“You’re not LISTENING to me!” she exclaimed.
The light switch went off.
I remember feeling that way, too, when I was her age.
Misunderstood.
Her father and I reviewed our game plan and saw no error.
And yet, that’s the funny thing about plans.
They’re just that.
Plans.
We had good intentions.
But so is the path to hell.
I showed my hands.
“Ok.” I said.
“Really?” she replied, in disbelief.
“Yea. We’re just here to support you.”
And maybe that’s all we ever need to hear.
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.
What do you say to the woman strong enough to stand alone?
Honestly, it doesn’t matter because
She still stands.
Counting down the hours, I could not wait to leave.
A break from cooking, boo-boos and bedtime.
Time to eat where and when we wanted.
Time to sleep in, time with my friend.
We decorated, wined and dined.
We puzzled, visited the spa and stayed up late to watch movies.
It was everything I wanted and yet . . .
Counting down the hours, I could not wait to leave.
I missed my husband and children.
The grass is always greener.
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.
“Let me lead.” I plead.
Do you trust me? Then, let me lead.
Faith over fear.
We’re in this together. I explain to her.
It’s not me against you.
Instead, me with you.
I walk alongside you, child.
I witness your growth, next to you.
Encouraging you. Believing in you. Cheering you on.
Not against you. With you.
Arms linked, we march towards your bright future.
Until I let go. And you lead.
I trust you.
Faith over fear.
You lead.
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.
“Unfair!” “Bad call!” “These refs are the worst.”
All sentiments I heard from my players last basketball season.
Victims.
At our last practice, I gave each girl a flashlight.
“Ultimately, you choose what you shine your light on. Are you going to shine it on what is out of your control? Unfair players and referees? Offensive injuries? Or, instead, are you going to shine your light on what you CAN do. Are you going to see the possibility?”
In the heat of the moment, the lesson remains true: Focus on what you alone can control.
This same principle applies to my daughters with nightmares.
Can we control the terrible thoughts that enter our heads? Not always.
But can we allow them to pass by us like a moving thundercloud without allowing them to rain on our parade? Yes.
We can choose to shine our light, our thoughts on something that brings us joy.
A recent trip to the beach, the taste of ice cream, a memory of snow. The possibility.
No, we cannot control that which offends our personal space.
But we surely can control how we respond to it.
It’s our light.
And we choose where it shines.
Ballers.
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.
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