huge life change that it almost feels like I experienced some type of time warp. The only way I can describe it is by framing those 6 months as a rebirth, a metamorphosis, but also... a hibernation, a recharge, an INHALE. When we run so fast and so hard for so long, we don't know how to stop. We have to schedule time to cry and time to laugh. Time to talk to a friend uninterrupted and time to touch our spouse. Now that I am seeing patients closer to their last days than their first, I know deep in my soul that I will never resume that pace. The little things are the big things. The best things in life are free. Sleep is a beautiful thing. All the cliches are true. So in reflection, I deem:
What next?
I encourage you to have a Fall Reset. Fall Reflection. Fall Recharge.
Holidays will be here soon and being less stressed and more rested is GOLD. Allow yourself an inhale this October. Shed your dead skin. You know what needs to go. And if you can't even think about focus or reflection, just stay on the couch scrolling. It worked for me. And now I'm back. 🥰 Apologies. Hurt feelings. Regret. Being a human is hard. We have all of these emotions and old hurts. We have stories to share but fear prevents us from being vulnerable. Sometimes we hurt people we truly LOVE. We say things we didn't mean. We behave like children. I don't think that will ever change, even for those of us who try to be self-aware. What can change, though, is the aftermath. We can own our stuff. And I mean OWN IT. You were a witch to Sally at work for no reason- OWN IT. You muttered a sly remark as you passed by your spouse this morning - OWN IT. You snapped at your kid instead of answering his question- OWN IT. You invalidated your friend's feelings (in any variety of ways) - OWN IT. You left someone out of a group invite- OWN IT. We CAN own our stuff and we SHOULD. Owning it usually accompanies and precedes a well-meaning apology. It is the best part of the apology - so please do not overlook the ownership. Now, go own a few things that are calling your name, my dears. Carry on. 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. 2 year anniversary of covid- what isn't in the news or really discussed publicly:
What is working?
What is not working?
What's next? What do I want more of?
Okay, so what does my list of "stuff" have to do with you? It's meant to be a guide or a tool for you to do your own quarterly review. What is working? What is not working? What do you want more of? Or less of? What have you learned in the last 3 months? I encourage you to take a few moments to yourself in one of those cracks of time we all barely get these days. Write it down. Type it in your phone notes. Say it out loud if you want to do that. But give it some THOUGHT. Consistent quarterly reviews or seasonal reflections can be life-giving and increase your productivity, contentment, and enthusiasm for what lies before you! Godspeed. ❤️ Part of the reason I keep a planner is because my memory is terrible. Just ask my best friend since third grade. I blame it on nursing and NP school and having to memorize so many drugs and diseases. I also blame it on having lived in four states and meeting several "sets of people" in my lifetime. Anyway, when I sit down to start my year end review, I grab my planner. I repress memories which I am working on in therapy, but I really can’t remember what happened the past year without flipping through each month and glancing at big moments. I am not exactly sure why my brain is like that, but it is and yours may be too? Sometimes my mind is blown when I look at everything that happened in my personal or professional or emotional life in one calendar year. How do we survive with the pace and the demands of the world today? When is enough enough? Everyone I know feels like they’re drowning with all the work deadlines, projects, meetings, kids' activities, sports, and that's not even accounting for the emotional toll the past 2 years have taken on every single one of us. When I look back over 2021 in my own life, the following events come to light:
As I look back over the events of 2021, it often sparks me to plan and reserve trips or experiences for 2022. My manager also loves that I give her my days off for the entire year in December or January. I realize you might not be able to do this, but it actually reduces my anxiety knowing in January when I will be off throughout the year. If I am having an extremely stressful season / week / month, I already know the upcoming days of rest that are scheduled. My patients appreciate it too... less moving and rearranging (sorry for those reading this- 2021 was rough on my schedule!). 🤪 Sitting down and performing a yearly review also gives me reassurance or reminders of certain events I do NOT want to attend or participate in again. It helps me to identify what was life-giving and what was life-draining. That clarity is HUGE. You'll notice I did not list the following (but they all also happened): hurt feelings, miscommunication, personal growth, continued grief, strained conversations, burnout, apathy, frustration, disdain, regret, fear, hopelessness, anger, and anxiety. While I am not listing those publicly, they are named on my heart and mind. Thanks to counseling, I am trying not to wear them inside my body (The Body Keeps The Score by Bessel Van Der Kolk, MD). I am intentionally working to process and let go as I go instead of swallowing or shoving it down, or worse- spewing it out. This is hard work. This is a big deal. So I encourage you as we wrap up 2021 and enter 2022, to sit down and block off a good 30 minutes to yourself. Scroll through your planner or your Google Calendar or your Facebook pictures and think about the past 12 months. What felt good? What felt icky? Who gave you energy when you were around them? Who made you feel bad about yourself? What habits added to your life? What subtracted? Look at your screen time averages on your phone. Maybe set a goal to lower those. A fellow blogger in my writer's group wrote a piece about our children remembering us looking at our phones instead of looking at their faces. LET THAT SINK IN FOR A MINUTE. I may write a piece about goal-setting and planning for the year ahead, but I would be a sham if I told you I set any goals for 2021. I didn't even know I would start writing this year. This nudge just got so big in July that I just started (oh yeah, I forgot our trip to Birmingham this summer). I was in a hotel room in Birmingham with keyed-up pre-teens, a snoring husband (love you babe), and a laptop staring at me. I had to process all this STUFF and it just started. So just start. Even if you only take the next 2-5 minutes to reflect on 2021. I beg of you to do it. So many of us are just sleepwalking through life. Work. Supper. Kids. TV. Bed. Repeat. Weekend. And repeat again. Let us all try some self-evaluation, life-evaluation, emotional-evaluation. What is life-giving and what is life-draining? What brings you joy? The only person keeping me from writing was ME. What will YOU allow yourself to do in 2022? Godspeed. I see it every year. It starts around the first week of November and it lasts through the middle of January. The holiday blues. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve actually slowed down enough to think about trends in my practice. Sure there is an actual diagnosis of seasonal affective disorder, but this is different. This is deeper. This is hard. And here’s how I see it every day for two months straight in my exam rooms: Me: Hey Mrs. Jones - it is so good to see you. I know we had to zoom for our last visit. What’s new in your life? Are you ready for Christmas? Do you have to cook for Thanksgiving? Are y’all going anywhere? Mrs Jones: oh you know, I will be cooking for the family for Thanksgiving. And the children and the grandchildren may stop by for Christmas. No... I don’t go anywhere. I’m ready as I’ll ever be. Blank stare. Obvious reflection. Anyway how are your boys? Are they ready for Christmas? Do you have to cook for Thanksgiving? Me: oh yes I will be making my Mammaw’s dressing, sweet potato casserole from an old Birmingham recipe from one of my mother’s friend’s mothers, my layered salad that a nurse I used to work with taught me how to make. Gosh that was over 25 years ago now. Blank stare. Obvious reflection. Daddy will fry the turkey and my husband will fix the ham and a peanut butter pie. Mama will make the deviled eggs and the Waldorf salad. I will make my mother-in-law‘s corn bean casserole and some homemade mashed potatoes. Of course we will have rolls and cranberry sauce. Another blank stare. I haven’t seen my mother-in-law in over five years. The boys? Oh yes, they are more than ready for Christmas. We got them a matchbox Advent calendar they can’t wait to get started on. They’re growing up so fast. Blank stare. Obvious reflection. The oldest will be home from the Air Force. He and his girlfriend will be together the whole time I’m sure. I smile. But I’m nearly in tears. What is going on? And we sit for a moment. Two women born of different decades and sometimes different skin colors who have lived two very different lives at the outsider’s glance, but are so alike on the inside that it’s haunting. Her daughter is sitting beside her. They look and act so much alike it makes me smile from the inside out. I’m sure that’s what people say when they see me with my mother. I don’t have a daughter. Will my boys take care of me? Alright, get it together Amy. We finish out our actual medical visit and say our go-to goodbyes: Happy Holidays. Y’all be safe. Call me if you need me. And now, after ALL these years, I often hear “you know I love you.” And I believe it’s true. It’s not forced. It’s been earned. Is it against the rules? No, not my rules it’s not. Truth be told, I love her too. Maybe because I see myself in her and I’m cheering for myself in my old age. I’m giving myself a head start and saving myself a seat. I’ve practiced in Kentucky and in Georgia. I worked in a nursing home for six years and then made rounds as a nurse practitioner in that very same nursing home. I’m an old soul myself so I think I draw my elderly patients in and they stick. I stick to them too, and I think they know it. I’ve had so many Mrs. Jones over my 17 years. I’ve had Mr. Jones and Little Johnny Jones or Little Sally Jones as well, but I am so connected to Mrs. Jones that I can almost finish her sentence. Now I’m driving home and this 2 Lane Highway surrounded by trees and cows and horses makes me feel like I could be in any of the four states I’ve lived. It’s familiar and so are these thoughts. I’m a little girl in my childhood home with my brother and my parents and we just came home from candlelight Christmas Eve service and mama made lasagna. I haven’t really been hurt yet. I don’t know what it feels like to love somebody besides my family. I feel safe and secure and like I can do anything in this world. How did Mrs. Jones feel at this age? How did you feel at 10 years old? Now I’m driving home from Tuscaloosa with Delta Zeta on my back windshield. My finals are over. I get to see my boyfriend. I’m taking pre-med classes as well as a full nursing load, but I’ve been hurt by now. I’ve been disappointed and lied to by some people I trusted. But it’s the holidays you see, and I still feel like I’ve got a handle on things. I wonder what Mrs. Jones was doing at 20 years old? Had you been hurt by then? Oh wow. I didn’t really see this coming. Or did I? I’m sitting alone in my first marital home. Half my furniture is gone. Someone I love deeply told me I don't really need a Christmas tree this year because "it's just you." Am I not enough for a tree? Who am I by myself anyway? I’m driving to Georgia for Christmas. I don’t think I’ve ever been this sad in my life. I wonder what Mrs. Jones was doing when she was 30 years old? Was her heart broken like mine? Was yours? Gather around now. It’s time to eat. My baby boy is four years old and can’t seem to stop smiling. God gave him to me for sure. The first one I carried is six and almost as smart as I am. The one I didn’t carry but I’ve fed and loved now for seven years is sitting right next to me. Is he thinking about his mama? Will he ever see her again? Tiny pieces of my heart crumble for him. I just started taking prednisone for an incurable autoimmune disease I had to look up on the Internet. Lord have mercy and I really do mean "please Lord have some mercy." I’m only about 3 1/2 weeks into a lifelong diagnosis and I don’t know what the future holds. I’m scared. I’m sad. Merry Christmas y’all. It’s the holidays, right? I wonder how old Mrs. Jones was when she first questioned her mortality? How old were you? Were you 40 years old like me with a child in pre-K, one in first grade, and one silently falling apart right in front of you? You see that’s what the holiday blues are. They are every heartbreak and broken promise. They are all the fears and all the lost relationships. They are that empty seat at the table. The phone that barely rings. They are the one that got away and the one that stayed too long. They are your mother, your father, and your children. They are every husband you’ve ever had. How can they not be? We can’t erase our memories. I don’t have a cure for the holiday blues. I think they’re part of life. Mrs. Jones might tell me they get better with each decade or she might tell me they grow and take up more space than we should allow. I’m scared to ask her. None of us even talk about it really. We just say Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, y’all be safe. So this is my letter to you at age 45. Some heartaches of mine have healed and some are still there. I don’t think we should only remember the good times because that’s not what made us. It’s certainly not what made me today sitting right here baring my soul and giving you the permission to bare yours. Acknowledge the things that built you. Godspeed. This goes out to every Mrs. Jones that has ever allowed me to know her. She is me and I am her. And I thank God for that. |