Of all the titles I have in this life the one that gives me the most joy, the most bewilderment and definitely the most consternation is my “mom” role. I blithely dance through life while wearing my other monikers; engineer, sister, friend, wife, and cousin. I mean there are bumps in every road, but in a macro sense I do not find myself shouldering the burden of every decision I make, as much as I do in my parenting role. Questioning not only my choices but my wisdom in making those choices. And by wisdom I mean, do I even have all the necessary marbles in my brain to make this decision? I am not talking about a narcissistic preoccupation centered on how I will look based on this decision, I am talking about a real sense of what the hell am I doing? I mean seriously IS there an app for this?
I love math, so what, you’re probably saying, well bear with me I’ll explain. I view life through a math-tinted lens, when I think about the advice, guidance, criticism, praise and support I give my children I see it this way. My kids are on their own unique journey with or without me it is their and only theirs, I do not posses it, and I believe I do not have a right to claim it as my own. However, like a vector in math I know the slightest, even most minute, change in angle on a vector will have greater and greater effects as the magnitude or length of the vector grows. So the little things that I do with my children, say to my children, advise my children about, acts as an external variable on their path. I believe, please hang with me math-haters, those external variables create slight adjustments in the angle of trajectory and grow in significance the further away we travel from the point of origin. So it sometimes overwhelms me, even with the so-called little things I do or avoid doing as a parent.
I put myself on heightened alert when I tread near my “regret bone yard” with my kids. People who have no regrets fascinate me I wish I could say I have no regrets, but I do, starting with I regret that I regret! I regret how I treated some people growing up, I regret that I did not stick with my chemistry major in my first attempt at college, I regret that I treated my mother poorly at times, I regret that I was not with my grandma and my dad when they took their last breath. Each regret has its own unique circumstances so when advising my children in any areas that overlaps a regret in my bone yard, I ask myself are you advising young Marsia, or are you advising your kids? I could lie and say I always answer my kids but I don’t, sometime I forget to ask the question or I ask and convince myself I am only thinking of the kids, this is where my parenting gets messy.
We all do it even those amazing put together parenting authors and shows, they have their messy moments. My messy parent internal alarm goes off when I start to feel that gnawing uncomfortable feeling. I believe our greatest lessons are in those awkward, uncomfortable circumstances and times in our life. So when I witness myself or another parent pushing kids in a direction the child doesn’t seem to have a passion for, I get that wobbly feeling.
Case in point, my daughter asked to take guitar lessons I was overjoyed! Oh boy one skeleton in my bone yard is the “I wish I would have played a musical instrument regret.” So here is one of those parenting mine fields for me, I start to watch every step so this whole thing does not blow up. I keep checking to make sure my intent is pure, my advise authentic. Am I pushing her to practice because she needs to learn commitment, to learn patience and realize the accomplishment for that patience and hard work, and not pushing her to clean up my bone yard? It really is a fine line we parents walk, if I am having my children make up for my regrets or if my passion becomes theirs, is their trajectory diverted so off path that their true purpose becomes more difficult to achieve or even see? And what about experience? Are we supposed to ignore our experience, no, but we can’t be consumed by it either. Sheesh, it’s complicated.
And what about failure? I have learned so much from my missteps, can I let my children fail? My mom and dad allowed me and my brother to fail, I can’t imagine what it took for them to stand by knowing full well we would fall flat on our face. I have seen children who are not allowed to fail, their parents make sure of it, I feel such compassion for those parents, but also great sorrow for those children. This has been difficult for me, to let my kids go into situations where I was not sure whether or not they would fail. I still struggle with it every single time. It drives me to distraction when my kids fail an assignment or test, however, my work as a parent is lessened with each failure I allow them to experience because that is where the really learning takes place. I still despise it.
So whether or not I know what the hell I am doing, and I am certain I do not, this is what I do, right or wrong, my parenting litmus test is the way people feel when they are with my kids, if they recall feeling hopeful, happy, or good, I must be doing ok as a parent. It’s the same test I use on myself as a human being.
It’s not only children who grow. Parents do too. As much as we watch to see what our children do with their lives, they are watching us to see what we do with ours. I can’t tell my children to reach for the sun. All I can do is reach for it, myself. ~Joyce Maynard
A very thoughtful friend who knows I have Seneca heritage introduced me to the teachings of a wise Seneca elder, Twylah Hurd Nitsch. Since then, I have become transfixed by her teachings I want to read and assimilate all her wisdom. She often speaks of truth, the truth within. In an interview with Margaret Wolff she described how we inflict upon ourselves pain and hurt when we avoid our truth within, which also affect our love within and peace within. She also expressed that until we grab hold of the truth and remember our Oneness, which is a truth we hold deep inside each of us from birth, we will continue to learn that truth through opposites.
Now this was where the hair stood up on the back of my neck – she said, “you confront the opposite of truth so you can learn it.” I get in the mud often and bemoan and lament the actions of others I find offensive or disrespectful, but in reality what is really happening? I am learning how not to be, or I am learning how to be, by recognizing what not to be. Think about a time when you watched someone struggle to do something, you see what works and doesn’t work and use that knowledge when its your turn. This concept reminds me of the tough mudder competition I recently participated in, I would watch the contestant in front of me attack the obstacle if they were successful I would use the same approach if they crashed and burned, I did not. So this idea of learning from opposites means that we are actually blessed each time we witness offensive or disrespectful behavior particularly when we recognize it as such.
I know this sounds bizarre but it’s so true. I have witnessed many people who struggle with the truth and my response has always been the same, a mixture of disappointment and pity. Now I recognize they are heyoka’s. The Lakota call those who walk among us and react and move opposite of the people around them heyoka spirits. Heyoka’s violate the ethical rules and societal taboos of the tribe thereby teaching the importance of such rules by creating awareness.
Beautiful and simple yet painful. As I continue on my path in this world I see how the truth really does set me free. The more closely I respect and embrace my truth within, the lighter my load. I recognize now my pious reaction to my heyoka’s is not only misguided it is disrespectful. These people are walking a very difficult and painful path to teach us how to connect with our peace and love within.
So the next time you feel repelled by the behavior of another be grateful that you are blessed to be aware of that behavior and have the ability to choose the opposite.
“It is in vain that we search for an essential difference between good and evil, for their constituents are the same. The crucial distinction lies in their structure, i.e., the manner in which the pieces are assembled. Evil is disintegration, an angry juxtaposition of alienated opposites, with parts always striving to repress other parts. Good is the synthesis and reconciliation of these same pieces.” ~ Charles Hampden-Turner
I find myself from time to time questioning why certain things are, the way they are. For instance I often wonder why my husband throws his dirty clothes next to the hamper? Is it a commitment thing? For instance does he think, yeah it’s sort of dirty but maybe not dirty enough to wash yet, I’ll throw it next to the hamper and see if I’m still compelled to wear it later.
Another interesting phenomena in my own home is my daughter’s fairly consistent complaint each evening that she does not have enough time to complete all her homework. I actually timed her one evening, she spent 1 hour and 34 minutes sitting in the kitchen, then moving to the living room playing with our dog, moving things in and out of her room all the while actively engaged in a diatribe about how much time she does not have, to do her homework. I, of course, made the mistake all parents of teenagers do, I suggested the obvious, “if you had been working on your homework the entire time you were complaining about it you would be done by now.” I quickly learned all over again not all observations are welcomed by humans of the teenage ilk.
Why do some people preach the evils of sugar but smoke cigarettes? Or why do some people preach the evils of cigarettes but go to tanning beds? I personally know people who fall in each category.
And why do people still go to tanning booths? Melanoma has to be by far one of the worst cancers in terms of prognosis after diagnosis. I know people who would absolutely cringe at the thought of not washing their hands after going to the bathroom but will bake their skin in a tanning booth? What fascinates me is what is going on in the inner workings of their brain synapses that makes one reprehensible and the other acceptable?
What makes a cat person versus a dog person? I am not talking about the crazies, like me, that have a cat, dog, guinea pigs, and fish! I am talking about the cat person who detests dogs and the dog person who detests cats? How does that manifest itself exactly?
Another conundrum, why do some people let little things eat at them? I have seen people come unravelled at the least little thing, my husband cannot stand dealing with ordering pizza on the phone he would come unglued at the slightest variation in the ordering process, now that pizza can be ordered online there is peace in our house.
Since I am calling everyone else out let me share my tipping point, technology. If technology does not function in the manner I expect it to, and I expect it to cater to my every need instantly and consistently, I literally lose it. I am fascinated that this sends me off because I am pretty laid back, you can break almost anything in my house and I really am not going to get too excited. But my computer won’t boot up or worst yet suddenly locks up and I will go into some sort of shape shifting, demonic possession, tongue speaking dimension. I know when I’ve gone there because when I come out of “it” my family is gazing at me with the horrified, yet morbid curiosity one has when looking at a side-show act. You know head tilted, eye brows furrowed, uncomfortable wince, yet can’t take their eyes off of me, look.
As I am sitting here in judgement I also what to question the judgers, you know I want to judge the judgers. I am fascinated, almost to the point of distraction, with people who judge others motives, intentions, and actions. Recently I was told of an interesting situation, a friend was helping a neighbor who found herself in a crisis. So she dove in to action and helped her out, another neighbor got upset that the friend did not let others in the neighborhood know of the situation. I am fascinated by that response. When I found out my first thought was wow so grateful you were there to help out and next was is there anything I can do to help. Frustration with the very person who helped out never crossed my mind. Again another question I ponder, why? What is gong on that your first response is frustration for not knowing? There is obviously more to that story than I am privy to and that is just ok with me.
Ok now my last question to ponder which is popping up all over the internet and social media, why do people in the name of celebrating the holidays, turn to rabid animal-like behavior over purchasing a product at a reduced rate on the infamous Black Friday or now the Thanks”but gone shopping” Day. I know several people who each year venture out on Black Friday and I would gaze at them with the same morbid curiosity one has when looking at a side-show act. Seriously I have been poor, I know when you have to stretch a dollar as far as it can go and yet I still can’t imagine subjecting myself to the insanity that occurs; crowds, traffic, and hysteria, just to save a few dollars on stuff. I guess for some it’s like hunting. The prey is illusive, the conditions can be treacherous, and patience is the key.
My wish is that we all remember to be kind to and accepting of each other. While I may not understand why some people, including myself, engage in behavior that seems incongruent, I love them and I love myself. I always believe people are doing the best they can, with the tools they have, at that particular place and time. Peace out.
No simplicity of mind, no obscurity of station, can escape the universal duty of questioning all that we believe. ~ William Kingdon Clifford
You know that God has a sense of humor, why else would I be going through menopause and raising a teenage daughter at the same time. I can tell you I have been through a lot in my life but try experiencing a hot flash at 7 am while making breakfast and listening to your 13-year-old daughter start to cry because I had the audacity to encourage her to eat her food. “I’m not hungry!” she screams, “I know baby but you told me last night when you got home you are not getting enough food at lunch, your still hungry, it’s because you’re not getting enough to eat in the morning.”
Her lip starts to quiver and a look comes over her face that is a combination of pure hostility and despondency. As sweat starts beading on my forehead and the core of my body feels like a coal-fired furnace has just been stoked to its capacity. “You don’t understand!” she half cries and half rages at me. Of course I don’t, I do happen to be a woman who at one time was a teenager too, I have all the same parts or at least most of them, but of course I don’t. My mind is racing because I am trying to keep from grabbing the ice maker and pouring it in my pajamas while also staying engaged in this chaotic scene. “You see, you are never listening to me!” She’s right I find myself floating off to avoid the barrage of complaints and list of injustices she is subjected to in our home. In addition menopause, pre or post or wherever I am on this magical ride, assaults me with attention grabbers, like hot flashes, dizziness, and sudden fatigue.
I really do love my daughter she is beautiful, intelligent, creative and really compassionate, the latter mainly reserved for everyone else but me. I on the other hand get both barrels of her teenage angst blasted at me pretty much on a daily basis. When my husband waltzes in the room he gets the batting of the eyes and a delicate “hi daddy.” We have even resorted to having my husband ask her to do things because if daddy asks her she pops right up and runs over to do whatever he asks, at least most of the time. When I ask I get what can only be described as indignant condemnation followed by a litany of the outrageous unfairness she is subjected to which in turn justifies her uncivil disobedience. Which all pairs very well with my menopausal induced mood swings and anxiety.
I recently went to my doctor and complained I have intermittent spells of dizziness and fatigue. He ordered a bunch of tests and basically said yep your now post menopausal. Now to me that should mean I am over it, no that is the cruel joke of medical nomenclature when it comes to menopause. Pre-menopausal means your ramping up you may have some symptoms but they are few and far between, and before you know it you are post menopausal I not sure when I was actually at menopause because I have been told I was “pre” up until I was told I was “post” and that’s when the real fun started for me. Of the 37 common symptoms they have listed online for menopause I am experiencing 39. The additional symptoms, based on my own non-scientific poll of fellow female sufferers, which should also be listed as common, are low self-esteem and frustration.
Well the low self-esteem and frustration could be from raising a teenager or could just be aggravated by raising a teenager. I will do another non-scientific poll over a few bottles of wine with my test group and report back later. Just so you understand the depth of my suffering I will share my most recent menopause/teenage experience. I was thrilled to be giving a young engineer in my community a well deserved award at a recent dinner. As I prepared the words I would share about the honoree days ahead of time I could not help but hear my daughters constant criticism about my failing memory. So I typed everything out in large bold font so I would not have to rely on my memory at all. As I approached the podium I was hit with a hot flash, great I hope my face does not turn beet red, I just told myself, buck up you will, with all dignity in tact, gulp your ice water when you get back to the table and be good as new. I shared with the audience that I had to prepare a written copy of what I would be saying that evening ahead of time. I did that because I have always been an off the cuff kind of speaker, and this was a real departure from my usual style. I added that my teenage daughter’s constant taunting of me stating things like, I have the memory of a squirrel,
was the deciding factor. I then added that raising a teenager is stressful, which received a room full of affirming laughter.
The next day I shared with my daughter that I mentioned her the evening before in my presentation. I told her that I announced to the group that she likes to razz me saying I have the memory of a squirrel. Without any hesitation she goes off on a castigation that began with “oh my God, see you just proved my point!” I am staring back at her wondering how this bonding moment has once again turned on me and resulted in a belittlement of my mental ability. She then continued “I said you have the memory of a goldfish and the bladder of a squirrel, oh my God this is so perfect.”
My mom used to respond to me during my teenage rants that she hoped I had a child who acted just like me some day. Well, mom you definitely got your wish. I have decided not to plague my daughter with the same curse, I mean someone has got to stop this cycle of menopausal mother abuse.
Late last night I returned home from my first trip to a BlogHer Conference in Chicago. I know I didn’t know about BlogHer until a friend asked me to go with her a few months ago and then the extent of my knowledge: it’s a conference for women who blog. So I was a blank slate when I stepped off the escalator on Thursday and onto the Expo floor.
I am an engineer most of the conferences I have attended in the past had Expo’s with booths from other consulting firms, contractors, drill rig suppliers, pipe suppliers…sorry if I continue the list I may lose you. I mean of course those are the booths you’d see at an Expo for engineers; there were no mock commercials being filmed, no characters dressed up as banana’s or Chuck E. Cheese’s®. However, this EXPO, unlike anything I had seen before, had all of that and more, there were booths for Lean Cuisine®, ULTA, Jamba Juice, St. Martin’s Press, Wild Ophelia®, Trojan®, Coca-Cola®, Windex®, White Cloud® and La-Z-Boy® just to name a few. The atmosphere was playful and fun, my kind of milieu. It couldn’t have been further removed from my previous engineering Expo experience. So in typical fashion I dove in and participated in every crazy contests I stumbled upon; a White Cloud interview, a picture with the La-Z-Boy guys, and video confession my biggest beauty gaff at the ULTA booth. My girlfriend watched, at a safe dignified distance, with amusement and her camera snapping evidence that will be used against me, as I engaged in all this silliness at each booth. I felt like a kid at Halloween, picking up my treats at each stop along the way.
I need to mention, in the spirit of full disclosure, by posting the picture and mentioning La-Z-Boy I am entered into a contest to win $5,000 worth of furniture. I want to share that if I am a lucky winner I will donate the furniture to the Women’s Safe House in St. Louis, a battered women’s shelter. How can you trust that’s what I will do, you can’t, but I will just the same.
Friday morning we started out with a Newbie Breakfast and then we attended the morning session with Ree Drummond the Pioneer Woman, she is to the blogging world what Paul McCartney is to the Rock n’ Roll world, at least that’s what I was told by many, because in all honesty I knew her from her cooking show and not from her blog. In some ways I felt a little like being back in high school where I did not know all the cool people and was a little embarrassed. While sitting at one table I introduced myself and the lovely woman speaking to me very humbly described her blog as if she had 500 followers not a big deal. The woman sitting next to her then interjected she is being too humble and shared that she is frequently featured in The Huffington Post, has over 1 million hits a month and was a retired executive from Campbell. I felt a little foolish I did not know who she was, and each time I would meet these bloggers that were part of the blogging celebrity circle I continued to feel a little out-of-place and awkward that I was not more knowledgeable about the who’s who in the blogoshpere.
I attended several sessions, how to be a social media leader, the business of blogging, the lunch featured a conversation with the author Guy Kawasaki. He is my kind of person, unapologetically authentic. I heard a small group grumbling that they did not like his opinions on publishers and editors. I find people who speak their truth in a respectful and intellectual manner, whether I agree with their opinions or not, extremely refreshing. We all received a certificate for a free copy of his new book APE: Author, Publisher, Entrepreneur – How to Publish a Book, and I cannot wait to get my hands on it.
Friday evening was one of the highlights and not because Queen Latifah was the host or that I was in the fourth row from the stage, although that certainly added to the experience, it was hearing 12 of the Voices of the Year winners read their blogs. I laughed, I was emotional, I was grossed out, and I was deeply moved. I thought about what it would feel like to stand up there reading a blog I created to a whole room of writers and feeling their approval. How awesome would that be! I was so amazed as each of these bloggers walked on stage and read their blogs, they all looked so confident, and every one of them did a wonderful job. I was particularly moved by two blogs one by Casey Carey-Brown in her blog Life with Roozle titled I Was Saved At Jesus Camp, and the second was by Adrienne Jones in her blog No Points for Style there was no title given for her submission and I cannot find it on her site but it was a moving tribute to the struggle of navigating our medical system with a diagnosis of mental illness.
The final highlight of my newbie BlogHer experience was the session with Sheryl Sandberg author of Lean In and the Lean In Circles. I am grateful to Sheryl for having the courage to speak out about the gender gap in our world and supporting women all over the globe to use their voice and step up and Lean In. She is intelligent, beautiful and eloquent. And thanks to her I will never call my daughter bossy instead I will tell the world she is displaying executive leadership skills!
I have been blessed with enough, there is no doubt about it. Not necessarily abundance, more than I can imagine, but as much as I need. Yet I have my moments where fear takes over and it almost always starts with a focus on not enough. I am not thin enough, I am not smart enough, I am not strong enough, I am not good enough. Do those mantras sound familiar to you? Maybe these sound more familiar; I don’t have enough time, I didn’t get enough sleep, I don’t have enough money, not enough, not enough, not enough or better yet what about everyone around you? They don’t have enough integrity, they don’t have enough compassion, they don’t have enough intelligence, they don’t have enough capacity to care, etc…..
I am reading Brené Brown’s book Daring Greatly and the focus of her book is the power and courage of vulnerability and in that discussion she talks about the epidemic of scarcity in our society. Brené even refers to another book, which is one of my all time favorites, The Soul of Money by Lynne Twist, where Twist states scarcity is the “great lie” in our modern society. I mean seriously most of us have more possessions than our ancestors could have possibly imagined and yet I am pretty sure we focus more on scarcity than they ever did.
I have noticed a considerable shift in our society, where our language focuses on scarcity. I am not sure if I am noticing this shift because I am being more present or if the incidence of scarcity based thinking is increasing. I am not sharing these observations to instill shame that only exacerbates the issue, it’s merely a means to bring about awareness. I notice when I focus on scarcity things start feeling out of control. However, when I focus on my needs being met, gratefulness or service to others, I feel whole and in harmony.
I have also noticed we all like to focus on what others or we could have done better. We like to compare ourselves to some benchmark, then comes the shame because we are not measuring up. I see this in relationships, in work environments, and in school.
Brené talks about coming from a place of worthiness, and to own our vulnerabilities. We as a society view vulnerability as a weakness rather than courageous. I know, based on my own experience, people who tend to have low self-esteem or do not feel worthy are the most difficult people to be vulnerable with, because of their own acute discomfort with vulnerability. I have over the years slowly been attracted to people who have this strong sense of worthiness. It has been a very powerful shift, I have noticed my ability to be vulnerable increasing because those who exhibit worthiness or wholeheartedness do not have fear based reactions to my vulnerability and I in turn become more open to theirs.
It is a difficult path to navigate when your vulnerability is met with fear, anxiety and shame. I have been there, many times. I have reacted with fear, anxiety and shame with others when they are being vulnerable with me. I know by surrounding myself with people who are brave enough to be vulnerable and brave enough to experience my vulnerability, the more courage I gain and the more comfortable I am with other’s vulnerability. Our reward is authenticity. Ahhh authentic relationships they are like a breath of fresh air on a cool morning at the beach, a little bite and a lot of comfort.
Our political system is based on preying on our fear of scarcity and the complete lack of authenticity. If we support candidate x or issue y it will result in lack of freedom, lack of money, lack of safety, lack of protection, lack of “fill in the blank.” We are so programmed to respond from a place of scarcity and fear and to view ourselves and the world around as “not enough.”
So what is the alternative? Enough, understanding we are enough. What is enough? What does that look like? What do we need to be enough, have enough? It is accepting the present you, the present moment, and understanding both are meeting your needs. Vulnerability is the key to accepting you are enough right here, right now. As Brené Brown points out in her book, when you are vulnerable you have the courage to show up and be seen as you are. Vulnerability is ultimately about trust, to be trusted and to trust. So dear reader trust me, you are enough just as you are.
He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough. ~ Lao Tzu
I am great at starting things, in fact many of my friends and family have asked me to help them with business plans, project plans, house plans anything related to planning or start-up. I have a great passion for the genesis of almost anything.
It truly is hardwired within me. And it is not just projects, it’s true with people too. When I meet someone I am always interested in how they got to be where they are; philosophically, spiritually, geographically, any of the ally’s. There are people who are passionate to tell their story and I should always be paired with them because I am passionate about hearing their story. There are members of our family that are sick and tired of hearing the same old stories from aunts and uncles, I honestly never tire of it. I can’t explain why I just love to hear how they started out, their beginnings.
Contrary to my provenance loving side, I have come to understand through much self introspection, suffering, tears and sleeplessness nights, that I struggle with completion. I am not even sure what completion really means because to me everything is always a process, each moment a new beginning. However, if I am chained to the idea that I am in a repeating cycle and there is no genesis occurring, no new beginning, no new discovery I feel the need to, well honestly, get the hell out of there, so to speak.
So that brings me to the issue that sparked this stream of consciousness, the book I am writing. In the beginning my keyboard was smoking; I could not type the words as fast as my mind was “speaking” them. Eventually, the keyboard sat there forsaken and each time I approached it I looked like a member of a chain gang being forced to break rock with a sledgehammer.
My book is about the process I went through during a series of personal losses most profoundly the death of my father. Several people referred to that period of my life as the “shitstorm”. However, what I have come to realize is the parts of the book where I focused on everyone else; my dad, my uncle, my brother, those were the easiest to write. However, the remaining chapters actually go right to the intent, the purpose of my book, how I navigated these turbulent waters and came out of it albeit cut up, bruised and knocked around but stronger. The back story to me is very important, obviously, but now that I have to get to the essence of the story I am struggling. Why? I guess because now it’s about me, just a woman and her thoughts, as they say.
Please don’t misunderstand I am not this holier than thou person, I can be as self-serving as the next gal, just ask my husband! It’s really about looking outside, it is so much easier than looking inside. That’s why gossip is so engaging let’s talk about everybody else’s faults, but please let’s not talk about mine. It’s interesting I just went through a relationship where it absolutely drove me crazy, I perceived this person as disconnected from their own spirit. Let me make this clear, this is my perception, my reality, nothing more. However, I realize the discomfort I felt in that relationship is because the behavior I perceived is that which I was most uncomfortable with myself.
When I type those words, the words that describe the real feelings and breakthroughs I experienced as I emerged from the shitstorm, I am fully exposed. I have been there before, during the darkest days of the shitstorm I was fully exposed, I felt stripped naked and exposed to the world. The level of vulnerability was so heightened I can actually feel my toes tingling right now, as if I am on the edge of a 100-story building looking down. So I have to put myself back in that very tender place to complete this book. It’s one thing to wander in there unaware, it’s another to trudge back fully aware. As the saying goes I am pulling up my big girl pants, I am going in! There is work to be done and I will complete this book.
There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting. ~ Buddha
Happy mother’s day mom. Thank you for bringing me into this world. Thank you for my self-esteem, you always believed in me, thank you for my creativity, not only did we live outside the box, I did not know a box existed. Thank you for your unconditional love, I have grown into a loving person.
Mom I had no idea how many years we would have together, but I truly thought we would have more. I was in the infancy of my own motherhood when you died. It’s been a challenge since you left, I had so much more to learn especially about raising my own kids. I have managed to create a great circle of amazing women since you left, they help fill in the gaps but none will ever replace you.
I remember one of the last times we spoke on the phone you told me you were worried that my youngest would not know you because we lived so far away and you had only seen him a couple of times, I dismissed your concern, of course he would know you. Then you died shortly after that, he was only 3. Both my kids have no real memory of you, only pictures and stories I share. It breaks my heart when I struggle to keep your memory alive with them knowing this is how they will remember you. I also look back at that conversation and somehow you knew didn’t you mom, you knew at some level your time with us was short. I did not see it, maybe I didn’t want to.
Every time I hear that someone has lost their own mother it re-opens the wound of losing you. I know we had a loving, complicated and sometimes messy relationship, many mothers and daughters do, but I love you mom I always have and always will.
I just wanted you to know how blessed I am that you were my mom. We had a crazy, fun, and wild ride while it lasted. I did not fully appreciate you then but every day I wake up and face my own motherhood experiences I think about you, smile and thank God for you. While my own children may not have a memory of you they are a reflection of you and through them you live on.
I have to say there are women who have given birth yet I hesitate to call them mothers, there are women who have never given birth who are magnificent mothers and there are men who mother. I salute all the great momma’s out there in all shapes, sizes and forms. I also honor the dear ones out there who are carrying on without their momma, some have lost their mom’s to death and some never had a mom or lost their living mom along the way. Please know I am thinking of you on this day.
“Giving birth does not make you a momma, it is the actions you take and the unconditional love you give that earns you the title mother.” Marsia Geldert-Murphey
My daughter told me a few weeks ago that I was awkward especially when trying to have a important conversation with her about boys. My little baby has her first boyfriend and yes I probably was awkward because I remember her riding her bike for the first time as if it was last week. I remember when she called me momma, now its MOTHER!?!?!? She can’t possibly have a boyfriend, she’s still my baby. I immediately became defensive the minute she shared her observation.
However, my baby was right it was her perception and regardless of anything else, a person’s perception is their reality. And it was not only her perception but would have been a stranger’s perception, because I found myself in an unfamiliar place. I was unsure of myself as I spoke to her, what do I say, how do I say it, what if I say the wrong thing, what will happen, what is the right or wrong thing to say???? So yes I was awkward, now what.
You see my mom never had “the talk” with me, I had no basis of comparison, no framework to pull from, I was flying blind. My mom probably had the same sense of what in the heck do I say, as I do now. What information I did get, along the lines of the facts of life, was from a movie we watched at Our Lady of Perpetual Help catholic school in fourth grade. Honestly, I did not retain much from that but I do remember being confused and slightly frightened after watching the movie. A lot of the “social education” movies we watched were intended to keep us out of trouble through the use of fear. It was along the lines of Reefer Madness another movie before my time intended to use fear to keep kids out of trouble.
Fear was a great motivator and used abundantly in my youth. I remember when the Exorcist was released and the catholic response was mixed but in my community it was deemed a bad thing and akin to worshipping the devil. At least in my unsophisticated mind thats what I heard. My parents had a copy of the book in our house and my brother and I were so frightened about it we threw it behind the wall unit in our living room and covered it with a blanket, as if that would keep us from going to hell. Ahhhhh the power of fear, ok I digress, let’s get back to awkward.
Since my beautiful daughter tagged me with the awkward moniker I have been doing some reflection unfortunately my ego hitched a ride during this reflection. Many demons were fabricated during this time, one demon told me I could not write I was deluding myself, my writing was awkward. One demon told me my opinion was awkward. It is interesting how quickly I am wiling to give my power away when I get triggered based on a past defense mechanism.
My beautiful girl and her magnificent honesty gave me the opportunity to really look at who I am. Yes at times I am awkward no doubt about it, at times I can be eloquent, and I can also be beautiful and judgmental. That is the whole package of me. Why is it so easy to accept the parts of myself I think are “good” but I cannot get warm and cozy with those sides of myself that I deem “less desirable.” When I look at a rose I see the thorns and it does not take away from the beauty of the whole plant, or when I see a gorgeous but poisonous tree frog it does not affect the magnificence I feel when I see that creature. So why do I give the rose and the frog more compassion than I give myself. It’s so fascinating, isn’t it?
The difference now, I recognize when I am not being compassionate with myself, it may not be much but it is a start. So here’s to my awkward side and my confident side may they reside in relative peace within the whole.
“Awkward interests me, he said. At least when you are feeling awkward you are always thinking. When you are feeling fabulous, for example, rare occurrence that it may be, you stop thinking altogether. Which gets you into all kinds of trouble. Hence, you are for the better off feeling awkward. Just the sound of it on your tongue. Like chewing on screws.” – Elizabeth Brundage