Tween

See

Posted on by Lauren

“Want me to come in with you?” I asked, reassuringly. 

A small smile crept into the corner of her mouth. 

“No, mom. I got it.”

I watched from the driver’s seat as she walked into the store, turning one last time to look at me.

I settled into my seat, head against the headrest and smiled. 

This was it. My first baby is growing up, reassuring me along the way that I’ve done my job. I’ve walked beside her, leading by example, showing her the ropes of life. 

And now, she’s confident enough to take a stab at it on her own, knowing full-well I’m nearby if needed. 

There’s no one at the counter.

There never is. Just find someone who works there and ask them.

I can’t find anyone. Can you come in? . . .wait, nvm. 

She walked back through those double doors, holding the bag up to prove her mission had been successful. 

“See?” She said, climbing back into the passenger’s seat. 

Yes, my darling. 

I see you. 

And I couldn’t be prouder. 

Anchor

Posted on by Lauren

When I tell you I’m having a real time with one of my daughters, I mean I am having a real time. 

I liken the reward of raising her to pouring water into a sieve. No matter how much you give, it feels as if nothing is retained. 

And thanks to the file I retrieved when cleaning out my dad’s condo, containing every one of my report cards and conference sheets, I discovered just how very similar this daughter is to me, when I was her age. 

Now I truly understand just how hard I was to parent (sorry, mom). 

There are so many days I feel as if I have nothing left to give while simultaneously feeling guilty for feeling this way about my own child. 

Therapy helps (for both of us). So do frequent breaks to refuel my empty tank.

But what to tell myself when I feel hopeless? When it seems nothing is changed, nothing learned? 

What is my role?

My steadfast presence. 

That I stay. Even when it is hard. Especially when it’s ugly. 

That although I seemingly get very little from this current relationship, I remain an anchor for her to hold onto. 

That’s it. 

I may not see great change now or ever but I remain. 

And that’s enough. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Cry for Help

Posted on by Lauren

She’s been snowballing. 

It started small, with occasional snide, snarky remarks made towards her sister; but, it’s grown into a self-proclaimed hatred. 

As a parent, it’s devastating to witness. 

With eyes full of loathing, she finds any tiny infraction to criticize.

Advice encouraging her to focus on her own circle of control and to “let it go” fall upon deaf ears. 

She’s angry.

But it wasn’t until her meltdown this past week that we realized it’s not her sister she’s angry with. 

It’s us. 

“YOU LOVE HER MORE THAN ME.”

“SHE NEVER GETS IN TROUBLE.”

“YOU SPEND MORE TIME WITH HER.”

She screamed and sobbed and tore the room apart, seething in anger and despair. 

I spent the next couple of days researching sibling conflict and was reminded of what I had forgotten: the answer is time. 

Over the past several months, I’ve tried in vain to help the sisters get along- I’ve been focusing on the surface issue. 

What I failed to do was pour into my hurting daughter. 

I don’t need to help resolve their conflict. It’s just a facade. 

Instead, I embraced my angry child and asked her out to dinner. I explained dad would take her out one night, too. 

She lifted her face and genuinely smiled. 

No more problem solving. No more solutions on how to help fix “the problem”. 

Just more love. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Choice

Posted on by Lauren

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. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Protect

Posted on by Lauren

Have a good day at school today, honey.

Thx. Hopefully I don’t get shot.

Just typing this text exchange between me and my seventh grade daughter causes me to erupt into tears.

How are we here? Why?

Do I trust the email our school district sent, reassuring that they are aware and on top of the threat?

Or do I miss a day of work and pull my child from school?

My entire blog is about trusting the process and not living in fear of truth but when it comes to my child’s life, what then?

I can’t believe we have to have this conversation but if in danger, hide and cover your head.

I send her to school knowing that even if she survives her college graduation, she then has large concerts, grocery stores and churches to survive.

It never ends. The threat remains.

If you see someone injured apply a tourniquet above the wound- meaning tie a shoelace or a shirt above the area to stop the blood flow so that they don’t bleed out.

Ooo gross.

She and dozens of others visited the school counselor yesterday. Confused. Scared. Trying to discern whether they are overreacting or reacting appropriately. How is this ever appropriate?

It’s a stark reminder that life is precious, not to be taken for granted even on the most mundane, run-of-the-mill school days.

Love you.

love u.

Dear God, please protect our children.

Because clearly we can’t.

Camille Vaughan Photography

Inside Out

Posted on by Lauren

Was I the only one with tears streaming down my face while watching Inside Out 2 in the theater this morning?

I’m not sure but sitting next to my four daughters, this movie really hit home- particularly in reference to our 12 year-old. 

Those who know me personally know how attentive I’ve always been of our daughters’ feelings. As a child who often felt misunderstood, I know how important it is for my girls’ feelings to be validated, seen and explored, instead of ignored. 

Spoiler alert: the climax of the movie occurs when the emotion Joy realizes that she can no longer simply dismiss undesirable memories and power forward through main character Riley’s puberty ignorant of the arrival of new emotions anxiety, embarrassment, ennui and envy. The lesson that struck deep in my heart was that there was no turning back to the way things were before. Instead, Joy recognizes her need to include the new emotions in order for Riley to feel secure with her true self. It’s a hard pill to swallow- that we can’t just keep acting like everything is fine and BE fine. That when we try to fight anxiety with denial, it only grows. We must learn to live with, around and through it. 

Watching my child struggle with growing up has broken my heart into tiny little pieces. I want to fix it for her; the embarrassment the rejection, the shame she feels. And like Joy, I can’t. I watch helplessly as she struggles, knowing that there’s no other way than through. 

And yet, the overwhelming emotion I left that theater with was pure and true gratitude. As hard and ugly as witnessing Aurora’s journey to adulthood is, it’s also such an incredible privilege. I have been given a gift- this opportunity to empower and encourage my child. I walked away with more empathy than ever for my daughter and the desire to hug her as long as she would allow. Forever and ever. Inside out. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Brave

Posted on by Lauren

I only knew to ask because I had already lost someone to suicide. 

Every story is different. 

But the common theme is, 

No one ever saw it coming. 

So, how do we change it? How do we help?

We courageously ask:

Have you thought of ending your life?

It’s a terrifying ask because we don’t want to hear the answer I heard:

“Yes. Last month.”

All I could think is Thank God I didn’t wait a minute longer to tell this person:

You’re not alone. 

We are not giving up on you, even when you give up on yourself. 

It takes bravery to ask and for them to answer. 

It’s June now, but May we all be so brave to ask.

Just ask.

Reinvent

Posted on by Lauren

It’s time to try again. 

It’s time to lay it on the line. 

Rejection is always possible. 

But worse is the what-if. 

So, we gather our courage

And we play our cards. 

The vulnerability is real. 

But so is life. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Known

Posted on by Lauren

Aside from the 37 hour labor, 11 days past her due date, she really was almost too easy, as a baby. She was 16 months before she walked; instead, she happily sat on any surface and entertained herself with her surroundings- be that toys, people or pine straw. 

I should’ve known.

It was 30 hours into labor when my midwife looked at me and announced: 

“This is not your story to tell.”

Time stopped. My heart stopped. My tears flowed. 

Aurora had two cords wrapped around her neck at birth, delaying her arrival for good reason. 

My midwife looked me dead in my eyes to tell me when to push, when to pause and suddenly, urgently, when, with a roar, to give it my all. 

From the beginning, my daughter and I have challenged one another. 

Now, the tween years- the ones everyone before me has warned of. 

I fruitlessly planned for Aurora’s birth. 

I refuse to plan for these next days. 

Instead, I meet her where she is, each day. 

Just like her birth, it’s not easy. 

It never was. 

We cry, we argue, we admit our mistakes and we hug. 

It’s exhausting and rewarding. 

My girl has been stubborn from the beginning. 

But with good reason. 

It’s her story to tell. 

Not mine. 

I should’ve known. 

Camille Vaughn Photography

Break

Posted on by Lauren

She was uncharacteristically angry. Snapping at her sisters with venom dripping from her teeth. 

Emmett and I looked at one another, eyes wide, silently wondering, “What in the actual hell?”

We chalked it up to stress before a big gymnastics meet. Perhaps she was feeling anxious. 

But her seething anger seeped from every crevice until finally, I took her aside and asked, “What is going on?”

And that’s when the dam of tears broke. She broke. 

“I’M SAD ABOUT OREO!”

Ohhhhhhhhh. Yes. This makes a lot more sense, now. 

6 family members. 1 loss. 

So many different coping mechanisms. 

Those that grieve obviously and openly (me). 

Those that grieve and move forward.

And those that bury and try to cope without ever fully addressing it. 

“Harper, trying to contain your grief without openly releasing it is like trying to contain your exploding slime. It will find its way out of its container.”

I encouraged her to write but she didn’t want to. “It will make me sad.” 

But you already are sad. 

Days later, she finally relented. 

She put on the sad music and allowed herself to get washed away in the flood of anguish that is losing a beloved pet. 

It’s too soon to know how much it helped but a writer myself, I know it couldn’t have hurt. 

6 family members. 1 loss. 

So many different coping mechanisms. 

We break.