Always Love You

I think my children generally act pretty appropriately. Yes they have their misbehavior, but I like to think, at least, that their behavior is age appropriate.

We’ve had a rough week this week, particularly with my middle two. The first weeks of school are just utterly exhausting for little bodies. And that exhaustion is coming out in their behavior.

Mae came home from preschool today and was not very happy with her lunch options, and she let me know it in a way that we just don’t accept around here.

So I sent her to time out.

She sobbed.

Finally it was time to get out, and she went back into the kitchen and finished her lunch.

Then I saw her peeking around the corner. I heard, “Mommy? You still love me even when you are mad at me, right?”

It’s a conversation we have had dozens of times. And every time I answer, “yes my baby girl. I love you. There is nothing you could ever do to lose my love. Even if I am very, very angry, I love you very, very much.”

Today’s question seemed a bit different. She already knew the answer. She just wanted to hear it. And I am always more than happy to tell her.

We mess up, and they mess up. We dance this messy tango of life, and try to navigate our own weaknesses and how they mingle with those of our children.

Maybe those mistakes don’t matter as much as we think they do as long as our children always know the answer to that most important of questions.

“Will you always love me?”

“Yes baby, Mommy will always, always love you. You can’t lose it. You can’t break it. You can’t tarnish it. It’s a given.”

To the moon and back.

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Refrigerator Fraud

It has been a long day in the middle of a long week. 9:15 came, and I was exhausted. Normally I try not to do anything after about 9pm or else I have trouble falling asleep, but today I just wanted to get something done, and so I got my lazy bum off the couch and I went and I cleaned my refrigerator.

Yes, I cleaned my entire (gross) refrigerator after my kids went to bed.

It’s pretty now. It actually sparkles. And the gross thing in that bag in the back of the bottom drawer has been disposed of.

I should feel proud of myself. I accomplished my least favorite task, and now I don’t have to worry about it for awhile.

But I wasn’t. Proud of myself that is.

The only thoughts running through my mind were, “It never should have gotten like that in the first place. You failed before you even started because normal people don’t have gross fridges. You are a fraud.”

Yes folks, I have deemed myself a refrigerator fraud. Before tonight I didn’t even know that existed.

But in all seriousness, do you do that to yourself? Do you shrug off your accomplishments (both big and small) and insist, absolutely insist, on seeing the worst in yourself?

I’m guessing you do. I don’t think I’m all that original here.

But think about what you would say to your child. When they do an awesome job on a test at school, do you just tell them “well you should have known that in the first place”? Or when they practice really hard to learn that gymnastics move, do you say, “well better kids would have already known how to do it”?

Of course you don’t.

Because we are great at being cheerleaders for others. We just aren’t very good at doing the same for ourselves.

So tell me, what did you accomplish today? It doesn’t matter if it was big or small, important or trivial. It doesn’t matter if you put a load of laundry into the machine or you figured out the cure for whining.

You had a victory today. You probably had many. How about let’s focus on those tonight.

God bless!

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Never Could I Have Dreamt You Up

You know when you were a kid and you ran so fast down a hill that you felt like you could fly? When the giddiness overtook you and you were transported to a happiness that is slightly more than this world could usually provide? A joy that got stuck in your throats and caused you to laugh without abandon or self-consciousness?

That’s how I feel when I sit back and watch my girls. I get caught up in all that is them and I feel a joy that normally eludes me. A joy that feels beyond this world.

All those years we were trying to have a baby I would try to imagine what it would be like to watch my children.

But never could I have dreamt them up.

Never would I have understood just how much they would be. How much glitter and twirls and tulle and stickers and music and words and love and tears and deep laughter coming from somewhere deep inside.

I tried. I would close my eyes and daydream. I would pray.

But these four… they are so much more than I ever, ever could have imagined. More than I ever could have dreamt up. More than I ever would have dared to pray for.

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God Please Fill in the Gaps

My girls started school this week.  There have been a lot of adjustments.  And honestly I’ve just had a rough couple of weeks.  I’ve had a hard time staying on top of things.  And then last night I just lost it a bit.  I was irritable and angry and just very, very unpleasant.

All of a sudden I went into our dining room and saw Magoo cleaning up.  She does this when I’m angry or sad or upset.  She does it because she knows it will make me happy.

Making me happy is not her job.  She’s nine.

And then I went onto Instagram this morning, and I saw one of my favorite bloggers quote her daughter as saying that home is her safe place.

And I started to crumble.

Mothers have a lot of responsibilities.   There is a lot that we have to provide for our kids.  But for me, there are two things that I believe are more important than anything else.  I have to show them that God loves them and I have to show them that I love them.  And for me, a lot of that is wrapped up in my idea of home.  For me, part of making them feel loved is making their home their safe and happy place.  I hadn’t been doing this in my selfish irritability and anger.

But as I was feeling about two inches tall today, I thought back to something a (very wise) friend said when she spoke at our church last year.  She said that when she feels like she is coming up short, she prays this prayer, “Jesus, please fill in the gaps.”

And I remembered that and even as I type it, I feel the tears stinging at my eyes.

Because we aren’t perfect.

We can say that and know it and we can recognize our imperfections miles before anyone else can, but how much of us truly give ourselves the grace to be imperfect as mothers?

I have always struggled with perfectionism.  But then about ten years ago or so it hit me that perfectionism requires us to think awfully high of ourselves.  Because perfectionism tells us that we can do it all perfectly and we can do it all on our own.  It says that we are better than all the mere mortal people we surround ourselves with.  We can stand above.  We need to stand above.

But honestly, that’s absurd.  We can’t be perfect mothers because we aren’t perfect people. And that fact is our birth right as human beings.  We are allowed to be what our nature dictates: imperfect.  Sure we have to strive to be better, but if we don’t allow ourselves grace in our weaknesses, then how can we expect our children to understand how to give themselves grace and to accept the grace that God so freely gives them?

So next time I see myself fail at this mothering thing (I assume within the next five minutes,) I’m going to try to heed the intention of that prayer.  I’m going to accept that I can’t be everything.

Then I’m going to go and try to be very, very good.  Because that is always worth striving for.

Lord, please fill in the gaps – in my mothering and my friendships and my marriage and my very self.  Fill in the gaps.

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Are We Really Lazy and Selfish??

Lazy and selfish.

Those words have been blaring through my mind all day.  I haven’t been able to get away from them.  They are tethered to me like the chains old Marley had to carry around for eternity.

They feel about as heavy too.

I don’t know about all of you, but those words are my worst fears.  As a mom, I can’t think of too many things that are worse than lazy and selfish.

In an effort to rid myself of them, I decided to look at what I did today.  Here’s my tally.

I hosted a play date for a few kids, and while they were all entertained, I was playing with Tessie.

I tidied up my downstairs.

I worked out for 45 minutes.

I made three healthy meals for my kids.

I walked 3 miles with Magoo and helped coach her softball practice tonight.

I *almost* finished reading Story of a Soul by St Therese.

No, I didn’t write the great American novel, but I also wasn’t sitting on my behind all day watching television and eating popcorn.

It was a productive day.

It should have been a day I was proud of.

And yet I wasn’t.  And truth be told, I’m still not.

Today felt selfish and self-indulgent.  I felt like I was neglecting my children in the pursuit of my own goals.

And most of all, most telling of all I think, I felt drained.  I felt like I had absolutely nothing to give.  The well felt dry.  Words of reproof spoken all day in our minds can do that to a person.

I’ve been thinking a lot today about what it means to take care of ourselves in this season when we have so many who need us to take care of them.  Is it a good thing to take time for ourselves?  And how much time is enough?

I joined this book club this spring.  It’s based on the curriculum and mission of Well Read Mom.  The mission of this group is to encourage women to read quality books and join together to discuss them.  The goal is to use this literature as a way to enhance your life of the mind as these books and these ideas follow you throughout your day.  The literature and the fellowship we engage in around it is meant to help us live more fully and in a more engaged manner.

The problem, however, is that there is a lot of reading.  And it’s not short reading, and a lot of it isn’t light reading.  It challenges you, and it expects something of you.

And I love this.  I mean I really, really love this.

And yet I have a lot of guilt around it.  After all, I’m spending all of this time focusing on me and my mind when I could be spending that time reading to my girls or cleaning the house or grocery shopping.  It’s indulgent, isn’t it?

These were some of the thoughts that were going through my head today as I was reading St Therese.  And then I came upon these words.

“DRAW ME, WE SHALL RUN after you in the odor of your ointments.  Oh Jesus, it is not even necessary to say: ‘When drawing me, draw the souls whom I love!’  This simple statement: ‘Draw me’ suffices; I understand, Lord, that when a soul allows herself to be captivated by the odor of your ointments, she cannot run alone, all the souls whole she loves follow in her train.”  (Italics are Therese’s and is where she is quoting Canticles of Canticles 1:3.)

Here she is obviously talking about spirituality, but that’s a beautiful sentiment, isn’t it?  And it’s so applicable to so many areas of motherhood.

Where we go, we bring our people with us.  Where we are drawn, they will be drawn.  What we are attracted to will be brought in front of their gaze.

And it reminds me yet again that parenting isn’t a job.  It’s not something we clock in and out of.  It’s not a task list.  And it’s not something that we can easily succeed at or fail at.

It’s a vocation.  It’s a calling to lead those behind you and carry them forward with you where you go.  It’s a lifestyle.

And it expects so very much of us.

Sure, it expects us to wake in the middle of the night for sometimes years on end, and it requires meal preparation and homework help.  It requires laundry and vacuuming.  It requires hugs and kisses and words spoken on confidence.

But maybe more so than that, it expects us to be our best selves so we can draw our people forward into the places we want them to go.

When I sit down and read, I’m not just selfishly filling my mind.  I’m enriching it, and I’m taking those thoughts and those ideas, and I’m allowing them to fill up my life and make it more whole.  And it’s from that perspective that I approach my children.  As a more whole person and more complete person.  As a closer approximation of the person I would like them to follow.

And the same goes for any area we try to improve ourselves in.  It goes for exercise and friendship and marriage building and spirituality.  Any way we enrich our own lives, just enriches the lives of our people.  Where we are drawn, so too they will be drawn.

So go out into the world and fill your buckets, Mama.  Make yourselves full and fulfilled.  And take all of that and shower it upon your people.  Take every ounce that was given to you and that you have built up in yourself and empty it all out into the lives and the hearts of your family.  The more you build up in yourself, the more you can then bestow upon others around you.

As a mom, you are a gift.  You are one of the most amazing gifts God has given to your people.  Don’t let that gift get dusty from disuse.  Don’t let it get lost in some dark corner somewhere.

Be you.  Be beautiful.

And then draw your people forward.

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Post Baby Body Blues

Tonight I am bummed.

I went to a physical therapist this evening.  I wanted to see her for two reasons.  First, I messed up my back about two months ago, and it’s not getting any better.  And second, I was confused about diastasis recti, and I wanted to find out where I stood.

For those of you who haven’t heard that term before, basically your abs are supposed to be in the middle of your abdomen.  Imagine someone who has a six pack – you can see them all stacked up nicely right along the center.  Well for a lot of people who have had babies (especially multiple babies) those muscles stretch out and don’t quite come back to the center after birth.

The good news is that for most people it goes back to normal and there are exercises that can help with that.  The bad news is that as usual, I am not one of those typical people.

See I had always heard that you can test for diastasis by positioning yourself in a certain way and seeing how many fingers you can fit in between the gap in your abs.  Anything less than 2 cm isn’t much of a problem.  Really bad cases, however, could present with maybe a five finger gap.

That’s where I always got confused.  By the way I was testing it, you could fit a lot more than five fingers.  You could practically fit a yard stick between those suckers.

But surely this wasn’t the case.  That didn’t even make any sense.

So I went in and talked to the nice physical therapist, and she tested me, and she let me know that yes, that five yard gap I felt was actually my diastasis.  Basically my ab muscles are in separate zip codes from each other.  She said it was bad.  Really, really bad.  And from all I’ve read, it’s pretty much luck of the draw.  Large babies can cause it, but I never had large babies.  Basically they think it’s genetics.

And so after telling me that I have this abdominal void in my midsection, she went on to tell me that exercise isn’t really going to do all that much.  Basically surgery is the only thing that will repair it.  But insurance won’t cover it.  And it’s maybe $10,000.  And I can’t really do any normal ab exercises while having the separation because that will make it worse.  And it will cause back pain and pain in other areas.  And even though I somehow got lucky enough to survive four pregnancies without any pelvic floor issues that that doesn’t really matter and that because of this, I could develop those problems and my uterus could one day fall out.

You know.  Fun stuff.

She did say a girdle of sorts could help at least stabilize them and give them a little better of a chance of coming more together.  And it will help avoid more problems during exercise.  So that’s awesome.  I get to wear a girdle forever.

And so I’m bummed.  She told me that it doesn’t really matter what I do.  I could weigh 75 pounds and I would still look like I’m in my third trimester because my insides are bulging out of my stomach.

And I’m trying to take this in stride.  I have four beautiful daughters.  They are worth every single organ that is trying to exit my abdomen.  They are worth chronic back pain and potential stomach issues and hernias.  I’m a grown woman.  I don’t need to be so vain.  I can take it in stride.  And after all, even if I had $10k laying around, I still couldn’t do anything about it now because you most definitely do not have surgery to repair your abdominal muscles when you have any possibility of having more babies grow behind said abdominal muscles.  (Although I guess my uterus falling out would give me a guarantee of no more kids ha!)

But the honest truth is that I’ve spent much of the past five years trying to stop panicking about how I look to other people.  I’ve tried to stop listening to the voices in my head, all of the criticisms, all of the panic, all of the hatred.  I’ve tried to learn that my body belongs to me and that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks about it.

And honestly, I’m so much healthier physically and mentally because of it.

Because when I shut up all of the screaming voices telling me what I should look like and what I should do and what I should weigh, I can just do what’s good for me.  I don’t have to panic about not living up to other people’s expectations or making people happy or comfortable.  I don’t owe any part of myself to other people.  My body belongs to me, and as long as I am doing my best to be a good steward of the body given to me so I can use it to serve those I love, then that’s good enough.

In other words, I can be good enough regardless of what other people think.

And maybe that includes if everyone thinks I’m 45 months pregnant.

I always thought that comfort with my body would come when it looked a certain way.  Now I’m realizing that this is a lie.  Comfort comes with when we learn to accept ourselves for who we are.  When we just stop listening to all of the other voices.  When we start treating ourselves with respect – both in how we view ourselves and how we treat our bodies.

I can lose thirty pounds and still panic about how I look.  I can still be obsessed.  I can still feel like I’m not good enough and like my body has to prove my worth.

Or I could take a walk around the block and eat a salad.  I might not lose any weight, but I will be treating my body with respect, and that will make me healthy and strong.

And while I am finally learning that our bodies belong to ourselves, that doesn’t stop me from recognizing that the most important thing my body has ever done was grow four of my favorite people in the universe.  It did that well.  Very well.

And now that they are grown enough to live on the outside, my body still does more than just feed my littlest one.  My relationship with my body teaching my girls how to view themselves.  And so when I want to look in the mirror and lament my diastasis belly, I try to stop myself and say something positive to my girls.  I’ll talk about how strong my arms are getting or how far my legs can run.  And I’ll tell them that this body helped create them, and for that, it is more precious to me than any amount of gold or any now dead dreams of flat abs.

And so I’m not giving up.  I’m going to do the exercises to try to improve the problem.  I’ll find some kind of belly binding contraption and wear it faithfully.  And if this pt can’t help, I’ll try to find one who specializes in these types of problems.

But tonight, despite all of the forced healthy thoughts (they still don’t come easily to me!) I’m still bummed.  And I guess that’s okay too.

Oh well.  I guess I’ll go search Amazon for some girdles.  I hear women of 200 years ago loved them.

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Judgment and Structure and Being Overwhelmed by Summer

I’ve had a long week.  (And it’s only Tuesday!!)

We are at that part of summer that I’ve looked forward to all summer – events are basically done, sports seasons are over.  All we have left to do is relax and enjoy each other.  Take everything in.  Recoup before the rush of autumn comes upon us.

It’s also the time that is by far the most challenging to me.

I thrive on structure.  It took me a long time to realize this because I don’t naturally provide structure for myself.  But when I find it, life goes well.  I’m able to get stuff done, and I’m able to enjoy myself.  I’m able to meet my responsibilities and do things that bring some added enjoyment.

And when it’s gone, I find it hard to do anything.  At all.  I’ll have a list of things that need to be done, and they will go undone.

Just a bit ago I found myself sitting in the middle of a thought whirlwind.

Work out, I thought.  No then I’ll be neglecting the kids.

Play with the kids.  No then my house will remain untidy.

Clean the house.  But which room do I start in?

There’s an endless world of possibilities, and they all surround me and overwhelm me, and leave me huddling in a corner not sure which way to turn.

Then I watched a video on Facebook.  It was by Father Mike from Ascension Press.  In it, he spoke about the difference between a child and an adult.  Among other things, he said one of the primary hallmarks of adulthood is taking responsibility for what we have been tasked with.

All of a sudden the chaos disappeared from my mind, and I was able to see things more clearly.

I have been given a lot.  I have four beautiful daughters to guide.  I have a home to nurture.  I have a husband to care for.

And that’s what I get lost in.  I see so much I can do.  I see so much I should do.  That I fail to recognize what I can do.  Instead of focusing on how I can serve those in front of me, I feel guilt over what I believe everyone else in the world thinks I should do.

Instead of seeing possibilities, I am actually focusing on the judgment.

If someone wants to tempt us into inaction, they don’t need to show us the comfort of a bed, or the abandonment in a book, or the pleasure in any number of meaningless activities.  Instead, they can just show us all the possible ways we can be judged and we’ll do all the work ourselves, retreating into a hole to avoid the onslaught of judgment.

When I started writing I didn’t realize this would be a post about judgment.  I actually didn’t think judgment was actually part of my problem.  I thought it was a lack of structure in my days, and I thought it was a failure of taking responsibility.

But now I realize that the reason I struggle with a lack of external structure is because I can’t focus on what I need to do, what I feel responsible for, how I believe I can best serve those around me.

Instead I focus on the external criticisms I imagine people would hurl my way.  I feel so promised to everything around me that I can’t complete one single thing.

So I’m going to stop writing now.  I’m going to go serve in the ways that I can.  I’m going to give what I have.  In the little small ways that I do every day.  And I’m going to turn off that voice that says I’m not enough, and I’m going to turn on the voice that rejoices in all the small little accomplishments I make throughout the day.

I’m going to ignore the big, grand plans.  And I’m simply going to do one little thing in a continuous stream throughout my day.

And my hope is that at the end of the day, I’ll be able to sit back and look at the ways I served those I love rather than in the ways I failed them.

Surely there will be plenty of examples of both.  But our well being is determined by which we focus on.

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Few of My Favorite Books

I feel like this blog has gotten a bit too serious as of late.  The problem is that the more serious I get, the more intimidated I get about writing.  To rectify that, I figured I would just share with you some of the joys I have found lately.  Literary joys.


Till We Have Faces I’ve been on a big CS Lewis kick lately.  A few months back I read Faces.  It’s a retelling of the story of Psyche and Aphrodite.  I would try to tell you how amazing this book was, but my words could never do it justice.  It’s Lewis at his finest.  And you don’t have to like mythology or know anything about it to enjoy the book.  I simply could not recommend it enough.  It made me reconsider life, and it made me reconsider how we share our lives and our time with each other.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  The last time I read this book was when a grade school teacher read it aloud to our class.  I didn’t even remember what it was about, but I must have liked it then because it’s one of only two books that I specifically remember being read in school.  Magoo and I read this one together.  We just finished a few days ago.  We like book series, but we have never read two books in a series in a row.  We always take a break with another book or two in between.  Not with this one.  Prince Caspian is next.  My favorite part about this book is when during the last two chapters, Magoo kept stopping me to tell me how she could just feel the tension in the story and how she feels like she’s really there.  I think she might become as big of a Lewis fan as I am.

Furiously Happy.  This one is by Jenny Lawson, author of The Bloggess blog.  She’s hysterical.  She reminds me a bit of a grown up Junie B Jones.  If you like memoirs about people who have a mental health diagnosis or two, she is your girl.  She’ll make you proud to be one of the diagnosed.

The Hundred Dresses.  I remember hearing about this children’s book a few years ago, but I never got around to reading it with any of my girls.  Goosie and I decided to approach it.  It’s a wonderful story about a little girl who doesn’t have a lot of money.  She only owns one dress, but she tells her classmates of her closet that is filled with 100 dresses.  They use this as fodder to tease her with.  I won’t spoil the book for you, but it shares so much about compassion and judgment and avoiding being a bystander.  We had some amazing discussions while reading it.

On my soon to read (or finish) list are Hannah Coulter, Catholicism and Fundamentalism, and the second Harry Potter book. I’m also finishing up The Poisonwood Bible which I’m sure I’ll be back to gush about soon.

What about you all?  Does anyone have any recommendations?  I would love to hear them!

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One Day I Won’t Be Anxious

Some day I’m not going to worry about what other people think.

I’m not going to analyze people’s expressions and words or lack thereof to see what they think of me.

If someone tells me they don’t like my opinion, I will say, “thank you for your opinion.  I am pleased with my own.”

Some day, I’m going to no longer care if this will make people think less of me.  I’m not going to care if people believe I am good, or smart, or kind, or thoughtful, or responsible, or eloquent.  I’m going to learn that their opinions don’t actually determine anything.  They don’t change reality.  They don’t change me.  They don’t create me.

Some day someone is going to tell me that they do not like me, and I am not going to care. I’m going to learn not to fight to be liked.  I will let them happily dislike me while I walk on in my life.

On this day, when some acts disrespectfully, I’m going to tell them that they are disrespectful.  If they are rude, I am going to walk away.  If they expect me to jump through hoops, I will keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.

I believe that at the end of this day when I sit down in the quiet of the night, I won’t need medication to help me be less anxious.  I won’t need to write out my thoughts to purge them from my head.  I won’t need to second guess or analyze or try to figure out how to appease someone.

Because I will be fine with myself.

I will have learned that not everyone will like me.  I will learn that those who do like me probably won’t change their opinions based upon one wrong word or one off expression.  I will have confidence that I am likable and lovable.

Tonight isn’t one of those nights.

That’s okay.

There’s always tomorrow.

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What Would You Tell A Younger Version of Yourself?

I’ve been trying to figure out how to start this blog post.  Usually when I write I have an idea of what I want to say, and then I sit down at my computer, and some introduction will come to me and then a segue, and before I know it, the whole thing is written, and I have really no idea exactly how.  That’s why I don’t really take credit for my writing – I don’t feel like it’s something I do.  I feel like I just sit here and type out the words that flow through my head.  My fingers are just a conduit.

But that’s not happening tonight.  Tonight, I honestly have no idea where to begin.  I don’t know how to tell the story I want to tell.

So maybe I’ll just try to jump in.

I was sitting here tonight playing mindless games and letting my mind wander.  (This, incidentally, is not something that happens often as I have four little girls who try to fill my every waking moment with words and conversations.)

But tonight I got the chance.  And because I like to do things temperately and moderately, I decided to go through my entire life and decide what things I would change and what I wouldn’t.

And I realized that in terms of decisions I made, there aren’t a whole lot that I would change.  Sure I would have changed my undergrad major and I would have perhaps cut out  a few people who really shouldn’t have been there and I would probably completely erase a few incidents completely from memory completely.

But overall, I’m pretty happy with the things that led me to where I am.  Yes I would do many things differently now, but if we find ourselves at 39 wanting to make the same deacons we did at 19, then I think perhaps there’s a problem.

So if I wouldn’t change much over the last twenty years then why was I getting so anxious thinking back?  Even as I’m typing this, I can feel a lump in my throat and the panic rising through my fingers as I type.  What was scaring me so much?

And I thought back to about ten years ago.  I was so deep into anxiety that I would stay up until the sun came out because I was worried about lying in bed and letting thoughts run through my head.  I was sitting in a therapist’s office, and he said to me, “Amanda, you are okay.”

And I laughed.

And he said it again.  “You are okay.”

And I laughed again and looked away.

And he said it one more time.  And then he said that he knows I don’t believe that.  But he said he hoped that one day I would look back on that moment and I would finally believe it.

I am okay.

That sentence still gives me troubles.  It still makes me question myself.  It still makes me uncertain of my place in the world.

But it’s nothing like it was back then.

So if I could look back and tell the me of twenty years ago anything, that is what I would tell her.  I would tell her that she is okay.

I would tell her that she deserves her place in the world.  That she doesn’t have to shrink herself.  That she doesn’t have the let the utterly suffocating insecurity win.  I would tell her that she can stand up for herself.  And I would tell her that she is worth being stood up for.

I would tell her that it is okay to go out and touch the world.  It’s okay to make a mark and make a wave.  I would tell her that it’s okay to dip her toe in the water – she’s not going to disrupt the workings of the universe.

I would tell her not to listen when someone says respect is earned.  That’s bullshit.  Respect isn’t earned.  Respect is the barest of minimums that we owe to each other.

And if someone doesn’t treat us with respect?  Well that’s their problem not ours.  It doesn’t mean we are worthless.  A person’s actions reflect back on themselves, not those unfortunate enough to share space with them.

I would tell her that we are all loved.  So deeply loved.  Even her.  And that she deserves love even when she doesn’t think she does.

And I would tell her to open her eyes.  The world is a wonderful place.  It’s full of so much hope and tenderness and beauty.  And it belongs to her just as much as anyone else.

Yes, there is hate in the world, I would tell her.  But don’t bring it in.  Don’t allow the hate of others to eat away inside of you.  People will judge and condemn and dislike.  And that’s fine.  Their opinion of you is theirs alone, and they have every right to it.  But it doesn’t define you.  It can’t.

And so I realized that that insecurity, that soul crushing doubt that led to so many decisions was the catalyst to the anxiety I was feeling tonight.

I wasn’t regretting decisions.  I was regretting the motives and the feelings behind them.

And as I sit here and write this out, I’m realizing that those doubts are fading – they are becoming a thing of the past.

Because right now, in this house, I have four little girls who look to me to figure out how to be a woman in this world.  I couldn’t make the decision against insecurity way back when because I didn’t know there was a decision to be made.

But now I do.  And now I can choose differently.

How about you?  What would you tell the you of twenty years ago?  If you could grab her by the shoulders and look into her eyes and make her understand one single thing, what would it be?

I would love to hear if you would like to share.

God bless!

Posted in anxiety, Indisposable | Comments Off on What Would You Tell A Younger Version of Yourself?