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Love is Love
Month: September 2023
The Great Facade
“It’s ok to feel your feelings.” I whispered into her ear as she sobbed.
She’s been so angry lately.
But I knew better.
This had nothing to do with who she is
And everything to do with what she felt.
She was lost and anger was the easiest path.
Let’s be real.
It’s easier to be angry than it is to admit you’re vulnerable and wounded.
The Great Facade.
Smoke
“God-or whoever is in charge of this planet- got drunk on the job one day and decided to give me the gift of writing. The way I see it, I have two choices. I can set that gift high on a shelf so it won’t get dinged up and nobody can make fun of me for playing with it.” He smiled until the crinkles at the corner of his eyes were deep enough to hide state secrets. “Or, I can have fun with it and play with the gift I was given until the engine burns out and the wheels come off. I decided to play. I suggest you do the same, young man. Go paint or draw or collage or whatever you want to do. Come back when there’s smoke coming off the canvas. And for God’s sake, go have some fun. Please?” – Shaffer, 2023 P. 78
I am so. Damn. Proud. Of myself.
I have written, since I could.
Diaries with useless locks and keys.
Journals considered my closest confidant.
“Dear Journal, You are the only one I can talk to.”
Everyone wanted to be Carrie but I knew, I already was Carrie.
It took one high school teacher mentioning, “You are a gifted writer.”
And over a decade later, a neighbor suggesting, “You should start a blog.”
For me to start a blog.
How will I ever properly thank them for the journey they have encouraged me to record?
I keep writing, that’s how.
I play with the gift I was given until there’s smoke coming off my paper.
And for God’s sake.
I have fun.
Special thanks to The Wishing Game by Meg Shaffer
Peace
At first, a thread.
Then, the seam.
Piece by piece,
My unraveling.
Not the sort you might think:
My pretty dress, favorite shirt.
Instead, my knots.
My tension, stress, anxiety.
Bit-by-bit,
Loosening.
Letting go.
They are all off to school.
I said no to volunteering.
And here I am.
Unraveling the last dozen years.
There was a moment when I considered adding to the size of this knot.
More money, more things, more praise.
Instead,
Less.
Unraveling.
Piece to Peace.
Camille Vaughan Photography
Less is More
There is such a thing.
As too much of a good thing.
Be it chocolate, exercise or overpacked schedules full of fun.
At some point, you burn out.
Why must we get that point to learn the hard way?
Case in point: I developed an eye twitch a couple of weeks ago.
Gee, here’s a new thing- I can’t control my eye spasming!
A quick google search revealed the most common cause: STRESS.
When the balls start dropping, it’s time to reevaluate which ones we can let go.
Otherwise, we are failing at juggling.
I’ve since slowed way the hell down.
Learning to say no, when I desperately want to say yes.
Rushing less and relaxing more.
In other words,
Less is more.
Count On
“If there’s one thing we can always count on,” I explain to my daughter, “it’s change.”
No matter how much we wish we could freeze time or return to the way things were before, change is inevitable.
We may not be able to force the way things change, but we are able to control how we respond to it.
Entering her first year of middle school, my eldest daughter is enduring a lot of change that frankly, she’s not a huge fan of.
Riding the school bus for the first time, switching classes that are much larger than elementary and the loss of the familiarity of her previous school.
Change is hard, for better or worse.
In these beginning moments of great change, her emotions are running hot and cold. The smallest of problems are monumental. It reminds me of a conversation I had with her when she was just four years old.
I had just given birth to our third daughter, resulting in me leaving my two and four year old to play on their own while I nursed their baby sister to sleep.
They would barge in with battles over a toy or to ask if they could have some pretzels, waking the baby from her near slumber.
It was time for an intervention.
I sat them both down and discussed the difference between “Big Problems” and “Little Problems”. I actually recorded it so that I could share it with my friends and I’m so glad I did because there’s a precious moment when the lightbulb goes off in my four year-old’s head. She got it.
Big problems are when you are bleeding, someone is at the door or there’s a bonafide emergency. Little problems are snack requests or arguments over toys.
The same still holds true. Sometimes in moments of stress and vulnerability, even the smallest problems seem overwhelming. But if we take a moment to stop and really think, we realize they aren’t so life-threatening after all.
Recognizing the difference is the first step.
Adapting is the next.
Forgotten materials and missed assignments are challenging, but fixable.
Changing schools is hard but not insurmountable.
The sooner we anticipate and roll with change, the less anxious we will feel.
“There’s another thing you can count on.”I whisper to her as I tuck her into bed.
“Me.”
New Leaf Parenting 