There older I get the more I think my relationship with my mother is a lot like God. I respect and am in awe of both. I fear disappointing them both. I want to do things that make them proud of my literal creation. Maybe it's a simplistic concept .
I don't think I know a single person who has a simple relationship with their mom. The one person who cheers me on no matter how ridiculously bad I fail - is my mother. I know that there are times where things are completely wrong and broken in my life, and I feel the dual idea to call her and to avoid her. I long to call and vent and get advice. I also want to avoid because I'm feel like I don't want to fail her . I think the same dual thoughts exist about God for me. I want to run to and get help and also fear admitting my failures. I truly believe that both would never stop loving me. That statement in itself is rather hard to admit. I am not easily loved. I am complicated and moody. I over analyze some days while I work so very hard to create a balance of perfection only to push too hard in one area and fall on my face.
The first lump I found in my breast I was an emotional basket case. I told members of my inner sanctum "tribe." I made appointments with the doctors. I went to the dr appts, the mammograms, the ultrasounds, and the MRI alone because I didn't want to be the person who told my mom something was wrong. I have no desire to make my mother cry. I didn't know how to tell her. I didn't know what to pray for either. I am believer that everything happens for a reason. What if I prayed for healing and I wasn't sick? Then I'd feel like I wasted God's time . ( I'm an over analyzer after all. ) So I waited to tell my mother. The same person I adamantly believe is my best supporter. I didn't ask for healing from God; instead, I asked for it to be the right outcome.
She has seen my naked more times than I can even fathom; literally and metaphorically. She knows my birthmarks under my arm and lower back like they were art. She told me once if anything ever happened to me, she knew she could be the one to identify my body because she could do it by my scars...my ears, my hands, whichever. She didn't want to see my face and have to see me like that- so she decided that she could identify me by my scars.
The person who loves me best can see past my broken and hurt and see how they make up.....me. Loving someone should be like that. You see the scars of someone you care about and see that they have created a stronger more identifiable person. Some of my favorite things about my own child, besides his heart and ornery side, are the 2 teeny tiny freckles where his neck swoops down to his collarbone. Things that other people might not notice... Maybe our mothers love us differently because we are the only people who know what their heartbeat sounds like from the inside. Maybe it's because no matter the circumstances involved with our conception- it's a fact that at one point ( OR MANYYYYY) our mothers were responsible for our literal every need. That no matter how badly I fail or fall - my mother would help me. Ironically, its the same reason why I avoid ever asking her for things.
I can talk to her for hours on end or go a month without talking and she will still be there. I make her crazy. She says things without saying them. She always notices when I change my hair. (Key word: NOTICES) She secretly hates most of the nail polish colors I wear, and yet instead of saying it-She smiles and says, " I see you painted your nails." And we both know.
Maybe that's the problem with our mothers. They understand us. They see us. Even when we fight with them- there is nothing we wouldn't do to try and protect them from seeing us fail, from feeling sadness, from thinking we aren't the best we can be. It's the same way I see God.
Please don't see me fail.
Please don't think I'm not worthy of the love.
Please love me.
Please be proud of me.
That's it. Our relationships are complicated because the unending love they give us almost feels like a burden. We WANT to be successful and happy in their eyes. We WANT them to be proud of us. We also want to protect them from seeing all the stupid things we have done- even though eventually they see everything in the end.
No matter how crazy she makes me,
No matter how crazy I assume I make her,
I wont ever give up on my momma.
And I truly think only God knows why.
.
Monday, April 18, 2016
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
You don't matter...
"YOU don't matter . You are a cog in the system. "
In the grand scheme of things , I am merely a mass of carbon that occupies less than 10 meters of space . And it's true that my combination of my parents genetics is very unique...
In fact, I'd probably tell you some lovely story about how my parents were high school sweethearts, how my grandpa thought my dad was a wild one who drove too fast ( he was ), and how my momma was a nerd (she was), and how my dad drove from his college to my moms college on Valentine's to bring her an engagement ring , and how they got married super young , how they got married on St. Patrick's Day because it was during spring break so they only got to be "weekend married " until the semester was up, and how my dad wanted 15 kids and my momma didn't want ANY, and they waited for 9 years to have me .
The truth of the matter is that - I am ONE person . You are ONE person.
Even if you procreate and create and create and create until you have enough kids to make a football team, you are still ONE person .
And many people will tell you -
YOU don't matter . You are a cog in the system. Your life is as insignificant as a leaf crunched beneath the foot of one of those football players I previously mentioned . <crunch>
But the question has to be asked, "Is that true ?"
Do YOU matter ?
Some people might argue it on a chemical reaction level. They could discuss how you are a carbon based life form and you are apart of a food chain ... Blah blah blah.
Some might discuss how the whole world is connected on a unspoken and interwoven level . Touchy feely stuff . This might make you feel good enough to make choices that change society or even just the people are you .
Others might argue that your dharma is predisposed and you have no control other than the karma that you create .
I'd like to think that maybe it's somewhere in the stew bowl of all of those . Maybe I am destined to do something . Possibly due to my being connected to the rest of humanity , and the science of all living things , but here is the big, Big, BIG thing ...
You make choices .
Do you choose to help others ? Honestly, it's not about you if you do. Technically, then you don't matter. Technically you help others to HELP them.
Do you love and care for your friends, family , and/ or tribe ? Sometimes my love for my tribe is tough love and I care that they stop making choices that do not help themselves . Therefor reinforcing that I do not matter . I may want them to make better choices. I may want them to be loved . However, they must choose their path because I don't actually matter in their equation .
Why do teachers teach ? Do they teach to make themselves better ? Do they share their knowledge or tools to feel better about themselves ? Spend an hour in a room full of teenagers and ask me if I teach for the "feelings." The thing is, I teach because I believe that these unpolished humans are going to change the world . I don't matter . I don't teach for me . I teach in hopes that they will build and create . I teach them poetry so that when they find love maybe they will think "She Walks in Beauty " is the perfect way to explain to their lady love how the feel when they saw her from across the room . Maybe my encouragement will be the echo to "rage rage against the dying of the night !"
I teach for that moment years ago when a mom stopped me in Target to tell me her son had spent the previous year suffering badly from depression . I teach because she tells me that he struggled with thoughts of suicide but he didn't want to let me down ... I don't actually matter . I will tell you that I sat in the cookie aisle at Target that summer day and cried . I bawled loudly and embarrassingly gross . I'm pretty sure that I had snot smeared on my face . I more than likely looked like some B movie prom queen who had overcome adversity to win the crown and kiss her best friend after they placed a cheap plastic rhinestone tiara on her head .
But ... I don't actually matter .
What matters is that he survived . How he lives his live and if he becomes a pilot or a dad who goes to every soccer game his kids plays in ... It all doesn't matter .
Why do you love people ? Is it about you or them ?
Why do you take care of people who need care ?
Your choices effect others . That's what actually matters .
You are a mass of carbon who doesn't matter .
In the grand scheme of things , I am merely a mass of carbon that occupies less than 10 meters of space . And it's true that my combination of my parents genetics is very unique...
In fact, I'd probably tell you some lovely story about how my parents were high school sweethearts, how my grandpa thought my dad was a wild one who drove too fast ( he was ), and how my momma was a nerd (she was), and how my dad drove from his college to my moms college on Valentine's to bring her an engagement ring , and how they got married super young , how they got married on St. Patrick's Day because it was during spring break so they only got to be "weekend married " until the semester was up, and how my dad wanted 15 kids and my momma didn't want ANY, and they waited for 9 years to have me .
The truth of the matter is that - I am ONE person . You are ONE person.
Even if you procreate and create and create and create until you have enough kids to make a football team, you are still ONE person .
And many people will tell you -
YOU don't matter . You are a cog in the system. Your life is as insignificant as a leaf crunched beneath the foot of one of those football players I previously mentioned . <crunch>
But the question has to be asked, "Is that true ?"
Do YOU matter ?
Some people might argue it on a chemical reaction level. They could discuss how you are a carbon based life form and you are apart of a food chain ... Blah blah blah.
Some might discuss how the whole world is connected on a unspoken and interwoven level . Touchy feely stuff . This might make you feel good enough to make choices that change society or even just the people are you .
Others might argue that your dharma is predisposed and you have no control other than the karma that you create .
I'd like to think that maybe it's somewhere in the stew bowl of all of those . Maybe I am destined to do something . Possibly due to my being connected to the rest of humanity , and the science of all living things , but here is the big, Big, BIG thing ...
You make choices .
Do you choose to help others ? Honestly, it's not about you if you do. Technically, then you don't matter. Technically you help others to HELP them.
Do you love and care for your friends, family , and/ or tribe ? Sometimes my love for my tribe is tough love and I care that they stop making choices that do not help themselves . Therefor reinforcing that I do not matter . I may want them to make better choices. I may want them to be loved . However, they must choose their path because I don't actually matter in their equation .
Why do teachers teach ? Do they teach to make themselves better ? Do they share their knowledge or tools to feel better about themselves ? Spend an hour in a room full of teenagers and ask me if I teach for the "feelings." The thing is, I teach because I believe that these unpolished humans are going to change the world . I don't matter . I don't teach for me . I teach in hopes that they will build and create . I teach them poetry so that when they find love maybe they will think "She Walks in Beauty " is the perfect way to explain to their lady love how the feel when they saw her from across the room . Maybe my encouragement will be the echo to "rage rage against the dying of the night !"
I teach for that moment years ago when a mom stopped me in Target to tell me her son had spent the previous year suffering badly from depression . I teach because she tells me that he struggled with thoughts of suicide but he didn't want to let me down ... I don't actually matter . I will tell you that I sat in the cookie aisle at Target that summer day and cried . I bawled loudly and embarrassingly gross . I'm pretty sure that I had snot smeared on my face . I more than likely looked like some B movie prom queen who had overcome adversity to win the crown and kiss her best friend after they placed a cheap plastic rhinestone tiara on her head .
But ... I don't actually matter .
What matters is that he survived . How he lives his live and if he becomes a pilot or a dad who goes to every soccer game his kids plays in ... It all doesn't matter .
Why do you love people ? Is it about you or them ?
Why do you take care of people who need care ?
Your choices effect others . That's what actually matters .
You are a mass of carbon who doesn't matter .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)