Home

Happy New Year, my darling. 

You know I’ve always been your number one fan. 

It’s never changed. 

It never will. 

I picked well. 

I also forced you to read a Dr. Phil book and face your past before committing to a future with me. 

We are 10 years apart in age but I’d been through enough to know you had to know yourself before loving someone else. 

And here we are, 16+ years and four kids later. 

Still learning, still growing but forever and always, loving. 

We are exhausted and committed to one another and to our family. 

And honestly, 

I burst into tears during our vows because I knew

I had found home. 

There’s nothing better than that. 

You, my home. 

Dee Akright Photography

Dangerous Woman

A dangerous woman.

“I’m not going to lie to you. It’s a little dangerous to live a life in which you do what you want to do, behave in a way that feels authentic, pay attention to things you find of interest, and direct your passions in any way you see fit. You are now a woman who can’t be controlled by mass media and consumer culture. Congratulations, sister.”- Karbo

A dangerous woman, indeed. 

It has taken my entire life and the help of this book to become the woman I am today, but I guess that’s the point. There’s no substitute for experience.

I’ve learned to let go of the woulda, coulda shouldas and instead, focus on the here and now. 

Instead of regret, I channel my energy into encouraging my daughters to embrace their unique selves, while still pursuing my own. 

I wake. 

Karbo, Karen. Yea, No. Not Happening. How I found Happiness Swearing Off Self Improvement and Saying F*ck it All- and How You Can Too. 2020.

Camille Vaughan Photography

Three Words

It’s just three words so why are they the hardest to say aloud?

“I. Need. Help.”

Her teachers were shocked: “She is so happy and helpful in class. She has friends and is on honor roll. I never saw this coming.”

How many times have we heard this same story of surprise? 

At what point do we not wait until it becomes irreversible regret and start paying attention to the little signs?

Depression is not sudden. 

It’s gradual. 

We know this but we don’t want to label it so we look for other explanations. 

Meanwhile, they continue drowning.

Not my child. 

“But if I tell her what’s wrong, I’ll cry!” She laments. 

It’s better than crying in the bathroom, I remind her.

School therapists are like life guards; on the side ready to offer help when needed. 

Our struggles may be a part of our story but they don’t have to be the end.

But first, we must take the hardest, most important step. 

Admit that we are struggling and ask for help. 

It’s just three words.

Camille Vaughan Photography

Give

Gray stone surrounded the window pane I peeked through, as I noticed their breath that December night. 

At nine years old, I was a greeter; welcoming the homeless into our old church.

The line was long and I knew the inevitable was upon us; the moment we had to shut the door, ending the promise of a warm meal and pew.  

It broke my heart. 

I was introduced to a life of service at a very young age. 

My grandparents always brought me along to help serve “Meals on Wheels”, delivering hot meals to the elderly all over town.

I felt proud, knocking on the door and helping place the tray, all while noting my surroundings. 

We didn’t have a lot, I thought, but we had more than this. 

My parents always provided to those in need, even when it meant they went months without paychecks to provide for their small-business employees.

It was instilled in me that there were always those who had a greater need than our own.

At 17, I served in two orphanages for a month in Ghana.  

I’ve never forgotten it. 

The moment we shut the door. The moment I left and they stayed.

As we enter this season of giving,

I remember. 

I open my heart.

And I give. 

Thankless

Y’all. They cute but let’s be real. 

This is the most thankless job I’ve ever signed up for. 

I guess this is what the mid-life crisis is? When you’re too far to turn around and make a different choice?

I was almost a screenwriter. An actress. Famous.

Instead, I’m a mom. A coach. A teacher. A writer. 

Oh, wait. 

My life isn’t over just because I chose differently.

It’s different, yes. Richer, yes. Harder, yes. 

But I’m not done.  

I’m just getting started. 

This is the most thankless job I’ve ever signed up for. 

But I’ll be damned if I don’t embrace the choice I made and inspire children to follow their own dreams.  

Let’s be real. 

They cute, ya’ll. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Story

I try. 

I keep trying to see that little face amongst the venom that spews from her mouth. 

But she’s not my little girl anymore. 

No, she is her own. 

And boy, does she have a lot to say. 

How do I tell her?

How can she know, I am the mother I never had?

Oh, but wait. 

This is her story, not mine. 

I was 30 hours into labor when my midwife dropped that truth bomb on me. 

“This is not your story, Lauren. It’s hers.”

Good God. 

Nice to know, now. 

I gave birth to a new human.  

Not a continuation. 

Instead, our contribution.  

We try. 

We listen. 

We recognize. 

She has a lot to say. 

This is her story. 

Not ours. 

Nice to know. 

Always. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Love is Love

Subscribe to continue reading

Subscribe to get access to the rest of this post and other subscriber-only content.

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.”  

Camille Vaughan Photography

Electricity

The crowd gathered round. 

Electricity. 

You could feel it in the air and we all wanted to witness.

Most didn’t know what for but I knew. 

These were my parents. 

Illicit lovers so long ago. 

Not meant to be forever. 

But meant to make and love me. 

Years passed but their magnetism never did. 

If only we could all be so lucky to love, at least once 

Just like that.