I spent the better part of my thirties examining my past to better understand my present.
Now in my forties, I feel like I’ve got a solid understanding of how I came to be who I am.
I understand that while I will never be able to fill the gaps for that lonely, lost little girl of my past, I sure can provide my own girls with a solid foundation.
And instead of wallowing in what happened, I can forgive myself for my missteps, buckle up my shoes and keep walking, eyes forward.
My childhood friends and I always mimicked my mom’s “You have a choice, Lauren.” speech. But my mom gets the final laugh because, she was right!
There are always going to be people we’d rather not be around or challenging, unavoidable life events.
We can’t choose those people or those events but we can choose how we handle them.
It’s how we respond that matters.
I have quite a few friends enduring some major life changes this holiday season- deaths of loved ones, divorce and general heartache.
To them and to all of you reading, I reach out my hand to hold yours and to remind you that in this holy season, you can also put those hands together in prayer to ask for God’s help.
You’re not alone.
We never are.
That’s one choice we can’t make.
Wishing you love, peace and joy this holiday season.
Breakups are never easy but some are just messier than others.
I liken it to a broken coffee mug.
Sometimes you drop the cup and it chips. It sucks, but you can still keep it on the shelf for memory’s sake.
Other times, the mug shatters entirely. You pick up the pieces but can’t put it back together or make sense of how it ever worked in the first place. You hate to throw it in the trash. It meant so much!
It’s a total loss. And you’re sad. You’re sad that day and every day you open the cabinet and it’s not there. You’re left with the warm memories and the frustration that it fell apart.
Time passes. Time softens. Time heals.
Slowly. Maybe too slowly for your likening but this cannot be rushed.
No way but through.
Then, one day you realize you hadn’t thought about it missing.
You’ve started enjoying and appreciating your other mugs more.
And anyway, why did you ever put so much weight into one mug?
You poured your heart and it wasn’t strong enough to hold.
Moving forward, still tender from your loss, you make a silent but important commitment to take caution when adoring something so much.
You still love.
But with boundaries.
So that if they break or leave, you aren’t shattered too.
The older I get, the more I learn just how important they are.
Setting them, adjusting as needed, and keeping them.
They are important for all relationships, personal and professional.
Marriage, friendships, coworkers and family.
I’ve come to realize I feel most out-of-control when I’ve either failed to set a boundary or neglected to enforce it.
And I had that come-to-Jesus moment just yesterday.
One of my daughter’s spiraling separation anxiety has left me feeling suffocated. Aside from school, she will go very few places without me present- the entire time. Which is why we end up hosting most of her friends at our house and why I stay for her after-school activities.
It’s not her fault. We are seeking multiple avenues of professional help. But it’s exhausting. I’m sure for her, too.
I birthed her and I will stand by her, through thick and thin. She will know that when things get tough, I am walking alongside her through the muck until she is strong enough to wave goodbye and walk alone.
But yesterday, I was upset that I was going to miss my husband’s volleyball tournament so that I could stay for my daughter’s weekly extracurricular. And in my frustration and resentment, I realized that her anxiety was now directly affecting MY life, MY marriage. I was failing to keep my boundary.
So, I explained- you can go to your extracurricular alone or you can miss it and come with me because today, I choose me. I choose my husband. I choose our marriage, which we’ve always stressed comes absolutely first in this family. Without the strength of that bond, the rest collapses.
He didn’t know I had changed plans and cracked a smile as we walked onto the beach.
She’s single, doesn’t have children and lives alone in a great apartment in Brooklyn, NY.
I admit, sometimes I dream of switching places. To eat at restaurants frequently. To have a well-paid professional career. To do whatever I feel like doing during my free time without others dictating the limitations.
But my husband and I have been having conversations about the Buddhist principal: Want What You Have.
Instead of “I have to take the kids to gymnastics.” It’s, “I get to take the kids to gymnastics.” It’s a simple word change but it’s latent with meaning: I’m lucky enough to have children. My children are fortunate to have a body that can perform gymnastics. I can afford a car to drive them and so much more.
So the other night, after I cooked dinner and set it on the table to a critical crowd, “Ew! I hate chicken.” “Mom, if I eat that I’m going to choke.” Emmett looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and said, “But Lauren, you GET to cook them dinner.”
We both burst into a fit of laughter.
Because as grateful as we are for this life we’ve created together, as much as we do want what we have, we also recognize that it’s not always easy. It’s a constant juggling of his needs, my needs, their needs and our needs, as a family.
I allow myself to daydream of takeout, uninterrupted movies, and a wide-open schedule while simultaneously practicing mindfulness. Taking a moment to enjoy my surroundings- be it our front yard, the beach, or our rowdy kitchen table. I know these are “the days” and I GET to be their mom. I want what I have.
But I’m still going to visit Harper in New York and practice mindfulness there, too.
I can’t admit to a silver lining because there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to reverse the sudden loss of our beloved pet.
But surely, I can recognize that in this time of deep grief and loss, our friends and family have surprised and overwhelmed us with great love.
Oreo passed away the first night we were out of town. The news shook us and so did the minute we returned to an empty home ten days later.
Grief consumed us the second we walked in-he wasn’t where we expected him to be.
Instead, flowers were.
Multiple bouquets of flowers, homemade cards and gifts greeted us, softening the deafening blow of his absence.
In the weeks that followed, gifts continued to arrive- garden statues, grave markers, sun-catchers and a light memorial that we look at every. single. day.
It’s no silver-lining. I wouldn’t trade this support for the life of our rabbit.
But it sure is nice to know we aren’t alone in our grief;
That our friends truly understand the depth of our loss and are brave-enough to acknowledge it.
I wish I could but I never will forget the supreme loneliness I felt as a child.
And I suppose that is why, as an adult, I feel so committed to seeing children.
Physical presence is not enough.
Neither is saying “I care.”
It’s action.
Before I took the pills that landed me in the hospital, before I stood on the edge of the balcony threatening to jump, I cut myself as a way to ease the pain.
I was 12 years old.
So, when my daughter exhibits signs of distress,
I take her seriously.
When minimal interventions (intentional time together, changes to routine, etc.) fail to work, I take action: therapy, medication.
A day of rest guarantees a day’s worth of extra work for the future.
Never was this any clearer than when Elizabeth was six months old.
My body had given up.
I had spent the summer with all four girls at home while Emmett was at work.
They were ages 6, 4, 2 and newborn.
Elizabeth was “failure-to-thrive”. Not gaining weight, vomiting and crying constantly with eczema covering her body and we couldn’t figure out why.
I was down twenty pounds, eliminating foods in a desperate attempt to continue breast feeding my last baby, only to find out later that the avocado I was surviving on was one of her FPIES (Food Protein-Induced Entercolitis) triggers.
My back completely gave out and I was incapacitated in a chair watching friends and family trying to substitute for me: Laundry, meals, diapers, playtime, housework.
It was laughable to think I had attempted to manage all of that on my own.
I finally agreed to hire the help my husband had been encouraging me to get for months.
I felt foolish staying at home and hiring someone to help complete my unpaid job but once she arrived, I was free to be a more present mother and enjoy my children rather than just survive them.
Six years have passed and the nanny days are long over but mothering isn’t and I’m realizing, never will be.
What happens when mom gets sick?
It’s a lonely feeling.
As a mom, I’m always anticipating my family’s needs but when sick, I’m still having to direct the show from bed. Appointment reminders, meal tips, boo-boo kisses and bedtime tuck-ins.
Things only a mom knows of her own kids.
I suppose that is what led me to pray to my heavenly father tonight.
To ask him to take care of me when I’m feeling overwhelmed and neglected.
No, there are no sick days for mothers.
But it’s nice to know there’s someone always ready to embrace me.
New Leaf Parenting 