Letting go - Part 4

This is another post in my series on parenting/letting go.  It is in two sections.  Section I, I wrote after spending some quality time with my family in the beginning of September.  It was not complete/finished.  And after some recent developments, I wrote Section II today.

Section I

As I write this post, I'm covered in spit up, bubbles, tears, and some unidentifiable food item from lunch.  Pretty much like any other day.  But it's not really any other day.

In my heart, it's a very different day.

Earlier today, Grandma and Papa (my parents) left to go back home after spending a week together.  5 days in Lynchburg with my whole family, and two days back here in DC with my parents. I was so grateful to have the time with my family, and the extra hands this whole past week.  What a gift.

As Grandma and Papa were leaving, Hazel started to get fussy and became difficult to manage.  I wasn't sure what was wrong, but wondered if she just didn't want them to go.  She got used to them being around, and to having the extra attention.  This shift into sharing her parents with her new sibling has been hard on her.  Hazel cried when they left, and said to Grandma several times, "I want to go with you."  It fills my heart that she has such a connection to them.  But it hurt at the same time.  She was so sad to see them go.  And frankly, so was I.

When I put Hazel down for her quiet time today, she didn't want me to leave the room.  And Charlie didn't want to be put down either.  So I rocked a crying baby in one arm, and a crying toddler in the other.  My arm muscles burned and my heart ached, as I knew I'd eventually have to put one of them down.  To let one of them go, so I could tend to the other.

How wonderfully amazing and how wonderfully terrifying, to be needed so desperately.

Children need their parents.  And I was sad to see my parents go today.  For many reasons.

Section II

My father has a brain tumor.  A benign meningioma, which he was first diagnosed with in 2008.  He had invasive brain surgery in May of 2008, and most of the tumor was removed.  I wrote some about it here. We got word this past December after a routine MRI that the remaining part of the tumor is growing again.  And it's too large to do anything but another invasive surgery.  My parents decided to wait until this month to do another MRI to check the status of the tumor and plan for when the surgery should take place.  Yesterday was the MRI and since December, the tumor has grown upward and sideways, dangerously close to the brain stem.  My mom told me that she has been praying for a definitive answer... that after this MRI, things would be clear about what direction we needed to go in.  About whether another surgery would be a risk we absolutely needed to take.

Clarity was found.  Thank God for that.

Surgery is scheduled for October 10th at UVA.

My Dad is 73 years old.  I know that the tumor and impending surgery is on everyone's mind in my family.  But we don't talk about it much.

Since December, I've been slipping back into my normal coping strategies to deal with this whole tumor regrowth.  I've been avoiding.  I've been pushing it aside.  I've also been (conveniently) distracted by my pregnancy and having another baby.  Now that surgery is imminent, I am really trying to be more present with my feelings about it all.  It's not easy.  And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared.

After his first surgery in 2008, the road was hard, but eventually he recovered incredibly well.  He recovered probably 95% of his functioning.  So there is no reason to believe that he won't also do just as well this time.  The seeds of doubt threaten to creep into my thoughts... but the fact that we've been through this before and he has done so well, comforts me.  Also - my father is an angel, and his positive attitude and peaceful resolve about this surgery gives me hope.  It calms my heart.  He is a peaceful warrior, displaying major courage in the midst of having to go through this all again.

Each time we are together, it's there, in the back of my mind.  And each time he leaves, it feels harder and harder to let him go.

I can't help but think about the similarities, generation after generation... how children, of all ages, need their parents.  My children need me, and I need my mom and dad.  And it's always been that way.  We go through these phases in life of separating and coming back together.  I don't need them the same way I did when I was a child, but I still need them.  And there have been many moments in the past several months that remind me how hard it is sometimes, to do the separating.  It's hard to let go.

Hard for my children to let go of me.  Hard for me to let go of them.  Hard for me to let go of my parents.  Hard for my children to let go of their grandparents.  And I can reasonably assume, that it's hard for my parents to let go of their children and grandchildren, too.

Our human hearts can be so fragile, so vulnerable.  Oh, how we need each other.

It's times like these that bring all things back into perspective.  It's times like these that I remember to cherish every moment with those I love.  It's times like these that bring me closer to God in a big way.

This time, I am coming face to face with my vulnerabilities.  This time, I am choosing not to run from that which I am afraid.  And thus, in the presence of my honest, scared, shaking heart, I find my strength. 

I find it in my faith.  I find it in my family.  I find it in myself.  

In clarity, we will proceed.  Together, because we need each other.  And no matter what, all will be well.  

Lay it down

There are so many struggles in the lives and hearts of people I love today.  So many things on my mind.  About parenting, about loss, about responsibility.  About friendship, about work, about identity, and who I want to be in this life.  Life continues to get more complex, more deep, more involved with each new day that I experience.  Sometimes, I feel so overwhelmed in my thoughts, that I'm not sure what to do with them.  And in my life these days, there isn't a lot of time to figure out what to do with them.  Sometimes I write.  Sometimes I pray.  Sometimes I talk.  Sometimes I dance.  Sometimes I cry.  Most of the time, I distract myself with something else, which is the least successful strategy.  But each day, I'm learning as I go.  Learning more about about how to cope.  How I cope.  And how others cope.  I'm a person of faith.  I believe in God.  And I believe, as they say, that He won't give us more than we can handle.  More weight, more burden, more heartache.

That being said, some people are carrying huge friggin' loads.  And it sure can't be good for their backs.

Today this thought came to me.  If we want some relief from those burdens... if we want help to make it through... no matter what we believe... we've got to lay them down first.

Before we drown under the sea of confusion, get crushed under the weight of sorrow, or get burned by the heat of exhaustion... we have to lay it all down.   Before God, before a therapist, before your best friend, on your yoga mat.  Before your mom, before your neighbor, before your husband, on a hike in the gracious company of the natural world.

As long as you are safe in the process, it doesn't matter much where you put it.  But don't hold on.  You have to lay it down.

When you're lost in life, and don't know what to do next.  When you're not sure who you are or where you're going:  Lay it down.

When you're suffering under an immobilizing, black cloud of guilt or shame for choices you've made in the past:  Lay it down.  

When your beloved family member or friend is sick, facing surgery/treatment, or fading away:  Lay it down.

When you're devastated by loss and can't get your heart to stop reeling from the pain:  Lay it down.

When you're missing your best friend so much that you are sick from the separation - tell him/her.  Lay it down.

When the fear of making a million mistakes in parenting strangles you, and you don't know if you'll ever breathe deeply again:  Lay it down.

When depression creeps in and holds you underwater while the waves keep crashing overhead:  Lay it down.

When major disappointment strikes, and you don't know if you'll be able to recover:  Lay it down.

When you've been abused or treated as anything less than you are:  Lay it down.

When you look in the mirror, and don't like what you see there... When you feel like you're not worthy of happiness or good things or that you have nothing to contribute to this world - this is a lie.  Lay it down.

Anything that you NEED to pick up again at some point, will still be there.  Give yourself a break... don't hold on.  Be gentle with your heart.  Set aside your fears and your pride.  Ask for help.

Lay it down, and let someone/something else carry it for a while.

Welcome, Charlie

Dear Charlie,
You have been here with us for six weeks now, here on the outside.  Outside the walls of the cozy container in which you grew.  Inside this container is where you were when we came to know about you - in my body, which had already begun making room for you.  We then prepared our hearts, our lives, and our home, so that there would be room and we could contain you in those places, too.  Our smallish 3 bedroom townhouse has been reconfigured.  We have sorted and cleaned and purged things we no longer needed, in preparation for your arrival.  So we too, have been reconfigured and transformed by the idea of you, and now by your actual presence.  Now that  you are here on the outside.

I thought it would be more challenging to make the space that you would require... but it's not hard to make space for something you love so much.

You've only just arrived, but it somehow feels like you've been here all along.

We are all still adjusting, in many ways, to the newness of you.  To how small you are, and how we have to learn all over again how to care for one so fragile.  To your round-the-clock schedule, because you still need us so close.  To the tiny cries and sweet sounds that you make; they dance on the strings of our hearts and communicate so much.   To caring for you in addition to your big sister, and how to balance the intensity of it all.  But you are adjusting to us, as well.  Figuring out who we are, and why the three of us keep appearing in your blurry, farsighted, newborn view.  To our sounds, our smells, and the feel of our touch.  Figuring out that in our care, your needs are being met.  We are here for you.  You are safe,  you are fed, you are nurtured, you are loved.   (I cannot stop kissing your squishy little cheeks and your perfect mouth, your sweet belly, your adorable toes.  With me - a Quinones - as your mom, you will not suffer lack of physical affection.  I apologize in advance for your teenage years).

Your big sister, Hazel, is still working on all her feelings about your arrival.  She probably will for some time.  She has these moments of kindness and sweetness towards you, which make my heart do flips in my chest.  But sometimes she gets upset... especially when we have to take care of your immediate need before her not-so-immediate need.  Like stopping a game that we are playing in order to feed you.  She is still too young to comprehend the changes.  Change is hard, especially when it means that she will have to share our time and attention.  Things are different for her now.

The first time Hazel met you, your Dad wanted it to be a special introduction, with only the four of us present.  So Hazel came into the hospital room, at first a bit scared and unsure of the environment.  We consoled her, and told her that everything was okay.  We told her that her baby sister was no longer in Mommy's tummy - that she had arrived.  Then she sat tentatively on the bed with us, looked at you with a mixture of emotions, and said, "Hi, baby Charlie," as she patted your head.  She handed you a stuffed green frog - her welcome gift for you.  This made your Dad cry.  Then your Mom cried, too.  Then Hazel cried, because she didn't really know what was going on, and why everyone was acting so weird.  She'll understand one day, as we retell the story in the future.  I hope we can capture the beauty, depth, sweetness, and vulnerability of that moment when you met your big sister for the first time.   

I am so grateful that you are here.  I am so grateful for your good health.  All ten fingers and toes, and a gorgeous head of full, black hair.   And I am overwhelmed by your beauty - it is endless.  Words cannot describe what I feel, when I look into your deep blue eyes.  Sometimes I feel like you are communicating with your expression... your eyes seem to say "I need you."  I need you, too, baby girl.  You have made me a mother once again.  I don't know if there is any experience in life that is more beautiful, more humbling, more intensely unique.      

All things considered, we are still adjusting to our new lives, with you here on the outside.  But we are thrilled to have become a family of four, because of you.  We know that we are insanely lucky to have you here with us... and are so very, very blessed by you already.

Thank you, baby Charlotte.  And welcome to our world.

Letting go - Part 3 (A moment of surrender)

After 35 years of getting to know myself, I would consider myself someone with a type B personality.  Fairly laid back, go with the flow... not someone who pushes time or schedules or (subsequently) arrives on time to most places.  There is something about becoming a parent that has turned me into more of a time-keeper.  There is this inherent focus on schedules, as we move into the role of caring for babies and children.  The importance of routine.  And there is something else, too, which I think can be categorized as this need to be in control as a parent, to accomplish the demands and responsibilities that this role requires.  You always hear how consistent discipline and structure are good for kids... which for the most part, I think is true.  And as parents, we become the discipline-rs and the structure keepers.  It is our JOB, to create a sturdy frame within which children can grow and develop and flourish. 

And it can be challenging, because children rarely want to keep a schedule or a routine.  They've got THINGS to do, and their OWN time frame that they want to do them in. 

Hazel and I took a walk around the neighborhood recently, on a warm sunny day.  If you've ever taken a walk with a two-year old, you know how not relaxing/stress-inducing this can be.  Mostly it involves lots of stopping to inspect rocks and tree branches and bugs, and constantly intervening when said two-year old tries to run into the street or pick the neighbor's flowers or run up to knock on other people's doors or hang out on their front stoop.  We were already behind schedule on this particular day, as we typically are.  But Hazel really wanted to go outside, so we went for a quick stroll (ha) so she could enjoy the nice weather and we could avoid a tantrum. 

As the "quick stroll" turned into a long-winded full blown nature adventure, I found myself getting more and more frustrated.  Rushing her along more and more.  "We still have to fix and eat lunch, and then change her diaper, and then read books, and then put her down for a late nap, which will mess things up at bedtime...."  These were the thoughts running through my head.  I felt like I was pushing and pushing, and it was quite ineffective.  Like trying to squish a giant ball of slime into a tiny box.  The more I pushed, the more Hazel wanted to wander along.  And eventually, she just sat in the grass and started picking dandelions, one of her new favorite things to do.

We've been in this situation many many times before.  And sometimes, after I've given her the 5 minute/3 minute/1 minute warnings and she still refuses to come willingly, I pick her up and carry her inside. Sometimes screaming and crying... sometimes not.  Being super pregnant, my feet hurt and my back ached.  I was physically tired from all the standing and walking and redirecting, and I was mentally tired from trying to coax and push and rush Hazel to get back home.  And I really didn't feel like picking her up and carrying a screaming 28-pound girl all that way back. 

So I dropped the fight, mostly from sheer exhaustion, and I plopped myself down in that grass with her.  And what I felt in that moment was remarkable.

I felt immediate relief.  I felt almost weightless, like a huge burden had been lifted.  I felt a swelling of peace.  Hazel beamed, and said "Mommy sit down!"  She picked dandelions and then handed them to me so I could blow away all the quills into the warm, spring breeze.  I noticed, for the first time, how full and green the grass looked and how comforting the rays of sun felt on my arm.  I watched Hazel, and I really saw her.  I saw the delight and the contentment on her face.  I saw how her hair moved, across her sweet sturdy shoulders as she reached for another flower to pick.  We didn't say much... and that was okay.  I had instantly moved from the spinning, pushing thoughts in my head, to a sensory awareness of all that surrounded me.  We sat there for some time.  I'm not sure how long.  And it didn't really matter.

I was more relaxed than I had been in a long time.  Because I decided, in that moment, to let go.

I've been thinking a lot, in the last several years of my life, how important it is to let go from time to time.  We live in a society that thrives on busy - thrives on the constant push of life.  We love, and sometimes even NEED, to be in control - to accomplish and achieve and organize and produce.  To check off our to do lists, and multitask and juggle.  But in spite of all this striving... in spite of all that we achieve in a day, do we really feel at peace? 

I think real peace comes in these moments of surrender.

These moments, when we move out of our minds and into our bodies.  Into our senses.  Into what is happening around us, as it is happening.  When we let go of our attachment to how we think things ought to be, or to an outcome we think we have to achieve.  When we surrender our own will, to the will of the present.  There is so much beauty to be felt and to be seen in it...  so much that we often miss, when we grasp the reigns too tightly and fight to manage it all.  

All things considered, I know this isn't always easy.  But it was a memorable day for me, as my two-year old guided me and taught me about the art and the importance of surrender.  Of letting go of our schedule and our routine and all that I thought we needed...  to experience something so much greater. 

I hope to always carry this moment with me as a reminder, to let go when something greater calls. 

"The greatness of a man's power is the measure of his surrender."  ~William Booth

Why Pinterest and I aren't friends

So we strive for perfection in the areas in which we can control, and that isn't necessarily what provides contentment and joy for ourselves, and more importantly, for our children. 

~Sarah Jessica Parker

I woke up on Sunday, March 17th this year, and logged onto Facebook.  It was a sea of green. The overwhelming majority of posts I were seeing had to do with St. Patrick's Day (which I had totally forgotten about. Oops.).   St. Patty's Day clothes and decorations and parties and holiday-inspired foods for kids... links to Pinterest all over.   I was pretty sure that I had failed miserably at being a mom-type person because I forgot that the holiday even existed.  I literally said to my husband, "Are we bad parents because we didn't make green eggs and shamrock-shaped pancakes and hide a pot of gold for Hazel today?"  

Valentine's Day is pretty much the same for me.  So much hype.  So much consumerism.  I just don't get into it.  And there is a real pressure that I feel from society today, that I should really be getting into it.   Everyone is doing it!  You are not a good mom or wife or sister or daughter or friend, if you don't do it all.  If you don't buy cards for everyone and decorate everything and make your own holiday-themed treats.  Blahhhh.  Bah hum bug.  Somewhere in my mind, I seem to associate the plethora of holidays and the celebrations of said holidays with Pinterest, as they seem to reinforce each other or feed off of each other or give each other reasons to exist.

I've been an avid Pinterest avoider, basically since it came on the scene.  I've never really been good at crafty-type things, or decorating, or cute, stylish home improvements.  I took an art therapy course in grad school.  I felt like I was having a major crisis, because I realized that I can't draw, and I am basically horrible at creating visual art.  "Why didn't they do a better job of teaching us to draw in elementary school!!  I can't communicate/express anything through this medium!!"  These were the thoughts running through my head.  It was very frustrating and NON-therapeutic for me.  I digress.

The only thing that I think I could get into with Pinterest are the recipes.  I DO like food.  I like making food.  And I like getting access to new ideas on making food and good recipes for food-making/creating.  I do not really care to make food that looks like cars, or trains, or animals, or people.  I like food that tastes good, and looks like food.

Don't get me wrong - I have no problem with people out there who love Pinterest, or are inclined in this way.  Or who love to make cute, fun, crafty-type things.  I secretly admire people with these talents and skills, because I don't possess them at all.  But there is SOMEthing about the whole Pinterest thing (or maybe what it represents) that really bugs me.  And after thinking it through, I think it might have something to do with these two ideas:

1)  Real life is not cute, or tidy, or neatly color coordinated.   Life is so often messy, imperfect, and doesn't fit into pretty gold boxes.   Life hangs out over the side of that pretty box, and paint gets smeared/smudged, and the icing on that delightful bunny cake melts.  The cute bunny tail ends up looking more like poop.  Whether we like it or not. (Pinterest fail boards?  There are many). Something about Pinterest feels like pretending.  It takes me back to the ideas/image-conscious culture of the 1950s, where women had to be all, do all, look amazing at all times, and never complain.  ICKY.  This may be a stretch, but something in my brain draws this link... from that era (which we have come so far from), to a whole different culture today in a technology-centric world, and a website where everything is perfect and amazing and shows you how to organize your life in neat color-coded boxes.  Where you can get ideas to throw the BEST, most perfect birthday party for your child, with the cutest party favors and matching decor ideas and matching food.   It's nice, but it's just not real life to me.

2)  There is too much pressure to do too much, that doesn't really MEAN enough.    
This idea is not directly linked to Pinterest itself, but is related.  For me, I want to focus on being emotionally present and available for my children.  I want to make sure that their basic needs of food, shelter, affection and love are provided for, to the best of my ability.  I want to teach them and guide them, discipline them, and also learn how to let them go... as they grow away from me into independence, little by little every day.  These things fill my mind and my heart to the brim.  And most of the time, I am overwhelmed by these tasks.  These joys and weights of being a parent.  And I just don't think we need the expectation to do more - like throwing the perfect birthday party or holiday party or creating the best Easter basket - in order to feel like good parents.  It's all just too much.  And what does it really mean?  Sometimes we can get caught up in/distracted by the hoopla... and it's possible that we neglect other things in the process.  Things that I think are more important in the grand scheme of it all.

I'm all about reveling in the imperfect, in this phase of my life.  About embracing my messes and flaws and learning to accept myself for who I am.  About trying to release this unnecessary pressure to be more than I am.  Some days, I strive to keep my head above water... to keep myself and my family well and functioning.  Some days are hard.  Some days are beautiful.  Some days are relaxed.  Some days are mind-numbingly tedious.  And most days are a mixture of it all.  But this is the life that I seek - to live in the nitty gritty, authentic moment.  To take it all in... to feel truly alive and awakened to all that is real.

Not to seek perfection in anything, but to seek acceptance and love in everything.

All things considered, this is why Pinterest and I aren't friends.  For now.  I realize that I haven't really given her a chance.  Maybe someday I will change my tune.  But this is my take for the time being.

The fact of storytelling hints at fundamental human unease, hints at human imperfection.  Where there is perfection, there is no story to tell.  ~Ben Okri

Vulnerability: finding our communities of healing

The topic of vulnerability has been on my mind and heart in recent weeks and months, as it seems to be popping up everywhere around me lately.  (A message, God?)  My friend from college, Trinity, who writes a wonderful, heart-wrenchingly open, inspiring blog, has been recently discussing how to start a vulnerability revolution.  We've all been dealt very different lots in life, but all of us are broken in some way.  We are human beings, imperfect by nature.  And most of us work so hard to hide our imperfections and our struggles, rather than letting our brokenness be revealed.

Which is kind of a catastrophe for all of us.  Because real beauty can be found in brokenness.

In a church we have been visiting for the past several months, the pastor spoke a few weeks back on vulnerability.  He said to love at all, is to be vulnerable; to be broken.  The pastor said that for most of us, one of our greatest fears is the fear of being vulnerable...

He said, if only we had the courage to show up and let ourselves be seen, that maybe we would develop communities of healing instead of communities that fight in fear.  

Communities of healing.  To really heal, we must first have the courage to allow ourselves to be broken.

Brene Brown, in her TED talk on the Power of Vulnerability, also talks about the importance of letting ourselves be seen.  (If you have never seen this, I beg you to watch.  She has done some life-changing research in this area, and presents some of it here).

As the topic surrounds me, I have been inspired to cultivate my own thoughts more deeply and meditate on this concept of vulnerability, reflecting on my own experiences.... and I think I've come to four theoretical points that are applicable, at least for me.

1) You have to believe that your feelings are valid and worthy of sharing. 

Brene Brown says that "people who have a strong sense of love and belonging, BELIEVE that they are worthy of love and belonging."  And, "The one thing that keeps us out of connection is our fear that we are not worthy of connection."  

Somewhere along the line during my childhood/adolescence/growing up, I developed the perception that there was little time, space for, or validity to, my feelings.  I started to focus instead on the feelings of others, and deemed them more important than my own.  I remember occasionally having these ridiculous outbursts of emotion, when I couldn't contain my feelings any longer in a particular situation.  I lacked a healthy way of expressing them, and didn't have much guidance in navigating the great sea of feelings that were washing over me.  I still struggle sometimes with the notion that my feelings are not as valid or worthy or important as those of others.  Or that I can contain/manage them on my own.  Or that if I open myself a little, the flood gates will come crashing down and that no one will want to deal with that.  These things often keep me from sharing my more difficult emotions, and as a result, from experiencing real vulnerability and intimacy/connection.  All things that I should probably address in therapy.  Which means, I should probably start going to therapy.  

2)  Being vulnerable is hard. And so is figuring out just how vulnerable we're supposed to be.

Most of us run like wild hyenas at the thought of being vulnerable with someone else.  The thought of being exposed.  Of not being in control.  Of ourselves and our emotions.  It can be terrifying.  Many of us fill our lives with all kinds of things that distract us or help us to avoid our feelings:  working too much; drinking too much; prescription pills and other drugs; eating too much or eating too little;  extremely busy schedules with activities/events/so many things to do, etc.  But we all have problems and pain... and we need to allow ourselves, somehow, to be present with this instead of denying or running or distracting or pushing the pain away.  That being said, I'm not sure that living in a CONSTANT state of vulnerability is supposed to be maintained.  I believe that there are times to be wide open and to feel what we feel, and there are times to power through and to keep moving (with acceptance, not denial).   Both of these things take courage - in different ways.  Finding the right balance is hard.  I think that remaining in a state of constant vulnerability could be debilitating for some people.  And remaining in a state of constant stoicism is not healthy, either.  It is necessary to admit our feelings, to acknowledge them... to accept them, in order to resolve them.  And it is necessary to move on from them.  To move forward, somehow, out of our pain.  Different people will accomplish this in different ways, and in different times.  And some of us need to go back and deal with unresolved pain, or it can unconsciously affect how we live our lives. 

3) There is a real fear of overburdening others (who have their own sets of problems and pain).

My best friends and I call this phase of life that we are in the "dirty thirties."  Huge shifts in identity taking place (which always involves loss), and many difficult situations that we couldn't have imagined when we were in our (much more carefree) twenties.  The stress of raising young children, the huge weight of expanding responsibilities, the devastation of unexpected traumas, painful losses through divorce and death and infertility, facing the mortality of our parents as they age and suffer illness, medical problems, financial concerns, career struggles, etc.  Tough stuff... and everyone is going through something.  Or multiple things.  So I worry a lot about sharing my heart with those who are already hurting, as I don't want to give them more burden.  More weight.  This is another thing that keeps me from being vulnerable with people who I care about.

4) Not everyone or every place is meant to be a safe space.   

We have to know and understand which people and which situations are going to be supportive and healthy for us to open ourselves to.   Otherwise, if we let our guard down and someone (whether intentional or unintentional) doesn't handle it well, it can be very damaging.  We may close off and have a very hard time opening up again.  For some of us, ever.  So it is important to know ourselves, and to know which people and places are "safe spaces" for our hearts.  For being vulnerable/practicing vulnerability.  For some, it's a therapist.  For some, it's a pastor/priest/rabbi/religious person.  For some, it's a close friend or family member or partner.  For some people, it's not a person, but a place or a community - like church, or yoga, or AA, or performing on a stage, or writing. And for some, it's a spiritual/religious figure - like God - that they feel comfortable letting themselves be completely vulnerable with.   For me, two safe spaces that immediately come to mind are my husband (who I allow to see some, but not all), and when I'm alone, on my knees before God.  

For these four reasons and probably others, I often struggle with allowing myself to be truly vulnerable. I had a conversation with one of my best friends recently, who told me that sometimes she is not sure how to love me, or care for me well.  It took a lot of courage for her to share these feelings, and it really had an impact on me.  I'm so grateful for her.  We had a wonderful conversation about vulnerability and how we both struggle with it.  And how sometimes it's the hardest thing in the world to say, "Hey, I'm not really okay.  I'm hurting." Or "I'm struggling. And I need help."  Even to our best friends.  Such simple words, yet so complex to get around our own brains and pride and fears to get them out.

I am realizing that writing is helping me to be more openly expressive with my feelings.  It is giving me  the space and liberty to explore different parts of my life and topics that are important to me.  I am finding it to be a helpful medium, to practice being more candid, more real, and more free discussing some of the things that I wrestle with or that lay on my heart.  And, it is still terrifying.

I have felt more vulnerable in the past year of writing in this blog, than I have in a long time.  This blog is helping me to pursue vulnerability;  to learn about the crooked path that leads me to myself, and to work through some things in the process.  

Why do that in a public forum, rather than a personal journal?  You might ask.

Because... I am trying to have the courage to show up, and to let myself be seen.  And because I am hoping, that in doing so, I might connect with others in some way and contribute to a community of healing.

A community of brokenness, and of beautifully broken people.

A community of honesty.

A community of hope.  

All things considered, this post is both a meditation on the topic of vulnerability, and an exercise in vulnerability for me (as most of them are).  One year later, I am so grateful for this writing/blogging journey.  This chipping down and stripping away, little by little, of the things that I have built up around myself in order to avoid being vulnerable.  And I want to say thank you to those who take the time to read these words.   Thank you for supporting me with your presence, and participating in my community.

   

Living with our 2 year-old/Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

A child is a curly, dimpled, lunatic. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Today was a hard day.  At this current moment, I stay home with my daughter two days per week (and I work the other three days).  I cherish my time with her always, and typically we have a good time together.  Of course there are always challenges, but the ebb and flow is usually quite manageable.  But the last 4 months or so, things have been getting much more interesting (aka, tantrum central).  This morning began with a fight to brush teeth, a fight to change a diaper, a fight to get dressed, and then a fight to eat breakfast.  And that was just the beginning.  I was so hopeful for a good day, as yesterday's report from the grandparents was that Hazel was very pleasant all day.  She ate well, she took a 3 hour-nap, and was overall in a happy mood.  No reported difficulty or wild tantrum-like behavior.  

She apparently saves all of her Mr. Hyde-ness for me and our days at home together.   Which is my preference, but still.  Phew.

The day before yesterday, Easter Sunday, began with perhaps one of the biggest tantrums to date (of course, on a day when we have somewhere to be - church - with the whole family).  And sometimes it's the smallest things that trigger the tantrum.  Like cutting a bagel to the appropriate size for a two-year old to eat.  "BACK ON!!!  BACK ON!!!!"  She screamed.  (Which means, put the bagel parts back together.  Seal it back up with imaginary glue so I can hold the giant bagel and drop it on the floor several times).  From that point on, it just went downhill.  The screaming, the crying, the refusing to eat anything else.  Then the refusing to let us change her diaper.  Refusing to get dressed for church.  And so on.  We try to distract her with other things and then do what needs to be done.  Sometimes this works.  Sometimes it doesn't, and things evolve into a full-on tantrum and then us physically forcing her to change her diaper/get dressed/brush teeth, what have you.  It's not pretty.

Fighting and forcing are not words that previously existed in my vocabulary before parenthood.   At all.  I do not love doing it.  (This is an understatement).  It is exhausting.  Both physically and emotionally.  

Most of today involved fighting and forcing.  But then, there were these moments of loveliness smooshed in between the struggle.  Dr. Jekyll came back and made a few appearances.  We went out to lunch, and when we walked in the door Hazel said "Hi!" very sweetly to the hostesses.  They beamed at her, and Hazel followed enthusiastically to our table.     She even ordered her own meal.  The server came over and Hazel said confidentially and seriously, "Grilled cheese, please."  It was hilarious and adorable.  So grown up.  2 going on 12.

And then after lunch, she proceeded to run wildly through a busy parking lot, refusing to hold my hand.  And when I told her, sternly, that she needed to hold my hand or I would carry her, she just wriggled away and ran off.  I swooped her up and carried her to the car, screaming.   A tantrum ensued, and I had to physically lay on top of her to get her into her car seat and buckled up.  It took quite some time, and is no easy task for a lady who is 7 months pregnant (this is another understatement).   I kept looking around, wondering if someone might be trying to call Child Protective Services.   I was prepared to defend myself.  "I promise she is my child!  I'm not hurting her!  She is a toddler!"  That should explain it.

2 going on 12, going on 2.

We get home, and things don't get much better.  Nap time: fight.  Dinnertime: fight.  And according to the book on discipline that I am currently reading, it is important for parents to not get emotional.  To stay neutral and firm.  So I do that.  But I tell you, not reacting to an emotional child emotionally, is HARD.  I completely understand now why moms or dads who stay home with young children are so eager for happy hour to arrive.  "Is it five o'clock yet???  How about four?!?"  Because their nerves are frayed completely and need a little something to relax.  Even on a good day, I love a glass of wine.  I unfortunately (currently) cannot partake in happy hour as a coping tool on these hard days.  Or for a while to come, because I plan on breastfeeding this baby, too.  Maybe I should rethink that, with a 2 year-old to take care of at the same time... nah.  I jest.  But life without wine these days can be brutal.

There is no happy ending to this post, or way to tie up the message with a pretty bow.  Sometimes, parenting young kids is just hard.  The day ended with forcing a screaming child into bed.  And then crying in my hot shower.  I know this is a temporary phase, and things will get better.  I know all parents must go through it.  I know every child is different, each child's temperament is different, and each age group is different.  And these challenging behaviors are developmentally normal. (Terrible twos, anyone?) And I'm trying not to feel like a failure as a mom because we had a rough day.  Discipline is tough for me, and sometimes being consistent is the hardest thing to do when I'm worn down on all sides.  But I know it's what we have to do; what we have to strive for.  We sometimes have to fight and force and do the difficult dance.  Pick our battles?  Absolutely.  Assessing and negotiating what we must be firm on and what we can let slide, is a demanding, constant facet of parenting.  And some days, I am better at it than others.  

It's just the way it goes.  And I still have so much to learn.  So much.  For now, I'm doing my best.

All things considered, knowing that we are not alone in the universal world of parenting, makes days like these a bit easier to swallow.    

So here's to all the moms and dads, crying in the shower, doing the dance, and fighting to raise the best tiny humans that you can.

I'm with you.