Tag: women

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Motherhood Is A Cluster

All winter break my kids were driving me crazy. They were fighting and sassing for what felt like the entire length of Independence Day Resurgence. How can such tiny people have so much sass? I was SO ready for them to go back to school.

Full disclosure: I work from home so the level of annoyance that I felt went beyond simply being annoyed. Nay. This was an annoyance that felt as if several thousand tiny hands were slowly crawling up my body and clawing at my neck. Touching. So much touching. Talking…..so.much.talking.

Moving on.

So why, pray tell, was it so hard for me to send them to school today on their first day back from winter break? Why? Why did I just want to hug my littlest one (in age not size) and make sure he knew I loved him. That I care about him. That he didn’t have to be scared. Why? WHY WAS I SAD?!

Eh-Hem. Motherhood is a cluster. I don’t get it. And frankly, I don’t enjoy the perplexity of emotions that the start and end of winter break can bring to one simple woman who, DEAR GOD, is just trying to live HER BEST LIFE.

Blah. Don’t mind me. I’m just a 31 year old woman who cannot get a handle on what she wants out of life. Ha. Hahahahaha. What a joke.

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Shut It Down and Shut It Up

We all say it.  Every woman I know says, “I hate drama” or “I’m too old for drama” or some other variation.  So then why do we do it?  Why do we get tangled up in gossip even when we have the best intentions at heart?  We all fall victims to ourselves, relishing in the spread of information that was never ours to receive.  Why don’t we stop it when it starts?  Instead we justify and say, “Well I know I’m not going to tell anyone” or “We should pray for this couple”.  Why do we rationalize gossip?

I could give you my opinions.  The same ones you probably share.  We want to feel better about ourselves or we want to feel included, we want to fit in or seem like we are “in the know”.  But when we all have seen and have fallen victims to gossip and the damage it does and the hurt it creates.  Why do we continue?

Let me ask you this tough question: Are you a mean girl?  Am I?  Yes.  Irrevocably, yes.  If we participate in the dirt on someone’s marriage or the elective surgeries of someone in a friend circle, we are mean girls.

Have you ever been caught gossiping?  There is so much shame.  So much shame in knowing I couldn’t stop myself.  So much shame knowing I cared more about hearing what was wrong in someone else’s life than about doing something to build them up.  So much shame knowing that feeling like I was being included was more important than reaching out to the person who was being left out and singled out.

It’s so ugly.  It’s so mean.  We are better than this.   We need to shut it down and shut ourselves up.

P.S. Any information or conversations I have with ANYONE I keep confidential.  Recently, I have experienced a situation where that same courtesy was not given to me.  And it hurt.  I got hurt.

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Finding Joy

It’s been a week since I started this challenge of vulnerability.  My therapist says that I have vulnerability issues.  I laughed when she said that.  I laughed because it was one of those moments when your life is completely shaken by one simple observation.  One simple observation that explains a thousand moments of stress and regret.  I have a hard time being vulnerable.  But then again, who doesn’t?

We are living in front of screens and not people.  We are texting and not talking.  We are listening to podcasts and not to people.  And everything we consume appears perfect.  Perfectly dressed, perfectly posed, perfectly lit, perfectly photo-shopped and perfectly captioned with the perfect #Hashtag.   And I’m guilty.  I’ve tried so hard to keep up.  To fit in online.  To get more likes or comments.

The night my therapist told me I have vulnerability issues I went on a walk.  I decided to listen to a podcast during my walk and absolutely by chance clicked on a podcast conversation between Oprah and Brene Brown.  Just so happens Brene Brown was talking to Oprah about vulnerability.  It was a God moment for me.  How could the conversation with my therapist and my random choice of podcast be a coincidence?  I had something to learn and I could have walked for hours listening to the knowledge of this woman who also struggles with vulnerability.  And here’s what I learned.  Without vulnerability we have no authenticity, no creativity and make it explicitly difficult to ever really truly feel joy.

What does vulnerability have to do with joy you ask?  Well, if I build-up my walls to avoid feeling bad feelings (shame, guilt, fear, disappointment, regret etc.) how do good feelings make it through the walls?  It makes fundamental sense that you can’t isolate out the bad and only feel the good.  If I’m not willing to lean-in to the bad, I can’t lean-in to the good.  And I can admit that I don’t often feel joy.  Because I’m not sure how to lean-in to those moments.

Long-story short it came down practicing creativity creates comfort-ability with vulnerability, which in turn will lead to a more authentic state of self.  That’s where I’m headed.  So I’m writing, using my creativity and putting it out there.  Opening myself up and being vulnerable in the search for true, genuine and pro-longed moments of joy.

 

 

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What To Do When The Shower Curtain Falls On Your Head

I didn’t do a great job today.  Everything seemed fine at first, normal Saturday morning at home.  First nice day outside.  In fact, we were playing outside when Jason left to go get a haircut.  During the hour he was gone, the dog got out because Maria was playing with the front door.  {She knows not to play with that door – I’ve told her 6,000 times.  In fact, I had JUST told her not to play with the door.}.  So I ran frazzled down the driveway after the dog wondering if I had a recent enough picture of him on my phone to make flyers with {Also I wondered, has running always been this hard?}.

Got the dog back and was, you know, a little annoyed.  Carmelo of course just HAD to fall off his bike and get an incredibly minor red mark on his knee that prompted him to scream as if I had personally assaulted him.  {Does he not understand that I just chased the dog down the street and have not recovered emotionally OR physically from that?}.

Brelynn was, wait.  What was Brelynn doing?  I didn’t have time to check because Maria walked up to me and said she had to poop.  The problem was that she had her hand holding her rear.  A clear indicator that by “needed to” she meant “I already started to….”.  We rushed inside with the barely caught dog slung under my arm.  I was mad.  Really mad.  This was the 3rd time this week she pooped herself.  She is almost 5 and has been potty-trained since I’ve known her and I know this wasn’t an accident because she looked me clear in the face to tell me she just didn’t want to stop playing.  She willingly decided to poop herself. {What is she, 4?!}  My ability to clearly think was breaking down.  Angrier by the second.  I told her she was putting a pull-up on.  She started to scream in my face {not crying scream – angry scream}.  “Go to your room Maria, just get away from me right now.” I stormed {yes, stormed} past my other 2 kids rolling my eyes and shaking my head walking into the office where I often go to quietly curse.

The remaining 40 minutes was a power struggle of wills between myself and an almost 5-year-old.  Fits of rage from such a tiny body.  40 minutes of trying to be firm about the pull-up but not angry.  Not mean.  40 minutes of having to leave her room because her yelling and hitting were out of control {and so was I}.  When Jason got home she was sleeping.  Wore herself out.  I gave what I could of an exhausted run down of events and excused myself to take a quick shower.

It was a short shower.  Just enough to wash my hair, soap my pits and recklessly swipe a razor across my legs.  I pulled the shower curtain back when it happened.  The tension rod slipped and fell hard on my head.  It was loud.  Jason came rushing in to see me standing in the shower, naked, hurt, flawed and teary eyed.

So what DO you do when the shower curtain falls on your head?  You ugly cry.  Silently.  Into your towel.  And when it stops being quite so ugly and you can finally see through your sadness, you seek the Lord…..and ask him: What the heck?

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Fat Arms and Other Afflictions

I have fat arms.  I do.  I JUST DO.  Nothing will ever change that.  And I’m fully prepared that in no more than 10 years I will need to warn those around me to duck as I prepare to wave.

I have cellulite.  Sometimes I’m positive I can see cellulite ON MY ARMS!!!  My BIG. FAT. ARMS.

I also have a love for fitness and healthy eating.  You would NEVER KNOW THAT.  And for years it bothered me.  For YEARS I told my husband that what bothers me most about my fatness is that all these skinny people are looking at me thinking I’m fat for a reason.  Well folks, I want to publicly let you all know that I’m FAT because that’s how God wants me right now.  In college I had a pretty bad eating disorder.  I spent 2 hours on the treadmill every day (EVERY.SINGLE.DAY.) and ate less than 1,000 calories each day for over 2 years.  Get this: I never reached an unhealthy weight.  If you factor in math and science: HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!

My point is, if you think I’m fat because I eat too much that’s fine.  BUT what I’M uncovering is that this fatness is intentional.  I think that God has found an area of me that I need to surrender.  Not because surrender is a magic pill but because I need to learn to live the way in which He created me.  The way He created me was in His image.  Righteous.  Worthy.  GOOD.

Lots-O-Days, I don’t really like this fat girl.  But He does and He wants me to learn to like her too.  From a place of surrender.  Face down.  Maybe until I do that, I’ll stay in this place.  Accepting myself just as I am might be the greatest stronghold I’ll ever have to knock down.

P.S. Please don’t’ tell me not to use the word fat.  It’s my word and you can’t take it from me.

P.S.S.  If you are skinny and mean, I just want to let you know that I’m hilarious, generous, smart, have an impeccable sense of style and just generally a person that people like to be around.  If you are skinny and nice, bless you.  Let’s be friends!

P.S.S.S Dang it.  If I was really on the right track to liking myself, I would not have felt the need to tell skinny people how awesome I am (see P.S.S.).

P.S.S.S.S. Oh, I get it.  If I was on the right track I wouldn’t have written this post at all.