A Post in Which I Get a Little Personal

There is something that I've been wanting to blog about for a while, but I'm not sure exactly how to put it out in such a public forum. This post is my fumbling attempt. 

Duality has been on my mind lately, especially as it relates to us. Something tells me that peace and progress happen when we embrace our own innate duality and accept that we are walking, talking contradictions. Hotbeds of hypocrisy, that's us. Though maybe hypocrisy is not the right word--perhaps living, breathing paradoxes, each one of us. 

I'm in a period of intense self-study, trying to make peace with difficult parts of my life and see them redeemed by God to become a foundation for something good and beautiful. It's hard, sometimes gut-wrenching work and I know it's important--very important--and worth the work and tears I'm investing. 

One reason it's so difficult is that most of my life is awesome and I feel confident and competent and capable navigating that life. I like that feeling of confidence. It allows me to do good things. So when something challenging rears up and leaves me in fetal position crying on my closet floor, I feel anything but confident and strong and capable. I feel weak and vulnerable and I HATE THAT. 

The epiphany is that I was treating this somehow as a zero sum game. Those nights on the closet floor, I thought, negated all of the strength and confidence I have in the rest of my life. Conversely, I thought if I were truly strong and confident, nothing would throw me off. I wouldn't have nights on the closet floor because I'd be too tough for anything to shake me. I wasn't allowing for my own duality. I wasn't allowing myself to be both. 

I am strong and confident and capable. Most people who know me will only ever see that person, and that's fine. And I'm also a human--a flawed, hot mess of a human--who has been through some rough times and sometimes still battles demons. On rare occasions those uglier parts of my story knock me flat to the closet floor. I don't stay there; I get back up. In relation to all of the good moments those moments are so few and far between, and I'm grateful. I realize what a wonderful gift it is to live in a world, in a reality that is so filled with goodness and love and light. Yet those vulnerable moments are just as much a part of me as my strength. One doesn't negate the other. In fact, my strength is what allows me to face those darker things. And my vulnerability is what allows me to heal and move to something better. Both strength and vulnerability create space for intimacy, connecting with fellow travelers on this trip around the sun. 

Yin and yang, baby. Opposition in all things. The secret, I think, is in embracing both. 

That's easier said than done. We are all works in progress. And what a beautiful, glorious work. 

Thanks for sharing the journey with me. 

Reconciliation

Sometimes having teenagers is hard. Sometimes being a teenager is hard. Lately a particular teenager has been making choices that regularly (daily) put her at odds with mom, mostly because I actually care about her future, want good things for her, and hope she'll avoid decisions now that will lead to negative consequences down the road.

Even though it comes from good intentions, it sometimes strains our relationship more than I would like.

Lately that distance felt especially acute and I wasn't sure how to bridge it.

On an unrelated note, I pride myself on putting my Christmas tree way too early--usually before Halloween. When my kids were young they LOVED this holiday tradition. At some point in the last couple of years it became "weird" and "embarrassing" and "totally not cool, mom." I do it anyway--what is parenthood if not license to embarrass your teens--but this year I just hadn't gotten to it.

A couple of weeks ago I came home to find the tree up, decorated, and lights on. This same particular teenager was putting the last ornaments on as I walked in the door.

"Wha---? I thought putting the tree up so early was too embarrassing?"

"It is. I've already told my friends they can't come over to our house for a few weeks so they won't see how dorky this is."

"Why did you put the tree up, then? Maybe it's cooler than you want to admit."

"No. It's not. I don't like having a tree up before Halloween. But I know you do. So I put it up."

"Awwwww, you LOVE me! You really, really love me!"

"Ugh, mom, you are so cringy."

"But you wuv me. You wuv me."

"Not for long if you keep being so awkward about it."

If families are the lab where we practice being human together I'm pretty partial to these lab partners of mine. Healing strained relationships one awkward Christmas tree at a time, that's us.

Some Blessings Come Late

One of my most favorite things about being a mom was rocking & singing my babies to sleep. For some of them it came a little later--Eric was almost two when he arrived home, and Jack was already four. Some of them tolerated it better than others. Some were only good for a song or two (looking at you, Mia), while others would listen for hours and drift off to sleep (ah, Gracie!).

And then there was Annie.

Annie did NOT like being rocked or sang to, from day one and it never improved. She would squirm to get away, put her hand up over my mouth to block the singing, and if all else failed, turn her head away from me and shut her eyes as if to block this unpleasantness out.

So I didn't sing to Annie and rock her at night.

On the big scale of parenting joys and sorrows this wasn't even a blip. Annie is a miracle girl and I love being part of her miracle, even if it's in different ways than I anticipated.

A few weeks ago she climbed up on my lap in the rocking chair, cuddled in, and promptly fell asleep. Nearly every day since she has grabbed a blanket, pointed at herself, pointed at me, then pointed at the rocking chair.

She even lets me sing.

Granted, Annie is not one for lullabies and "I am a Child of God." This girl wants Baby Shark (aka, the dumbest song ever written), Carrie Underwood, and Imagine Dragons...so that's what I sing. If I stray into a song of my choosing instead of HRH's choice, that hand comes right up over my mouth to cut me off.

She's a big nine-year old with bossy opinions who prefers to dictate her own terms for snuggle time. It's not what I pictured. It's later than I expected. Right behind Annie's shoulder in the photo above is a framed print containing one of my favorite quotes:

"Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don't come until heaven, but for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, they come."

Soon or late, as I expected or wildly, completely different, I'm so grateful that blessings come.