Momalom's Five for Ten: Yes
There are many things on this Earth that require an incredible amount of faith, of taking an enormous leap and just jumping into the thick of things.
Marriage, parenting, friendship, faith in ourselves.
All of them require an affirmative answer to unasked questions: Yes.
When you marry, inevitably, a question gets asked; an answer is given. But before that question and answer, there are many moments that clearly define where you are going, what you are sharing, what you are seeking. And in gestures, in nonverbal acceptance, the yes comes. Yes to creating a life and home with someone. Yes to maybe going to bed angry once in a while, but knowing that the anger will subside, the cheeriness will return and all will be well. Yes to piles of chores and things to do, but always with companionship.
In parenting, the yes begins with the incredible leap from two to the thought of baby makes three. In the positive pregnancy test. In the delivery and congratulations that new babies bring. Afterwards, we walk around in a cloud of positives and a sleep-deprived state. And many decisions. Yes, we want the best for our offspring, but the no's come in rapid succession. Sometimes, we could have easily said yes, and we wonder why we don't more often...Is it that we are afraid that they will become accustomed to having their way? Or are we afraid that they will not know how to handle when things don't go their way?
In friendship, we say yes to helping, supporting, enjoying each other's company. We lean on one another when situations call for it, hold hands when things are difficult, share in celebrating the joyous occasions that life brings.
But how many of us say yes to ourselves? How many of us do for ourselves like we do for our spouses, our children, our friends?
How often do we drop everything when we feel sick? How many of us call in sick to work when our child is running the slightest temperature, but will drag ourselves, half dead to work, on an ongoing basis?
We often short change ourselves with respects to parenting skills, too. We sometimes falter in the day to day stuff of parenting and worry that we are screwing up our kids. But, aren't we doing the best we know how, with our hearts in the wrong place? Don't we provide them with a clearly defines support system? Don't we encourage them from the very start? Don't we soothe them when they are upset?
Why don't we do it for ourselves?
It has taken me a long time to realize that yes to me means not being too hard on myself when I goof up, giving myself a little more credit than I usually do, and not feeling guilty when I do something that is just for me.
Because, when I say yes to myself, I am a happier.
I am a better partner to my husband.
I am more likely to say yes to my kid's non life-threatening request to doing something that will bring them happiness.
I am a better friend to those who bring me happiness.
I am a better me.
Saying yes to my needs and wants is just as important as saying yes to my husband, my kids, my friends.
Saying yes to me helps me renew me, makes me someone others want to be around.
As I see it, there are enough martyrs in the Catholic faith. I am not cut out to be something that I am not. However, I do believe in improving myself.
And really, who could say no to being better company for others, and more importantly, yourself?
Showing posts with label Five for Ten. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Five for Ten. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Lust for Life (...after diapers)
Momalom's Five for Ten: Lust
One of my favorite commercials of all time was one from the Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines where Iggy Pop's Lust for Life blared. It was the perfect soundtrack for all the adventurous activities you could do onboard the ship and on the excursions.
There are people who have an affinity for the finer things in life; travel, gourmet cuisine, finely aged wines, art, music.
I am a WHOLE lot simpler. I have three children. I don't have time for fancy this or that. I often times forget what it was that I was going to do, going from one end of the house to the other. In my case, it is all simpler, except for one tiny, little detail.
My three year old is still in diapers.
I am ashamed to admit this.
When I had my youngest son, I had big dreams relating to potty-training. (Wow, that just might be the saddest sentence I have ever written.) I thought that this child would be the easiest to potty train, having two older brothers with the same kind of plumbing.
But alas, my older sons had different ideas. And in particular, one from The Diary of a Wimpy Kid.
For those of you not familiar with the story line, Greg is the middle child, getting ready to begin middle school. He has a younger brother who, in the midst of potty training, is told that there is a potty monster. Needless to say, the toddler will not go on the porcelain king, and mom is pretty upset.
So is this mom.
I discovered this debauchery when I took my boys to see the movie. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Laugh, because they saw the opportunity and took it; cry, because they saw the opportunity and took it.
Looking at the bright side, they learned to do something from a book, right?
But, on to reality. I have spent a small fortune on diapers and wipes. A small fortune I could have spent on the finer things in life, not poop.
I have purchased diapers for eight out of the last ten years, people. I am done.
There is a life I lust after. Not one that is fancy or complicated. It is very simple wish.
I lust for a life that requires no diaper bags, no refilling the wipes box, no Butt Paste.
I lust for a life where everyone wipes their own ass.
It will mean freedom for me. Of not being tied down to a baby. Of having three independent boys. Of life progressing, evolving.
It will mean that my youngest son will be nearing school age, and we will leave the preschool he attends now, where I send a hefty tuition check the first of every month.
It will mean not having to drive back home if I have forgotten the diaper bag, or harassing the older boys into carrying it to the car, out of the car, into the house, out of the house. It will mean one less thing to have to remember.
It will mean more stops on road trips, accidents while we are out, accidents while we are at home, accidents while we sleep.
And while I cannot wait to unburden myself and Joshua of chasing after him, getting all thirty pounds of him on the changing table and getting down to business, I know I will miss it, just a little.
Because it will mean that I no longer have a baby.
It will mean that I have raised another human being to some sort of independence, regardless of how basic that independence is.
I am starting to see the glimpses of this new and improved Joshua. Last night, he went pee in the potty. Mama did the potty jig and sang the happy Mama song for a good twenty minutes.
Lady Luck was at my house this morning too. He went potty again. Another round of dancing and singing.
But more than that, I saw my littlest boy proud of himself. He was so happy that he did it. He kept telling me he is a big boy. And, he is.
No fear of a potty monster.
And that was good.
Like anything in life, those things that are the most worthwhile never come easy. Not love, not good friendships, not parenting.
Especially not parenting.
But, if you encounter the difficult but worthwhile with a lust for life, then the whole journey is a little more enjoyable, even more worthwhile.
Even in the adventures of potty training.
And especially if you have a particularly good soundtrack playing in the background, even if it's only in your head...
One of my favorite commercials of all time was one from the Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines where Iggy Pop's Lust for Life blared. It was the perfect soundtrack for all the adventurous activities you could do onboard the ship and on the excursions.
There are people who have an affinity for the finer things in life; travel, gourmet cuisine, finely aged wines, art, music.
I am a WHOLE lot simpler. I have three children. I don't have time for fancy this or that. I often times forget what it was that I was going to do, going from one end of the house to the other. In my case, it is all simpler, except for one tiny, little detail.
My three year old is still in diapers.
I am ashamed to admit this.
When I had my youngest son, I had big dreams relating to potty-training. (Wow, that just might be the saddest sentence I have ever written.) I thought that this child would be the easiest to potty train, having two older brothers with the same kind of plumbing.
But alas, my older sons had different ideas. And in particular, one from The Diary of a Wimpy Kid.
For those of you not familiar with the story line, Greg is the middle child, getting ready to begin middle school. He has a younger brother who, in the midst of potty training, is told that there is a potty monster. Needless to say, the toddler will not go on the porcelain king, and mom is pretty upset.
So is this mom.
I discovered this debauchery when I took my boys to see the movie. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Laugh, because they saw the opportunity and took it; cry, because they saw the opportunity and took it.
Looking at the bright side, they learned to do something from a book, right?
But, on to reality. I have spent a small fortune on diapers and wipes. A small fortune I could have spent on the finer things in life, not poop.
I have purchased diapers for eight out of the last ten years, people. I am done.
There is a life I lust after. Not one that is fancy or complicated. It is very simple wish.
I lust for a life that requires no diaper bags, no refilling the wipes box, no Butt Paste.
I lust for a life where everyone wipes their own ass.
It will mean freedom for me. Of not being tied down to a baby. Of having three independent boys. Of life progressing, evolving.
It will mean that my youngest son will be nearing school age, and we will leave the preschool he attends now, where I send a hefty tuition check the first of every month.
It will mean not having to drive back home if I have forgotten the diaper bag, or harassing the older boys into carrying it to the car, out of the car, into the house, out of the house. It will mean one less thing to have to remember.
It will mean more stops on road trips, accidents while we are out, accidents while we are at home, accidents while we sleep.
And while I cannot wait to unburden myself and Joshua of chasing after him, getting all thirty pounds of him on the changing table and getting down to business, I know I will miss it, just a little.
Because it will mean that I no longer have a baby.
It will mean that I have raised another human being to some sort of independence, regardless of how basic that independence is.
I am starting to see the glimpses of this new and improved Joshua. Last night, he went pee in the potty. Mama did the potty jig and sang the happy Mama song for a good twenty minutes.
Lady Luck was at my house this morning too. He went potty again. Another round of dancing and singing.
But more than that, I saw my littlest boy proud of himself. He was so happy that he did it. He kept telling me he is a big boy. And, he is.
No fear of a potty monster.
And that was good.
Like anything in life, those things that are the most worthwhile never come easy. Not love, not good friendships, not parenting.
Especially not parenting.
But, if you encounter the difficult but worthwhile with a lust for life, then the whole journey is a little more enjoyable, even more worthwhile.
Even in the adventures of potty training.
And especially if you have a particularly good soundtrack playing in the background, even if it's only in your head...
Friday, May 14, 2010
The first time, ever I saw your face...
Momalom's Five for Ten: Memory
I remember the weight that my small arms held. I remember the pounding of my little heart, as it beat ferociously within my chest. I remember the warmth of the mid-March night. I remember the sweetness of that face.
My earliest memory is one of happiness. It is one of meeting someone who would be my constant companion for the next nineteen years and my life long friend. It was the day my mother brought home my sister.
I was barely three. We lived in Queens, New York at the time. I cannot recall anything about the apartment we lived in, but I do remember the roughness of the small plaid fabric that covered the sofa I carefully sat on.
My grandmother had come to stay with me for over a month before my sister was born. There were complications that required that my mother be hospitalized for the last couple of months before my sister was born. Nature is a tricky combatant. The final ultrasound determined that my sister was overdue, labor was induced with no desired results. Blood anticoagulants were reversed, an emergency cesarean delivered my beautiful baby sister.
Over the phone calls during that time apart, my mother had promised me the ability to hold my baby sister when she arrived at home. I don't remember my parents coming home, but I do remember sitting with my back all the way to the back of the couch. Of holding my breath in anticipation. Of the weight in my arms and her soft, pink face, as she sighed her sweet baby sighs in my small, inefficient arms.
I remember my grandmother arguing with my mother, pleading with her not to place my sister in my arms, that I was too little, that I would drop her. My mother placed that precious baby, bundled against the cold New York spring in scratchy, white woolen clothes and blanket.
I remember that newborn baby, opening her eyes and looking at me as if to say, "I know you. I am here."
In the pictures that were taken that night, my face shows a curious expression for such a young child. I have this look of wonder, of delight, of happiness.
All throughout her pregnancy, my mother ingrained in my young mind that I was this baby's little mother. That I was responsible for her. Truer words were never spoken.
When I see my two young nieces, I am constantly reminded of how fortunate my sister and I have been, in spite of such a painful childhood. We had each other; always, to love and support the other. My nieces are following in suit. It is uncanny how much they look like us, act like us. A constant reminder of our good fortune.
I wonder what memories will stand out for my sons. Already, they talk about their youngest brother's birth, their young cousins' births, trips and activities we have shared. I wonder if one single event will stand out for them as my sister's birth stood out for me. I wonder if they have yet to have their life altering memory.
Memories, I feel, are gifts from the past. They are there, to carry you through hard times, through grief, longing, sadness.
They are there as a reminder of what worked, what was right, what was good, when things don't quite go as planned.
They are there to ground you. To remind you of who you are, what you are capable of, of the happiness your heart can hold.
But more importantly, like snapshots of a life well-lived, they are always with you. A quick glance back to a time when life was simpler, less chaotic.
As parents, we are bombarded by memories of our children's infancy, toddlerhood, middle childhood. We glean from the best, wistfully recall the details, the when's and why's.
This week, as we have taken on these topics from Momalom's Five for Ten Again, I have seen the natural transition of the topics.
It takes Courage to invite Happiness in.
Happiness brings Memories.
And of all of these, Memories of Happiness are by far the most cherished.
I remember the weight that my small arms held. I remember the pounding of my little heart, as it beat ferociously within my chest. I remember the warmth of the mid-March night. I remember the sweetness of that face.
My earliest memory is one of happiness. It is one of meeting someone who would be my constant companion for the next nineteen years and my life long friend. It was the day my mother brought home my sister.
I was barely three. We lived in Queens, New York at the time. I cannot recall anything about the apartment we lived in, but I do remember the roughness of the small plaid fabric that covered the sofa I carefully sat on.
My grandmother had come to stay with me for over a month before my sister was born. There were complications that required that my mother be hospitalized for the last couple of months before my sister was born. Nature is a tricky combatant. The final ultrasound determined that my sister was overdue, labor was induced with no desired results. Blood anticoagulants were reversed, an emergency cesarean delivered my beautiful baby sister.
Over the phone calls during that time apart, my mother had promised me the ability to hold my baby sister when she arrived at home. I don't remember my parents coming home, but I do remember sitting with my back all the way to the back of the couch. Of holding my breath in anticipation. Of the weight in my arms and her soft, pink face, as she sighed her sweet baby sighs in my small, inefficient arms.
I remember my grandmother arguing with my mother, pleading with her not to place my sister in my arms, that I was too little, that I would drop her. My mother placed that precious baby, bundled against the cold New York spring in scratchy, white woolen clothes and blanket.
I remember that newborn baby, opening her eyes and looking at me as if to say, "I know you. I am here."
In the pictures that were taken that night, my face shows a curious expression for such a young child. I have this look of wonder, of delight, of happiness.
All throughout her pregnancy, my mother ingrained in my young mind that I was this baby's little mother. That I was responsible for her. Truer words were never spoken.
For as long as I can remember, I have been my sister's keeper. You could say that my sister is indeed my oldest child, even though I am only three years older. I have been her biggest defender, ally, cheerleader, shoulder to cry on, and co-conspirator.
When my sister found out I was pregnant with Matthew, my oldest son, she never had any doubts about what kind of mother I would be. I don't know that I share her opinion, even now. But I was grateful that I had a practice run with her.
When I see my two young nieces, I am constantly reminded of how fortunate my sister and I have been, in spite of such a painful childhood. We had each other; always, to love and support the other. My nieces are following in suit. It is uncanny how much they look like us, act like us. A constant reminder of our good fortune.
I wonder what memories will stand out for my sons. Already, they talk about their youngest brother's birth, their young cousins' births, trips and activities we have shared. I wonder if one single event will stand out for them as my sister's birth stood out for me. I wonder if they have yet to have their life altering memory.
Memories, I feel, are gifts from the past. They are there, to carry you through hard times, through grief, longing, sadness.
They are there as a reminder of what worked, what was right, what was good, when things don't quite go as planned.
They are there to ground you. To remind you of who you are, what you are capable of, of the happiness your heart can hold.
But more importantly, like snapshots of a life well-lived, they are always with you. A quick glance back to a time when life was simpler, less chaotic.
As parents, we are bombarded by memories of our children's infancy, toddlerhood, middle childhood. We glean from the best, wistfully recall the details, the when's and why's.
It takes Courage to invite Happiness in.
Happiness brings Memories.
And of all of these, Memories of Happiness are by far the most cherished.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Happiness is...
Momalom's Five for Ten: Happiness
When I close my eyes, and I think about happiness, there are many images that come to mind. Here; a sampling.
As our lives have progressed, I can honestly say that I am happy. I look around inside our home, at the pictures on our walls that chronicle our moments, our lives, and I am constantly reminded that happiness, in many instances, is a conscious decision we make every day.
How many people walk around each day, thinking, "when such and such happens, I will be happy" and when the situation does materialize, it is then immediately replaced with another "such and such." The person wastes their life waiting for the moment happiness smacks them in the face.
All too often, I have heard parents say that they can't wait for their children to grow up, move out, and start their own lives. Will they truly be happy, knowing their children are away? Will that fix whatever is wrong? I am sure it will provide some degree of accomplishment, but I don't know that I will be completely overjoyed when the last chick leaves the nest.
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I know I am not the parent of an adolescent, and perhaps, I am romanticizing parenthood a tad, but some of my happiest moments are in direct result of having my children with me. Finding out I was pregnant, the first ultrasound and hearing their heartbeats, the first glance of that newborn lovey over the surgical sheet, nursing hungry baby boys in the middle of the night, breathing in the scent of a newborn baby that is so intoxicating.
And after the newness of a brand new baby wears off, it is all the little things that they do and how they react to the whole new world that they are busy discovering, every single day. Who has not felt happy at the sight of a wobbly toddler, as they prance, relishing in their new, hard fought mobility? Who hasn't giggled at the antics of a young child who is just beginning to venture out with words and sentences?
My happiness is not measured in the amount of things I own, what car I drive, where I will go on vacation. My happiness is driven by making people laugh, at my crazy stories, at themselves, at life's lemons.
I am blessed. My children are healthy. I am married to a man I love and respect. I come home to a chaotic, messy home, filled with laughter and love.
My happiness is measured by the amount of people who make me smile on a daily basis. It is measured by how I choose to react to difficult challenges. It is measured by the difference I make in the lives of the children I teach.
Happiness has a ripple effect. The more of it you have, the more of it gets spread around. If you are happy, the people around you tend to be happy too. And the more people you are in contact with throughout the day, the more opportunities you have to share it with everyone else.
Please don't misunderstand and think I am just the happiest person put on Earth. I have had a lot of bad things happen to me, usually things that could not be ignored, changed or moved away from. There wasn't a whole lot of choices on what I could do.
But I do have the power, the opportunity, the responsibility; to myself, and my family, to detect every shred of happiness I can find, in any and all situations.
Because if you are given the choice, would you rather wallow in self pity and sadness, or try to walk a little lighter?
Because if all you get is what you have, can that really make you happy?
Because being happy has nothing to do with what you have.
It has EVERYTHING to do with choices you make, how you react, what you do.
And I will change what I can, accept what I cannot and CHOOSE to be happy.
Every day.
Every time.
Surrounded by those who make me the happiest.
No regrets.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Living fearlessly
Today has been a whirlwind. So much to accomplish in so little time. So many bodies to care for, but not my own.
Last night, after a long day, I laid myself in bed. All I wanted was rest, renewal, a respite. I got very little. My favorite night time visitor. He came into bed, crying for his Mama. He got her.
As I tried to get some rest, the words swirled in my head. Perhaps it was all the reading I had done last night on courage. The words seemed to float on air, silently drifting from the infinite sky. Words; their beauty, their power, their stillness, filled my mind.
Intoxicated by sleep, I thought I would remember the luscious combinations that were created in my mind last night. Confident that my brain was a sponge, ready to soak up such beauty, I did not get up to write or jot down...
After a night of tap dancing on my back, I rose.
Having written yesterday's post helped cement something for me. For the first time, I publicly admitted something that has cost me emotionally. Something that has made me feel sad, ashamed, angry, hurt and victimized. But no more.
After reading some of the other blog posts on Courage, I truly felt that I was not alone. That others carry the same weight upon their shoulders and hearts. That they too, tried to overcome hurt and maintain a relationship, to no avail.
I find courage in those actions. Whenever we look beyond the hurt, when we are in constant motion to move forward, to break away from all that we know, to the unknown.
And that takes some serious guts.
Last night, after a long day, I laid myself in bed. All I wanted was rest, renewal, a respite. I got very little. My favorite night time visitor. He came into bed, crying for his Mama. He got her.
As I tried to get some rest, the words swirled in my head. Perhaps it was all the reading I had done last night on courage. The words seemed to float on air, silently drifting from the infinite sky. Words; their beauty, their power, their stillness, filled my mind.
Intoxicated by sleep, I thought I would remember the luscious combinations that were created in my mind last night. Confident that my brain was a sponge, ready to soak up such beauty, I did not get up to write or jot down...
After a night of tap dancing on my back, I rose.
Having written yesterday's post helped cement something for me. For the first time, I publicly admitted something that has cost me emotionally. Something that has made me feel sad, ashamed, angry, hurt and victimized. But no more.
After reading some of the other blog posts on Courage, I truly felt that I was not alone. That others carry the same weight upon their shoulders and hearts. That they too, tried to overcome hurt and maintain a relationship, to no avail.
I find courage in those actions. Whenever we look beyond the hurt, when we are in constant motion to move forward, to break away from all that we know, to the unknown.
And that takes some serious guts.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Like the Cowardly Lion, I want Courage
Momalom's Five for Ten: Courage
I am a coward. For too long, I have kept quiet and played the game that I was taught as a little girl. Put on a brave face, smile, and no one knows.
But I know. And there comes a point when you cannot lie to yourself any more.
Courage comes in many forms. For many, the very word conjectures images of service men and women, fighting shoulder to shoulder on foreign lands, to protect others. The images might be of local police and fire men and women.
But courage is not limited to those images.
Courage is taking off the bandages from over your eyes, and seeing for the first time. Courage is waking up one morning and deciding that you will no longer sit in denial. Courage is sitting in front of a stranger, telling your story, asking for help, and then doing it.
Courage to not continue on the merry-go-round of dysfunction. Of stopping the cycle of manipulation, verbal abuse and alcoholism. Of trying out happiness instead of continuing to drown in sadness.
Courage is then living with the consequences. The silence. The anger. The reality of what happens when you no longer are willing to play the brave face game. The consequences of courage.
Sometimes, you do the most growing up as an adult. When you are responsible for the lives of your children. When you know that your decisions will have real, lasting effects on those lives you would do anything to protect.
So, in my case, courage has meant that I have had to finally face the inadequacies of my life. Of how my parents' decisions shaped me, how those scars were created, how they healed, and how I cannot erase them. They are there to remind me.
Courage has meant silencing the mindless chatter that insinuates that I am not worthy of happiness, as defined by me.
Courage was saying "yes" to a life with a man I love, and trusting that my outcome would be different than the one I had experienced in my young life.
Courage has meant seeing the beauty that my husband and I have created in our life together, in spite of having no role model to go by, in my case.
Courage has meant realizing that living a fantasy for others is something I cannot continue to do at my expense, and have my husband and sister to support and comfort me.
Courage meant becoming a mother, because my heart wanted it so, even though I was terrified of the mistakes I would make.
Becoming a mother put a whole different spin on courage. Because mothering isn't for sissies.
Mothering requires courage from the get-go. Being wheeled into an emergency cesarean. Watching your child struggle against their own physical limitations. Praying for God's mercy when sitting in front of pediatric specialists. Praying that you are doing the right thing.
Courage has meant venturing out of my comfort zone, putting myself out there, so that my limitations do not become my children's limitations.
Courage has meant putting my fear of water aside, and learn how to swim as an adult, with my sons at the edge of the pool, cheering me on.
Courage has meant holding a snake, in spite of the horror on my oldest son's face, so that my fears are not his fears.
Courage has meant facing my own limitations, knowing when I can "fix" things, and trusting that I don't have all the answers.
Courage has meant that I heal myself, love myself, change myself, so that this mother's inadequacies do not scar her children. So that she can be an example that she can be proud of.
Courage has meant crossing over into the fantasy of a little girl, who would often dream of the life this woman now claims as her own.
It takes courage to unchain yourself from a painful past, one that limits your capacity for inner peace and happiness.
Maybe, I am not a coward after all...
I am a coward. For too long, I have kept quiet and played the game that I was taught as a little girl. Put on a brave face, smile, and no one knows.
But I know. And there comes a point when you cannot lie to yourself any more.
Courage comes in many forms. For many, the very word conjectures images of service men and women, fighting shoulder to shoulder on foreign lands, to protect others. The images might be of local police and fire men and women.
But courage is not limited to those images.
Courage is taking off the bandages from over your eyes, and seeing for the first time. Courage is waking up one morning and deciding that you will no longer sit in denial. Courage is sitting in front of a stranger, telling your story, asking for help, and then doing it.
Courage to not continue on the merry-go-round of dysfunction. Of stopping the cycle of manipulation, verbal abuse and alcoholism. Of trying out happiness instead of continuing to drown in sadness.
Courage is then living with the consequences. The silence. The anger. The reality of what happens when you no longer are willing to play the brave face game. The consequences of courage.
Sometimes, you do the most growing up as an adult. When you are responsible for the lives of your children. When you know that your decisions will have real, lasting effects on those lives you would do anything to protect.
So, in my case, courage has meant that I have had to finally face the inadequacies of my life. Of how my parents' decisions shaped me, how those scars were created, how they healed, and how I cannot erase them. They are there to remind me.
Courage has meant silencing the mindless chatter that insinuates that I am not worthy of happiness, as defined by me.
Courage was saying "yes" to a life with a man I love, and trusting that my outcome would be different than the one I had experienced in my young life.
Courage has meant seeing the beauty that my husband and I have created in our life together, in spite of having no role model to go by, in my case.
Courage has meant realizing that living a fantasy for others is something I cannot continue to do at my expense, and have my husband and sister to support and comfort me.
Courage meant becoming a mother, because my heart wanted it so, even though I was terrified of the mistakes I would make.
Becoming a mother put a whole different spin on courage. Because mothering isn't for sissies.
Mothering requires courage from the get-go. Being wheeled into an emergency cesarean. Watching your child struggle against their own physical limitations. Praying for God's mercy when sitting in front of pediatric specialists. Praying that you are doing the right thing.
Courage has meant venturing out of my comfort zone, putting myself out there, so that my limitations do not become my children's limitations.
Courage has meant putting my fear of water aside, and learn how to swim as an adult, with my sons at the edge of the pool, cheering me on.
Courage has meant holding a snake, in spite of the horror on my oldest son's face, so that my fears are not his fears.
Courage has meant facing my own limitations, knowing when I can "fix" things, and trusting that I don't have all the answers.
Courage has meant that I heal myself, love myself, change myself, so that this mother's inadequacies do not scar her children. So that she can be an example that she can be proud of.
Courage has meant crossing over into the fantasy of a little girl, who would often dream of the life this woman now claims as her own.
It takes courage to unchain yourself from a painful past, one that limits your capacity for inner peace and happiness.
Maybe, I am not a coward after all...
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