Becoming theirs: my journey through step-parenting

Merriam Webster defines a stepmother as follows: the wife of one’s parent when distinct from one’s natural or legal mother. I became a stepmother on June 2, 2007. To say my journey has been challenging is an understatement. That goes without saying. I would love to share with you my journey in becoming theirs.

Marrying into a family unit that was formed long before you is a daunting and an utterly terrifying act. Women carry their babies for 9 months before giving birth. I became a mother in the time it takes to say two words; “I do”. When you chose to love a man or woman with children those two words take on a whole new meaning. It is not just your partner that you are vowing to love and cherish. You are committing to loving and cherishing these souls that he brought into the world with another. It is serious. It is an honor. As stepmothers and stepfathers, we are called to sacrificial love with boundaries. We are called to love them purely and wholly. We chose them every day. So how do we do that?

I have been a bonus mama for almost 15 years. While I will never claim to be an expert on any one subject, I do feel confident in telling you that I have some authority on the subject of step-parenting. And I wish I could tell you that I stumbled upon this knowledge because I have been the quintessential portrait of a doting and loving bonus Mom. Unfortunately, we do not gain wisdom by things being easy.

I began this article by telling that you that I was going to share with you my personal journey in mothering another woman’s children. The truth is this story is not just mine. It’s theirs too. And it is to be honored and respected. I had various conversations with my kids about this article and what I was wanting to convey. I asked them two very important quesions, “How did you feel most loved and seen by me?” and “How could I have been better?” I encouraged honesty. Did it scare me a little? Of course it did! I don’t want to find out after almost 15 years my children felt like their life resembled Cinderella’s. Their answers were real and incredibly helpful to me. I think it’s really important that along with hearing from me, you hear from the ones who started this journey to begin with.

Step-parenting is not an ideal situation. Especially for the kids. In a perfect world, which children deserve and yearn for, they envision their Mom and Dad staying together forever. To be there, married, for all of their important days. You must honor and respect this. As much as my kids accepted me with love, it’s not fair that they had to. They did not ask for their parents to get divorced. And they most certainly didn’t chose to gain a new parent. Accept this fact and watch how your kids open their arms to you. Honor them. Communicate with them. Let them know that you understand how unfair it is. I would even go as far as allowing them to feel sad about your marriage to their mother or father. I understand that children thrive when both of their parents are happy and fulfilled. But that does not negate the fact that when their mom or dad move on there is a death of sorts. While you are ecstatic and so happy to begin a new life with this person there are little ones that are mourning. They are mourning the death of their parent’s marriage all over again. They believed in their parents love even when their mother and father couldn’t. They are innocent and their belief in love is astounding and something to be praised and honored. Hold space for them. Be patient. Love them unconditionally. In the space you hold they will heal. Things will shift and the love they learn to believe in is the love you share with their mother or father.

Holding space is something that is crucial in the journey in step-parenting. You must hold space for your children. What does that mean? For me it meant to be patient. Patient with their hearts. I knew they loved me and that they even accepted me. But I was new. I wasn’t their Mom. And truthfully, I never wanted to be. They had a mother who loved them and cared for them like only a mother could. I simply wanted to be a bonus heart in their life who loved them and accepted them for who they were. I wanted to fill in the gaps where their mother and father couldn’t. I wanted to be their safe space. I wanted them to know that they could come to me with anything. I wanted them to know that they would be held and not judged. I just wanted to love them. Holding space also meant honoring the love their mother and father shared. I think this was the hardest part for me personally. But it was the most important facet to this journey.

Loving a man with children is easy. Loving a man who loved another woman? For me, it felt impossible. It was hard. There were dynamics that we were created long before I entered the picture. Learning to understand and respect their journey was very difficult. Finding my place was really hard at first. I wanted to be her friend for the kids. And in the same breath I wanted to punch her. That may be harsh, but I have to be real. This back and forth battle in my mind and body was exhausting. It was causing strain on my own marriage. How stupid! I reminded myself that I chose this love and life. In recognizing my choice I realized I had another choice. So I chose love. I woke up one day and chose to see her for who she was. She was not my husband’s ex-wife. She was my children’s mother. This opened up a special tenderness in me. The love I chose was not for my husband, or even for her, but for my children. I came from a fractured home that was the direct result of a divorce. I did not want my kids to experience the hatred and the rage. I wanted to heal the fracture with this love and create something new. So I made a choice. I chose to honor the love these two souls shared. I saw the mess. I saw the beauty. I honored it all. This recognition and acceptance is the reason why I have the relationship I have with my children to this day. My willingness to accept the love their mother and father shared is the reason why they call me Mom.

I became a mother the day I got married. I continued on my journey of motherhood and gave birth to our daughter almost 13 years ago. I was so excited to bring our daughter into the world. Creating life with a man who already had children brought on a quiet anxiety. I was so excited about this new life growing inside me. I knew we had to tread lightly when we told the kids our news. Tenderness beckoned once again. It called out to me loudly. Their hearts. Their feelings were at the forefront of my mind. Would they feel like they were being replaced? Did they fear that their dad would love this baby more? Would they accept this soul as their sibling? Would I love them the same? Would my love for them change? These thoughts plagued my mind for months. Just as tenderness called out to me, love screamed louder. “Just be. Just allow.” Throughout my pregnancy I included them in whatever they felt comfortable with. They were there the day I gave birth to our daughter, their sister. I will never forget it as long as I live. I was met with the same tenderness that called to me months prior. They loved her. They accepted her. And then something happened that I could never anticipate. As I snuggled my newborn baby I looked at each of them; taking in each of their features, mannerisms, and facial expressions. My love for them did change. It changed drastically. The love I felt for them was visceral. It was primal. I loved them as if I gave birth to them. They weren’t my step-kids; they were my kids. If you find yourself faced with the honor of loving someone else’s children, love them as if they were you own. Fiercely and unapologetically. If you have your own children do NOT show favor. Do NOT make them feel like it’s your “biological” children against them. Meet them where they are at. Remember that just as they didn’t chose to gain a new parent they did not chose to gain another sibling. If you heed any of my advice it this right here. They are children. They are equals. Biological or not. Almost 15 years later I can tell that this thought process is gold. Love these souls as your own. Let them know their value. Tell them what you love most about them. I love each of them for who they are. Each one of them are so unique and vastly different. Their differences and unique nature are what make our family whole. Love them. Honor them. Remember always that they were there before you.

Another really important piece of advice is to enjoy your new family. Make memories with them. While making new memories with them make sure that you honor the memories from their childhood before you. Show an interest in their past. Keep pictures of their mother and father in your home. You won’t miss out on creating new memories with them by allowing them to reminisce on old ones. My kids are adults now and constantly remind me of all the fun times we have had together. It’s so special!

Lastly, and most importantly, be gentle on yourself. These souls do not come with a manual and you will screw up. Count on it. You will make mistakes. A lot of them. Like I stated earlier, wisdom does not come with ease. Own these blunders. Forgive yourself. You are doing the very best you can. Being a bonus Mom is not easy. It can be utterly heartbreaking. Apologize when you mess up. My kids and I have gotten into our fair share of fights over the years. I hate that part. But when they call me for advice or because they drink too many mountain dews and have a full blown bladder infection (I won’t name said child, but they know who they are) and need natural remedies I am reminded that all the energy, love and tears I have invested makes this all WORTH it. I can’t count how many times over the years they have called me to be the voice of reason between their Mom and Dad. They need me. My place in their life is valued. And so is yours.

I have loved these souls for almost 15 years. It feels like a lifetime. Merriam Webster got it all wrong. I may not be their natural mother, but loving them is innate. It’s easy. Even when it’s toilsome. I hope my journey has helped you if you too are a bonus parent. Every family is different. These are the truths I have learned along the way. It hasn’t always been easy, but it has been worth it. These souls are mine and after all these years I know for certain that they love me unconditionally. The step-parenting journey is not the term I would use to describe who I am to my kids. I am their parent. I am their Mom. I am theirs. And becoming theirs has been one of the greatest joys of my life.

https://www.instagram.com/mandylanphere/

Anger will set you free

Anger. What thoughts and feelings does that word elicit in you? Growing up I was taught that anger was not good and most certainly not productive. It was sinful. I needed to let go and let God. Anger was an emotion that was unholy. It was destructive. Dangerous. Not to be felt and most certainly not to be acted on.

As an adult woman I decided to leave the confines of the church I was apart of. More notably, I decided to leave the ideals of organized religion completely. So it wasn’t surprising that I found myself apart of a “New Age” group. The feel good ideals were just what I was after. The idea that I could manifest the life that I wanted by simply imagining it was incredibly appealing. It was magic! *insert laughing here* Along with the feel good ideas of creating the life I wanted came the belief that my thoughts became my reality. I found this idea to be completely fascinating. As fascinating at it was, it was equally terrifying.

Unresolved anger had been apart of my daily life for years. My anger was unfelt. My wounds unhealed. The trauma just sitting in my body. So the idea that my thoughts and feelings became my reality scared the shit out of me. Once again I found myself shoving the anger down deeper. I did this with the aide of positive affirmations, crystals, self help books and guided meditations. PLEASE do not misunderstand me when I tell you that I still use affirmations. I still carry crystals. I still read books that better my life. And I still meditate. There is nothing wrong with any of these practices. In fact, they are vital to my personal well being. I also still believe and hold tight to the truth that we DO have the personal power to create the life that we want. Any time. Any place. There was a very important key that I needed to obtain to access this portal of possibility. A life of freedom. An abundant life.

As the years progressed and my collection of crystals and oils grew, my body started sending off serious alarms. My old friends anxiety and panic disorder came back for a visit. I didn’t understand. I was doing all the things and working so hard to create the life I wanted. I was devastated. I was frustrated. And I was ANGRY. The mother of my heart watched me struggle and suggested I get in touch with an energy worker that specialized in generational trauma. A lot happened to get to this decision of getting outside help. That’s a different story for a different day. 🙂

As I started to work with this angel I realized that trauma is passed down through each generation like diabetes or high blood pressure. It made so much sense to me. The trauma I experienced at the hand of my mother and father was trauma that they inherited. I realized that their parents carried this same trauma and loved my parents from their own wounds. This only created more wounds and more trauma. This cycle has been perpetuated for years. This was such a freeing concept to me.

As the weeks progressed and I went deeper within to excavate this trauma I became angry. Viscerally full of rage. This rage was something I had never experienced. Here I was working through my trauma, choosing to face the darkest parts of myself, doing what these people CHOSE not to face. This left me angry. So I got angry. I got fucking angry. With this recognition the rage permeated every part of me. I was wild. Untamed. Feral. I was a lion and the allowance opened the cage door. I ferociously went in search of the younger versions of myself. Once I found them I stood in front of them, protecting them. For the first time ever. I was like a rabid animal in a corner. Seething, foaming at the mouth just waiting to pounce on the first person to threaten the safety of my inner children. I spoke with them, ensured their safety and vowed to never allow anyone to hurt them ever again. I promised to continue on the path of healing. For me and for them. To free them from their own cages.

Once the anger was freed I realized something that rocked me to my core and challenged all of the beliefs that I had carried to this point. Anger was the key to free me from the bondage that I felt for so long. It wasn’t positive thinking. It wasn’t vision boards or affirmations. It wasn’t even forgiveness for the terrible things that happened to me. I had forgiven my parents. I had actually done that work. I could accept and even understand why they couldn’t love me well. Forgiveness and anger are two very separate things. Forgiving our offender does not free us. Let me repeat that. Forgiveness does NOT free us. Forgiveness is the catalyst for healing. It allows us the freedom to heal. Anger is what we NEED to actually heal. Anger validates. Anger frees us to feel. All of it. Our trauma is real and our wounds are deep. They are open and oozing. They are infected with fear, feelings of unworthiness, and shame. Anger is the salve needed to heal these wounds. We have to allow the anger to cover these wounds. We must allow the rage to take us to the darkest places in our minds. When you allow the darkness your Spirit will meet you there. You will then realize that your Spirit was always stronger than all the anger, horrible thoughts, and darkness. With this recognition you will be met with one simple and very profound truth: anger IS productive. It IS holy. It IS sacred. Don’t let go. Hold tight to that anger. I realized anger was destructive. But not in the way I was raised to believe. Anger, with it’s holy and purifying flames, burnt. it. all. I rose from the ashes. Renewed. Healed. The only thing dangerous about anger is not allowing it.

I will spend the rest of my days foraging through trauma of some kind. And so will you. We are human. There is no rush when it comes to your healing. Just allowance. This is what we are here for after all. To feel and to heal. Trust your anger. She’s holy. Listen to her cues. She is your guide. And once you heal? You will truly manifest the life that you desire and are so worthy of. And to think that ANGER was the key. Who would of thought?

In the dark I found my light

Cold, black, anguish, loneliness, anxiety, entangled, imprisoned, afraid, fumbling, death, lost, hopeless, weak. Forever. Eyes closed, stumbling over every block. Every fear. Every hurt. Every trauma. Lost. Never to be found. Eyes shut so tight I see stars. I am cold. The chill is bitter and it’s freezing every bone in my body. Will I survive? I can’t open my eyes. I can’t. Even if I could it’s so dark I will never be able to see. There is nothing to light the way. I feel paralyzed and yet I move. Stumbling, falling, crawling. Like my knees, my heart is bruised, bleeding and wounded. I wear a mask made up of false securities. I keep my eyes closed. Don’t look. There is nothing to see anyways. Panic sets in. How will I find my way through? It’s impossible. I can’t do it. The fear is holding me hostage. The only thing more daunting than leaving is remaining. It’s unbearable. The darkness is swallowing me. I can feel it pulling me under like a forceful current into the dark abyss. One finger. Place one finger on the ground. I feel the ground. It’s so cold. Another finger. One hand. The other. The ground is getting warmer. I can’t see, but I can feel! I can feel my way through. It’s the only way. I pull myself up. My feet are now touching the ground. My legs, a gelatinous substance, miraculously keep me steady. I still can’t see. I reach my hand out and feel giant walls built around me. The walls are rough and riddled with cracks. I handle them ever so carefully. As I tenderly move my hands over the wreckage these walls consist of I realize I can use them as a map of sorts. With eyes closed, I allow these walls to guide me through and forward. It’s getting warmer. I touch the ground with my calloused hands. There are deep grooves here also. They too are charting the way for me. As I continue feeling my way through the darkness I find my bearings. I feel warm. My body is warm all over. It hurts to keep my eyes shut. I’m so afraid to open them. The darkness just might swallow me whole. I have allowed intuition to guide my way through thus far and I find myself on steady ground. I trust these thoughts. I open one eye. Two. I am swallowed whole! It’s warm. It’s bright! My eyes adjust. It’s light! Everything is so clear. My path behind me, before me and ahead of me has been illuminated right before my wide open eyes. I look around and take it all in. The hurt, the pain, the trauma. They safely guided me to this place of warmth. When I couldn’t see the way, I felt my way through. I felt it all. As the feelings flowed through me and out of they propelled me to this beautiful, breathtaking light. The light flowed through my wounds. My heart. It’s open. It’s healing. It is full of light. Warm, gold, happiness, jubilation, peace, life, free, confident, strong, grounded, hopeful. Always. As I stood in the sun I realized that just as these attributes have always been who I am, so has the light. All I had to do was open my eyes. The eyes to my heart. It was in my darkness that I found my light. Only to remember that I was never lost and neither was my light.

to the mama in quarantine

To the mama in quarantine,

How are you? Are you okay? How are you holding up? Are you drinking enough water? Are you making sure to eat? I really want to know. I know what’s going on with the weather. Yes, I saw that crazy political post on Facebook. Yes, Target was out of toilet paper again. I don’t care for small talk. I want to know the honest truth of how you are. I don’t care how ugly, obscene or “inappropriate” your truth is. I want to know it all. I am here. I see you. I am you. I know how much you love your babies. I also know the sound of their voice is like nails on a chalkboard right now. Which I am sure you have in your home because you are now their teacher. So, not only is their incessant chatter driving you to the brink of insanity you are now responsible for their education. You are amazing. I know you don’t feel amazing. Your hair is greasy and you have indistinguishable stains on your cute loungewear. Those little fuckers. You would think with all the hand washing going on it would be nearly impossible for there to be stains anywhere in your home or on you. A mom can dream right? I know how hard you work to keep your home picked up and tidy. I am fully aware that those dishes are piling up and in spite of your best efforts the sink will never be empty right now. That’s okay. Your home is messy because your children don’t ever leave right now and your sink is full because you are cooking three meals a day. And we can’t forget about the snacks. Oh, those fucking snacks. I know you are wondering if your child is an alien because the amount of food they can consume is a phenomenon. Rest assured, they are little aliens. You love them anyway and you find yourself on Pinterest searching for the healthiest snack and the cutest way to present it. Girl, throw some celery and peanut butter their way and let them create something. Count it as art for the day. One word: DOORDASH. You’re amazing. I hope you are beginning to see just how amazing you are. I know how much you love your husband. I also know that some days you want to throttle him because he left for work and left you home with the tiny aliens. And if you have teenage aliens? He’s an asshole for leaving for sure. 😉 You know he has to go. You are even thankful. But you are also a little resentful. That’s okay. I know as much as he tries to understand he just doesn’t. He’s not a mom. The weight he carries on his shoulders is so much and you honor that. The load you carry is just as heavy. I hope you honor that. You carry that load along with the multiple loads of laundry. Can we talk about the damn laundry? How is it possible that you have as much laundry as you do and these tiny aliens haven’t left for months? Another fucking phenomenon. I know your partner worries about you sometimes and wonders if you are depressed because you are tired a lot of and express that often. He’s just worried. The truth is you are fucking tired! You remind him you are raising and educating his children during a global pandemic. It’s okay to be tired every damn day right now. It’s okay that some days your motivation seems to be missing in action. It’s not. It’s playing hide and seek with the tiny aliens. It will surface. I promise. I know how much you miss going out and getting dressed up. I know it sucks that no one gets to see that sexy shade of red lipstick you purchased on a wim at Target. I also know that the highlight of your week is heading down to Target. I know that seems depressing to you. It’s okay. Girl, get you an iced coffee and strut up those isles like it’s a catwalk and you are the star of the show. Because you are. I also know how much you miss your friends. You crave connection. Your children and husband cannot provide the type of connection you need. You need the women in your life. I long for the same connection. Please make sure you make that time for yourself. FaceTime is a wonderful tool. I have been spending a few days a week chatting with girlfriends and it’s life giving. For both of us. I know how fearful of the future you are. I also know that you are fully ready for whatever comes your way because you are a damn Oracle and you are in tune with your intuition. What a phenomenon. I see where you little aliens get their magic. You don’t know what the next year will look like. Hell, you don’t know what tomorrow will look like. That scares you a little and it’s incredibly overwhelming. But your faith is beautiful. Your perseverance is something to marvel at. Your ability to rise with the sun each morning and choose to see the goodness life has to offer is inspiring. Your light is luminous and your spirit is breathtakingly magnificent. Even on your hardest and darkest days, especially those days. For there is a woman who allows herself to just be. In all her obscene, messy, raw, and vulnerable glory. That is the woman who is teaching her children how to navigate 2020. And more importantly, life. I love that woman. I hope you do too. She’s fantastic. She is the woman who will check in on her friends even when she is struggling. She knows sisterhood is everything. She doesn’t like small talk. She craves real and messy. She is you. She is me. You aren’t alone my friend. I am here. I always want know how you are. You will be okay. We will be okay. We can do hard things. Hang in there. I love you.

Signed a fellow mama in quarantine

I am my own now

The following is a journal entry from this evening. I’ll provide a little bit of background before I share the entry. I have been going through an amazing process of healing with an amazing woman. She is helping me dismantle so many years of limiting beliefs and ancestral trauma. This last week we discussed the women in my family. The following entry is my brain processing all of the information that I took in. As I read over what I wrote I laughed a little because the revelations or “AHA” moments only carry one sound, “DUH!” I can honestly tell that you that often times the things I have been so afraid to confront have resulted in that response. Sometimes it guts me from the inside out and other times I laugh at myself and think, “THAT is what you have been avoiding?” Before I get to long winded, I will just share the entry now. And if you are currently working on healing your heart from trauma, I see you. I honor you. The light in me recognizes the light in you.

Tuesday, August 18, 2020 New Moon

I am my own now. As Julianna guided me to say those words I started to cry. Up until that moment I had never uttered such words before. It was foreign. I  am my own now. I am my own now. What does that even mean for my life moving forward? Years and years of generational beliefs released in the amount of time it takes to utter five words. Here’s the thing about generational and ancestral DNA, it was never mine. It was never theirs. And still it’s handed down like fine china. It’s who we are. Right? I don’t know how many times I have heard myself say, “I am who I am because of the women who went before me.” That’s the thing.  How could I be something that was never me to begin with? The bitterness? The suffocation? Every time I shoved my feelings down deeper? Or the fact that I am familiar with the salty taste of my own blood because I bit my tongue so hard it bled? Each time I have muted myself to make others more comfortable? I have done this since I was a little girl. We are strong women I was told. If you can’t say something nice don’t say anything at all. Keep your suffering quiet. That’s what women do. Deny yourself every day. That’s what good Christian girls do after all. Feel nothing. And when you do? Be quiet. Swallow the lump in your throat. That’s far easier than opening your mouth and using your voice. Don’t make waves. It seems these beliefs run far deeper then my own mother. Or even her mother. These skewed narratives have been apart of our DNA makeup for a very long time. Too long. The moment I released these ties to these women in my lineage I felt an immediate sense of relief. I am my own. Over the last few days I have been so emotional and incredibly sad. Sad that these women who lived before me have been so shut down. When things became uncomfortable for my own mother she left. That is incredibly heartbreaking. My sadness very quickly turned into rage. Holy fucking rage. I am here present day wading through the darkness and the rubble to heal what they could not. To be my own. To heal for them. To heal for myself. I am doing this incredibly difficult work so that one day my great, great, great granddaughters can be proud of where they came from. So they will truly know that they are were they are because of a woman who became her own. A woman who healed the ancestral cycle. So they will never suffer in silence. So they may never deny themselves for any person, religion or thing. So when they do suffer (for we are human after all) that it’s done in the loudest, most obscene manner. So they never know the taste of their own blood in their mouths. So they may KNOW themselves. So they use their voices. LOUDLY. So they never have to wade through the wreckage. So they know their worth. So they realize they don’t need to make waves because they are the god damn ocean itself. SO THEY ARE THEIR FUCKING OWN. Just as the woman who cried over those very words and felt the relief for the women who would long come after her. “I AM MY OWN” will be the words echoing in the hearts and mouths of these women for years to come.

becoming acquainted with solitude

A few weeks ago I shared with you all that I have been working my spiritual ass off to heal parts of myself that have been closed off and blocked for a long time. About a year ago my anxiety started to rear its very ugly (and uncomfortable) head again. I have struggled with anxiety at various times in my life. Here’s the thing about anxiety. It’s an alarm. It’s my body’s way of getting my attention. To wake me up. Instead of hitting “snooze” on this inevitable alarm system I decided to get some help to dismantle these wounds. A couple of weeks ago I was doing “the work” and I found myself in a giant wound. My self expression. Or lack there of. At some point in my life I stopped allowing myself to dream up beautiful and extravagant things for myself. I can recognize when the original wound was created. I was a little girl. This wound has festered and carried over into my life as a woman, a wife and a mom. I have lost myself in my family and all the responsibilities that come with those titles. And that’s the thing, wife? Mom? Those are just titles. They are not who I am. Anyways, that was a very long winded way for me to express to you that I wanted to share a journal entry I wrote yesterday. Writing has always been something that I love. LOVE. My husband encouraged me to share it and so I am going to take a leap and do just that. I am not sharing this for accolades of any sort. It’s merely me jumping in feet first and sharing a piece of myself that has been closed for a very long time. And if you are touched or moved by my words along the way than that will make the vulnerability worthwhile. That’s another passion of mine. Helping others. Truly seeing others. Letting them know they aren’t alone. So here goes.

Saturday, July 25, 2020

“There are voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter the world.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Solitude has been something that I have avoided for a long time. I have always felt afraid of solitude. The echoes of past wounds are deafening. Any time I have been able to catch a few moments of solitude that’s when it happens. An orchestra sounds. All my thoughts, fears and dreams would, and do come blaring in like a symphony. A symphony of chaos. It’s overwhelming and I have avoided it all costs. And for far too long. I am choosing today, here and now to find moments of solitude for myself. Maybe that’s been the problem all along. I’m not spending enough time in quiet contemplation. Maybe, just maybe these overwhelming thoughts and emotions need their own voice and they are taking any opportunity they can to get my attention. They are competing with each other because they can never get a word in edgewise because I am the one who has shut down. I am the one who is refusing to spend a moment in quiet solitude. Maybe if I am deliberate about this time of solitude I will create a stage of sorts for each and every thought that enters my mind. Maybe if I get lost and allow I will find myself and in turn create my own orchestra. My own unique symphony. A symphony of wonder and amazement. Maybe the chorus will heal me. Maybe the solitude will help me piece myself back together again. The music of my own creation will be what fuels me and guides me back to myself and my dreams. And even my fears. Because given the space to just be I will realize that there is room for it all. And what a lovely sound that will be. Solitude will be the place where, for the first time I will hear it all. And I will sing along  to my own song. The song of my soul and the longings that reside within. There in lies the magic that the quiet offers. Herein lies the truth, I have nothing to fear and I never did.

 

 

Hey, it’s me…

New Year’s resolutions have never really been my thing. I guess I have always been judgmental to some degree of people who make these resolutions. I mean, how many people actually follow through with their list of commitments and intentions in the New Year? And for how long? A few weeks? Months maybe? I resigned myself to the fact that I was a cynic and would never be one of the millions of people to put pen to paper with each coming year. The truth is my judgment wasn’t really directed at anyone in particular of course. That’s the thing about judgment. Who was I really being judgmental of? Yes, you got. Me, myself and I. Yes, I am the one who doesn’t follow through with my own goals! So this year I have chosen to make a list of intentions for myself. I like the idea of setting intentions for myself so much better. I have made a list of things that I would like to accomplish this year. One of the things that made it on to my list of intentions was to write more. To be more creative. To be intentional with the time I make for this creativity.  This will be a place where I share my heart about life, love and everything in-between. Join me as I try to make sense of this human thing. And dare I say, I had a blast making a list of intentions for myself. I totally get it now. I’m so sorry to all the people I have judged over the years. It was never about you anyways. 😉

when motherhood is lonely

I have been thinking about writing about this particular subject for some time now, but to be honest admitting that you are often times lonely feels terribly tragic and sad. Especially when you are a mom. Right? I mean the very definition of the word “lonely” is “sad because one has no friends or company” or “without companions, solitary”. It seems to me that the antonym to lonely is mother. My constant tiny companion and lack of solitude suggests this to be true. So how, when a woman is surrounded by humans all day, could she possibly be lonely?

I spend my days homeschooling my daughter, helping my husband with our business, doing laundry, cleaning, cooking, running to the dance studio, cooking, and more cleaning. I often wonder when I lay my head down at night how I could possibly fit one more thing into my day, but there it is. That one extra thing. The lonely ache. Please don’t misunderstand me. I love my life. I love my family. But when I became a mother no one prepared me for the moment that I would be lying in bed next to my husband while he slept and feel, lonely. I’m not really sure that is something you can prepare someone for. Along with sometimes feeling lonely comes the feelings of guilt. How could I allow myself to even entertain the notion that motherhood can feel isolating at times. I mean this is what I wanted right?

I’m not really even sure I can adequately express to you why I find myself feeling lonesome at times. Maybe it’s because I spend my time encouraging and listening to my family and rallying around them to breathe life into their dreams. As moms, we carry the weight of our happiness and if that wasn’t heavy enough we carry the weight of ensuring our children have the tools to someday embrace the idea that their happiness is their responsibility and theirs alone. Or maybe its because there are times as a mom I don’t feel I am seen. You know. Really seen. I am a mom. I am a wife. But those are not the only things that I am. I am kind. I am generous. I am compassionate. I am strong. I am intelligent. I am a woman outside of these beautiful souls. Or maybe because, no matter how hard he tries, my husband is not here all day and sometimes he just doesn’t get it. He’s not a mom. And if we are being truthful, I am so thankful for that. He works so hard for our family and gets up each day and leaves us to go make a living so that I am able to stay home and raise our family. But at the end of the day he just doesn’t always get it. No matter how open his ears and heart are to me, until you become a mother there is only so much you can understand.

I know I can’t be the only mom who feels this way sometimes. Maybe we find ourself on isolation island because it seems motherhood has become a race and competition of sorts. Where love and support are supposed to be we are met with judgment and ridicule. I don’t know what could be more isolating than that right there. Or what about the belief that moms are not supposed to hate motherhood or God forbid, in a fleeting moment, their children? How lonely to think we are the only moms to have those thoughts. Or maybe it’s the honest confession to being lonely that makes us feel like we are on a desert island. We remain isolated because we believe the lie that we are the only one who could possibly be lonely amongst a room full of the family that we created. I’ll give you a few seconds to go ahead and laugh. You done? No? Ok a few more seconds. Now, that we got that out let’s get serious again. The road that we call motherhood is never straight. We will encounter bumps, ruts and detours and often will wander on Lonely Lane. The good thing is that we won’t stay on that road forever. Eventually we will be led back or taken to a . We just have to allow ourselves to ride it out. And when you find yourself on that road please remember to look up. What you will see is other women just like yourself. So give a smile and a wave and remember that you are never alone on this journey. Don’t believe the lies of loneliness. There is an elite group of women who are feeling the same way you are and they want to remind you that you are loved, you are seen, you are amazing and you are understood. And besides being lonely isn’t the worst thing to happen in the world. We are souls having a human experience after all. It’s just another part of our journey. It means we are alive. Ain’t nothing tragic about that. Surrounding all you amazing mamas in so much love and light.

Much love,

MC

the puzzle

IMG_6570When turmoil hits I often think of that proverbial puzzle. You know, the one we liken our lives to once we have it all figured out, once all the pieces fit together leaving us with a picturesque view of the ocean or a snow laden mountain top. So what happens when life happens?  When our life is blown into smithereens right before our very eyes? Our once perfect picture is stained and unrecognizable. We don’t know where to begin. We try frantically to create a new picture. To find new pieces to fit together to give us the same sense of security and hope we once felt. We see the pieces that once were and we shutter. They are ugly. They are painful. They are grotesque. They are dark. They are hopeless. They offer nothing to us. Except the painful reminder that life will never be the same. No, those pieces will never be what they once were. So we begin to move through the rubble of our lives and attempt to re create. To reinvent. To reestablish. But can we? Can we actually piece back together something that is irrevocably damaged? Can we recreate it to be exactly what it once was? No. Our lives will never be the same. We will never be the same. So what do we do? We start over. We take a step back and survey the wreckage before us. The shattered remains. We realize that the puzzle will never again look as charming and delightful as it once did. We begin working. We begrudgingly grab the remains and wonder to ourselves how pieces so small and so ugly could actually create something worthwhile. Something whole. As we move and work we notice that the puzzle we are creating is coming together. Piece by piece we are creating something new. Something abstract. Something different than we have ever known or seen before. We step back and admire our work. And that is when we get it. We understand. We acknowledge that our work was created from the rubble. And it is with this recognition that we see. We see our new reality. And we are full of gratitude. Why? Because we know that our beautiful, abstract puzzle is whole. And we have an even deeper knowing that our ruin and destruction is what created this beautiful masterpiece. We understand that if our life had never crumbled beneath us we would not have been able to create such a piece of art. I think that is the answer to life’s biggest puzzle. Finding beauty in the ashes. Choosing to see that the heartache we endured was meant for our highest good. Choosing each day to wake up and to continue trusting and having faith. Understanding that life was never meant to stay the same. Change is bound to come. Some change gently arrives and then other times, it violently crashes into us swallowing us whole into the waves of grief and loss. During tumultuous moments we need to remember that they are just that. Moments. Sure they can last years, but when the shift happens and our hearts have expanded we will sit down with a cup of coffee and take a deep breath. And with that out breath comes the acknowledgment that we survived. We made it. We are renewed. We are whole. We are changed. We are grateful. And we laugh. A hearty, full laugh. Why? Because we had the audacity to question our strength.

Much love,

MC