Let's Talk About Breakups..

There are many struggles of breaking up or separating from another person. One issue is that there is a new version of yourself in the mirror. You are no longer a piece of a couple. You aren't the future dreams of next summer's vacation, this year's Christmas stockings, or another name on your invitation to weddings. You are still you. You are also not you. You are not the same in the memories of things. 

Staring at yourself in the mirror- Did they love me? Did they see the tiny scatter of freckles on my right should and think of the constellations in the Northern sky? Am I still me? 

Sometimes we allow the grief to color over the memories and change them. You mourn the life plans you had made together. The ghost kids you named either in your head or together laying in each other's arms are like slips of paper in a white-hot flame- whisped away into the air. They dissolve into nothingness. Your head and heart know they were real. In your head, you had planned how they would have his warm brown eyes and the same weird flat feet of them. You dreamed of the laughter and joy of telling the families and healing some of the sadness you carried around like loose change in your pocket. 

Post-breakup some people choose to be more careful and guarded. They lock away their hearts and try to protect the pieces that broke as they repair themselves. They hide from things. They avoid. Other times we are emboldened to be more. I am less edited. I am less diluted. I am more myself. I kept the more honest, more truthful, best parts of myself as calmly as I kept the spice rack and the big skillet. I stopped hiding the realest version of me. My own skin feels safe like the paisley overly worn blanket on the bed. I am no longer the street vendor version of me. I am the authentic. I am the high-end version. You must know someone to get the invite, to even be in the showroom where you can gain access to me. 

That's the thing about really fully investing and refusing to hold back who you are in a relationship- even a broken one- you walk away still YOU. You might have some corners that look like the corner of a coffee table owned for thirty years, but it is a coffee table that has withstood the early years and the late. I am a better version post-breakup because I allowed someone to love the real version of me and not the watered-down version I served past relationships. When you give your person access to the unbridled self, someone whose drunk voice honored and praised the same uncanned me as the sober man- you know you were loved. 

That's the thing about past breakups- I have had relationships that I regretted. Typically, they were less due to the choices of my former partner and more due to my choices of giving them some cup of milky coffee; less strong and filtered to fit their idea of who I was supposed to be for them. I sugared myself sweeter. I used cream to make me more palatable for them. I tried to be what they wanted instead of the full-strength, full-bodied me. I mourned the loss of my own identity as well as the past relationship after the breakup. I lost who I was in someone who didn't even love me for who I was fully. 

I am not the milky, overly syrupy, highly fake seasoned cup of coffee from the chain coffee shops trying to fit the mainstream desire for someone. I am the full-bodied straight out of the carafe so full of who I am the steam smolders the edges of the cup. 

It's fine to grieve the future plans and past memories of old relationships. It's fine to have loved people who walked away because they didn't fit your future. 

I won't ever be going back to any versions of soy caramel mocha latte versions of me, or love, ever again. I know what real tastes like now, both for love and for myself. 

Bring oven mitts. 

DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! Trying to break out of the expectations of others and find your happiness.

We tell fairy tales and nursery rhymes to children. We tell them about princesses and heroic knights who save the day.  We believe that this will help them build confidence and believe that they can accomplish grand feats and save the day. We call children sweet pet names. We tell them they can grow up to be anything that they can dream, even if the dream is a ninja turtle who drives a trash truck. My own son has told people since he was 4, that he was going to be a firefighter and a paleontologist. I guess he likes the idea of being both heroic and historic. He prefers to avoid things that are "beneath" the needs and intelligence of a paleontologist. "Momma, I won't need to learn to use wrenches. They don't need them. " I even tried to explain he would have his own home and what would he do if something broke. In the calmest voice of self assurance, "I'll hire someone."

 Then somewhere around teenage years we start to limit them. Somewhere in there, we begin to twist and turn other people’s dreams into “attainable" ideas. As if we can force other people’s lives into little boxes like play doh. The saddest part of the squishing of the dreams like play doh is that we often are successful.

 Why do we feel that big dreams and happiness have to be unlocked in the methods that we have  experienced ? Why do we stifle each other ? We spend the first 1/3 of a person’s life growing and cheering them one. "You can do anything that you want!" Why do we then spend the next 1/3 trying to shape, mold, and squeeze out the “silly childhood" notions. We say it's to  "get them ready for big jobs, college, and schooling." We pity and shun people who we deem “failing" based on the restraints that we force on them. God forbid they haven’t followed the pre-set path towards the universe's idea of enlightenment. Got pregnant as a teenager ? That’s it - your life is ruined . You will never achieve anything worthy of praise or real love unless it’s from the tiny human that you grow yourself. Decided to get married young? Clearly you will fail and never succeed. Skipped college and joined the military? Whelp, clearly you are only a stupid brute who doesn't have intelligence enough to get into college.  Those are the biased things said to, about, and in the faces of people who dare to defy the socially accepted ideas of how to be happy. Sorry you got pregnant without a plan - guess you are destined to live a sad & lonely life with no sense of happiness. Your moved across the country without a back up plan and without a safety net? You're gonna end up alone and broke.

But what about happy. Why don't we think about what makes us happy?

Happy.

Happy is a loaded word. According to Websters dictionary, the definition of happy 1. favored by luck or fortune, well adapted, enjoying or characterized by well being and contentment, expressing or reflecting happiness, glad or pleased... etc

 Never once did it say anything about following the path set by other people. Never once did I read that the paths as predetermined by other people would automatically lead towards happiness. Never in that description does it say that your happiness and future are at the end of a single path and if you fall off the path or take a detour will you remain forever sad and broken.

Some of us can't see the "easy way." Some of use are not built for just following the path that is well worn and made by others. Some of us stand at the fork in the road and look and know that we have to take the "road less traveled."

I have previously tried to live life the way that other people told me was best. I tried to be the person that everyone else told me to be. I tried to stifle myself and be less me to fit into the black and white check mark boxes of what I was supposed to do.

Find a partner. check . Spend one year with them before getting engaged. check. Plan a wedding. check... etc etc.

As it so turns out- you can not force people to be who they are not-- at least not for forever. You can limit what they wear. You can try and force your heart into places that someone else's ideas for only so long and then the box that you've forced yourself into- it's sooo crammed full- it breaks.And once the box breaks and all the things that you tried to push away to be "happy" slip out...

and who you are escapes ...

you have to make the choice...

allow others to dictate who you are and limit yourself and your potential...

 or be fully you.

 Not everyone has to take the easy path.

Some of us can only see the path of wild and adventure.

Stop allowing other people to dictate what is right for you.

 Stop staying with people who don't fully bring out love and happiness for you.

Stop allowing someone else's love to force you into a place you don't like. Stop feeling guilty when you don't love someone. Stop giving time to people who don't respect you. Stop allowing people around you that don't make you feel safe and happy.

Figure out what you need to be happy and do it with intention.

Find your happiness.

 I've found mine but took a lot of broken and heartbreak to stop trying to fit myself into a mold of who I was not.

 "I saw two roads..."

"... I took the one less traveled. "

Abusive Relationships and Money...

Today I splurged in Walmart & bought 3 dish towels. I know some of you are rolling your eyes and thinking I'm being sarcastic or waiting for the punch line... but this isn't a joke. Lemme explain...
The truth of the matter is, I am a survivor of an abusive relationship. One of the ways that I was controlled was money. I wasn't allowed to buy things, keep my own checks, keep my own money he didn't have access to, or buy things he didn't think we needed. I didn't have access to any aspect of the finances  except when I was given allowance to buy groceries and he would give me cash to make sure I didn't spend more than I was allowed. ($40 to feed 5 people and 3 pets)
After I left, I was homeless for a short period of time. By the grace and mercy of others, found a tiny perfect house that I rented. I was unbelievably broke and worked multiple jobs just to barely scrape by. We struggled so hard I can not even begin to explain it.
Money is something that gives me anxiety and makes me nervous.
If I don't budget for it, I don't buy it.
If I need something, say chapstick and I buy it and lose it. I will not replace it for however long I think I would have had that item before it wore out.

I have needed dish towels for a while. If I'm being honest, roughly 6 months. I have even cut up old raggedy towels to make sure I had some but those wore out.

Today, I bought 3 cheap but pretty dish towels when I bought groceries.
I know that sounds so silly to so many of you, and I DID put them back... twice.
I finally picked them up and put them all the way in the cart.
And when I got home I stood in the kitchen and admired how pretty they were.
Stood and considered leaving the tags on two of them and returning them...
Stood and waited for the scary anxiety in my head to stop screaming that THAT $3 is whats gonna be the difference between all of my bank things clearing this month and overdrawing the account...
I stood and waited for the idea that I shouldn't use them but should hide them in my closet to gift to myself for Christmas from Santa so the kids can still see me get Santa gifts without taking money away from them.
See, the guilt of buying things I needed, almost outweighed the need. The fear of failing to be able to provide for my family almost took the joy out of something I saw as pretty.
I happily buy my kids clothes and shoes and medicines because my love for them is far stronger than my fear. I don't hesitate to provide them anything they need and the things I can afford of what they want....
My love for them is stronger than anything.

But...
Today I am admitting that that $3 was almost too expensive for my anxiety to bear.
It was almost too costly for me to buy a need for myself because I feared not being or having enough.
There have been a dozen or so other times I thought about it.
And as a celebration of purchasing those 3 little kitchen towels, I sat down to admit how very hard they were to buy and how proud I am that I did.

For those of you celebrating teeny tiny victories and learning to overcome the fear in your head of not being enough- I'm proud of you.

What is wrong with you ?? Depression vent

Today was heinous. You know the mom in Walmart with the kid who screams and cries the WHOLE time and you know their exact location bc the kid never stopped crying, today it was me. I’d love to tell you it was terrible future twos or whatever. It wasn’t. 

She was just tired . Nothing else. 

The bigger problem wasn’t the people who glared and tried to stare me down and shame me....or the fact that I had already tried picking her up and putting her down. I tried holding . I tried rocking . I tried in the top of the basket. I tried the bottom. I tried everything I could think. Blanket in the bottom with a stuffed animal- nope. Nothing pacified her. She was broken and tired and miserable. I wasn’t mad at her . I didn’t tell. I understand she was just tired and overwhelmed by feeling tired and unable to find a way to fix it. 

And the part that helped keep my calmness? 

I am absolutely drowning in that exact feeling right now. 

I am tired with every fiber of my being. I’m internal and externally tired. I hate being touched by almost everyone bc my skin physically hurts to be touched ( excluding my children). It’s like my overwhelm is making my skin a raw sore. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to be held. I don’t want my back rubbed or people to try to comfort me with touch. I don’t need cutesy cat photos of “You can do it !” with them clawing their way back up. I don’t want my forehead kissed. I am not craving having sweet nothing’s whsipered in my ear. I’m not trying to be rude or hurt other people’s feelings. I just am not okay and part of that is hating being touched right now. I am tired. 

I am aware that this is not my norm. 

I am aware that I verge on being mean and callous to other people’s enotions. 

But I am tired and putting myself behind a mask of “everything is fine ,” and becoming more tired and my emotional bank being drawn even more to the negative. 

Social interaction is hard for long stretches for me on a normal stretch because being all the things for people is hard. My very inner circle of people I love and trust don’t violate my space. I don’t know why. 

Social interaction when my emotions and feelings feel like a  wrung out crunchy dish towel that needs washed is absolutely  exhausting. 

I am not a danger to myself or my family or others. (Unless they threaten my children and then- I already have phone numbers memorized for bail) 

Yes, I am aware that this is temporary. 

No. I do not know when I will push past and be out if this tunnel. 

However, if you have people in your life when tell you that they need space because their life and emotions have them “tired.” Understand that they are not blowing you off. 

I have poured myself out for others to the point my cup is empty. 

Self care for me requires me to stop allowing others to take my quiet and space. 

I am just like my tiny human at Walmart. 

Nothing is wrong, I am tired . 

I don’t know how to reset myself . 

I know I am tired and that I HAVE to demand space. 

So when I say “I’m just tired.” 

I am telling the truth. 

Life is more than the cards you've been dealt

Maybe, life is simpler than we give it credit. Maybe it's possible that life is more like a game of cards. Some times we get lucky and we are dealt a hand of cards that is easy to work with. We are able to play those cards a round or two, and win some. Other times, the deck gets shuffled and our round is a loss.

Today I was asked how would I handle it if I was insulted and placed on a social media account where their sole purpose was to tear down and demean other humans. I laughed. Looking back at the face of truly shocked girl, I smiled and pulled a Jesus and didn't answer but told a story.

See, the thing is, my life is less than a fairy tale. Instead of answering her directly I said, "I have 3 ex- husbands. I have two children that I raise predominately on my own. I have been homeless. I have been abused in my own home multiple times. I was nearly killed by my 2nd husband. I had to face him in court to get a VPO just to get him to leave me alone.  I have been broke to the point I had to ask strangers for food.  I have had my bank accounts cleaned out and my sense of safety removed. I have experienced not one, but two lumps in my breast that have to be checked routinely for cancer. I've been assaulted at work. I've been alone and lonely (those are not always the same thing). I have loved another person more than I have loved anyone else. There isn't anything that some random stranger can say about me on social media that probably hasn't already been said before. I know who I am. I know all the things I have survived and had to overcome."

I know what I am made from. I know that I am in control of my reaction to bad things. I can not control other people any more than I can control the weather. At least half the time, my own family disagrees with my choices.( and those are just the times that I am aware of.) I can control my reaction to other people. I can play this hand of cards that I'm dealt. I never know the next card that gets flipped. None of us do. No one knows the next car wreck, death, emergency, life change, loss, or health scare that will flip the cards at hand.

Some people will tell you that life isn't fair. Life is fair. Life is equally as random and unpredictable to everyone. Every single day, millions of people wake up and experience some new struggle that they never saw coming. Each day there are also people who fall in love, find out they are having a baby, get married, and eat the last slice of cheesecake. Life doesn't hand you a guideline book of rules and regulations when you hit a certain age. Every single person that you encounter is making it up as they go. No one gets out of life alive.

Sometimes we get dealt some rounds that feel like we should just give up and fold. Those are the rounds that really show the true character of who we are. Anyone can win at a round of cards when their deck is stacked. It takes someone willing to risk it all to win on a round of poorly dealt cards.  They must risk. They must bet on themselves. They must be willing to give up things to gain new and unseen cards. When dealt this difficult hand,  choices must be made to preserve the game and keep the player in the game.

We all are given moments that define or break us.

We are all one round of cards from failure or happiness.

Some are blessed with a poker face and strong backbone that keeps others outside of their head. Some others of us have a face you can read as easily as a book and absolutely no chill when it comes to moments of "character building." The reasons I don't judge others typically has more to do with all the hands of cards I never let people see me play. The moments of shock and fear, the moments of failure, the hands of cards played in the dark where I am sure I wont survive. I've learned that once you are playing a round of cards in hell, you keep playing. Playing cards in hell isn't the play to fold or bow out.

No one has the rule book or deck when life is dealing us moments that change us.
We all get the choice how we react and how we treat people regardless of if we know what they are holding in their hand.

I have no idea what card is gonna flip up next. I have no idea if it's a round that will bring me to my knees or fill my pockets. I know I'm ready for the cards to keep flipping and I'm content with the hands I've been dealt.
Hit me.
I've got a few more rounds left.

" I hate you. YOU DID THIS TO ME!"

Either due to comical hilarity or that fact that I am enough anti type A personality for any acquaintance circle, it seems that I am the only non type A person in my circle. I am not naturally logical or linear.  In fact, if type A personality were the gauge to evaluate everyone, I think I'd be labeled alphabet soup. I have simmered down over the years and learned a coping trick or 12; but I am still someone who feels the knee jerk reaction to REACT. 

Reactions get nasty really fast. You assume the worst in people, burn bridges that don't need burned, and ruin good things. I've ruined some important moments and people in my life due to reacting. Thankfully, I've learned to "practice the pause."

Lemme explain. When I am tempted to react and get mad or upset, instead of whipping out my dictionary of destructive and cruel words du jour, I pause. I wait. Literal . I still want to yell. I want to allow myself to wallow in the pity puddle and complain. I want to feel all the emotions, take everything personally, read between all the lines that are and aren't there. When I am overly tired I want to cry, scream, and throw things that will explode into spectacular messes that I have zero intention of cleaning. I want to harbor my inner crazy woman who struts like she just walked out of the salon with hair and nails head turn worthy while random explosions fire off behind me making no sense like a power rangers episode.... but .... I wait. In all actuality, I've never thrown a single thing ever when I was upset, but the idea that it might make me feel better, still crosses my brain. 

PAUSE.

I take a breath. I wait and allow people to show me who they are. I allow them the space to explain and react. I give them the ability to earn either the benefit of doubt or walk of shame. People will always show you who they are. The truth will always come out. It is not my job to "show" other people who they are. If you wait long enough, everything about other people and their intentions surfaces. 

Unfortunately, allowing people to show you who they are, takes time. Allowing other people to earn their own karma takes time. I like to know that I am right. I truly do NOT like to be embarrassed or proved wrong. I don't handle criticism well. I like for things to be handled. I prefer things to have an outcome that I can predict. Life, as I’ve learned, does not in fact work that way. You can’t control the way life comes at you. You can plan and hope and organize.You can make back up plans for your back up plans, and life will shift like a rock slide. This is when I am forced to practice the pause more than any other time. If I react- I might not be operating wth the whole picture. Often my reaction is due to me NOT have a clear view of all the facts. Imagine you are in an airplane and the airplane has emergency lights going off, oxygen masks flop down.... and you are traveling with your children. If you react and start putting the mask on your children first, you could lose consciousness and not be able to adequately care for them. Instead you must pause. You must wait and not fall victim to reacting to your urge to cover them first. YOU need to put on your own mask. Then and only then can you care for your children with a safe and clear head.

In too many car accidents, literal or life wise, people like to blame the other person. No one wants to be the one at fault. We all want to inherently yell at the other person as the scapegoat for our misfortune.

When life throws lemon, cancer, or brokenness in our direction, we want to yell. "YOU did this to me!" How dare the universe throw us into a pit of fear or despair . "This isn't in my plan!?" Divorce, death, destruction, misfortune, and chaos all want us to react. In our knee jerk reaction we might break someone past what they can handle. We might scar them. I believe 

if we just WAIT and PAUSE we will end up wherever we are supposed to be. I think of the reacting as overcorrecting a car in the moment of a slide, if causes far more harm than good to overreact and overcorrect. 

Reactions and overreactions do not bring out the best in most people.

Learn to practice the pause.

My cup is empty ...

Today I confess that my cup is empty. I confess that after a week of being touched, snuggled, and leaned against by my almost 10 year old- I am touched out. My kind and brilliant man child is literally doing nothing wrong but asking for his relationship bank to be filled. He isn’t demanding. He isn’t rude. He is kind and meek. His yearning for my attention is almost palpable. He wants to be loved and take care of me. He wants to snuggle me. He attempts to put his hand on my face and tell me, “You’re pretty momma,”  and “I love you.” He wants to talk to me and tell me about his day. He wants to look at me and share his life experiences and joy. And I have listened. I have smiled and laughed at the good things. I have asked questions and interacted. And yet, I feel like I haven’t absorbed his attention because I have been so overwhelmed. He is absolutely deserving of my attention. Yet, here I am, knowing I haven’t been the mom he needed. I sit feeling like I have more “uh huh,” “ yeah,” and”okay,” answers than I should have.

I know I have interacted. But I haven’t seen him or his needs for all that they truly are.
Yesterday I raised my voice too loudly when he wanted to lean and crawl in my lap as I was attempting to get up. He didn’t know I was getting up. I didn’t know what he needed in the grand scheme of things.

Tonight my sweet ginger girl didn’t get the best version of me. She got the mom who hummed instead of sang. She got the momma who was frustrated and tired. She got the momma that I pray NOT to be.
Tired. Overwhelmed. Sad. Cranky. And checked out.
She didn’t do a single thing wrong. She wasn’t overly fussy. She wasn’t overly needy. She reached for me. She needed me. She wanted to touch my face and kiss my lips. She wanted to snuggle. She wanted to nurse. She wanted to play with my hair and laugh in my face with the sheer contentment of knowing she is safe and loved. In fact - if I pull back from the mental snapshot and see the bigger landscape view of the picture, it’s really amazing and beautiful. But somehow my focus is pulled in too tightly on the shot and alll I can see is overwhelm, tired, and lack of energy.

Tonight I sit on my bed knowing that I was not the mom I want to be.
Tonight I am drowning in feeling like I have failed them both.
I am very aware that I am not, have not, and can not be the mom I typically put effort into being.
My cup is empty.

The problem with an empty cup is that you can’t pour from it. I can not give more of myself to my children when my cup is empty. I can’t shower them with strength and praise when I am broken and aware of all the ways I am tripped up and failing.

Tonight I need held by someone who isn’t 4 foot tall or shorter. I need someone who is content not talking to me, and to share my space. I don’t want to be “mom.” I want to be Angel. I want to be the person that someone else makes laugh and thinks that they enjoy my presence without me needing to do anything. I need my cup filled. I need to looked  and not be valued for the things I can do and the basic needs of food, shelter, and safety to rest exclusively on my shoulders.

I want loud music.
I want laughter.
I want to be more than just mom.

But instead, I sit feeling like a failure...
 not because my children aren’t fed, warm, safe, and cared for, but rather because you can’t pour from an empty cup..

Tonight as I sit and recollect my day, the highlight was the tiny moment I sat with a tiny boy in my lap and read him a Barney book. It was the most calm and most quiet aspect of my whole day. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t planning. I was sitting oblivious to the rest of the world- enjoying the stillness of the moment. Because even in my overwhelm and overstimulated...
love found me.

Tomorrow I will refill my cup because you can’t pour from an empty cup.

Single parenting sucks.....the selfishness right out of me

The truth is... I've spent the majority of last night holding my tiny daughter sitting upright and holding her close because she didn't feel great. She would wiggle and crumple. She would twist and snuggle. Me holding her was the only thing to allow her to relax some and sleep some while handling gas and tummy complaints.

Normally this is where people tell you it was a terrible night and I'm cranky and tired and .... insert tirade here. And if I told you any of those things - I'd be a bold faced liar. Frankly, yesterday was emotionally draining on a level I can only compare to super heroes after they've saved New York from alien attackers, and the act of comforting such a tiny perfect girl and her crazy red hair calmed my nerves. She is everything perfect, and nothing like me. She hates mornings. She prefers male voices on the radio. She hates to be bundled up and her need to stretch her legs out- is legendary and been going in for the literal majority of her life.

Everything outside of my body says I should be bitter and mad. Movies, books, and social media cast flashlight streams of "knowledge" about how I should be reacting. All the people who insult and demean the "villainous" other parent. On a open book level- I am not bitter or angry. If you've ever had any conversations with me past "what's your favorite color?" Or "what's your stance on appropriate toppings on a banana split?" You'd know that handling things calmly and rationally is my last approach and then only after epic freak out mode and blubbering ugly face snotty nose 3 year who's blanket was eaten by the washing machine mess have already occurred. Yet, somehow I am totally in awe of this perfect girl and her dimples squishing chubby face.

I want to be selfish. I want to hold on to the feeling of total overwhelm and complete heart break the 2nd night in the hospital. The bathroom light casting a vulgar yellow glow in the empty hospital room. She and I alone and listening to the sounds of people walking along the hallway and each other breathing. I felt like I was sitting in a giant bathtub of my emotions and someone had pulled the drain plug out and the emotional water to my weigh ratio made me feel pulled towards sinking into the drain and also overtly heavy and clammy. I wanted to call up her dad and tell him he was a fool because she was amazing and her head still smelled like what I think heaven must smell like. I didn't. Instead I sobbed and mourned the idea that someday she would get to dance on her dad's feet to bad music, I mourned the moment she wouldn't have a dad to take to donuts with dad, I mourned the 194858493 times I wanted her to hear from him how perfect and beautiful she is so that she can see her value in his eyes. I wanted him to be the one who taught her the things I am absolutely terrible at. And so, in an empty hospital room- I sobbed.

And yet- I am not mad. I am not bitter. I am still in shock that she exsists. I am beyond afraid that I am not enough to give her everything she needs. I am absolutely scared to death to do this. I have practiced the answers I will tell her if he chooses to stay outside of her life. "I'm sorry baby girl, he was scared that he couldn't handle being a dad to you.""He is a good guy, but made the wrong choice."  "He just wasn't ready and didn't know how perfect you are" and a thousand rounds of "I'm sorry I can't fix it." Because I believe that kids absorb all the negative you speak about the other side of their genetics so I choose to speak life and apologies and not hatred and ugly.

I will not speak ill will. I will choose happiness. I choose to parent with intention and mercy.
I choose to put my kids above my hurt feelings. I choose to love them as fiercely as two parents.

Being a single parent sucks ....
And it sucks the selfishness right out of me.

Mud, Muck, and I love you enough...The ugly parts of life

Tonight my sweet munchkin went on his "man date" with his dad and returned COVERED head to brand new shoes in thick stinky mud... I knew about 7 min before the munchkin walked into the house that he was filthy due to the text from dad, "The boy will need a bath when he gets home."

After nearly 20 years of knowing his dad, I knew it was not going to be a pretty sight walking in.
I was more than prepared for whatever state of man mess that the boy was coming in as. I was NOT prepared for the nearly an inch thick gooey mud on his 2 week old new shoes. I had the boy strip down and started the shower to have him hose down. As I walked towards the bathroom, I realized I had left Netflix playing and asked the boy to pause it for me.

"Of course mom, I love you enough to do that for you."

I love you enough....His reply caught me in my tracks and reminded of something very big.

The thing is, sometimes I forget that in the middle of a hard day, that I love him enough to be the momma he NEEDS regardless of what he deserves or how hard my day is.

Then later as I scrubbed the mud off the new shoes for the 6th round, I said the words in my head, " I love you enough to scrub the mud off your shoes without complaint." The idea that cleaning shoes is an act of love had never occurred to me. As I stood there, a giant foaming mess of mud and grapefruit scented dish soap, there is no other emotion big enough to make me continue to scrub. This is the first week of state testing for my child. It's also been a week where he hasn't had outdoor recess due to rain and bad weather and his wild soul NEEDED the feel the wind and freedom. I did ASK his dad to help him find some physical release because I knew the boy needed it. I assumed he would go an indoor area or something. Either way, I was not involved in the decision. The other parent made it. For sake of better co-parenting, I am going to assume dad was truly trying to do just as a asked...even if the follow through left me less than happy.

As I scrubbed the stink and goo off the shoes the water helped wash away my cranky. Was I thrilled to be turning my fingers to prunes over shoes? Nope. If I had been asked, is this the outlet for the boy I would have chosen? Nope. Did the boy absolutely need one, yup. Did the mud and muck hurt the boy? Not in the slightest, in fact, it helped release some of his need to conquer and survive on a small man scale version of nature and wilderness.

As the end of school approaches, as a teacher, I am tired. My heart and body are weary from writing lesson plans and carrying my students' life stories in my rib cage near my heart to be protected and remembered on hard days. I am tired of begging them to work to their full capacity. I go through the grieving process nearly every morning when my alarm clock goes off and I have to heave my warm snuggled self out of bed. I am not tired of believing in them, but I am tired of them hearing without listening. I am not tired of saying 151530251 times a day how much I love them even on the days I say the hard things, "I do not like you right now, but I still love you." I am tired of begging teenagers to not just coast at life but reach their potential. My battery is nearly empty.  I am exhausted.

I love you enough... How often do we forget to take care of things and people because while we care for them, we do not put in "enough" effort to take care of their needs. How often would we rather focus on our own self and not someone else? Do you go above and beyond what is asked of you and help others? Are you the person others go to in order to get help?

Do you care about others enough to risk losing time, energy, etc on them?
Do you put yourself at risk for lack of sleep for them?
Do you care for others enough to hold them accountable to their true amazingness even when they are cranky or give you the cold shoulder?

What are you willing to give up or risk because "I love you enough..."?

Failure is the hardest F word to handle

Failure is the most awful F word I can imagine being hit with. Being insulted or cussed out are minor. Being told I'm fat or ugly, fine. I can be called stupid or lazy- while they will get a response, to be called a failure is something far more hurtful. Maybe it's not just that we are "failing." Maybe it is has a much deeper root.

Failure is harder because it also reminds you of all the hopes and dreams you had. You are aware that you let yourself or someone else down- then add to that the reminder that you have to let go of the hope that you will get past this. Let go of the dream that everything will be alright in the end.
Failure is admitting you didn't succeed at something then having your hopes and dreams remind you that it was more than just the lack of success. You have to unclench your fist and face your heartache and loss.

According to the dictionary,
Failure: (N) 1. Lack of success. 2. the action or state of not functioning. Synonyms include: defeat, breaking down, collapse, malfunction, crash, and unfulfillment. I think the synonyms are spot on and just as telling about how failure feels as the definition itself. It's not just that we haven't succeeded. It's more like feeling like we are drowning in the deep end of the pool of failure. We can smell the defeat like chorine in the pool before the gush of breaking down fills our mouths. We gag and sputter on the malfunction that we are experiencing. We feel hopeless and like collapse is the only thing we can do. There is nothing to hold us up. We can't see past the waves or ripples of knowing we crashed and were not successful.

Knowing we have failed is like sitting on the train tracks, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and wanting to sit and wait to see if it will run us over. We know it is coming. We know that we can't fix it. Nothing about failure is comfortable. Facing the fact that we are not successful and were unable to achieve whatever it was that we wanted is hard, add to it failing someone else and the person we face in the mirror seems so far from who we want to see. When people we care about fail us, we struggle with handling how to reconcile the perfect image in our heads of who they are to us. They become fallible and we are able to see them in the raw realness of humanity.

If you google "failure," you will find tons of  warm and fuzzy life affirming quotes about not letting it hold you back. Sonya Patterson says, "Don't let yesterday's failures and mistakes stop you from chasing success today." What if we stop treating failure as a the pool of defeat and start treating it like a book. Some moments of our life are not our entire life story. We acknowledge the failure; we grieve the defeat. Then, like the end of a particularly hard to understand story, we CLOSE THE BOOK. The lessons we learned from the failure remains with us. It becomes apart of our education of life. Ultimately, we allow ourselves to grow past our short comings. We stop mourning the mistakes and the lost dreams and we close the book. It's not a plot twist, it's a complete and ended book.

Failure hurts because we must face our mistakes and the loss of dreams that we had HOPED would occur after our "success." But sometimes, it's time to close the book and stop beating ourselves up over our crash, shelf it and open a new book.

"There's no place like home..." but where is HOME?

Where is your home? Is it the place you sleep  when your day is through? Is it where you display photographs of loved ones? What do you think about when you hear the word "home?" Is it your refuge? Is it the place you hide from your demons? What makes one place "home" and another "away from home?"

One of the first things that I do when I move into a new place is set up the bed, put toilet paper in the bathroom, and put decorations on the walls. I know it might sound trivial to others, but for me, it's part of making it my space. Somehow by me moving my things and "marking it" it transforms from an empty shell to my space. For me, the magic is in the memories I bring and use to decorate. Does it change the overall feeling of the place instantly? No, but it removes the stark emptiness. It's like candle in dark room. The small act of decoration lights up the space.

Maybe it has something to do with taking ownership over the space. Parents name their children names that are family names, or names that give them a warm feeling, or names they hope will sent them apart from others making their children unique from all the world. When you take ownership over some place- are we not doing the same thing? You are claiming the space; setting it apart from all others. The label of your stuff makes it yours.

What about places that you know are temporary in your life? Why do they not feel as home like? I think it has something to do with the fact that you have to fill them. You have to feel love within the walls. It might not be the touch of your lover or best friend. Maybe you need to hear someone who cares about you say how much you matter to them within the space. Memories and moments and laughter need to be let loose to chase away the cobwebs of stale. You need to know that no matter what is said- you at still safe.

So what make a place home? I think it's making memories, and sharing your dreams, feeling love and feeling safe and content within the walls. It's not just where you sleep.... it's the fact that you reach out for your loved one in the bed. It's the fact that the towels smell like your laundry detergent. It's that the pillow cases smell like the people you love's shampoo. Home is more than four walls and a feeling of safety. It's knowing that even when you are alone- you aren't an island. You are tethered to others.

For many, home is not four walls and a roof....
-its the arms of someone who would go through hell and high water for you,
-its the way the person who loves you looks at you when you're a hot mess and still sees someone they love.
-it's the laughter in the kitchen at random moments,
-it's the words said to praise and nurture.

Home wasn't ever a place.

You should never have a kid.... but if you do...

When I got married the first time at 21, I was sure that I never really wanted kids. And if somehow the adorable dimples of the man I was with, convinced me, I was even more convinced that I couldn't possibly ever love any child that wasn't female. I was convinced my life would probably be better off without any offspring. I was even against getting a dog. I was more than content to have my nieces over and love on them and then SEND them back. I loved my ginormous 20 lbs of cat, Dante. I was more than content to share my space with him, but the overwhelming desire to share my DNA and finances further was a quick NOPE.

The thing is ... I never just a moment back then where I smelled the intoxicating baby smell and had to talk my ovaries down. I didn't picture myself pushing strollers or naming tiny humans that were half me. I gave my pets full names, middle included, but never even dreamed of what something that was a branch on my family tree would look like. It's not how I was put together.

Then my best friend called me on the phone and discussed babies. We decided to throw out our birth control away on the phone together. Peer pressure at it's finest! (totally serious.)

The thing is .... I was pregnant within 45days of throwing it away. I had the easiest, most fun, and smoothest pregnancy; no sickness, no swelling, no complaints. I loved it. And then....I hit 43 weeks and no one wants to spend any time with me for fear I would "accidentally" have a kid. I finally beg the doctor to induce and 26 hours, 2 epidurals, and one very fat nearly 10lb baby later. I was holding someone who was half of my genetics. I have never been more scared of failing in my entire life. I felt helpless and ashamed that I wasn't able to calm and comfort him within the first 5 min of meeting him outside his belly home. I was overwhelmed. I was tired. I was feeling broken that I wasn't able to "instinctively" fix everything and make him feel safe. Eventually he calmed down and we took the best nap of my life.

But something changed in me after that. I finally understood what it felt like to have my heart outside my body. I felt my heart nearly explode when he hurt. I was thankful for the cage of my ribs to keep my heart from lashing outside of myself  and shredding someone when I felt that he was in danger or threatened.

I fell in love with thinking up ways to care for and nurture my son. I worked to build his character and show him love beyond understanding. I made intentional choices to tell him that nothing could or would every stop my love for him. I think of the correct words for discipline to correct behavior without crushing the spirit. I remind myself that he is someone's future husband and father. This man that I am raising isn't mine. He is a future member of society. If I fail him- it's not just a bad parenting moment. I don't get to hit reset and fix my mistakes. I admit my mistakes and apologize to him. I work to communicate why and how I need him to behave.

And somewhere in the middle- I found out that he alone is my greatest accomplishment. I have degrees. I have been needed. But raising my child is truly the one thing in my life that I am the most proud of.  He is smart and witty. He is compassionate. He is stubborn and amazes me with the way that he approaches the world. I didn't know that I could be willing and able to hold a puking child before him. I never knew that him learning to write his name would make me so proud and shatter my heart that he was growing up. I never knew I would be proud to have survived a single week with a newborn. I had no idea that I would be able to map the freckles on his body with my eyes closed and look across the room and know if he was sick just by seeing his eyes. I never knew I could look it his green eyes first thing in the morning and gauge the quality of the rest of my day depending on how dark or light the intensity of the green is. Dark green and all the deepest most ornery parts of him are going to battle me and make me question every single oz of my ability to be a decent parent.

I never knew what I was missing- until I found it. I guess I'm saying, you should never have a kid unless you are willing and able to give up your ideas about love and devotion. Because the moment you have a kid- your ideas about love change.



 

You aren't hard to love.

People who tell you that you are difficult to love are liars. The truth is, you are NOT hard to love.
Everyone has redeeming qualities. Everyone has things that make them attractive to someone else... you just need to find people who are a fit to your puzzle of complicated. The real problem is that some people do not want to love you for you. They do not respect your needs or desires and want you to fit in a little box.

From what I have learned about life, love, and relationships; people are complex. We need to feel loved and needed- that is simple. How we understand and accept love- that is located more closely to the deep end of the ocean.

Some need to be held and touched and praised while others need to acts of service to feel that other person is giving for them. Your own needs are your needs. I like to think of it simply. Some people are attracted to blondes, some people swoon over dimples, and others notice eyes. Your ability to be turned on and feel desire to share time and company with someone is who you are. The same is true that you need to be given love how you feel loved. I could care less about gifts. Money is not something I focus on. I feel guilt from people spending too much on me. I think of how hard the other people had to work to purchase it, I consider if they should have spent the money on something they needed for themselves or possibly their kids. I literally get guilt about a lot of gifts. I need touch. I
am pretty sure I was a puppy in a past life. When I don't feel good I like my tummy rubbed and my hair played with. I like end of the day hugs at the door like some silly 1950's type sitcom. As I think about it, that probably reinforces the puppy theory.

Some people will attempt to make fun of you for wanting to receive love how you receive love. That's the same nonsense of telling parents of newborn babies not to "overly" hold them. Touch is a basic need even for brand new tiny humans. Research has shown that when people touch people that they love their blood pressure levels and their heart rate maintains a constant and even rhythm.

You are not hard to love. You will always be seen as hard to love by people who don't love the real you. When I am overwhelmed and at the end of my rope, there are only like 3 people who I feel safe and comfortable touching me. Everyone else makes me mad or upset. Those 3 people though- I could lay down beside and not speak and be content even on my worst day.

When people don't respect you and your needs- they push you. They demand you love them as they see fit. They don't try to find a safe and comfortable place for both of you. How you need and receive love is apart of you as your fingerprint.
You can not fully feel love in ways that don't feel like love to you.

If someone is tells you that you are hard to love- they lie. You are only hard to love by people who don't love you but love what you can do for them.

"He was my first ..." communication and the power of words ...

Language is powerful. Not always in a big red button of distruction sort of way. The fact that as humanity we can use a simple phrase and change someone else's life.
Ex: "she was my best friend" It's a simple sentence. Depending on your own life and experiences you could have read it very differently .... Who is the she?
-Did she just die ?
-Did something happen to your friendship and you're no longer friends?
-Did you did you read the sentence as if it were yelled because your significant other cheated?
-Did you hear with rainbows & music in the background as a reason to commit your life to hers?
-Was it a threat to someone you think might cause her harm and they need to know the lengths that you would go to hell and back for her?

 Another example of the power of simple phrases : "he was my first ..."
-Was he your first baby daddy ?
-Your first customer?
-Your first table that you waited on as a server?
-Was he one night stand?
-Your first love?
-Your first tattoo ?
-Your first sexual experience ?
-Your first heartbreak?
-Your first child ?
-Your first pregnancy ?
We literally completely change the meaning of a single sentence depending on what your life and your experiences. There's a huge difference between spoken word and written word- tone.

What about the phrase, "I'll be waiting." Is it the end of the date so your best friend can rehash everything that happened? To get revenge on someone who is caused you ill? For payment? Are you a mom picking up your kids after school? Are you a significant other waiting on your loved one to return home from duty, from a fire, from a third world country without running water? In the waiting room at the end of a surgery to find out if they're going to survive?  Are you waiting for a call back or text back ? Are you someone waiting at the end of runway for someone to get off the plane & he's never coming to see you?  Are you waiting for someone to come home? Are you waiting for someone who is never going to come back to you?

We teach kids that words are powerful . We make our children say they are sorry and apologize for their wrong doings. We make them admit they have done something before the apology can make a difference.  We teach them that "it's not okay to treat our friends like that." And somewhere between being kids and becoming full fledged adults,we lose sight of that fact that words have power. We stop saying I love you to our friends and only jokingly say it to the barista making coffee at Starbucks. We stop making effort. We don't call our parents as much as we should. We don't tell our siblings that we are proud of their accomplishments.

But the truth is - we do love our families and we are proud of the things our siblings do. We know that even though the words "I'm sorry" doesn't fix the things we mess up - it does open the door for healing. We went our kids to grow up and become happy healthy members of society - but are giving them the tool of language to communicate to others ? Are you telling your friends you enjoy time with them ? Are you communicating that you are struggling and need to vent?

I do not admit that I have problems very easily. If I am willing to admit I have a problem, I TRUST SOMEONE. My ability to admit weakness and failure is even more limited ... but if I don't tell other people when I need help, they may not know I need it .

Admit when you mess up.
Accept weakness- in yourself and others.
Take care of people.
Give people the benefit of doubt when you don't know what they meant
Tell people when they do good.
Care about people.
Stop hiding and let people into your world ....
but mostly ...
say the things that you need to ...
Stop making people read between the lines!
Say what you need. Say what you mean.

Ps:
You matter .
You make my life more entertaining.
Thank you for being there. I'll be here when you need me

"In the name of love..."

Listening to the radio on the way home from school today I started pondering about all the thing people have done "in the name of love."

I thought about the husbands and wives who have held the their spouse's hand in the hospital and the love and devotion that it would take to be there as a rock for your spouse. You are witnessing someone you love most, hurting or sick. You are the calm and peace during a storm in their life. I thought of the fake smiles and warm hugs given to bring comfort. The ones fighting hard. The ones broken knowing this fight will not be won. I thought of families in hospital rooms making choices to remove life sustaining support. These are not light or easy choices. These actions are done in love.

I considered all the wars fought to protect loved ones in hopes that their sacrifice would be enough. The sacrifice of their families who do not get to kiss their loved ones goodnight or snuggle peacefully next to the warm body of their loved ones. The love being stretched thin across the miles and time zones. I thought of the families who move to where the military takes them. I consider those who step in place of others to prevent their demise. These are things done in sacrifice and love.

I think of the parents who work hard to provide for their children. The parents who sit up nights when their child is sick knowing they have to work the next day. The dads who play dress up and tea parties with their princess'. The moms who learn names of dinosaurs and the correct pronunciation to help feed their son's devotion to all things Jurassic or Crustaceous. The families who save nickels and dimes for vacations to build memories. The moms and dads who hold their babies and feel their heart melt down to their toes. The feeling of knowing that not only would you sacrifice for your child- but if anyone tried to hurt them, the lengths of violence you would go though to save and protect them. The fear and worry that you aren't doing enough. The desire to give your child a future that is happy.These are things done in love.

I think back on teachers and educators who have given up time and money to provide lessons they hoped who make a lasting impression on the minds of their students. I think to some of the teachers who held me accountable and made me love learning. I think of Mrs. Kennedy and her "life lessons" she sprinkled in with her essays, Shakespeare, and English lessons. I think of Sra. Wilhite and her drive to not just teach the Spanish in the book but also make our very entitled group of kids see the world around us and think about the lives of foreign countries. Coach Picklo and all the many, many cool dissections and explanations in Anatomy/Physiology. He explained synapses and cells with us running around the room passing off dry erase markers to signify things being passed between them. I think to about all the boring reading logs and half done effort I put into all my AP English classes. Ironically- many of the books that we read back then, saved me. They made me feel less alone. They gave words to express the struggle in my head. They provided the outlet for all the crazy and drama of my life. These teachers didn't put up with us because it was easy. I remember the hell and torture many of my senior class caused our school system. They had to love us. Their ability to show up every day and put up with our rough edges of learning and growth- that is absolutely love.

I think of all my friends who have somehow known the exact thing to say or NOT to say when I NEEDED them most. The poor souls who spoke truth to me even when I wouldn't admit it was truth. They accepted my hard days and bad attitudes. People who have handled my overly stressed and incredibly hangry. I do not handle change. I do not always admit when I need help. I am stubborn beyond what word or even puppets can explain. And yet, there are people who have reached out to me to stand in the gap between my struggle and my sanity. I am not easy to love and yet I am blessed and loved beyond my understanding.

I pondered that so many people give their time and energy in the name of love. How do we even begin to find or create words that explain sacrifice and love?

Tomorrow is Valentines. Truth is, Valentines reminds me of my mother. Her sitting on the sidelines of cold football games to see me. Driving to basketball games and cheering for me regardless of winning or losing. Attending band functions, choir shows, and Speech and Debate competitions all over the state. I think of her getting up and snuggling me in my bed on the weekends in middle school and high school just to talk and catch up with life. I think of all the times she argued with my VERY strong willed teenage self and never backed down. I think of her getting up EXTRA early on Valentines days to drive to allllllll the immediate family member's homes to put bags full of red underwear on our porches. She said everyone deserved pretty undies on Valentines. I'm positive she and God have had more than few "discussions" about me over the years.  I make her crazy. I also know that my momma loves me. I am sure I will never know all the tings she has done for me "in the name of love."

So my question to you- Are you telling people they matter? Do your actions show love?
What are you doing in the name of love for people important to you?

For better or For Worse- PARENTING

Everyone is pretty familiar with marriage vows, but not many people consider applying those same promises to having children....

"to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part."

Now apply that to how you raise your child. Are you loving and cherishing them? Are you caring for them mentally and physically regardless of their views on religion or love? Are you concerned for their well being even when you do not agree with their choices?

BY NO MEANS am I saying parents are to be fiscally responsible for their offspring for the entire duration of their life! I do know that there have been times in my life when I choose to love, honor, and make sure my son felt cherished even if I had to work extra hard or save extra long. I believe that memories are something I can pass down to my child.

Many people are comfortable saying that "blood is thicker" and claiming family when it is easy. What about when your heart is broken for and/or by them? Do you choose love? Do your words and actions reflect the same overwhelmingly crushing love as when you held them for the first time? Even if their arrival into the world was not apart of YOUR intentions at that moment- the entire universe and stars in the heavens had to align so that during the very tiny window that a woman is ovulating that everything worked out to allow this tiny human to exist. The world needed their  existence for some good that is greater than you. Maybe they are hear to lead people and change thousands of peoples' lives. Maybe they are here to inspire someone who will be kinder and more gentle to others.  Whether you are able to see the ripple of effect that you ( or they) have- there is a ripple. Our lives are not lived isolated without any interaction. Our lives are touched, shaped, grown, and moved by the ripples of others who have touched us both positively or negatively.

If parenthood had vows- I do not think they would be that much different than the vows of commitment that most people say during a wedding. As a parent I often feel as though my hear tis walking around outside my body. I am proud when my succeeds. I feel the desire to protect and comfort him when he fails- and sometimes allowing him to fall and learn to get up is harder for me to allow than the lesson he is learning. I want him to grow to be a good man who loves his family and kisses his babies goodnight.

I dream of him being the kid of man whose kids run to him after work. I parent and nurture him hoping that the man I am going to eventually send into the world will be protective and stand in the gaps of other's weakness and gentle to those who need it. I am raising a husband and a father. There is not a "little boy" that sleeps in his room- but rather a developing man.

Are you taking your rolls as parent seriously? You are raising our future generations. You are raising the people who will change the world .

Are your actions as a parent going to help or hurt ?

Because "for better or for worse" you are the main difference.

New Years is for quitters

Many people write new year resolutions. They vow to stop doing things like smoking and to start doing things like eat veggies and exercise. I don't make resolutions with the new year. I don't know too many people who have been successful when it comes to them and I do not want to feel badly about myself for returning to things that I've been surviving doing. I do think that people need to declutter.

I come from a long line of hoarders and pack rats. I have had to work at adjusting and limiting myself to what I "keep" and deem as important. I do mean declutter as in tangible things that one can hold and touch....But what if we started removing clutter from our hearts and thoughts. I believe that people can not grow and become the person that they are destined to be if they are being held back by mental boxes filled with old broken pieces of ourselves.

Can you become a fully involved love to someone if you are holding onto things like bitterness and anger over past choices that they have made? Why allow the other person to live rent free inside your head and hold any kind of power of your thoughts. If you are holding those feelings, you are limiting the space inside your emotions. How can you grow into someone kind and giving if you spend your free time trying to replay previous things other people have said to you? Will you truly be able to be the best version of yourself if you are fertilizing your thoughts with hatred, bitterness, and anguish?

Instead of making ANOTHER year's resolution about eating mashed cauliflower every single week - why not unpack the hatred of others? Remove the emotions that keep you cranky and throw them away. Pack away the people who do not belong within the limited space of your thoughts and send them away for good. Unseal the tape on the boxes in your head filled with worries and fears. Your head only has so much time and processing power- clean it like a computer of all the "bugs" that are limiting you. Stop holding yourself back with regret and mistakes. Acknowledge the past, apologize and ask for forgiveness- and move the regret and mistakes out of your head.

Purge yourself of anything that keeps your internal dialog mean or cruel. No one deserves to make you feel bad about yourself or your  past mistakes long term - especially yourself. You alone are the secretary that allows these thoughts into the "boss" of your brain. Stop permitting all the dark and ugly in.

Would you rather fill your head with wonder and amazement or worry and atonement over things that have already been dealt with?

You hold the keys to the clutter inside your own head- allow it to take up space or clean it out.

New Years is for quitters. Quit allowing what you do not want inside your head to control your thoughts and mental health.

touch

As defined by Webster's dictionary,
TOUCH: a. to put your hands, fingers, etc on someone or something. b.to be in contact with something. c. to change or move (something)

I am a firm believer that touch changes people; positively and negatively. On a simple basic need, babies need touch and attention to prevent failure to thrive. Parents of preemies and newborns are often encouraged to do "kangaroo care" skin to skin contact to help the baby regulate heart rate and temperature. According to the research,  there are no negative side effects of the skin to skin contact. So why is it that as we grow and become more "enlightened" we stop thinking that we as humans need touch?

Touch can be casual and simple, the walk by, hand on the shoulder of a friend. I walk though the hallways in the high school, and squeeze the forearm of my former  kiddos in the hallway as I walk though the hoards of students. They smile and often say how much they miss me or how much they love me etc. I am quickly and quietly letting them know that I see them. One arm squeeze to acknowledge their presence.

I say all this to explain- touch is a form of love.

Yes, in the obvious love, sex, and rock and roll kinda way.

Yes, in the peace bringing way that happens when you panicked and need someone to hold your hand.

Yes, in the crowded room and someone who cares about you reaches out and touches you- gingerly. In fact, most people in the room might not have even noticed. The touch could have almost been played off as a passing by moment  needed to make one's way through  gesture. However, both side of the touch felt it.

Yes, in the weight of the world is on my shoulders and I physically need someone stronger than me to hold me - the holder encloses the "weak" person, bearing the weight, bearing the pain, bearing the overwhelm, all the chaos and bad things are still there but the tide is held back by this one moment of being hugged and held. There is something life changing about being apart of one of these moments. If you are the one holding- the pain is almost tangible. You feel the other person break. This break allows them to begin to rebuild and find their bearings. Holding in the pain and overwhelm is exhausting. But what most people don't realize is how much strength it takes to hold in the pain. How hard it is to be vulnerable. How much faith and trust you have to put in someone before you can allow yourself to break to that extent.

Research shows that blood pressure is lowered when someone you love touches you. How amazing it is that on an anatomical level your body responds to basic touch. Your health and well-being are literally improved with touch.

I have a student in my 7th hour, each and every day that makes a special effort to come and give me a genuine warm hug every single day before our last hour of the day. I didn't realize how much of an effect it had on me until this last Wednesday. On Wednesday, we met in the computer lab to work on typing our essays. I went to take roll, and realized I had not had my hug from her. My first thought was that she was absent and my heart sank.  Her one single hug in my day recharges my battery.

One single hug missed in the course of my 161 students and I noticed it.

Touch matters.

"Joseph, were you prepared?" The OTHER parent's POV

It's Christmas Eve Eve, and it got me to thinking, everyone discusses Mary and her having Jesus. We even have the song, "Mary, Did you know?" However, there are  more parents involved in the story than just Mary. How many people have contemplated Joseph's point of view?

Joseph was engaged to Mary. They were planning a life and a future. They were dreaming about how their life would be. Imagine being madly in love with someone and all the plans you make while you are on the cusp of your "forever"... Once you have started dreaming about a future with someone you contemplate if you're a good match. You consider their needs and their role within your life. You mentally dream about if you'll have kids, pets, where you will have a home, how you will share your responsibilities within your home and family.

Then there is a wrench thrown into the mix. Something outside of your control that effects your relationship with your love. "Joseph...your fiancé is pregnant. It is not yours." And an angel comes to you to tell you that you need to stay involved with this woman. You need to continue to love and cherish her. You are to help raise a child that is not your blood. You must parent someone else's child. You are a bystander to this life in some aspects because it is not your child. This child that needs you to help care for and love it. You are in love with a woman who is going to go through pain and agony to birth someone whom you are to responsible for, but can't totally claim as yours.

The thing is, Joseph was thrown into the mix of parenthood. He inherited a child to feed, clothe, discipline, love, and raise as his own... all the while aware that it wasn't his child... and yet, was his child.

Any adult who willingly stepped up and accepted becoming the parent to a child,  maybe you understand Joseph's shoes. Co-parents, step parents, bonus parents etc. who help love and guide a child that they do not share DNA with understands that it is very hard to find your place within the child's life. You have to attempt to prove your love for this tiny human. You give of your time, your energy, your heart to someone that you can not help but love and yet, you often stay in the shadows as your aren't "the parent." You hurt when the child hurts. You would fight tigers and bears if need be because this child is family just the same. You scare away bad dreams and bullies. You wash off scraped knees just as any other parent would. You metaphorically carry the weight of this child.

Joseph had to bear the weight of the rumors about Mary. Joseph had to bear the scandal and the pain that Mary did, but he willingly chose to stay beside her. He chose to lead his family. He chose to love and cherish both Mary and Jesus knowing that it would not be an easy life.

Did he "know" how hard it would be to love and raise a child that was and yet wasn't his own when he stayed with Mary? I think he *thought* he knew. But maybe, the answer is far more complicated. Maybe it's like childbirth. We have an idea of how it will be to birth a child. People can tell us what it will entail. We can read books and watch movies about the pain and hardship about it, but until we are in the moment, we don't have a clue. Maybe that is the place were grace and love take over. All the unknowns are washed over with love until we are there in the moment and the only choice we have is love itself.

I think Joseph had an inkling of an idea. I do believe that he knew it would be hard, just as anyone who stepped up to love someone else's child knows it will not be easy. I think that Joseph knew that the child needed him. Let that sink in.... a child who is innocent and helpless needs you. You don't get to walk away from that kind of need. Someone else needs you. Someone who can not thrive without your help, needs you. Joseph did have a choice. He choose love.

We are never ever totally prepared for kids. We are even less prepared to love and care for a child that we never knew we needed in our life.

To all the step parents, co-parents, bonus parents, and people who volunteer to raise children who are not your own, thank you for choosing to love.

Unbreakable

"I am not unbreakable..."

The strongest people I know are NOT unbreakable. If I were to be totally honest - they are broken. Many of them have been shattered in many ways. They have experienced heartache. They have endured pain. They have held loss and disappointment. They have seen and experienced things that people would avoid if they were given a single second to choose.

Maybe we have gotten it all wrong over the years. Maybe we are all stronger after being broken. On a physical aspect, the human body overproduces calcium to protect the places we have broken in an attempt to heal. The side effect of the healing is that the area is stronger at the site of the break due to the body covering the breakage. In theory, the spot where it was previously broken can not be broken there again. It is reinforced. It has been covered. There are similarities when it comes to muscles and soft tissue as well. Once a muscle or soft tissue has been injured the body "reacts" and tightens around it in order to protect us from hurting ourselves more. This is why injuries require so much physical therapy, once we are hurt and injured, we have to physically work the pain and overprotectiveness out of our body to allow it to return to normal. This is not an instant healing but requires effort. It is not easy and often is painful.

Our minds, emotions, character, and personality are much the same as our physical bodies. After we have experienced life changing moments that break us, we are not the same. We are changed and "reinforce" ourselves in an attempt not to be broken in the same places or in the same ways. We hide our soft places and injured thoughts behind baggage. We take the rejection and pain and cover it to reinforce ourselves against being hurt in the same way. We pull ourselves tight. We reject other's advances and attempts to help us heal for fear that we will have to experience an emotional version of physical therapy. We are often able to see the pain and broken inside of ourselves; however, the fear of allowing the vulnerability to return is often more painful than the initial injury. Our hearts are calloused not from lack of want but from covering and reinforcing the hurt places. We hide our emotions and try to be void of softness.

Some of these walking wounded are so damaged that they see genuine love and devotion but the fear of pain tightens close like the laces on a boxing glove. Their heart laced beneath the layers of glove. The vulnerability hidden beneath the desire to fight and secure one's safety. Unless we are willing to let the gloves come off, stop the fighting, and peel back all the layers of tape and allow our hearts to return to vulnerable- we remain fighters. Hiding our true selves doesn't change who we are, but rather it changes other people's ability to see the previously broken places, the scars of who we are. Scars are not flags of failure. Our scars are a tapestry of places we held on until our bodies gave way when our determination and will held on. Breaking and healing is not failure. It is enduring past when our external strength had reached its limits.

Many women have stretch marks. I don't think I know a single woman who is genuinely happy to have them. I think Kat Williams describes them better than anyone else, "Either you was big and got small, or you was small and got big..." Stretch marks are your skin literally stretching to the point of tearing. Your body was enduring something that requires such a drastic change that it physically couldn't endure and tore...and yet, here you are still enduring more.

Anyone can be a blank slate. Blank slates are bland and forgettable. I think we are more like the Japanese idea of kintsukuroi. Once a piece of pottery is broken, they do not trash it for being broken. The broken and cracks are not shunned and hidden from others. Instead the broken places are filled with gold or silver. The cracks make the pottery stronger and more beautiful as they are replaced and filled with gold or silver. The pottery becomes more than the simple boring piece it once was.

I believe we are the same, we become more precious and more valuable once we have been broken.  Broken people are stronger and more precious like the kintsukuroi bowls. The cracks are still there. They may have been healed and/or repaired even.

The cracks remain, but the soul is stronger.
Being unbreakable doesn't make you stronger - being broken, enduring hardships, surviving loss, remaining steadfast when the storms of life crack, chip, and bend you to the point that you are changed makes you stronger.