Since my kids were babies, the one message I have tried to hammer home to them more than any other has been, "Be who you are." My oldest is an introvert with a knack for engineering skills that confuse the hell out of me. My youngest is a sweet spirit who loves all living things and cries when people litter. My middlest is one of the coolest people I know; he likes painting his fingernails pink and purple and he'll punch the teeth out of anyone who gives him a hard time for it. My children are individuals, and I couldn't be more proud of them.
Why is it, then, that I've spent so much time and energy suffocating my own uniqueness? Why have I exerted so much effort to appear magazine-worthy (Fitness, Good Housekeeping, Vogue, Real Simple, whatever) when the bits and pieces that make up ME are far more compelling? Why haven't I practiced what I've preached?
Being a good woman is hard. Being a good Christian woman is harder. Being a good Christian wife and mother is damn near impossible. I'm not conservative, I'm not traditional, I don't adhere to gender stereotypes or believe in conformity or support cookie-cutter lifestyles. I like punk rock and I have tattoos and I swear a lot and I read Nietzsche and I drink good beer from time to time. I am a registered Democrat and I've voted for Republicans and I think all politicians are corrupt no matter what color ties they wear. I've taken my kids to pro-gay marriage rallies and I take them to church every Sunday. I have equality t-shirts and t-shirts with scriptures on them. I watch independent foreign-language films and know every song in every Disney movie made in the last 40 years.
I am unique. You know what's not unique? Having an eating disorder. 30 million people in the U.S. have one. This thing that I once thought would set me apart from everyong else has made me a dull statistic. This thing that I thought would help me become "special," since I believed myself so painfully plain, has actually squashed the very parts of me that give me value and allow me to contribute to the the universe.
So maybe I'm not your typical woman. Maybe I'm not your average married Christian mom. What I am - what I always have been, though unbeknownst to me - is a powerful force of individuality. I am ME, and I am proud of that. I stand by my passions and my values run to the very core of my being, no matter what anyone else might think of them.
I want my children to grow up confident that whoever and whatever they may be is not only acceptable but vital to the world. In order to instill that in them, I must live it myself. I hope you do the same. You are your own person, certainly different from me and from everyone else; maybe you even vehemently disagree with some of the things I've shared on this blog. That's okay, that's your right, and I'm grateful for your perspective. I hope you find strength in the fact that you - the REAL you - are important, in your own microcosm of the world, and in the world at large. Hoist your freak flags, my friends, and salute them as they wave.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Saturday, March 1, 2014
An Open Letter to my Children
My Dearest Sweet Ones,
I have loved you from the very moment a plus sign glowed at me on a tiny plastic stick. From the intstant I was aware of your presence, I have treasured you and valued you more than any possession, accomplishment, or bit of wisdom I have gained in my life. You gave me the gift of motherhood, for which there is no equal. I would lay down my life for you without a moment's hesitation. You are my everything.
Feeling your first movements in my womb connected me to the vast universal experience of life. Witnessing your birth, your debut in the world, blessed me with great humility. Watching you grow, learn, stumble, and thrive has thrilled me more than any of my own efforts. I love you to a depth no words can adequately express. You won't fully grasp my love until you someday have your own children, an event I look forward to with every bit as much exultation as I did your own dawn.
I feel it important to enlighten you to a few important, sometimes painful truths. First, know that your dad and I, though perhaps perfect in your current perception, are actually quite imperfect. You see our affection for each other, our mutual respect, our adoration. That is real, and it is vital. What you may not see is that we are two different people, joined in marriage and commitment but separated by lifetimes of unique experiences. Dad and I fell and got up and fell and got up many times before we ever knew each other. We had difficult lives, many trials, many failures. Though our love for you is perfect, our histories are not. I hope you will learn to forgive us for our inadequacies as parents and as people. For though we do many things wrong, we both try every moment to be the best we can be, for ourselves, for each other, and for you.
Second, and more personally, as the years go by you will find out more about me and my past, and you may be confused and angry and sad. Your mom, who cradled you, nursed you, placed your band-aids, cheered you on, has gone through a world of hurt. I understand that you will feel pain when you begin to notice this. The months when I was away, those patchy memories you will have of my absence, they will sting. They will smart even more when you learn that it was because I am sick, because I have an eating disorder sparked by trauma and chaos and loss. You may despair. Know, the best you can, that my pain has nothing to do with you. My pain began when I was but a child myself, and your presence in my life not only eased that pain, it gave me strength to stand up to it. You gave me a reason to fight.
Speaking of pain, my innocent babies, you will know it yourselves. As your mother, there is nothing I want more than to protect you from the ills of the world. Unfortunately, I can't do that. You will be hurt. You will have your hearts broken. You will feel betrayed, let down, abandoned. It will rock you to the very core of your souls. You will wonder if you can even survive. You can, and you will. That blistering, raw hurt will eventually subside. That shocking, nearly unbearable agony will not last forever. It will get better, and you will know peace. You will feel joy. You will remember what it was like to be okay, and you will have your dad, your siblings, and me waiting to dust you off and steady you on your feet. You have a family, and family is what keeps us together when everything else falls apart.
The world around you will be its own unique challenge. The world will tell you a lot of things about how you should be, should act, should look. The world will paint a picture of ideal accomplishment, of an ideal body, of an ideal life. You will feel pressure to adhere to the world's ideal. But know this: you are unique. You were given special gifts, special aptitudes, special features that may not fit with the world's script but nonetheless make you vital to the world. You are exactly as you are meant be. Your curiosity, your interest, even your very physical form, is just the way it was created to be, and is intended to serve a very special purpose. You are important. You can offer the world - and yourself - something nobody else can. Be you. If you're wild, be wild. If you're quiet, be quiet. If you're small, be small. If you're loud, be loud. It's who you are, and it's wonderful.
Someday you will fall in love, and I can't wait for that day. When you do fall in love, understand that the color or gender or religion or national origin or economic background of that person doesn't matter in the slightest; what matters is that you respect each other, you have compassion for each other, you find joy in each other, you make each other think and laugh and cry and feel at peace. You deserve happiness, and I hope you find someone amazing to help you enjoy it.
You are individuals. You are valued. Above all, you are loved. Never forget that.
With the utmost devotion,
Mom
I have loved you from the very moment a plus sign glowed at me on a tiny plastic stick. From the intstant I was aware of your presence, I have treasured you and valued you more than any possession, accomplishment, or bit of wisdom I have gained in my life. You gave me the gift of motherhood, for which there is no equal. I would lay down my life for you without a moment's hesitation. You are my everything.
Feeling your first movements in my womb connected me to the vast universal experience of life. Witnessing your birth, your debut in the world, blessed me with great humility. Watching you grow, learn, stumble, and thrive has thrilled me more than any of my own efforts. I love you to a depth no words can adequately express. You won't fully grasp my love until you someday have your own children, an event I look forward to with every bit as much exultation as I did your own dawn.
I feel it important to enlighten you to a few important, sometimes painful truths. First, know that your dad and I, though perhaps perfect in your current perception, are actually quite imperfect. You see our affection for each other, our mutual respect, our adoration. That is real, and it is vital. What you may not see is that we are two different people, joined in marriage and commitment but separated by lifetimes of unique experiences. Dad and I fell and got up and fell and got up many times before we ever knew each other. We had difficult lives, many trials, many failures. Though our love for you is perfect, our histories are not. I hope you will learn to forgive us for our inadequacies as parents and as people. For though we do many things wrong, we both try every moment to be the best we can be, for ourselves, for each other, and for you.
Second, and more personally, as the years go by you will find out more about me and my past, and you may be confused and angry and sad. Your mom, who cradled you, nursed you, placed your band-aids, cheered you on, has gone through a world of hurt. I understand that you will feel pain when you begin to notice this. The months when I was away, those patchy memories you will have of my absence, they will sting. They will smart even more when you learn that it was because I am sick, because I have an eating disorder sparked by trauma and chaos and loss. You may despair. Know, the best you can, that my pain has nothing to do with you. My pain began when I was but a child myself, and your presence in my life not only eased that pain, it gave me strength to stand up to it. You gave me a reason to fight.
Speaking of pain, my innocent babies, you will know it yourselves. As your mother, there is nothing I want more than to protect you from the ills of the world. Unfortunately, I can't do that. You will be hurt. You will have your hearts broken. You will feel betrayed, let down, abandoned. It will rock you to the very core of your souls. You will wonder if you can even survive. You can, and you will. That blistering, raw hurt will eventually subside. That shocking, nearly unbearable agony will not last forever. It will get better, and you will know peace. You will feel joy. You will remember what it was like to be okay, and you will have your dad, your siblings, and me waiting to dust you off and steady you on your feet. You have a family, and family is what keeps us together when everything else falls apart.
The world around you will be its own unique challenge. The world will tell you a lot of things about how you should be, should act, should look. The world will paint a picture of ideal accomplishment, of an ideal body, of an ideal life. You will feel pressure to adhere to the world's ideal. But know this: you are unique. You were given special gifts, special aptitudes, special features that may not fit with the world's script but nonetheless make you vital to the world. You are exactly as you are meant be. Your curiosity, your interest, even your very physical form, is just the way it was created to be, and is intended to serve a very special purpose. You are important. You can offer the world - and yourself - something nobody else can. Be you. If you're wild, be wild. If you're quiet, be quiet. If you're small, be small. If you're loud, be loud. It's who you are, and it's wonderful.
Someday you will fall in love, and I can't wait for that day. When you do fall in love, understand that the color or gender or religion or national origin or economic background of that person doesn't matter in the slightest; what matters is that you respect each other, you have compassion for each other, you find joy in each other, you make each other think and laugh and cry and feel at peace. You deserve happiness, and I hope you find someone amazing to help you enjoy it.
You are individuals. You are valued. Above all, you are loved. Never forget that.
With the utmost devotion,
Mom
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