The Post That Meets My #2 Goal for This Week

I've worked on a manuscript for my book on and off for years. In 2017, I won a contest with a few of the chapters from my book and was given a trip to a writing conference and workshop complete with a writing coach. My coach was a best selling author and I learned so much from her- but her recommendations on how to change my writing brought me to a full stop and stunted a lot of my growth for the last year and a half.

She was complimentary about my work, but she told me if I wanted to sell copies that I needed to shape it into a self-help book and to dumb it down to a middle school reading level. I was deflated. That wasn't at all the vision I'd had for the work I'd bled into, sweat through and gutted my soul out onto the pages. But, I knew she was the expert and I was not. She'd sold thousands of books and I've only had essays published. I felt I needed to consider her advice.
Books have a way of birthing themselves to some degree. My book has grown organically into part memoir and part self-help, if for no other reason than I offer information and resources as a natural progression of my story. I was loathe to chop it into short chapters with three alliterated bullet points  and a cheesy anecdote...and trying it felt forced and disingenuous. As every writer does, I write with a certain cadence, vocabulary and tone- and it's not far off from how I speak. It hit me hard to think that I'd have to 'dumb it down' in order to connect with my audience.

But I can't let it just sit. I've had too many interactions with people who want and need to hear what I have to say to keep it to myself; and I'm ready to move forward into being a more vocal advocate for mental health. I pulled out my manuscript yesterday and read through it. I was relieved to still connect with what I wrote and found it powerful and captivating. It's tough to read personal work- it's a pull back into dark times when life was scary, confusing, traumatic and chaotic. Much of what I had written was taken from my journals; entries often written with clinical sterility, solely for the sake of charting my son's moods. But those entries jog my memories, and the the memories give way to the words pouring onto the pages. Rereading them in part is reliving them, but with the scratchy comfort of having come through it and the knowledge that somehow we've made it.

I'm meeting with a friend weekly- one who pushes me and texts and gets on me when I'm not completing the goals I've set for myself. I've wanted to have my work published and to have the chance to speak in front of groups again for years; but I've allowed fear and the words of other people to hold me back. I'm tired of waiting for permission. I'm annoyed with myself for the myriad of excuses and reasons as to why now isn't a good time. I'm done letting my work sit in a drawer. I have no idea if anyone other than my family and few close friends will ever read what I write, but I know that I can't keep spinning my way around this universe year after year without trying. I don't have a new year's resolution, but I do have a promise to myself- to finally try. To give myself the chance to do what I've always wanted to do. To keep meeting with my friend, keep setting goals, keep writing a paragraph at a time, and to see where it leads me. In fact, that's one of the reasons I'm writing here. Goal #2 for this week has now been met.
I may not ever be a best selling author, but I refuse to be one of the bazillions of writers who are 'going to write a book one day'. I want to be able to look at myself proudly in the mirror, so for me, pursuing what I love has become a vital part of my well being. So instead of 'new year, new me'... I'm choosing to embrace 'new year, true me', and find out what happens when I just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Cheers to showing up for our real lives!

On Facebook and Healing

Facebook gets a bad rap. It's been around long enough to get a reputation for being a catalyst for cheating, lying, hiding things from loved ones and as a tool to bully and slander. Social media can be a sticky place where truth fades into the reality we want to portray and we have the ability to censor ourselves to allow fringe people in our lives to see only what we wish them to see.
There have been studies done showing FB can provoke anxiety and depression. We look at other people's posts and photos and compare the smiling faces in their photos to our bickering family not captured on film.
Despite all of this, I love social media. I love connecting with people I don't get to see anymore. People I love who would have fallen into the recesses of memory and out of my current life. People I haven't heard from for years show up as a friend request and in moments I get caught up a bit on where they've been and what they're doing now. I've enjoyed the immediate connection to my community that spans continents, socioeconomic class, and age. I've managed to avoid social media drama and instead feel it to be a gift in my life.

Grief has a way of leveling the life you knew, and in the healing there is great opportunity to inventory the life you've known and rebuild the life you were meant to have. Familiarity breeds contempt and in my life, the familiar struggle numbed me against pressing into authenticity and the hard work of looking inward at the broken places needing mending. One of my biggest struggles in my adult years has been the mistaken belief that I was not enough as a mother. I believe this to be a universal struggle for many women and one that can hold us hostage, preventing us from being the mothers we truly are. I've shared before how my first born has had struggles since toddlerhood. At the prompting of a dear friend, I started seeking answers and support when he was just two years old. Sadly, as happens to many mothers, I was brushed off with disdain and told that stricter parenting and the awareness of him 'being a boy' would solve all of the terrifying behavior that I knew at a soul level to be abnormal and dangerous. However, in my vulnerable state, and tender age, I allowed those words to take root and begin growing into a powerfully strong vine that snaked itself around my heart and squeezed the vibrancy out of motherhood. When he was a few short weeks from marking his fourth birthday, well meaning extended ex-family told me the problem was me. If I would change my behavior, and admit my shortcomings then my son would no longer be punished or tormented by the myriad of horrible things he was experiencing. As I had already given space to the other statements by doctors regarding his challenges being a direct result of my parenting inadequacy, the soil of my heart was tilled and ready to receive this final fatal blow to my fragile seed of hope. The story spreads a decade since then and the abbreviated version has me retreating into hurt, anger and sadness. I've since learned none of those things were based in truth. I've since come to realize that God doesn't make mistakes and just as He designed me with purpose, he also gave me the children He gifted me with on purpose. Within me is everything I need to best raise and love the ones I've been honored to birth, and I've worked through the lies of inadequacy and sliced through the poisonous vine that had embedded itself into my heart. I hate that I have spent ten years parenting out of shame and guilt and sadness, but I'm grateful I was able to escape the prison of deception while I still have time to reverse my approach to motherhood.

This is where FB enters the scene. The photos and posts about my children that now forever reside in the interwebs aren't pretend. They aren't staged or prompted. They really happened. The truth is, nothing in life is perfect. No birthday party, no playdate, vacation or outing. There will always be sand in the bathing suit, ants at the picnic, siblings who bicker more than they smile and hug one another, and dirty dishes in the sink after a beautiful birthday supper. But the good stuff is there too. Life then becomes where we put our focus. The photos of my kids playing cards together was real. There may have been arguing three minutes after I snapped it, but that doesn't negate the reality that for a moment, peace hovered like a bird, spreading calm with each thrust of its wings. For me, FB has reminded me I've done something right. It shines bright on a screen and belies my inadequacy. Living with the belief that I'm not enough is a lie that only ties me to being less than I am capable of. My treasure of photos and posts that span years speak to the beauty that really happens when I least expect it. Mothering for me has been messy and hard and at times discouraging, but there is a tangible reminder on my FB page that it's also beautiful and funny and sweet and powerful. I'm grateful for FB. It's helped me stay the course in recovery from drinking in lies never meant for my soul. It's been the antidote for my weary mother's heart and brought a smile where a furrowed brow once was. It's revived the passion I once carried in my chest that was aflame with hope and dreams and expectation. Now those gifts are tempered by age and experience and I'm learning to look to the mundane to find the extraordinary. Facebook is one of the tools that has led me out of that darkness, and I'm forever grateful for its gift.

She called herself the Fat Girl

I went on a field trip with Ivy a few weeks ago.  I was thrilled to get to be one of two parents who got to go with the busy first grade class to the children's theater.
I've been blessed to go on many of my kids' field trips through the years and enjoy getting to spend time with the other kids as well as my own child outside of the classroom setting.

My experience with this field trip was more than just a good time… it had intense moments, and places of ragged humanity that left me more than a bit weary and deflated.
When I got to the classroom, Ivy ran to me and pulled me into her group of girlfriends.  I knelt into the gaggle of long braids, sparkly sweatshirts, and pink nail polish.  The girls swarmed me and began touching my hair, earrings, and necklace.  They ooohed and ahhhed at my jewelry and exclaimed several times that I was just 'so pretty'.  Ivy was beaming from ear to ear, and proudly stood beside me with her tiny hand tucked inside of mine, as they fawned over me.  At first it was sweet, flattering, and cute to hear their little voices get excited about makeup and cheap jewelry from the sales rack at kohl's. But as they continued, I began to get uncomfortable.  The truth was, I wasn't all that jazzed up that day. I had on jeans and boots, and a simple sweater.  My hair and makeup were my daily style and my jewelry was simple and easy.  I always dress this way. I love being a woman, and I love to look my best.  My style is basic, and simple- not at all flashy or glittery- but I wear makeup and jewelry daily- it's what I do.  I couldn't help but wonder if some of the women in their lives weren't making time for themselves… to spend the few extra moments on themselves on an average morning to brush a bit of blush on a cheek, or spike eyelashes with a dash of mascara.  We often put ourselves last. And our daughters are watching.

Women don't have to wear makeup or curl their hair to be beautiful, or feminine; but I am watching my daughter watch me take care of myself, and begin to incorporate some of those things into her normal daily routine.
I saw the opportunity for a little life lesson and dove in- as they told me how pretty I was, I was able to look into their eyes and affirm their beauty.  I thanked them for commenting on my earrings, but swung the conversation back to the importance of being beautiful from the inside out. Loving our friends well, treating people with kindness and grace.  I have no idea if they heard me, but I was determined to be another voice in the hum of voices vying for their attention.

I got my assignment of kids in my group and gathered them to me like ducklings.  Their excitement for our adventure was contagious and we giggled and talked and girls paired off for bus buddies.  We climbed the steps of the bus and settled into the rigid backed seats with excitement.  One of my group girls leaned across the aisle to get my attention and her words pierced my heart. Without blinking, without apology; in the innocent honesty that children have before the world darkens and softens the edge, she said 'kids in my class call me fat'.
I blinked and swallowed.  She wasn't really asking for a response. She wasn't looking to shock me, or gain pity.  She was simply sharing information that was sitting at the top of her heart that was too heavy to carry, and so she laid it down for me.
I looked back into her eyes and said "I'm so sorry that that has happened to you sweet girl". She looked down, and fidgeted under my concern- "It's ok" she was quick to dismiss me.  "Everyone says it"
She sat back in her seat and looked off through her window.
My heart was heavy as we bounced along on our way to the theater.  I knew she carried a heavy burden, and there wasn't much I could do to lighten it.

We got to the theater and she found a spot at our table to spread out her lunch and share her food and her story with me.  Through the next hour her interaction with me was peppered with hurt she had suffered at the words of kids in her class about her weight. But each time she spoke, she would give a reason as to why they had said the hurtful things; quick to dismiss the hurt and offer excuses as to why they were mean to her. She mentioned that one boy on her bus had told everyone she had kissed him "but it's not true" she insisted with tears brimming her eyes.  She quieted for a moment and then started again… "But it's ok now. We're friends again".  I was dumbfounded.  "How are you friends again?  Did he ask you to forgive him for lying about you?" She looked confused at my question. I pressed on: "Did you ask him why he said those things about you? Did he ask you to forgive him? He lied about you sweet girl. A friend would apologize. "  She sat silent for a moment and then quietly said.. "Well, everyone forgot about it, so we're friends again."
Some time passed with silly girl talk, nibbling on home-packed lunches, and discussions about the upcoming play.  At one point, Ivy became upset with me and was crying and pouting.  My little friend "Jenny" slipped her bracelet off of her wrist and held it out to the despondent Ivy.  "Here Ivy" she pleaded. "You can have my bracelet.  Just please don't cry. Please don't be upset"
Ivy looked up and her eyes lit with excitement over the new trinket. I put my hand on the bracelet and looked into the other girls eyes. "No. You're not giving this to Ivy. You don't have to give things to people to make them like you Jenny.  Being who you are; being a friend is enough. YOU are enough." She cocked her head to the side to bring in the information that wasn't quite computing and slipped the bracelet back onto her wrist.  I looked at Ivy and said "If that happens again, you need to tell her thank you for offering, but no thank you. Your love is enough for me."
I was blown away.

I watched the habits of this 6 year old girl. One who had been pegged the 'fat girl'. One who thought the only way to get and keep friends was to allow herself to be consumed.  I was sickened.  We had several conversations about her beauty- the inside and the outside kind.  I have no idea if the words I spoke to her took root or not, but I couldn't stay silent.  To see her pain, and to see her quickly work to make the way smooth for those around her, at the expense of herself was painful for me. I think of her often and I'm sure I will carry her heart with me through the next years and am honored to be able to cover her in prayer. We women have a reponsibility to young girls coming up in this world. We have to speak. They hear so many voices, and we have to join in to try and overpower the lies they are fed daily.  Take the opportunity when it comes, and don't be afraid to speak raw truth. Truth that is infused with love is powerful, and my prayer is that all I said will swim around inside of her for decades; attaching itself to other good counsel, and that she will begin to hear and trust truth over deception. We belong to each other. And that means speaking light into darkness.

My own Amen (which also means... So Be It)

I'm sitting in a place in my life where the only way out will have to be fairly miraculous.  Within the next few months, my living expenses are going to rise considerably, and I will have to find more ways to bring in income.  Just in time for the kids to be home all summer, and me not to have any child care options.  I have to continue to find non-traditional ways to provide for them, and on paper things look anything but attainable.

The truth is, that I don't have all the answers. I haven't fully figured it out and I am not sure what our lives are going to look like over the next months and year.

But I have a deep resounding peace.  I have wondered, at times, if my peace is just an illusion, possible denial, or avoidance, but I really believe in the depths of my being that we are going to be ok.  God has shown in so many ways over the last year and a half that I am not forgotten and that I will be provided for.  Nothing is impossible with Him.

However, I'm also aware that my circumstances are complicated, looming large, and overwhelming.  When others hear what I need to do to take care of my children and how big it is, they often become concerned for us.  I have found myself worrying and being anxious for the benefit of other people.

Have you ever noticed that the work of worry and anxiety can mimic forward motion?  The act of being concerned, and anxious looks like action and involvement.  Conversely, sitting in peace and surrender can look a lot like inaction. avoidance. delusion. laziness. 

I'm having to navigate the path of working hard behind the scenes to set in place the pillars of support that will enable us to live in this area for the next months and years to come.  But doing that without anxiety, and without outward displays of fear can look suspiciously like I am not driven enough, not motivated enough, or not sufficiently afraid.  Somehow, my fear and worry comforts others who are worried for me. It's as though my concern lets them know that I have not forgotten how big this is and that I am scared enough to admit it is beyond me.

I don't know what our future will hold. I have no idea how this will all fall into place to take care of our needs and work into the structure of my big family; but I do have an undergirding of peace. Of just knowing that we will come out on the other side.  It might be messy.  I'm quite sure that it will look completely different than it looks for other families, but I believe that it will also be beautiful, and miraculous, and hard, and good.

I'm choosing to follow advice given by Glennon Melton from Momastery that I heard this last weekend at the Womankind conference- to just Let.It.Be.  To stop trying to make my circumstance be anything other than what it is.  To allow the path designed for us to unfold ahead of us, and though I can only see a few feet ahead, I will trust that the path won't suddenly disappear, but will rather continue to be formed ahead of me leading me into the life meant for my family.  I am ready to walk it. To turn from worry and anxiety that I have coddled for the comfort of other people and rather move inside of the gift of peace.  To work, and pray, and rest, and just Let It Be.