She's on Her Way

I had an unexpected reaction to being a one-person support staff for Macy’s senior photo shoot on Sunday. I had our wagon with the makeup, outfit changes, lint roller, etc. As we wheeled to the first area of the park, we passed the playground. There were toddlers everywhere.

My body went right back. It was like rewinding an old VHS tape. I’m immediately there. To all those afternoons in the grass. So many viewings of Finding Nemo. Big belly laughs. A million frozen blueberries after we picked them for the first time. Reading side by side (we still do this on occasion).

People say we look alike. We joke that we just have similar taste in glasses.

She has always been herself. From that first day of kindergarten where she left with her chin up and did not look back, I knew. She dressed herself in wild patterns in preschool and I did not say a word.

We go to the first site and the photographer is checking light. We’re laughing. She looks beautiful, and young. This is her first look and it’s meant to be a little youthful. She’s so beautiful, I can barely look at her. My heart is bursting.

I begin texting my best friends. I’m freaking out. It’s too much. The beauty is overwhelming. Guys, I was not prepared for being in my feelings! I was thinking about logistics.

We hustle to the bathrooms because my girl does not want to change behind blankets we hold up. Her next look is more how she feels now, her theater self. It’s more modern, whimsical. We purchased a quill and leather-bound book for the occasion. We head to the garden. More laughter. Our photographer pays me an unexpected compliment. It registers with kindness.

We’re in a field. We’re mentioning the cool feature on the back of the dress. She’s natural. We even see her teeth in a few shots. We’re having fun.

She’s so composed. She’s always been a serious person. I respect her so much.

We race back to the bathroom for the final look. It’s more edgy. The most adult. Our photo shoot is running over time. Should I pay her more? I brought cash in the exact amount plus tip. Shoot.

We walk down the lane where we took family pictures two years ago, where we will be again in a few weeks the three of us. But tonight is about just one person. This person who is becoming. I’m watching this shot be taken and I think, my God, she is a woman.

Yes she is wearing my clothes and we’re still working on driving, but she is a woman. I text my friends, when did this happen?!?

I see her childhood dimples and her first audition at eight years old. I see her face disappointments and still celebrate those who got what she wanted. I see her rolling her eyes at her sister, and learning how to push back in our relationship. I see her. I see her. I see her.

In all our primary relationships, we project. I saw this so clearly when I left my long-term marriage. We project so much onto people we care so deeply about. It’s normal. It’s inevitable. It is tragic.

I want to see her so clearly. I have always wanted that. And I know, too, that no mother ever fully witnesses her daughters clearly. We see them and there are hidden parts. This is part of it. But my God, have I tried to witness. And I will keep trying. Forever.

She’s always belonged to herself. And that remains.

I cannot describe how incredibly beautiful it it to watch a woman become. I see every version of her I’ve known. I imagine future versions of her, God willing. And I adore every. single. one.

I can’t help but imagine that this might be how God sees us. And how we must see ourselves. I’ve spent the past few years really adoring old versions of me. Versions who were afraid of her own power. Versions that loved so hard and tried too much. Versions that meant well and were so terribly wrong. I see her. I see her. I see her. I love her. Look at her become.

If God is outside of time, can they see us in all our versions at the same time? Is mothering the closest thing to God?

I know I’ve never loved anyone as much as this child. And I know I never will. (and of course, her sister, too).

I don’t parent from a sense of who I think my kid should be. That never made sense to me - to the point, that I’ve always been clear that I have no idea who my kid should be. I love her hard and I try to live my life in integrity. I give her access to supports and community that I think she may enjoy. I feed her and hug her. I listen to know her well. That’s it.

All of that to say, I fucking cherish her beyond all else. The beauty radiating from her on Sunday is so much more than youth and actual physical beauty. She is wise. She is grounded. She is powerful. She’s fucking magic.

I live with a lot of privilege. My job reminds me every single day what a gift it is to do it. But the greatest privilege of my life has been standing on the sidelines watching these kids as they become. My God, what a gift.

Obsession with Innocence

As Jonathan VanNess would say, “I’m strugs to func” right now guys. (I told you it was the summer of Queer Eye). My kids both start new schools tomorrow and both situations are not what I was hoping for. One didn’t get into the arts school we dreamed about for years and the other didn’t get the accommodations I was hoping she’d get to adjust well. I’ve struggled with my feelings about this since we started pursuing the options we ended up not getting back in January. And being rejected from those opportunities was really painful and scary for me as a mom.

Tonight, I’m on the cusp of that transition. Tomorrow is the first day of school. Macy will take the bus for the first time, change classes for the first time, have a phone on her for the first time, and just freakin’ be in middle school (the school that everyone I know says is basically the worst place on the planet…still not sure how this is helpful?!?!) And Penny will start at “regular” school (as opposed to Montessori) in a beautiful brand new building with basically no one that she knows. She missed her old teacher tonight meeting her new one. She struggled on the playground equipment. She asked about what it would be like when we left her there tomorrow without anyone she knows.

I’m scared. I’m scared my kids are not ready because I don’t feel ready. I’m scared they’re going to get hurt and I won’t be there to protect them. I’m scared that the adults in charge of them are overworked and understaffed and will miss important things. I feel shame. I feel like I need to be able to control all the things and the fact that I can’t means I’m not a good mother. I know that’s not true but shame is a liar and I am crying tonight with those thoughts.

I’ve done the work to recognize the source of this shame. Between my exclusively Christian education and the purity culture movement, somehow I’ve learned that I’m not capable (so now my kids aren’t) of handling the awfulness that is the big bad world. I’ve learned that innocence is the most important thing - the thing to protect at all costs. I’ve learned that once it is lost there is no way to get it back. You are forever changed in the worst possible way. I feel really backed into a corner because the kids are in situations that I wouldn’t have chosen and cannot prevent. And we don’t have other choices. So somehow, whatever happens to them in these environments represents my inability to “save” them (hello codependency!) from certain, unredeemable doom.

I really think there’s something here. Some sort of parent-based shame. We are taught to be obsessed with innocence. That morality and purity must remain perfectly in tact in order for our kids to be happy and healthy and safe.

Here’s the thing, guys: THAT’S FUCKING BULLSHIT.

I know it. You know it. Thank God, my husband knows it and has been talking me down through my tears for months. Pain teaches us stuff. If my kids aren’t capable, guess what, the experiences they have will increase their capability! If they are never challenged or shocked or even harmed, how can they grow and learn and hold the pain that life will inevitably bring in adulthood?!?! How can they be compassionate if they’ve never needed compassion? How can they learn to be kind if they’re never treated poorly? Sometimes life lessons are waiting for us on dangerous barely-supervised bus rides and on playgrounds where you cry in fear and adults don’t hear you.

I’m scared. But I’m resolute. We are present, capable parents who will go to bat for our kids if needed. In the meantime, class is in session.

Just a Person

This is the summer of Queer Eye, in the sense that I’ve been privileged (thank you, library!) to get my hands on all the books Queer Eye members have written. So far, that’s just the book from the show, Tan’s and now Karamo’s. Jonathan and Antoni both have stuff coming out soon too. It has been so much fun to spend hours on end outdoors with my boys (oh yeah, and my kids are swimming while I read too).

One of the lines from the first few pages of Karamo’s book jumped out at me. On page 4, he says, “Emotions do not happen in response to events, they happen in response to our thoughts around that event. Having the vocabulary to name your emotions helps you to see how the way you’re thinking is creating them.” (emphasis his). Tim and I had recently gotten into an argument and I was having a hard time shaking the isolation and resentment I felt in the aftermath of what was a pretty normal-beginning tiff.

When you’ve been partnered with someone for 16 years and you really care about being happy and connected (versus just trying to hang on for your whole life), you really can’t avoid working on your shit. And sometimes your person has reasonable needs but somehow your brain changes lanes into trauma/trigger territory. I realized, thanks to Karamo, Tim and my best friend Robin, that the minor issue with Tim became a trigger for a very real shame spiral that I have within me. Brene Brown, in her recent Netflix special, described it with the language of, “the story I’m telling myself is…” Recognizing the tapes that are playing in your mind, or the story you’re telling yourself, allows you to get underneath what is triggering the response and examine the response itself. If anything, normal conflict can give you a glimpse into what is still very tender within you.

It’s not super hard for me to figure out what or why I’m triggered by something. I’m pretty clear on my stuff, not that I don’t have any blind spots, but I’ve been doing this self-work for years and I have a partner who also has done a lot of work on himself and with me in our relationship. The thing I’m getting into now is, how do I re-write the tapes? How do I take a shitty, harmful narrative and turn it on its head? I’m working on creating a few mantras that I can post around the house to affirm what the shame spiral is trying to deny me. In this case, my brain wants me to continue the narrative that my needs aren’t as important as the needs of my family. It’s easy to trace that hang-up back to how our culture socializes girls, how fundamentalism elevated service over self and how having a family of entrepreneurs emphasized performance. Throw in perfectionism and it’s so clear and reasonable why rest and happiness are something I have to work hard to pursue. So the mantra is “I deserve to be happy and rested.” As simple as that mantra appears, it’s hard for me to hold it, especially if that means I am equating my happiness as being AS IMPORTANT as the happiness of my partner and children. But if I can make that concept the lens through which I negotiate my responsibilities to my family, I don’t have to revert to the well-worn path of the mother/wife martyr. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. That is what the black and white brain wants to tell me. That I’m selfish or holy. When really, am I either? I am just a person who loves and who deserves love.

Perfectionism and Graduate School

I've written here quite a bit about my perfectionism. I think putting myself in a graduate program, especially one that isn't an obvious choice based on my bachelor's degree, and also waiting 15 years to do it, is going to challenge my perfectionism in a way I hadn't quite predicted. It seems so obvious to me now, especially as I experienced a shame spiral this morning getting my first professor feedback on a paper. I've been writing publicly for a long time now, but not for a grade. Ironically, the feedback I've gotten from this blog has been mostly personal and so in some ways, much more difficult to process than something academic. And yet, having a professional who is insanely more educated than you are tell you all the things you missed in your assessment kinda hurts the pride a bit. The nature of this course I'm taking (Jesus in the Life of the Church) is tricky because the professor wants us to avoid doing any research when writing our papers. This is about building up what is already inside of us in order to be able to relate to Scripture as literature. It's really, really cool. But my confidence is a little shaken, especially because there are many people in the course who have an entire degree in this stuff. So even without research, their built in abilities are going to be way more honed than mine because of their education thus far. I know I bring life experience not just in my age but in my personal process of theology. I haven't dwelled in Scripture for many years (yelp!) but I have dwelled in the human desire to know God, walked the path of deconstruction and come out the other side of trauma healthier, more honest and less prideful. In a program like this, that matters and it's part of why I chose it.

My perfectionism wants to shame me because I didn't get an A on my first paper. My perfectionism starts talking in "shoulds". I should have known that I was making mistakes in my assessments. I should have understood that because the passage I've chosen in very short, it was going to make it that much more difficult to write 5 separate papers on it (it's only 7 verses!) I should have managed my time better so I could have had days in between writing it and turning it in so I could evaluate it in more than one head space. And on and on and on.

Here's the thing: I'm not taking this course to get a good grade. My ass kissing days are way behind me. I'm doing this to LEARN. Really learn. My world-weary self knows that this is part of learning. Taking the risk of writing to a PhD about topics that are brand fucking new to me and receiving feedback on it is pretty damn brave, in all honesty. And that risk I'm taking to do something new, something I love and being willing to be shaped by others in it is a risk well worth taking, now more than ever. Because now I know myself well enough to be able to have boundaries in the classroom (my perfectionism must be notified of this point). I don't have to internalize every opinion of every professor without my filters. I don't have to figure out his preferences in order to cater to his expectations. Of course, I need to take his feedback, consider it and do better next time. And I respect him immensely. His feedback was legitimate and helpful and will equip me to write the subsequent 4 papers (which will later turn into one monster paper by the end of the course). He was very kind and generous towards me. The grade was fair (and it wasn't bad - I got a B. So funny how that's TERRIBLE to a perfectionist!) The point is, my days of seeing a grade or an expert opinion and internalizing it to mean something about my personhood or value are done. I'm putting my stake in the sand and prioritizing process over perfection. I'm learning things that matter to me and I'm doing it on my terms. And I know I'm going to grow. Why? Because I am taking risks and I am learning from my mistakes. I can't do that if I plug my ears. And I can't do that if I just try to please my teachers. Learning for yourself is a whole new ball game. And finding the balance between ignoring feedback and internalizing it is a huge part of my personal growth.

Here's to my first steps!

BTW: the above pics are from my littles starting their first and last years of elementary. Might have something to do with my vulnerability to a shame spiral this week!!!

Your Kid Is Perfect. It's Okay That Your Kid Isn't Perfect.

The other day, it was hard to be my child's mother. Sometimes your child is going through things you can't really grasp. That alone is a source of pain and discomfort for me. Love means intimate knowledge in my world, so loving my children deeply and not having a firm grasp on something going on with them is scary and makes me feel insecure in my ability to mother them well. Adding in how an episode, regression, tantrum, or altercation affects a child, their environment and adults involved creates a potentially humiliating element as well. Shame is on the table. Embarrassment comes knocking. And on a hard day, it can be tough to contain those adult dynamics within yourself so they don't spill onto your child, who is already grappling with something very challenging.

On my hard day, in the midst of everything coming to a standstill, I wrote some affirmations for myself on my phone. It was all I could reach with a little person completely covering my torso. I wrote and wrote. I needed to affirm my experience, my process, my feelings in the moment. That is part of the skill set needed to not shame your child when you are toying with opening the door to the shame and pain knocking so loudly in your heart.

I decided to share those affirmations with you. I know so many people who have struggled with their children. I've written in the past about having my child assessed and being afraid of the results. That process is revisiting us right now and I want other parents to know that you are not alone. If you find yourself in a "moment" maybe a few of these will resonate with you while all the things begin running through your mind. Here's what I wrote to combat anything in my heart that wanted to come tumbling down:

It's okay to take a break.

It's okay to be upset.

You have nothing to be embarrassed about.

It's okay to be embarrassed.

Your kid is perfect.

It's okay that your kid isn't perfect.

It's okay to resent how hard it is to be your kid's parent today.

It's okay to be jealous of parents whose kid isn't hard to parent today (resist the temptation to believe that some parents have an easy day every day. It might look like it right now but that's not real. That's Instagram talking).

It's okay to stop what you were doing and comfort yourself and your child. For as long as you both need.

It's okay to resent that the trajectory of your day just changed without your consent and without any warning.

It's okay to be exhausted.

It's okay to be sad for your child. 

It's okay to be sad for yourself.

It's okay to be sad for the people who are confused, afraid or inconvenienced because of an interaction with your child.

It's okay to want to tell those people to go fuck themselves.

It's okay to want other people to "fix" your child (they can't and no one can but it's a human response to atypical behavior).

There are always more resources to support your child (not necessarily within yourself but that you can access when you have the energy to look). 

Your child is trying.

You are trying.

Your child's other parent is trying (even if they handle your child differently than you do).

Your child's teacher is trying.

Your loved ones are trying.

Sometimes trying does not solve problems.

Trying looks different for everyone and sometimes people's best is not even close to what your child needs. That's okay.

It's okay to go back to the drawing board in how you approach your child and their behaviors/abilities.

It's okay for them to regress.

It's okay for you to regress in patience, tolerance and energy.

It's okay to have no knowledge of what triggers a regression.

It's okay to want to be able to explain their behavior.

It's okay that sometimes there's no explanation for their behavior no matter how hard you try to connect the dots. This means sometimes the room will turn towards you to "solve" something and you will have to shrug.

It's okay to be angry at your child.

It's okay if you don't know what to do.

It's okay that not knowing what to do is the worst way for you to feel as a parent.

It's okay to not know what the future looks like for you or for your child.

It's okay for that fact to be very unsettling for you. 

This is not your fault.

This is not your child's fault.

This might be society's fault but you'll deal with that later.

Friends, you are loved. You are not alone. And neither is your child. Lean towards the pain and allow yourself to feel what you're feeling. But guide that process with these truths and any other words that may apply to your specific situation. You matter. Your child matters. And ultimately, whether the answers are found or the struggle is contained or not, love yourself, love your child and be at peace. Because your child is perfect and it's okay that your child isn't perfect. Just like you and me. Wherever they land on the bell curve, they're really no different from us, are they? Sometimes people just don't know what to do with them. So be it.

Not All Wandering is Fun

I haven't written in awhile. There are a few reasons, I think. Writing is a way for me to process my feelings, honor them and give them a mic. It's part of my self-care. I've been kind of down lately and I think sometimes when you need it most, self-care becomes a chore. It takes a certain amount of energy to even do the things that give you energy, you know? I think this is what life feels like for depressed people all the time. And I have to tell you, just in case you didn't know, it fucking sucks.

But eventually, I always find myself writing, thank God. I think putting myself out there in writing or in my business or even socially requires a base level of self-esteem and I don't often dip below that mark. I've been lucky that way. I'm very social and confident and I enjoy lots of personality types. However, lately, I've danced above and below it that base level of self-esteem. And it's funny to put yourself out there when you're not in a great place because I feel like our culture is all about the shiny and pretty and struggle just isn't those things. Yet, here I am.

I'm trying to figure out what my life should be about as my kids are no longer needing me as their foundation. Penny starts kindergarten in the fall and it's going to be awesome for everyone. We're ready and she's going to shine and I'm happy for her. On my side of things though, I've always told myself that when my youngest starts full-time school, it would be a season for me to focus more on myself, my personal development, my time to contribute to the world in a bigger way. I think being a full-time parent and part-time business operator has been a contribution to my children, my small family and to the greater community in so many ways. But now I'm ready to move out from behind that and venture out into the world a little more as an individual. It's funny because I've always prided myself on not over-identifying as a mother, which is such an easy trap. When you are everything to someone, you can get lost and start to think that's all you are. I really didn't want to do that to myself or my kids. And at the same time, I've been home with a little person for TEN YEARS. For only having two kiddos, that's a really long time (they're five years apart). And I'm starting to realize that the "what's next?" question is proving a little more frightening than I have expected it to be all these years.

So there's a possible whole-family transition on the horizon (especially if I decide to work full-time in a job) and the task of processing the end of a very long and sentimental phase of life in raising children. There's also the daunting reality that I have so many things I'm interested in doing. I made a list of all the environments I like, types of systems I could work within (schools, hospitals, universities, non-profits), jobs that would be cool and they all have things that intrigue me. Some of those things would require more schooling. All of them would require some intimidating re-working of my stone-cold resume. Also, I've had the immense privilege of having total control of my time for ten years (well, as much control as you can have with a little person attached to your leg). The compromises required to work with or for someone else is a piece of liberty I find challenging to potentially relinquish. But I find myself wanting a bit more structure and collaboration in my work life and being fully self-employed (I'll always do Shaklee so that will always be in play, thankfully) means that I am totally self-propelled and that's gotten a little isolating this year. 

And then there's my perfectionism...I don't want to make any compromises (being there to drop off and pick up my kids, being around in the summer, not working when my kids are off, etc) with my time. I want to know in advance it's going to be awesome, fulfilling and worth the sacrifice of my time and freedom. I want to make a real contribution to society so participating in certain systems that tend to cripple that makes me hesitant. I want to make good money, hopefully making the loss of some control worth it to me and to my family. I want to be challenged but able to do my work and I want my work to make a real difference. I want to prevent more pain to the people in the world. There's something gorgeous about treating current pain but I want to prevent new pain from occurring. When I was younger, I wanted to save the world for Jesus. Now I just want to save the world from ourselves. But there's a certain level of realism in me that wonders if that can ever really be. And if that can't ever really be, why go through all the scary shit to try? Hence, I've been in a bit of a dark cave lately.

It's too late for me to go to school in the fall. I can't make a ton of new money or I'll lose the awesome scholarship we were granted for Penny to do Montessori kindergarten next year (so stinking cool). But I don't want a lost year either. I want to keep writing. I want to figure out what's next. And I don't want to just do something or just take something to make this processing stop. I've got about 30 more years to work and I want to make them count. I want to be smart and strategic. But I also want to be realistic. And to be honest, I've always felt like I'm on the outside looking in at the world of people who just know how to navigate the world and all it's mysterious (to me) systems. I probably need some sort of career coach. Ugh. 

It Takes a Village

Sometimes parenting forces you to make adult decisions in spite of yourself. I think people view me as confrontational because I express myself publicly and I advocate for others boldly. But I don't know if people realize how difficult and draining interpersonal conflict is for me. I think I have empath-like qualities, requiring me to do a lot of work around how I am perceived and having healthy boundaries when people don't like me or don't understand me. But that work is painful and is actual work, as in, it isn't super comfortable or natural for me. It pushes me. I'm okay with that because I want to grow as a person and I don't want to be ruled by my weaknesses so I often face that work head on, but it is definitely work. 

I have also found that it is much easier for me to advocate for the needs of others than for my own. I think that's both because I am a care-taker, thereby elevating the needs of others above my own and being uncomfortable with having needs, and because advocacy is inevitably more personal and tense when it's about yourself. I've recently realized that my kids fall into the same category as myself, meaning, I struggle to advocate for my kids more than I do for a stranger. I want to minimize their needs like I want to minimize my own because I think that's how I will receive love and acceptance. Moms who make a stink get a reputation (and I recently had a real up-in-my-face, weeks long experience with this that was very, very painful). But it is a shameful, embarrassing thing to admit, that I am not naturally the confrontational, bad ass I am sometimes perceived to be on behalf of my children. Like, everyone knows good moms tear shit up if their kids get hurt. I tend to prefer to walk away with my tail between my legs than to throw punches in these situations. 

So I see my inclination and my natural response but I will not stay there. Because it sucks. And it's not good for my kids. And it doesn't break the care-taking cycle. And, I've recently realized, it's not what's best for society either. If another kid harms my kid and their parent isn't made aware, the parent cannot address it. So even if I can help my kid unpack their experience, my staying silent to avoid an awkward conversation with a parent I may or may not be in relationship with robs that other parent the opportunity to parent their own child in the situation. And that is important. In our #metoo world, I have to wonder, were adult violators not parented in this area? Did their parents think they'd done right by their kid but were not made aware of incidents that may have occurred between them and other children when they were young? It's possible. So even if my kid is okay, is the other kid okay? I don't know if I don't speak up and their parent won't know either.

Adulting is hard. Parenting forces you to deal with your shit. And so, I am writing this to affirm to myself: I did the right thing today. I pushed through my discomfort and advocated for my kid and for another kid. And the parent I confronted was a beautiful, open-minded, lovely person. I am so thankful for that. But even if they had been terrible, it still would have been the right thing to do. I only get to choose my behavior and I feel good about it today. Healthy conflict for the win. Now I gotta replenish my emotional energy by eating a lot of Christmas cookies. See ya!

Enjoy Abundance

Maybe I'm the only person who needs to hear this, but just in case: if you're experiencing a time of abundance, it's okay to enjoy it. And by enjoy it, I mean, soak it in, embrace the certainty and blessing you feel and do not feel ashamed that you have abundance. I think it's my ministry baggage talking that makes it hard for me to enjoy myself too much. Like, if I have much, much is required of me. And of course, that's true. If you have a shit ton of stuff and you're not willing to share any of it, even the excess, you're an ass and karma's gonna get you. I totally get that. And that is all around us and it's gross, truly. 

But maybe that's not you. Maybe you've had some lean years and this year is actually okay. You have what you need to buy gifts and donate to charity and you're not panicking about the next bill going through and that's something to celebrate! And celebration doesn't mean feel terrible that you're not homeless or give so much and out of shame that you end up having a hard time making your bills after all. It's okay to sit in the warmth and feel good. It's okay to buy people gifts because you enjoy it. It's okay to not be moderate with your giving. Don't rein in your joy!

I've spent some time in my adulthood, hell, my whole life with a niggling feeling in the back of my head. This idea of waiting for the other "shoe to drop." And I've written about that before. Like, if you prepare yourself that shit is coming, it won't hurt so much when it happens. Not only is that fundamentally untrue, I'm realizing that it also diminishes your joy in the moment when things are actually great. I'm taking time this year to savor the splendor that is stability. I feel more stable in my marriage than I've ever been, more confident in the growth projection of my business, more comfortable with my children's safety and development outside of our home (and within it) and more at peace in my spirit than I have in a long time. Isn't that great?!?!

I love holidays. This should come as no surprise to anyone. So I'm going to concerts and I'm exposing my children to beauty and wonder and faith. And I'm giving. I'm finding ways to contribute to my community. And in those moments, I'm acknowledging that it's not hard and in the past, sometimes it has been really hard. When things are lean and you feel compelled to give, sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it means you go without. And that's okay. But this year, I'm going with and I'm not ashamed. I'm grateful and kinda in wonder, to be honest. 

I've tended to be judgemental of wealth and we are by no means wealthy. But in the grand scheme of the world and in the ways that truly matter, my soul is crying out in joy, radiating this sense of abundance. I feel safe. I feel loved. I feel proud and confident. And I'm happy! Maybe you're in a season of deprivation and things are tight and scary and dark. That was us 2 years ago. Know that your light and your deliverance are coming. Hold on tight and live in hope that things will get better. Give how you can, ask for help when you need to and try to find something to be grateful for. Maybe you think your life isn't abundant because you're comparing yourself to everyone else, what they have, how they look, how they perform, how they celebrate or live in their version of abundance that somehow still looks better than yours. Take the comparisons away. Take the guilt and the perfectionism out. Are you safe? Are you loved? Do you have food and shelter? If so, REJOICE! It's okay to give thanks, not out of fear but from a place of solidarity. 

Yes, the shoe can and will drop. Need can be very cyclical. And when we are in abundance, of course, extend a hand to those who are not in that position. But don't squander the gift. Don't feel embarrassed and don't feel ashamed. Savor the gift. Smile. Laugh. Dance. What is the value of a gift if it isn't opened?

Renouncing the "Should's"

This writing process for me has been the unpacking of a suitcase. It's about sifting, right? Sifting through my childhood, my faith experiences, my family of origin and of late, my trauma, my politics, my theology...my life, right? That's what I want to do. I want to learn. And it has been such an ironic process because IT'S SO MESSY. It's laughable for a perfectionist to learn in public. That was always something I was terrified of growing up. I didn't want to screw up or even struggle in front of other people. I considered it embarrassing or something to be ashamed of. So writing about the things I'm learning is really kind of a funny way to continue to confront that base nature which is to be an expert or not engage at all. (As a side note, how unproductive is perfectionism?!?! It's absolutely BONKERS to only engage in things you're good at or to publicly claim things only after they're settled and tidy. It's like living life as a social media feed. Too pretty.)

I was helping someone process something tonight and we got onto the topic of "should's." Growing up in the church, and especially aspiring to be a "good girl," there was a lot of life lived out of the "should's" for me. In my childhood theology, everything was black and white and because of that, there was only one right way to be. IN EVERYTHING. This came up a bit in my recent post about self-care, that we're really uncomfortable with diversity. There isn't space in our culture for more than one reality. And the only correct reality is, of course, the one you hold. Right? It's silly but it's real.

And so we behave, especially if we are "in trouble", according to other people's expectations. And those expectations are usually crystal clear. The "in trouble" dynamic is straight from childhood. And so if someone else is upset, we're supposed to do whatever they think we SHOULD do to "fix" it. Or if we have feelings, we're supposed to couch them because we don't want to upset others. And of course, we don't want to upset others on purpose. But your very existence and your feelings don't exist to upset others. They're yours to hold and experience and to be honest, have nothing to do with others. You get to hold your space, your ground, your truth even if there is a list of "should's" presented to you. 

But we have to make space for that. And that begins with renouncing "should's". My first step in this process was to not re-act. So if I feel a "should" being placed on me, I mull. I don't just react. I hold my feelings, I make space for whatever that "should" is. I run it through the filter of my experiences, my truth. I don't throw it on someone else like a hot potato. That perpetuates "should's". I get to decide what I want to do and I choose not to "should" others as best as I can (it's really hard to do so that's a practice not a perfect). After I hold it, I do what my girl Glennon Doyle says to do. I take 5 minutes to tune out all the should's and am just quiet with myself. I ask myself what the next right thing is. And IT PRESENTS ITSELF. I think about who I want to be in the situation (because even when people give you their "should's" you get to decide how you respond) and what decision or response I can stand behind and be proud of. I choose to be brave. I choose to do hard things. And sometimes, that is resisting the "should's."

It can be incredibly painful, even triggering to a "good girl" who wants the approval of others, to resist the "should's". And many of us don't know who we are when we strip away the "should's." Suddenly, we have to start making decisions for ourselves and that can be incredibly disorienting when you're not used to it. But I can tell you, there is incredible peace that comes from tuning out the "should's" and tuning into yourself. Because no matter what happens, how your actions are taken and processed by others, you get to leave it all on the field. You did what you thought was best and you risked rejection to be true to what you felt was right. And that discernment and courage is a BEAUTIFUL THING. Even great advice from a trusted friend might not be what you need to do. And you won't know until you get into that quiet space and ask yourself. But you get to untangle your choices from the perception of your choices and you get to validate your intent and your heart no matter what. 

Disengaging from people pleasing patterns looks like this. Setting boundaries in dynamics that taught you that setting boundaries is disobedience or rebellion or just wrong looks like this. It's messy. And sometimes people get really mad. But what's cool is YOU KEEP YOUR DIGNITY. You experience peace. You hold the reality that there is so much in life beyond your control. That even if you ran around making everyone else happy, they still might reject you. You can't earn the things you really need: safety, love, acceptance. Those are given freely or they're not real. 

The other thing that's fun about this (read: healthy) is that if all hell breaks loose after you act out your "next right thing", you don't feel any resentment towards others. Because you're not playing out other people's advice in a high stakes game. You're owning your choices and you're making space for the choices of others. When you stand on your own two feet, you're able to take the hits better than if you're acting on the advice of others. You're solid. You've validated yourself. You've weighed your situation and you followed your intuition. And you didn't degrade yourself in the process. It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. But there's a quiet dignity to taking hits without passing on the pain.

So I encourage you, any time you find yourself thinking or saying the word "should", that's a great time to take a step back and examine things. Now, there are many annoying adulting type activities that we all do and they may very well come from a place of "should." Doing taxes comes to mind. But even re-framing "I should do my taxes to avoid punishment" you can tell yourself "I choose to do my taxes because I'm responsible for my financial health and well-being." Do you see the difference? We all have so many choices! If your brain likes to only present you with one option and lots of "should's", I encourage you to explore all your options and get quiet with yourself and find your next right thing. Thanks, Glennon.  

Why I Write

There are a few main reasons why I write. It is both personal and communal. The personal part is that writing helps me give words to my experiences, feelings and thoughts. Words are the tools I use to process those things and to engage in the world. There is a life-long love affair being conducted between me and words. It's probably one of the reasons I talk so much! The communal part is that I recognize that not everyone has the words for their experiences but when they read someone else's words, their heart recognizes a friend. And I think that is so incredibly important. Seeing yourself in another person's experience gives you a sense of not being alone and sometimes it helps you feel like you're not crazy, which is something we often tell women when their feelings are big. Sometimes how someone responds to a situation is different than how you tend to respond and that's fascinating and maybe even helpful. The human experience of being isolated is so incredibly damaging to who we are. So, in my vulnerability, if I'm able to give words to another mother, another child, another whomever, I am willing to do that because I think this work deeply matters. Stories are life. And life is best when shared.

I recently shared an old story (if you can call three months ago old) that got a lot of response. I like response! It's kind of a writers nightmare to have no one respond to your work. It makes you feel like maybe your experiences aren't shared and that's sad. Some responses are hard to process, especially because they may hit on things that hadn't occurred to me or make me feel misunderstood or hurt. That's part of this process too. And that's okay. But it doesn't mean it isn't hard. It's really hard for me. And that bad ass in me who puts words to feelings is not always present when words are presented back to me directly. I need to be honest about that. I don't write because I can take a lot of hits. I write in spite of the hits that will come.

If there was any kind of "agenda" (does anyone else hate that word?) in my latest post, it was based in this place. This place that wants to give words and honor experience. This place that wants kids to be safe and adults to be careful with them. I think that's a good place to write from, even when anger pours out of it. Anger can be really, really good and that's something I need to continually affirm as anger was not acceptable for me to display as a child and it's still not okay for me to display as a woman, at least not without suspicion of some kind of intended harm. There was no harmful intent here.

It's funny because after the last writing-related blow up, my husband teased me about being a "pot stirrer." And we laughed, mainly because I stir a lot of pots with a lot of discomfort. I stir pots when I find opportunities to advocate for things more important than my discomfort. And that is true here. I wrote in hopes that other parents would have words for those moments when your heart gives pause and you don't know why. I wrote to inspire conversation with children, to empower others to allow their kids to have a say in what's taught to them and to make space for their process. I wrote to engage on a parenting front. This was a conversation I had between me and my daughter that I chose to make public. Fallout with other adults, teachers, church leaders was not even on my radar and frankly, such a lesser concern to me than what my post was about. I would like to point out that I was intentional about not being specific about who was involved or where we received this teaching. I learned that lesson and it was painful! If it was revealed in response who was part of this, that was not my doing. And I could care-take that I should have anticipated that as a possibility but I'm going to release that. I didn't reveal those things. It's not that I don't care how adults view my writing or my approach to my situation from VBS but it's that it entirely misses the point of my post. Adult feelings take a back seat to how we plant seeds in children's hearts about themselves and about God. That's why I didn't process my feelings about my kid with my kid. I processed my kids feelings with my kid and my feelings with other adults. And I did that when this happened. 

I do want to clarify something that doesn't seem to have been clear in my original post.

I HAVE NO PERSONAL PROBLEM WITH THE TEACHER IN THIS SITUATION.

I have no relationship with this person. I do not know her. And if anything, I'VE BEEN HER. You guys realize that I taught things like this, right?!?! Mostly to teens, which was at least slightly more developmentally appropriate but still regretful (there is a future post here for sure), but I have been this person time and time again. And my heart twinged but I read the script (she followed the curriculum, which was why I was angry about the curriculum, not the person following it). And I did it with good intent. And I did it because I did what I was told. And I did it because I believed it. I meant what I told my daughter that morning. I told her we could extend her teacher grace and for once, thank God, I wasn't just trying to do the right thing and be a good example to my kid. I was actually able to do the right thing in that moment. I knew then as I know now that I was being triggered by a whole lot of baggage, decades of baggage, that had absolutely nothing to do with her as a person. So writing this story three months later came with absolutely no negative feelings towards her. And if for some reason, this stranger has come upon my writing (that could only really happen if someone deliberately shared it with her), I want to say - we're cool. I have no beef with you. And if my pain hurt you, that was not my intent. 

I do want us to be careful with our curriculum selection. That was the only "to do" I was hoping to see in response. That's all :)

I also learned something about myself before things got really stressful in the response. I learned that I have allowed my perfectionism into the space of my theology and how I teach theology to my children. My anger came from a visceral response to anyone violating that sacred space. And that comes from a deep protectiveness that was not honored in my soul or in my husband's soul when he was fired. And having that first seed of dishonor planted in my child triggered me in a real way. This is trauma, friends. I was hurt. My husband was hurt. So anything that looks remotely like that trauma placed upon my innocent child brought out the mama bear claws. And honestly, I'm okay with that. I can validate those feelings with or without the understanding of my peers. Because trauma is a tapestry. When you pull at that thread, which I've been doing for six years, sometimes things unravel. That's how we get to the root of the problem. That's the personal side. The church of Christ side is that we've created a dynamic where we do what we're told, especially women, and we honestly believe it's okay to teach young children about sin. We think that's important. I don't. And that's not mine to hold. I get to decide what to do with my experience. It might look like not participating in VBS. That seems like a tidy, obvious answer. Except my kid might conclude that she's missing out on something she enjoys with her friends because she opened up to her mom. Right? I'm going to tread lightly in what this looks like for me in the future. And that's okay. Because it's October. I don't have to know what I'm going "to do" in this moment. Is it possible that there is nothing to do? Just to hold pain and acknowledge it? For me, yes. Sometimes that's more than enough to do for the day. So that's where I'll be today. Home. Holding my pain. And giving it the validation it needs. Hugs to you, friends. Whether you get it or not, pain is universal. 

When VBS Theology Hurts Children

I've been meaning to write this post for awhile. VBS happens in the summer, y'all! So here's what happened: I sent my kids to VBS. I was a little nervous about the theology that would be planted in their hearts but I was reassured by several people that VBS theology is usually pretty tame in the churches of Christ (yes, I sent them there). Usually the "fire and brimstone" stuff isn't emphasized. It's not really our way. We like our salvation process to be well thought out and not particularly emotional. Unless we're at camp. Then all bets are off.

However, here's the snag. The "VBS in a box" kit was purchased from some mainstream evangelical source, not the churches of Christ. The flashy, cool stuff never comes from us. And this was really flashy and cool and my children had a great time. They still talk about it. And it's like this every year, which is why I send them back (plus, let's be honest: free childcare in the summer is like panning for gold...you will search and search for a tiny sliver of it so your kids survive the summer with frazzled mom). 

And so, in the middle of the freebies that came home every day and the stories of the games and food, I had a 9 year old with a heavy heart by the end of the week. It was incredibly fortuitous that she and I both woke up at least an hour early on the same day for "no reason" after that week was over. And because mom got a break, she used that time to hold her child and have a heart-to-heart. Macy's not a sharer so this was rare and I'm so grateful it played out this way. Because otherwise,

I WOULD HAVE NEVER KNOWN THIS TOTAL BULLSHIT WAS TAUGHT TO MY CHILD AT A FORMATIVE AGE.

So she asked me, "Does it break God's heart every time I make a mistake (this is a question from one perfectionist to another, if you can imagine the tenderness being exposed here)?" 

"No darling, God expects everyone to make mistakes. It's part of being human and he made us human on purpose."

"But at VBS, we all had to write down our "sins" and then we had to write them on a cross and the teacher showed everybody. And I didn't know anyone else was going to see it and my handwriting is really big."

"That must have made you feel really exposed that she didn't ask your consent and didn't make it clear to you that others were going to see what you wrote."

"Yes that was really embarrassing (enter disparaging remarks about teacher). Then when she held up all our "sins", she took a heart and broke it in half and that was supposed to represent God's heart every time we make a mistake."

[Enter "dear God, help me not scream or cry right now" into my frantic brain.]

"Here's the thing, babe. Some people really believe that. Some people believe that God requires us to be perfect and that because we can't be perfect, that's what makes us need God. And that's why Jesus died."

"But Mom, does he even like me at all?"

"Yes darling. He thinks you're amazing. And he would never make you feel terrible for not being able to be perfect. In fact, I've found him to be much more kind to me in my perfectionist brain than I am to myself. And that's why I reject this theology. Beliefs are a choice. Do you think that if you conclude after hearing a belief that God does not even like you, does that sound like good news? 

"No, this is not good news." 

"Then it's not Jesus. Your teacher believes this and we can extend grace to her, though I know you're angry. And it's sad that this is the framework she's living in. But you get to decide what you hold and what you let go of. This sounds like something that isn't serving you, as it didn't serve me. You get to choose if you agree with your teacher."

"I don't think she likes me. She didn't like it when I asked questions."

"Yes, often in this kind of framework, there isn't room for questions."

"If I can't ever be perfect. Why even try?" [Because in this framework, the other option is eternal damnation.] Tears trickle down her face.

"Ah, you've hit my other rubric for if something is from God."

"What?"

"So one is, is this good news? Two is, does this give me hope? So the question is, seeing God's heart break because you can't always behave a certain way and you're the reason he died and you'll never be able to get it right...did that theology give you hope?"

"No."

"There you go. At the end of the day, you may decide to agree with your teacher. That's your choice to make because beliefs are a choice. You may agree with me that this is totally untrue. Just so you can hear another viewpoint, I believe that God made us human on purpose, that he delights in us and that there is no condemnation for those who love him (or for anyone, frankly). I believe that Jesus paid the debt of sin for all humanity once and for all. I believe we are safe and good and loved. Yes, of course, we should take responsibility when we hurt other people, even on accident. But that comes from a place of love for self and others, not from fear of punishment or shame. I believe that the message of Jesus is good news for everyone, not just for people who behave a certain way or who look a certain way. It's for everyone. And I believe that he is the author of hope. He's got this all figured out. And we're okay. We don't need to fix the world or save anyone. We just need to try to be decent people and love him and others. But ultimately, you get to decide what you believe. And as you grow up, you'll hear a lot of what other people believe. But you get to filter it through your experiences and ideas to see what you want to hold and what you want to release. You may grow up to believe very differently from me. And that's okay. That's what Grandpa calls "working out your faith." That's one of my favorite things about faith - it's yours to hold and shape."

"So I can just let this go if it makes me feel bad about myself and God?"

"Yup."

"Okay." Hugs. Back up to bed.

Deep breaths. What if we hadn't both woken up early? This kiddo doesn't talk to me about her experiences and feelings, but this time she did. And it really mattered. And I'm so grateful. I don't know if this will be enough to pluck out that seed planted in her heart and I'm feeling guilt for exposing her to this. And she wants to go back next summer because everything else was great. Ugh. At least I've got a whole year to figure out how to find a fun VBS that doesn't poison my child's self-worth and view of how God sees her. 

You guys, if after a lesson a child at a formative age comes away with 2 questions: Does God even like me? And why even try to be good? THIS IS A RED FLAG. I don't care how flashy the stage is, how fun the crafts are, CHECK YOUR THEOLOGY. THIS IS NOT OKAY. Sometimes, we get a chance to parent ourselves while parenting our children. This raw, innocent early experience with religious shame and loss of hope put me back in touch with my own innocence. I responded with fervent intent to be perfect. Macy already knows that's a bust. Thank God for books for children about perfectionism. But then her reaction was a total loss of hope. It makes sense to me. 

The more I've sifted through my theology, the more I've come to focus on the fruit of belief. It's not just about what is true and holding onto it. It's about how we are affected when we embrace a certain truth. Does this belief make me more compassionate towards others? Does this belief make me judge others? Does this give me hope? Does this help me understand others and have empathy? Does this belief make me feel affirmed in myself or like shit about things I cannot change (holla LGBTQI!)? This matters. This matters even more to me than the core beliefs themselves and ideas of absolute truth. And that's why I think there should be diversity of belief in community. Some people can hold certain beliefs and be engaged and loving in the world and others curl up in the closet and die. We gotta figure out what beliefs serve us and our mission in the world to be kind, to give grace, to make peace. And that is the polar opposite of how I was raised - that there is one truth, one interpretation of it and you're in or you're out. It's that framework that makes it okay to form children in this way because the alternative is hell. Any kind of shaming, stripping of humanity or judgement is better than eternal damnation, right? This is how we justify excommunication. This is how we can revoke rights for "others" because it's "loving" to tell them "the truth" so they can "come to God." If we make their lives fair, they'll have no reason to come crawling to God for mercy, right? This shit is toxic and it starts YOUNG.

This is the shit I've taken 6 years to unpack in myself and I'll be damned if I stand by and watch someone else do it to my kid. How dare we do this to children. Shame on us. This shit stops now.

Truth Hurts.

I'll be honest with you guys. I've been torn since I published my post last night. I felt so exhilarated when I first clicked "post." It feels amazing when you're able to capture your thoughts and feelings so well in a moment. But as I saw in the following hours that the most recent thread and even the very profile of the person I referenced was taken down, I felt shame. I don't know who read my post so I don't know if this is a direct result of my writing, but it is possible indeed. I knew when I started promoting myself as a writer, when I stepped into the ring of online honesty, I was going to take some personal hits. And I knew that was going to be incredibly challenging for me. I really do like almost every single person I know. I can't help but write this way. I don't know how to dull my expression and I've learned that in doing so, I harm myself. So I speak my truth.  But if, in the process of being my authentic self I end up hurting others, I will hurt as well. I just will. And right now, I do.  

Is there a way to feel remorse but not regret? Part of me wants to double down because I hold to everything I said. And I desperately want people to listen. That takes boldness. It takes calling out sexism, racism, able-ism, etc. It does and I will. I can't not. I really can't. But I don't like feeling that in wielding my sword, someone is bleeding out. It's very difficult. This is painful for me. And I am fighting shame. I know there is shame in staying silent. And I felt like I could have taken my statements further and chose not to, so I was at least slightly tempered. But, when you step out, it's just so easy to second guess your words, your choices, your lack of subtlety. I have learned that I will not be so specific in my writing again. I don't need to call out specific people. Sadly, my experiences are relevant enough to not need to give full detail to make my point. So I will take that lesson with me. 

Tim and I were talking about this last night and it helped me understand why I was so upset in the first place.

I really want evangelical men to be the heroes I was taught they were.

I want them to be like Jesus. I want them to love God and to love me as a child of God. And that taps into my need for male approval, especially approval from spiritual leaders. I was not given a space to become a spiritual leader in my church. And so I ached to be counted as one. You can only be counted as one by one who is already in leadership - a man. I wanted to be seen, to be acknowledged, to be accepted into the fold. 

I really want these guys to be a savior. Not The Savior, but a savior of my beloved childhood faith. I don't want to leave them behind. I don't want to paint them with a broad brush and have those negative assumptions met. I want them to surprise me. I want them to change. So much so that I will call them out publicly on my own platform. But I want them to be who they told me they were for myself too. Yes, for them, for their followers but especially for me. I need them to be good and their behavior is not giving me the reassurance that I need right now. And that hurts and it's scary and unfortunately, it's really damn healthy. 

Growth hurts. Truth hurts. Keeping your humanity enough to speak while also finding the humanity of others while you hold them accountable is a really teeny line to walk. I'm not fully walking on it. And that's making me feel sad and ashamed. I still hold to defending those who are disenfranchised, in this case women, over wanting to please those on top. I will always lean that way. But as I develop myself and my audience, that is going to get grittier. And I may lose people along the way.

Oddly, one of the reasons this is so painful is because I am a woman.

As I stated in my previous post, little girls are groomed from a young age to orient ourselves around gaining male approval. And so losing it by speaking into this exact dynamic is a funny bit of irony. 

Sometimes your heroes really aren't your heroes after all. And unfortunately, even if they are, all heroes are human. And that's a difficult pill to swallow for a woman who touched back to her little girl self last night and found herself very disappointed. 

It Is So Damn Hard to Put Yourself Out There

I spend a lot of time and energy putting myself out there. It's literally critical to both my job (Shaklee) and my hobby (writing). It even comes up in parenting. Just recently, I had to make the socially awkward decision to not rescue my kid from the consequences of her own irresponsibility. There was another adult being affected by it who wanted me to step in and I had to put myself out there and say "No. I'm not going to do that and whatever repercussions come out of her not being prepared, feel free to allow them to happen." That's hard to do when the culture of parenting says you're a bad mom if you don't rearrange your day to accommodate your child.

In Shaklee, I initiate contact with people for a living. I think of people who may benefit from my products or my business opportunity and find natural moments to ask them if they'd be interested in hearing about it. Sometimes people say yes and sometimes people say no. But every reach out is putting myself out there. That's why when shit hit the fan with us when Penny was born, I didn't work for awhile. It takes a certain emotional energy and true confidence to offer things to people rather than to just live your life in response to what is offered to you. To create connection and opportunity deliberately takes chutzpuh. 

Recently, this "putting myself out there" came up when my dear friend, Karvy, came to town and offered to help me with my website. She and her husband have back-logged all my blog posts from my original blog (it's all here now! 3 years of posts!), finally connect to my domain (my site is my name now!) and do a photo shoot for the site. The shoot was on Saturday. As is often the case, it was difficult to detach from the family's needs to go out in my cute makeup and my giant Ikea sack full of wardrobe to have pictures of just me taken. Sometimes family forgets that you want to be a person out in the world. And they're used to you being the one to help them dress and cut their pancakes. And husbands are too, especially after an insanely long work week (great timing!). So dressing up, separating from my daily stuff and getting out with a safe, generous friend to smile solo for the camera is not all that easy. I actually cried a little with Tim when I left the house. It can be so scary to put yourself out there, to chase your dreams, to take a risk, to say, "Here I am World, are you interested?" You wrestle with the demons of "Am I Enough?"  or a creative's favorite, "Am I Unique?" 

I think in putting yourself out there, you're taking your self-concept, your passions, your talent and bouncing it off the feedback of the world. Rather than staying in the cocoon you can create in your mind of self-affirmation (or is sometimes the case, self-criticism), you're saying to everyone around you, "Am I right in thinking I have something to offer?" "Do you want what I have to give?" I think it can even come to that very base place that asks, "Am I loved?" "Do I Matter?" "Is my life worth something?" Whew, that's heavy shit.

So, I wanted to say, PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE. It's scary shit. But isn't everything that's meaningful? Isn't that part of it? Can the work that comes from fear be actually all the more vibrant? I think it's possible. Sometimes work born out of fear is awkward and people can tell you're afraid. But keep doing it and you'll warm up. I used to be really awkward when I started my business. You hear "No" a lot when you're awkward and you're trying to figure out what you're doing and you're creating something from nothing. But the more you do it, the more you own it. So if there's something you're doing that is new and it's awkward as hell but it matters to you, keep your vision, pick up the phone or hop online and keep putting yourself out there. Taking the pictures on Saturday, I eventually warmed up. Hell, I was practically Wonder Woman-ing it out there in the wildflowers with my poses by the end. It'll be sure to make you laugh and more importantly, I hope you see that whatever you need to Wonder Woman right now, just stand up tall and stick those arms out, friends. It'll be weird and you'll feel silly, But eventually, you'll own it. And if you won't, who will?

You're Not Perfect. You're Something Better.

I had a friend recently text me in the middle of a very difficult day. I think her text came in response to my post about our family going bowling. What she said really touched me. And at the risk of sounding like a ridiculous braggart, I thought I would share what she said. "You are inspirational. God does a mighty work through you!! I have had friends where I would have thought about how I needed to be more like them. You, my dear friend, make me want to be more like me. It's the best! Thank you!!"

Again, it's kind of silly to publish a compliment. But I thought what she said was so poignant. I know I spent YEARS of my life in the former category, the type of person who was so fed by accolades that I lived in a way so people elevated me as an example of what to be. I wanted that. I wanted to be the best leader, the holiest Christian, the most responsible and caring mother, the untouchable perfect person. Only then would I be safe. And I think that gaping need for perfection came from a place of unworthiness and a need for control. When your filter is low, whatever feedback you get from others might as well be truth. There's no room for someone to assess you and be wrong in their perception. So if I was perceived as less than the best I could be, failing to perform to the highest standard or hinting in any way a lack of integrity or faith, I scrambled to patch the hole in my persona. Because if that was true, I had nothing.  

There are so many problems with this. Primarily, this makes people feel like shit. By living your life to an impossible standard and promoting that in others, you make people feel like shit. Every day. Whenever they interact with you, see your perfect posts on social media or have a moment where their humanity takes center stage in their life you are heaping shame on them for not measuring up. I guarantee you, if you have someone like this in your life, it's actually because they feel like shit about themselves. They may not know it (I didn't). But they are projecting their un-fillable hole onto you to make you feel bad. If everyone doesn't play this game, the perpetrator is losing in a different way. She doesn't feel she can opt out, so neither can you.

Sometimes this comes out in church (my hotbed for performance and shame). We act like everyone should be a leader and being a leader means providing a good example. It's why shame-based "sins" like pornography thrive in evangelicalism. No one can keep up with the perfection so they choose something super-shameful (which fuels the addiction because it creates a shame spiral) and keep it hidden as best they can. Because it's not based on actually being a good person. It's based on appearing to be a good person. 

So the problem isn't the shameful behavior. The problem is someone discovering the shameful behavior. This is why we punish girls for getting pregnant but have no words for the boy who impregnated her. She's the one who appears sinful. So she's the problem. Though if she "solves" the problem with an abortion, then she's a way worse person. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Jesus responded to this repeatedly, having mercy. This is why men like Josh Duggar get a pass and his wife gets to share the responsibility for his pornography addiction, molestation of under-aged girls (including his own flesh and blood) and repeated infidelities. He'd been doing this for YEARS and his family knew about it, at least the early stuff. The problem became a real problem when it became public. Nevermind that he came home to his pure, modestly dressed wife of five children in as many years having spent himself on another woman. You are unable to take personal responsibility for your choices when you're living in the land of appearances. The shame is up for grabs and can be conveniently placed on another person. If someone in your life never owns their shit and is always blaming others, this dynamic is probably at play. Because owning your shit means you're a piece of shit. It's a lie.

And you may hear ideology at church about how we're all pieces of shit but for the grace of God. So there's this self-hating, God-loving premise that fuels a lack of self-care, grace for self and others, and a genuine self-hatred as a form of worship. DO NOT BELIEVE THIS. Why would God call us his masterpiece, send his Son to die a painful death to save us, make us in his image because he thinks we're pieces of shit and are so lucky to be here at all? HE LOVES US. Not because he's so great and we're so unlovable. Yes he's great. But we're his. Which means we're great too. He created us because he wants relationship WITH US. Not in spite of us. Not because we screwed it up and he had to scramble for a Plan B. I believe God made us human ON PURPOSE. That means that he's not surprised by our frailty, our humanity. He. Made. It. He finds beauty in us, a reflection of his creator self. And again, not because he has super God goggles and we're really just pieces of shit. What if we're actually great? Have you ever thought about that? Yes, we are happier and healthier humans when we embrace each other and forsake greed, violence and hatred. Yes. But those moments when we don't measure up? He knew that was going to happen. And IT'S O.K. 

There's one other way I see this happening. It seems really sweet and "safe" but it's started to really bother me. I'm describing when someone literally has no concept of self outside of God. We've told Christians that they're good BECAUSE God says they're good. They're okay BECAUSE God says they're ok. I get it. When you believe everything begins and ends with what God says, this makes sense. But it's saying that self-love only comes as a response to God saying we're worthy. That implies that if he said we weren't, then we really would be pieces of shit. And I know many people can't go here with me. But what I believe is that even if God changed his mind and decided we were pieces of shit, I don't believe we are. What this has done is affirmed my faith in God but also in myself apart from God. I think it's dangerous to base our entire self-concept on what God says about us because our interpretations of God vary, even if he doesn't change. Is that not just the more spiritual version of what I described above? That I was okay because others were impressed by me. Can we be okay regardless of anyone's opinion, even God's? I know it's a stretch for some. But if we can sever this final cord, what happens is we have a less conditional relationship with God. We can stand on our own feet and interact with him. Obviously not as equals, but as dual participants in relationship. What if we are inherently lovable? Even when we "sin"? Not because God forgives us but because our humanity is not a problem to be solved but intentional? It also frees me from the constant analysis of my behavior and what categorizes as sinful or acceptable. If we're safe forever, can we release the list of do's and don't's and just be loved and loving? I feel like I finally understand that verse "there is no fear in love for perfect love casts out fear." I never, ever could allow that verse to sink into my bones. Maybe this is what it meant? 

What kind of posture would you have in the world when you believed, deep in that un-fillable hole that you are great? As is. Just inherently great. Full stop. How would you treat others? How would you speak to yourself? Would you project your perfect image into the world to reflect your own glory? Or would you feel a quiet confidence, a willingness to be vulnerable, a deliberate embrace of yourself as human, not perfect? I am not an example. I am a human. And I am wonderful. When those things become real to you, you no longer feel the need to convince others of that truth. Or if you do, (in my case right now) it's to free them from themselves not to secure faith in yourself. 

I would like to make one final point about all this self-love and awesomeness. This applies to all mankind, not just people who look like you or believe like you do. I believe that God loves every human, made every human in his image and thinks every human is beautiful. Not every human behavior. Every human. And so please don't take my special words and apply them to special groups. I used to feel threatened by God's lack of special favors. I wanted to be set apart, better, safe, special. I didn't want everyone to be equal. How would I win if everyone gets a participation trophy? There are so many examples of this exceptionalism in the New Testament. I understand it. But let me be clear - that is UGLY SHIT. Do not elevate yourself. God loves Muslims. God loves refugees. God loves poor people, yes even the ones on social programs. God loves Republicans (ouch). God loves Democrats too (yea!) Do not take the beauty inside yourself and draw lines around it. Share the love in your heart indiscriminately. And if you need a reason outside yourself, remember, this is what God does. 

You do you. Love yourself. Believe in your goodness. Give yourself a fucking break. Honor the pain you feel, the journey you're taking, the growth you've experienced. See yourself as someone worthy of compassion, validation and acceptance. As is. Don't set deadlines for your own mercy (I'll like myself when...). Stop pushing yourself now. Accept yourself and figure out who you really want to be. Then pursue it in freedom and love full of grace for the process and for the beautiful person courageous enough to speak her dreams and reach for them. 

Resilience

One of the fun things about being self-employed and having no overhead is that I have many other people in my life who provide various services with whom I can trade. One of those people is the gal who does my hair (and the kids). We've been friends for years and she has a son my age so there's a fun inter-generational, sisterhood vibe between us. She's very spiritual and political and we have a great time talking about everything. We had a moment yesterday that cemented another connection between us in my mind that I hadn't quite pieced together in the past. 

She had just finished coloring my hair and I was in the chair. Penny was on my lap having just fallen and cried. Penny was right up against the hair-washing sink with the big cool hose. Of course, she turned it on, full blast. It was a wildly rainy Northwest spring day and I arrived at Lesli's house damp an hour previously. This did not help. Mind you, we were inside Lesli's actual home and my child turned a hose on! You know what we did? We laughed. We turned off the hose. But we laughed. And I went home a little more damp than when I arrived. 

The impulse to laugh when a "stressful", unexpected moment happens could be tied to many things: having a good sense of humor, being too stifled to feel comfortable showing anger; but in this case, I think it highlighted the resilience that she and I both possess. I don't say this to brag, in fact, my resilience has been a source of resentment for me in the past. When you are resilient, life has a way of creating dependence on you in a way that can be unfair. 

But laughing in that chair with a friend who has had her resilience tested many times in her life, thinking about how many times I've laughed rather than cried when my back has been to the wall (crying is ok too and definitely an appropriate response), I recognized our kindred spirit-ness a la Anne of Green Gables and it felt like a moment. Like, the sun came out and shone upon us and reminded me that life is about finding the laughter in the panic, that friends are more important than perfection and that having kids provides a regular opportunity to look in the mirror and see what you're made of.