It’s been a lifetime of regret
For a crime I never committed.
I was born.
The illegitimate of a love affair.
Forever, a child, apologizing for my existence.
I’m so sorry.
And yet, Here I Am.
You’ve welcomed and accepted me,
Flaws, painful memories and all.
I’m so sorry.
I was born.
It’s been a lifetime.
But, here I am.
Here I am.
Don’t get me wrong.
I definitely have those pangs.
The weird desire to smell just inside the crevice of their neck, cheek-to-cheek.
*Inhale* their sweetness.
Feel their entire fist upon my finger . . .
But miss those days?
Count me out.
With four daughters, all I’ve heard is warnings of teenage days to come.
My oldest is only eleven and I’ve had to put my foot in my parental mouth more times than I care to count so I dare not assume I know better than my foremothers.
But, I admit. . .
I look forward to the future more than I look longingly backward to their baby days.
Perhaps it is because I had the opportunity to experience babyhood four separate times.
My friends with twins remind me that although they were awarded double the experience at the same time, they wished they’d had the opportunity over time.
Lord knows, I got that time- I was pregnant and/or nursing for nine years in a row.
Instead, I revel in witnessing my daughters grow into young women- their passions, insecurities and questions.
I walk alongside, offering assistance as needed and hopping in bed to cuddle when requested.
I have such faith that they will continue to shine
So, forget the mirror.
Hand me my shades.
Here come my suns.
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
– Emma Lazarus
My father is first generation American.
Italian, born and bred.
So, when I graduated high school I asked for proof.
In other words, bring me to them.
My relatives.
We traveled first to Rome.
A hotel, he’d booked online.
We’d spent exactly two nights ever together in a lifetime and suddenly,
we were residing in a closet.
On to Naples, Pompeii and Calabria: the place of my grandfather’s birth.
Rich with olive trees, oil and seven-layer fresh lasagna.
Here, I bonded with my foreign relatives as I screamed “Aye! Aye! Aye!” on motorbike
through winding streets, experiencing food like it was the first time.
Eating “al fresca”, pretending I followed their animated conversation.
Next, to Sicily where we knocked on many a neighbor door
until we stood in the room my grandmother was born in 1898.
I looked around and wondered, “how?”.
And here I am.
Standing in my father’s hospital room wondering, “how?”
If there was ever a man to give to the tired, the poor,
Those that needed to breathe and required refuge,
He’s right here.
Beside the golden door.
And here I am.
Standing in my father’s hospital room wondering, “how?”.
I used to feel so uncomfortable
With Gray.
Black and White were concrete, comforting.
But Gray, blurred the lines.
And I sought certainty.
Anyone with children will explain how humbling it is to feel powerless
Be it the pregnancy, the birth, the unexpected complications or simply the milestones
All of a sudden, you are no longer in control.
I spent a long time fighting the current
But started to enjoy the ride once I let it lead.
And that’s my approach to life these days.
There’s no need to know what comes next;
Instead, let’s wait and see.
Destination unknown.
Gray.
There’s a reason the stewardess instructs you to put on your own oxygen mask before your child’s.
You are no good to anyone when you’re passed out.
So, today, when I told my therapist that my doctor explained I was anemic at my latest physical, she chuckled, “Well, that’s telling, isn’t it?”
As a universal donor, I’ve been donating roughly every 8 weeks until recently, when I was turned away for low iron.
There’s always a shortage and since I have the blood everyone needs, I always say yes.
But the theme of “taking care of myself” has been commonly discussed during therapy so it came as no surprise to my therapist to learn I had once again, run my well dry.
It’s all about setting healthy boundaries.
Pouring into my cup first, before sharing with others.
“I can write a letter, if you need.” My doctor offered.
I laughed, “No, I’m a big girl. I can tell them No.”
A hard word for me to ever say.
There’s always a need.
But I want to be here for the long haul, not just the present emergency.
So, I set boundaries.
I say, “No.”
I take care of myself.
And in the end, that’s my greatest gift to others.
Camille Vaughan Photography
“You’re such a good mom.”
They say to me with awe and pity.
And I wonder,
If you were me, would you do anything differently?
I’d like to think not.
My child, with food allergies, gets invited to a birthday party.
Of course I bring her own cupcake- dairy, egg, peanut and wheat-free.
This is our normal.
And yes, it’s hard.
But if it were you . . .
You’d do it, too.
We’re Moms.
It’s what we do.
Camille Vaughan Photography
“Are you going to hide them?” My friend asked.
Well, shit.
That hadn’t even occurred to me.
Top of the closet? Under the bed?
Um, actually, no.
I have nothing to hide.
The bottom drawer of my bedside table is full of awesome adult toys and if one or more of my four daughters has the audacity to peek, well then. . . . be careful of what you search for.
“That’s private.” I explained to my daughter.
Case closed.
But much like when my eldest was no longer content with the minimal basics of procreation, I will never choose to keep my children in the dark.
We are a home that uses correct terminology.
Penis. Vagina. Breasts.
NOT- wee-wee, hoo-ha, or boobies.
There’s nothing shameful about our anatomy.
And the sooner we embrace that, the sooner we set ourselves free.
Fun fact:
After teaching elementary school, I was a Pure Romance Consultant for four years.
My company’s motto was: Empower, Educate, Entertain.
And I thrived.
I walked into a room full of women and quickly thawed the tension with humor.
I enlightened them with facts I had learned from professors at conferences at Indiana University, the leader in Sexual Health.
And then I empowered them to own their bodies.
To ask me questions when we were just one-on-one
And release their fear and shame.
I won’t stop now.
My daughters will be well-informed.
Empowered. Educated. Entertained (later).
Nothing to hide.
She called it what it is:
Grief.
I had never associated that word with what I had been feeling but it all clicked into place.
Grief can be due to a loss of any kind: a loved one, job, marriage, friendship or a major life change.
What I had been feeling was grief!
I described how desperate I had been to make sense of it all and store it neatly in its box.
I’m a writer: I like a good ending.
And this . . . this just carried on.
I described it as spilled slime.
Here I was, frantically trying to return the contents to its original container and no matter how hard I tried, it lingered.
Grief has no blueprint, no timeline.
It’s messy and ugly and nonsensical.
It does not wield to your plans or box.
It takes its time and you are merely a companion to it.
Many try to escape its grasp- be it denial, alcohol or busyness.
Others drown in it.
And then there’s me- failing to recognize it for what it is.
Well, hello grief.
I relinquish my need to control.
I let you take your time.
I identify you.
I respect your process.
And I walk with you
Until you move along.
It is what it is.
Grief.
Camille Vaughan Photography
Have you ever had moments in your life when you feel like time stops?
It’s remarkable.
It happened once when I was eleven.
And it happened again today when I read a line from an advice column:
“Children of alcoholics are often on high alert trying to anticipate other people’s feelings, so they can try to head off problems or incidents before they become overwhelming.”
The camera of my life came into focus.
The dots connected.
And for a moment, time stopped
As my mind rewinded
To the friendships I had ruined by suffocating them with my need to control
And the relationships I had endured because I expected no better.
My desperate need for security.
My present-day Type A personality.
I am a child of an alcoholic.
And it shows, still today.
It’s not an excuse.
But it does help to explain how I came to be.
And for me, that’s the first step.
Time starts again.
New Leaf Parenting.
Every Day is a Fresh Start.
“Life is short. Get a divorce.”
I audibly chuckled when I saw this highway billboard on the way home from South Carolina today.
I mean, if only it were so simple.
Things get tough? Quit.
Life is short, after all.
As a child of divorce, I can honestly say that when my mom and step-dad “announced’ their separation, I was relieved.
No more pretending. No more arguing.
Maybe they could be happy, after all?
I didn’t realize that it would lead to him deserting me forever.
Or that I would find it impossible to spend another holiday with my step-siblings I had known since I was two.
We were now split three ways. Who could blame us?
Instead, I take a hard look at my own marriage and give grace and ask for the same in return.
We were madly in love.
And then we had four children.
And that is really hard.
But we are committed to remembering who we once were and who we are becoming.
No need to pretend.
No need to argue.
We can be happy.
Things get tough.
Nothing is simple.
Life is short, after all.
Camille Vaughan Photography
New Leaf Parenting 