18 Months

Posted on by Lauren

Today marks 18 months of sobriety for me.

It’s a day like any other because I truly do not think about alcohol anymore.

The hardest part of getting sober was admitting to myself that I had a problem. I had been hiding for so long, I was terrified to look into the mirror.

Once I admitted I had a problem and made the decision to stop allowing alcohol to poison my life, the rest was easy.

My initial greatest concerns were:

  1. Would I be able to write anymore, without alcohol loosening my filters?
  2. Would I be able to enjoy socializing without alcohol?
  3. Would I be tempted by alcohol, while others openly drank in front of me?

The answers to these questions are

  1. Yes. I’m prouder of my writing now than then.
  2. Yes. There are so many incredible options such as N.A. Blue Moon and Mingle cocktails. Honestly, I rarely drink them and am good with 1 maybe 2 of them. The lack of alcohol removes the need to drink more.
  3. Not at all. My relationship with alcohol is separate from anyone else’s. My experience is not theirs. I simply do not want it. I don’t want to return to where I was. It doesn’t bother me one bit when others drink in front of me.

I share my experience not because I feel the need to keep myself accountable. I don’t need that kind of pressure in my life.

Instead, I share because the brave soul, Ryan Boyce, shared his sober testimony and it changed my life. If my share inspires you to change yours, then it’s worth recognizing this milestone.

The holidays can be equally full of magic and heartache.

Remember this: you are not alone. There is light.

 And my hand is right here to grab, if you need it.

Cheers, everyone and thanks for the support and love along the way.

I send it right back to you.

See

Posted on by Lauren

“Want me to come in with you?” I asked, reassuringly. 

A small smile crept into the corner of her mouth. 

“No, mom. I got it.”

I watched from the driver’s seat as she walked into the store, turning one last time to look at me.

I settled into my seat, head against the headrest and smiled. 

This was it. My first baby is growing up, reassuring me along the way that I’ve done my job. I’ve walked beside her, leading by example, showing her the ropes of life. 

And now, she’s confident enough to take a stab at it on her own, knowing full-well I’m nearby if needed. 

There’s no one at the counter.

There never is. Just find someone who works there and ask them.

I can’t find anyone. Can you come in? . . .wait, nvm. 

She walked back through those double doors, holding the bag up to prove her mission had been successful. 

“See?” She said, climbing back into the passenger’s seat. 

Yes, my darling. 

I see you. 

And I couldn’t be prouder. 

Flight

Posted on by Lauren

You know what is remarkable about a woman in her forties?

She’s tired. 

She is so tired.

She’s tired of the double standards, the “balancing”. 

She’s tired of the thankless, silent work of carrying “the load”. 

It’s liberating. 

Because she’s done. 

She can’t carry it any longer. 

So, like a snake shedding its skin,

A moose dropping its antlers, 

She lets go. 

She’s so light now, free from that heavy load. 

She says goodbye to relationships and friendships that no longer serve her,

And welcomes only those who celebrate her light into her inner circle. 

It’s a little foreign, 

This new shape she has become. 

But she settles into the discomfort, knowing full-well it is part of her growth. 

Her becoming. 

She’s remarkable, 

As she takes flight. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Granny’s Farm

Posted on by Lauren

Today was a most difficult day for our family.

Today we said our final goodbye to Granny’s farm.

My in-laws home was so much more than just any-old-house.

Designed and built by my father-in-law, Bill, their retirement home rests upon over 50 acres of land on the banks of Lake Mattamuskeet, a National Wildlife Refuge found 30 miles from the nearest stop light. 

The land is full of migratory birds, black bears, and deer, to name a few. Rich, black soil supports vibrant family-owned farmland as far as the eye can see. 

My mother-in-law, Betty, grew up in her grandmother’s house next door. They didn’t have electricity until she was 12 years old and used a horse before they purchased a car.

Bill was raised with his large family across the Lake. Ten years apart in age, they met shortly after Betty graduated from high school and the rest is history. 

They moved to Chesapeake, VA to give their four children more opportunities and moved right back to retire in Fairfield the second my husband graduated high school more than 30 years ago. 

Bill passed away in the home when our oldest, Aurora, was only 4 months old. Betty has remained, ever since. 

Yes, this house and its land was so much more than any-old home. 

It’s where our little family spent every single Easter and Thanksgiving. 

This is where our girls picked figs, peaches and pears in the Summer and grapes, apples and pecans in the Fall. 

This is where they learned to ride a 3-wheeler, shoot a gun, and befriend a domesticated deer named Jane Doe. 

This is the place my children bottle fed lambs and calves, where we roasted oysters over open fire and dyed easter eggs. 

Fairfield Methodist Church is where all four of our girls were baptized. It’s where they listened to their Granny play the piano and received treats for the children’s sermon. 

When I close my eyes, I feel the soft wind brush my hair. The air is filled with the scent of ripe figs so visceral, I can taste them. I hear the crunch of the pecan hulls underneath my feet and soak in the stunning sunset over the pier my husband built in the lake. 

Yes, this home is more than just any-old-house. 

It’s a symphony of senses. 

It’s a holder of some of our family’s most precious memories that we will carry with us for a lifetime. 

Today we said our final goodbye to Granny’s farm. 

Forever we will say thank you. 

Anchor

Posted on by Lauren

When I tell you I’m having a real time with one of my daughters, I mean I am having a real time. 

I liken the reward of raising her to pouring water into a sieve. No matter how much you give, it feels as if nothing is retained. 

And thanks to the file I retrieved when cleaning out my dad’s condo, containing every one of my report cards and conference sheets, I discovered just how very similar this daughter is to me, when I was her age. 

Now I truly understand just how hard I was to parent (sorry, mom). 

There are so many days I feel as if I have nothing left to give while simultaneously feeling guilty for feeling this way about my own child. 

Therapy helps (for both of us). So do frequent breaks to refuel my empty tank.

But what to tell myself when I feel hopeless? When it seems nothing is changed, nothing learned? 

What is my role?

My steadfast presence. 

That I stay. Even when it is hard. Especially when it’s ugly. 

That although I seemingly get very little from this current relationship, I remain an anchor for her to hold onto. 

That’s it. 

I may not see great change now or ever but I remain. 

And that’s enough. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

The Next Chapter

Posted on by Lauren

At 88 and 93 years old, this moment has been building for decades and yet much like the arrival of a newborn, I still feel wholly unprepared. 

While Emmett’s dad passed away shortly after our eldest was born, his mother has remained a steadfast presence in our family’s life. 

Home to the great pecan tree where our girls picked up its bountiful offering numbering in the thousands, Fairfield, NC was our family’s escape from the rat race of city life. Fairfield was where we spent every Easter and Thanksgiving. Offering its wide-open spaces and clear, starry skies filled with the ever-present sounds of migratory birds, frogs and the wind, Fairfield felt like home.

Home to the pool, where my dad taught me how-to-swim, my father’s top-floor condo overlooking Towne Point Park and the Elizabeth River, offered expansive views. A docent at the Chrysler Museum for years, my dad’s walls were covered in beautiful and valuable art and yet; the girls cartwheeled through the living room as if it were home.

My dad moved into a long-term care last month and this month, my mother-in-law moves into a nearby senior community providing us the opportunity to see them more often. 

Emmett and I are a decade apart and yet here we both are; cleaning out his mom and my dad’s home. Discovering old photographs and letters. Claiming furniture and special mementos. 

Saying goodbye. 

Saying thank you. 

It’s the end of an era. 

It’s the beginning of the next chapter. 

The Greatest Gift

Posted on by Lauren

“You need to tell her. You need to get into your car right now, go over there and tell her.” my husband encouraged. 

It was the eve of my birthday. We were on our front porch and I had just read aloud a letter I’d found while cleaning out my father’s condo. Apparently, he had kept a file for each of his children. In mine I found every report card, parent/teacher conference record and a collection of letters. 

What a treasure trove of memories this was for me to dive deeply into. 

But the one dated December 11, 1987 left me breathless.

If you’ve followed my blog, then you know the story of my beginning. I am the illegitimate love- child of a long-term affair. My parents worked together but no one suspected, not even after I was born. My older sisters, who also worked with my parents, knew me as “Pam’s daughter” but did not learn I was their half-sister until I was three. 

My mother was a powerful business woman. She was charismatic, magnetic, and inspiring. She meant much to many across the entire country but it was me, who wanted her attention the most. 

I spent so many years of my life resentful and angry for the time she’d spent building her career in place of a closer relationship with me. Now that I have a daughter very similar to me, when I was a child, I understand how challenging it must have been to forge that relationship. I didn’t make it easy. 

I finished this letter and instantaneously, my anger evaporated leaving nothing but remorse in its wake. 

I desperately wanted to call her and tell her how sorry I was for failing to recognize the love she had held for me my entire life. I was so busy focusing on her shortcomings that, as a result, I completely missed her devotion and steadfast love. 

My mother advocated for me. She encouraged my father to maintain a relationship with me not just in this letter but in other letters I found in the file: inviting him to conferences, recording my thoughts to him pen-to-paper when I could not yet write. 

How could I ever thank her enough for that gift? The gift of the presence of my father? 

What if I had found this after her death and had never apologized? 

What if my father hadn’t kept these letters for me to one day find?

But he did and she’s still here and my husband willed me to go to her. 

I couldn’t get a hold of her until the next day but when she answered, I started by telling her how much I loved her followed immediately by how sorry I was for remaining angry with her for so long. I thanked her for loving me anyway, in spite of my anger. For never giving up on me. Not then and not now. 

It was my birthday. 

And it was the greatest gift I’ve ever received. 

Love, forgiveness, and gratitude. 

BOB

Posted on by Lauren

Lost amidst the busyness of our everyday lives, it came and went as suddenly and normally as weekly groceries, this event I had so built-up in my mind. 

For over 13 years, our BOB stroller occupied precious space in our garage. It’s role and value not to be underestimated. 

It carried our first, second, third and last-born. 

To the park, across the beach, along rugged, rocky trails in Maine, Costa Rica and the Carolinas. This stroller has rolled through airports, water parks and Disney World. Her wheels have traversed through rain, mud, snow and sand and although one daughter, along the way, bucked through the straps breaking them for good, our stroller safely contained each child.

From an infant in Stroller Strides for eight incredible years to an 8 year old’s backpack hitching a ride to-and-from the walking zone of our elementary school, our stroller has never failed us. 

And just like that, she was claimed by a new family and gone, yesterday. 

She honorably and dutifully served us and now, she rolls on with new rear ends to hold and sidewalks to explore. 

We thank her for her loyalty and service and wish her light loads and a gentle retirement. 

BOB, you will forever have our hearts. 

Presence

Posted on by Lauren

My dad was discharged from the hospital yesterday, after a 10 day stay, thanks to a broken hip and post-surgical complications. Other than Saturday & Sunday, I was there to offer a familiar face and guidance on “where we go from here.” It was stressful and exhausting and a privilege to show up for him when he has provided for me, my entire life.

But my kids missed me. They love their grandpa and knew I was with him, but they also wanted their mom.

So when I poked my head into Harper’s room late last night, she wore a wide smile, with a shine in her eyes. I asked, “Did something happen?” Fully expecting her to tell me some incredible news.

She simply replied, “No, I’m just happy to see you.”

It stopped me in my tracks because it truly is that simple.

We show up for the people in our life. Even when we don’t have all of the answers or know what to do. Just our presence could make their day, like it did my dad and Harper’s.

And there’s no substitute for that.

Cry for Help

Posted on by Lauren

She’s been snowballing. 

It started small, with occasional snide, snarky remarks made towards her sister; but, it’s grown into a self-proclaimed hatred. 

As a parent, it’s devastating to witness. 

With eyes full of loathing, she finds any tiny infraction to criticize.

Advice encouraging her to focus on her own circle of control and to “let it go” fall upon deaf ears. 

She’s angry.

But it wasn’t until her meltdown this past week that we realized it’s not her sister she’s angry with. 

It’s us. 

“YOU LOVE HER MORE THAN ME.”

“SHE NEVER GETS IN TROUBLE.”

“YOU SPEND MORE TIME WITH HER.”

She screamed and sobbed and tore the room apart, seething in anger and despair. 

I spent the next couple of days researching sibling conflict and was reminded of what I had forgotten: the answer is time. 

Over the past several months, I’ve tried in vain to help the sisters get along- I’ve been focusing on the surface issue. 

What I failed to do was pour into my hurting daughter. 

I don’t need to help resolve their conflict. It’s just a facade. 

Instead, I embraced my angry child and asked her out to dinner. I explained dad would take her out one night, too. 

She lifted her face and genuinely smiled. 

No more problem solving. No more solutions on how to help fix “the problem”. 

Just more love. 

Camille Vaughan Photography