I Will Still Wash Her Feet

My daughter refuses to go barefoot. Not even for a minute. She wants to wear socks to bed. She begs to keep them on in the shower. She panics when we change them. Her socks stay on at gymnastics even though it hinders some activities. Cutting her nails is torture, if I even get a chance to see them. 

My sweet girl has been traumatized by a cut to the foot and now she wants to keep her feet safely covered.

I understand. I have struggled to rid the aftereffects of many terrorizing experiences. After a hard and unexpected smack to the jaw I hated having hands anywhere near my face for years and years. After totaling my car on a winter trip nine years ago I have remained unable to drive on a snowy highway. I even have a silly habit of storing my bread in the freezer because I'm afraid of accidentally eating moldy bread again. The moldy bread incident was 17 years ago. 

I know that life includes unfortunate events. My daughter is going to have to deal with some. It is part of learning. Hopefully, oh hopefully, not too many ordeals will be inflicted by me.

You see, I was the one who cut her foot. Yup. Me. I sliced her foot. 

Totally by accident. But still, she sees my hands near her feet and she can't even hear my words of reassurance through her worry. She asks over and over if I'm going to cut her foot. Her dad is astounded by her fear. It pains me to know I caused this stress. That her mother's loving touch induces panic if her socks come off. 

I caused her anxiety. And I inevitably will cause more. Not to this extent. But in general it is something I probably try too hard to avoid. I've barely punished her for doing wrong. I worry too much about my words. I even question my facial expressions when I respond. But everything in me wants her to enjoy life and not be traumatized by growing up. I so much want her to not be traumatized by me.

I would label my own childhood as very stressful. It had too many objectionable twists. It made me an insecure, fearful, untrusting, judgemental, indecisive, procrastinating worrier. And most certainly, the majority of incidents or situations were not planned or intentional or preferable in the eyes of my caregivers. Some repercussions were likely not even realized.

Like most parents, I try to avoid duplicating the scenarios that I deemed frustrating in my upbringing.

But I'm starting to see that it won't guarantee an ideal path. There will be regrets, no matter what. There will be mistakes, no matter what. And most importantly, there will be times where my actions won't be perceived as I intended.

Of course, the blade in my hand wasn't supposed to cut her skin. I went to scrape a rough spot on her other foot and she panicked and kicked the blade. And instantly saw blood dripping from her flesh.  

Mistakes. Misunderstandings. Set backs. That's life. There is no such thing as doing it right. There is no such thing as the perfect upbringing. It is about trying. It is about learning as you go. Developing trust. Refocusing when life gets off track. And re-building that trust when something unfortunate happens to break it. 

I'm praying it won't be years of having an issue. Hopefully it will only be short lived. Something I will mention to her later and she won't at all recall. But, if not, life will go on. Add it to the things she will need to work on.

I can't undo mistakes. I can't let worry block moving forward. 

I'm still going to wash her feet. Hopefully, not with too much anxiety. 

Now Said To Then

Now said to Then, "Don't worry. It will change. Really." Now knew how utterly impossible those words sounded. Now remembered how terribly deep and unimaginable the pain was daily. 

Then asked, "Do you truly remember? Can you empathize any more? Do you recall how all-encompassing the pain felt?"

How could Now forget?

She reluctantly walked down the hall. Her head painfully pounded in fear as she felt completely ignored by the crowd in her invisibility. Yet she simultaneously felt mocked by each set of eyes that happened to look her way. Shoulders slumped, she shyly kept her eyes gazed on the bare floor, avoiding any contact. But longing so much for some positive connection. 

She looked disdainfully at her clothes. Embarrassed at their lack of contributing to any acceptable status and hoping that nothing would bring her any attention. Attention that brought hot blood flowing to her face and made her dizzy and confused.

Why couldn't she appreciate any acknowledgement? Why couldn't a smile or question pierce the loneliness and bring her out into the moment in her crowded surroundings? Instead she was left behind this huge wall that blinded her from seeing any relational opportunity. It suffocated her. Her every muscle ached. 

She bit her lip to keep away the tears. Her stomach continued to cramp as always. She could think of many excuses to leave. She had run away so many times. But where would she go? The solace from one pain would only bring her face to face with another. Then, she would ultimately be expected to return again.

She realized at that moment she wasn't breathing. She felt faint. Every sound shamefully accused her. Every laugh felt directed at her miserable presence. She couldn't take it any more. 

What if she didn't come back? Would anyone notice? Would the daily routine followed by any other human being have to be adjusted for her absence? 

No. Their lives would only continue. Oblivious to those who's eyes desperately cried out in pain for fellowship. Who's hands mortified her as they again trembled in self doubt. Who's feet plodded forward despite the distraction of anguish that never left.

Then knew it would never go away. The tormenting shadow followed her every moment, clouding her eyes and pushing weight onto her shoulders with every thought of mistakes made and assumptions proven and heartache cemented and embarrassments endured.

She piled on the shame with every effort to cope. Every attempt to drink away the timidity. Every effort to puff out the inner turmoil. Every trampish grasp for affection. 

Why was it like this? How could she stop caring? Stop thinking? Stop failing? Stop worrying? Stop snowballing? 

There appeared only one solution. It lingered in the back of her mind always. A permanent solution. The accusations would be gone. The misunderstandings would become unnecessary. The pain would disappear. 

Or would it? What if the anguish remained for eternity? If it followed her to the other side?

"No!" Screamed Now. "It will change! The pain will lessen. The heartache will fade. The doubt will decrease. The confusion will subside.

"And in their place hope will grow. Love will bloom. Appreciation will creep in. Faith will strengthen. Joy will present itself. Healing will begin."

But Then could not hear. Would not hear. Instead, she had to discover the new life slowly. She had to actually attempt her escape. She had to cry her tears. She had to call out in desperation. She had to learn to forgive bit by bit by bit. One impossible step forward and two difficult steps back. 

Your Later sees your Today. Trying to dry your tears. Attempting to give you a glimpse of what will be. Cheering you on in your battle. 

You don't hear Later. Just like my Then didn't hear my Now.

Just believe it exists. That will be enough to help you keep going. You are heading toward something.

There is a future. 

Because I Told You So

"Why, mommy?"

"Because I told you so!"

It is the easiest answer in frustration. It is the quickest answer when busy. It is the simplest answer when we don't want to reveal our own insecurities or weaknesses. It is the finite answer when there are just too many questions.  

But what does it really say? It says not to ask questions. It says not to seek understanding. It says to never try to persuade or debate. 

Of course, I don't think it's right for a child to push continuously when they've been told something. And questions can easily turn into an argument that a child shouldn't have with an adult. (I remember my mom telling me I argued too much. We'll see how I feel faced with the same resistance.) I know in some situations an explanation is not needed and in other situations our tone should get prompt obedience because of safety issues.

But "because I told you so" is a very closing response. 

Fast forward to adulthood. Why do you do what you do? Work the way you work? Believe what you believe? Because someone told you to. 

The last thing l want is for my child to go along with something she doesn't agree with and not question whether it is right or wrong. I want her to be open to thinking about what she is doing and why she is doing it. 

I don't want her to be afraid to seek understanding. To open up a dialogue and talk about anything.

You could think that as a result she would be less likely to successfully work under authority. But I think it would do the very opposite. It would be easier to respect leaders if one has confidence in their own ability to be informed on making a decision. I am more comfortable working under someone if I know I can clarify instructions. It is stressful to work under someone when this kind of dialogue is not permitted.

There are many who struggle to do what they are told because they had no freedom. Sometimes people stick to something because it is the opposite of what was forced on them previously. I don't really like to wear slippers because my step dad insisted, saying that I would ruin my socks. I figure there are other acceptable options. Like cheap socks. 

In my current household it appears that stalling is a growing tactic. Getting from the car to the house or vice versa is taking so much longer. But as I have my agenda in my mind and it is halted by an inquisitive follower, I'm hoping to be able to recognize those opportunities in which I can take a moment longer and help her expand in her discernment of her world and it's never ceasing "why". 

Now, "Get in the truck!"

"Why?"

"Because we are running late. Again."

Of Course You Want Food

Everyone handles stress in their own way. We can try to understand someone else and how they cope. But we can't fully empathize because of our separate experiences. Our childhoods. Our focus. Our mistakes. Our hopes. It all uniquely conglomerates and creates an individual path to dealing with pain, stress, regret, exhaustion, or whatever else is weighing us down.

My main coping mechanism is avoidance. Just what I'm doing now. I feel overwhelmed with what I have to do so I won't do it. Unfortunately, I also married someone who, round about in his own way, over-busies himself so he has no time for certain things. Put us together and it means some things just aren't getting done. 

But another coping method we do not jive in at all is the idea of food for comfort. The worse my sleep, the heartier the breakfast I crave. The more things on my mind, the more chocolate calls my name. A rough day is made better with a nice homecooked meal. Or butter chicken. And after dark my stress turns into a gluttonous attempt to fill myself with joy through my pie hole.  

I figure the way to the heart is through the taste buds. But my husband doesn't want to eat under stress. What?! How could that be? I am unable to comprehend. 

He can't eat when he's busy. He can't eat rushing out the door. He can't eat when he's stressed. He can't eat when there are calls to make or arguments to settle. He can't eat when discussing anything. The last thing on his mind in a bad mood is taking time to stuff his face.

I'm sure if you go into any home there will be some sort of argument that seems absurd. There will be some situation that has grown over time in a way that those not involved could never truly comprehend. And in our house, it's food. 

I beg him to eat when he doesn't want to have anything. I tell him how important a consistent diet is for his health. All because it makes sense to me. My solution will make him feel better. He'd realize it if he would cooperate. 

Or not. 

Maybe, just maybe, it's not going to change. Just like the friend who doesn't like to talk about her problems probably never will open right up. Just like the coworker who can't face his actions probably never will be honest with himself. Just like the family member who will never feel close no matter how much anyone tries. Just like the introvert won't become a social butterfly. Or the overly expressive person won't be able to hold it in. 

We're not all created to make it through with the same crutches. The same outs. The same revelations. 

What I need isn't what the next person needs. When I need dark chocolate ice cream with chunks of fudge, the next person might just need a hug. I don't get it. My coping came out of a childhood restriction from chocolate and a severe shyness. But for them, imagine if in response to their need no one would ever give them a hug? If they were offered chips and cheezies and milkshakes and cake, when they just longed for affection. 

When I need a nice juicy burger with cheese and bacon, the next person just might need a nap. I'm not on board. I recall my mom taking me out for burgers after a night out or the stress of a breakup. But for them, imagine if in response to their need no one ever let them rest? If they were dragged out for fries or hot wings or pie and ice cream, when they just needed to be alone. 

Often, it just isn't better until we take that moment to go back to our comforts. Whether or not they match the needs or wants of those around us. Yes, we all need to learn to deal with things properly. Especially when a five dollar ice cap isn't going to help financial burden. Or a long book isn't going to erase the extensive to-do list.

But when we have to face things together we have to remember that we might not always want to go in the same direction. This requires a bit of observing and listening and being patient and letting go. 

Now, I'm exhausted. My daughter fell asleep, but I didn't. So I'm going to go to the fridge and find some energy. 

My Undone List

Often we have a set of tasks we decisively set on completing. A list of things we need to have done. And this is good. Lists are good. Goals are good. 

But sometimes life comes in and says, no way, that is not what is going to happen. This is quite a pet peeve of mine. Especially when it is what life says to other people. I get so annoyed when friends or family fall through on plans. When they don't do what they said they would do.

I think I get more aggravated because I question how much is life really getting in the way and how much is just excuse. If it really mattered, would they have done it anyway?

It seems life is intent on teaching me that sometimes, I can't just means I can't.

My husband is returning in a few days from a job away. While he was gone I had huge overhaul plans. I was going to get rid of things not used. I was going to amaze him with my hard work. And it started okay. 

I cleared out of a bunch of stuff. I washed the siding by the entrance. I searched and destroyed a dozen wasps nests. I cleaned out and organized the pantry and the storage room and the fridge and freezer. I was checking things off the list. And I had another whole three days off, and a few evenings, to hit 'er hard and get 'er done. 

But then on Wednesday I started to feel unwell. By Thursday I felt horrid. I left work and went home. But a few hours later I was up in the hospital severely nauseous with excruciating stomach pains. They determined it was probably viral and sent me home to bed. I was useless but hopefully by the end of the weekend I would be able to get a little bit more work done.  

But it was not so. Sunday morning I went back up when it became very clear that I was not getting better. I'll spare you the details. 

So my diagnosis was changed from viral, and run it's course, to bacterial, and requiring treatment. But tests had to be done to determine which bacteria, and that may take days. 

So here I am, on a Sunday afternoon, getting nothing checked off my list. All my energy must be used to feed my toddler and try to convince her I'm not a Jungle Gym. To wipe her bum and make sure she washes her hands. Other than that, it's been sleep, books, movies, watching her play (which is quite entertaining), Facebook and Pinterest. Nothing productive. 

No weed eating. No moving the lawn. No emptying out the shed to organize. No dump run. No cleaning the fish tank. 

Not only will my self imposed list not be done, but my husband may just return to laundry piled up, dirty dishes, and a layer of grit on the floor. 

My first thought was, would he have stopped working feeling like this? He is a hard worker. He pushes through everything. I feel he may not be aware of how awful I feel. Not that he would actually judge me. He wasn't the one who made the list. I think I may have to let go of some pride as well. I intended to have my man in awe. I wanted him to be proud of me. And I wanted him to learn something. I wanted to show him a list that got done.

But it appears I just have to trust he loves me and he's happy that I'm okay and he won't be excited to see what I did. He'll be excited to see me.

And I'll be happy to see him to be with him and enjoy his company and watch him with his daughter. Not to show him my amazingly accomplished list. 

She Is Not Me.

As the freckles start to dot the bridge of my daughter's adorable nose I see more of myself in her face. (Well, somewhat, as I don't find my nose adorable). As she hungers for more and more books I find pride in her familiar curiosity. As she desires to greet strange animals I recognize her mutual connection to nature. I smile as she tidies up and points out things out of place, hoping that this will help her instead of hindering her future by stressing her out. I laugh as her request for a snack or meal often reflects my most desired nourishment, chocolate. 

Day by day I notice myself in her expressions and preferences. There is one area, though, in which I cannot relate. 

It wasn't until I was at least a quarter of a century in age before I was even close to comfortable inviting someone new into my world. Even then, it was a big step for me. 

A while ago my daughter was at a party with a group of familiar people when she invited a little boy at the next table in the park to play. It seemed if anyone came along that she didn't know, she would eagerly invite them in.

I've seen her approach many strangers at the park. Even asking teenagers to play tag. She constantly asks people their names. 

And it baffles me. It is so different than my own actions as a child. My shyness was already quite strong by two years of age. Eye contact was difficult. Asking any questions was torture. 

As I watch her grow and learn I have to remember something important. I can't let my stained view of past events and situations determine how those same situations would effect my confident child. 

Because she is not me. 

Yes, when the little boy refused to talk to her and she questioned why, she was confused and curious. But that doesn't mean she was feeling the pain of rejection that tormented me for years. She doesn't know the deep sorrow of feeling like no one is actually truly there. And I don't want my face and my reaction to tell her it should bother her more than it does. 

Maybe he was shy. Maybe he was grumpy from being tired or hungry. Maybe his parents told him not to talk to people he didn't know. Maybe he just found her too cute. Or too confident. 

Yes, when the friend played with her well until a closer friend came along, she didn't understand the sudden change. She just wanted to keep having fun. But that doesn't mean she spiraled into a snow-ball of thoughts of why she wasn't good enough. She doesn't have the constant worry that she is failing in her actions. And I don't want to be over concerned for her and make her surmise that it is her fault. 

Maybe she is a good enough friend but the other friend needs more attention. Maybe they had plans to get together and were excited to see each other. Maybe people take turns with their affections and it would come back again.

Maybe, just maybe, we need not over analyze. Imagine that! Imagine the freedom in just letting it go. Moving on. Enjoying the next opportunity.

My tendency to overthink can lead to a habit of over explaining. But sometimes an in depth explanation is unnecessary. Life is too short. And full of opportunity. Opportunity I missed when too busy questioning why or why not.  

I am certain as she ages it will bring up more issues from my past. Her world is not my world and I'm heading into the unknown but I know there are certainties. Rejection. Misunderstanding. Heartache. Failure. 

But she doesn't have to be ruled by these things as she comes across them. She doesn't have to let them disable her. She doesn't have to let them direct her future. 

Life is a stressful place. But looking at my daughter as she enjoys getting out, enjoys new things, enjoys people, enjoys life, I must remember that growing up I missed out on many opportunities to live. Just because I didn't experience life like that myself does not mean that I can't accommodate a treasured childhood in my offspring.  

She's freckled and tall. Creative and curious. Observant and analytical. In touch with animals and nature.

But she is not me. 

Toddlerhood Teaches Me

I was tested, surprised, shocked, stretched to my limit the moment I became a mother. I quickly learned how free my time had been previously. I gradually adjusted to the fact that I could live on little sleep. 

As my child developed from a baby to a walking, expressing, demanding toddler, the lessons kept coming. My list will grow, but here is a snippet of my experience. 

1. I can carry more weight than I thought physically possibly. For much longer than I thought possible. Usually solely on one side. While I have to perform day to day tasks. Before becoming a comfort-and-transportation device I would have held someone else's baby (half the size of my current mini-me) for only five excruciating minutes and cramped up.

2. Unless I want to be a hermit, public bathrooms are unfortunately necessary. I can try to avoid them. But toddlers need to go when they need to go. And hopefully my toddler will still need to go after experiencing my cautious disgust for a room full of mysterious germs from innumerable strangers. My disdain mixed with my effort to hold in my desire to spew out warning after warning after warning (don't touch that, don't put that down, don't rub up against that, don't, don't, don't) is enough to make me dizzy. "Let me out!" is not the best expression when trying to create a relaxed atmosphere for someone I am hoping to get out of diapers. 

3. Dawdling is required. Figure out how to adjust. A developing, curious mind can't be told all day to hurry up, or the imagination is not going to reach its potential. Sometimes, when there are no appointments, no deadlines, no raw meat packages waiting to be refrigerated, you just have to ignore time. Meander along the cement barriers. Observe the ants following a trail. Admire the clocks or ornaments or pictures in the store window. Stand and admire the passing train. Sometimes you just observe. Sometimes you discuss. Sometimes you participate. Sometimes you go off into your own world and wait for the moment to pass. But whatever it is you've got to get to, it will be there when you're ready. 

4. Maybe. Maybe your plan won't happen. That's the way it has to be from time to time. An hour of errands with a toddler isn't ever going to come anywhere near the productivity of an hour of errands alone. Sometimes things just need to be cut. I vote for folding laundry. Most definitely. It's just not necessary. 

5. Some things are necessary, no matter how difficult the torture is for the little one. That means sometimes toddlers are unhappy. No, kiddo, I can't hold you while I chop carrots. But the carrots are getting chopped. You'll survive. The neighbours may not think so, but you will. 

6. Who cares what the neighbours think. There are so many random opinions on opposite ends of the spectrum that it would never be possible to please everyone. So why try? My kid isn't going to be allowed to do what some others do (no matter how amazing). And she'll be doing other things that some parents wouldn't allow. 

7. I can change my mind about what I allow. It's called life. We have goals. Paths we are trying to take. And these little minds that contain much less information than we have in our own noggins still have the unfathomable power to persuade us to do things differently than we intended. The pre-mom me would be in denial of this possibility. She would be in shock witnessing some of my actions. But, as it turns out, ice cream happens more than I'd like to admit. Bed time is way later than I intended. Eating in the car is apparently a necessity. I've been informed. And, as number six states, it's okay if you don't agree.

I don't agree with myself sometimes. But that's parenting. Making mistakes. Taking the plunge when I don't know where it'll take me. Pushing through. Because, wow, through all the stress and stretching, it sure is amazing. 

I look forward to the lessons I will continue to learn as my daughter progresses through the different stages of life. I teach her. She teaches me. I'd say motherhood is the most demanding but rewarding academia. 

The Honest Power of a Smile

As I was hurriedly driving my daughter to daycare I saw a girl walking with her eyes intently looking down at her feet. She appeared glum. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe she was happily daydreaming. It reminded me of a time I was in eighth or ninth grade.

I was walking home from school in the rain. I stared at my feet, as I probably always did. I most likely was not creatively daydreaming. I was avoiding life. I was dreading going home. Yet I was dreading the return to school the next day. 

An older teenager briskly walked by and in the cheeriest voice said, "Chin up, it's a beautiful day." I'll be honest, I don't remember exactly what he said. But it was only a few words. A few impacting words that radiated a smile. I still vividly remember the worn sidewalk and the old houses I passed. I remember my slumped posture. My unsure footsteps. I remember looking up. The rain in my eyes. Just like it was yesterday, and not over 20 years ago. 

I knew I didn't smile enough. And after that day I honestly tried. Repeatedly. Absolutely unsuccessfully. It was awkward. It made me uncomfortable to get a smile in return because I felt invisible and being noticed was terrifying. And every effort to smile felt like a betrayal to the truth that I was not happy. I needed help. I needed relationships. I needed peace. I needed forgiveness. I needed healing. I needed hope. 

Smiling wasn't going to magically get me that. And I worried that it would decrease the probability of a heroic intervention because people would think I was okay (that was a facet of healing I battled with into my thirties).

But I wasn't okay. And I was all that mattered. 

That's what I think about the lack of a smile. It says I'm all that I can think about. I don't care about your issues because I have problems. I don't want to consider your discomfort because I'm not comfortable. I don't want to think about you because I'm too busy. I don't want to turn from my issue for a moment and acknowledge you because I want my issue acknowledged. I don't want to make you feel good because I need someone to make me feel good.

Some people smile easily. They automatically smile at the approach of any set of eyes that may witness their beam. Others are a little uncomfortable with the idea and have to force out a lifting of the corners of the mouth. Some find the effort unnecessary. Others downright feel they have the reason and the right to refuse. 

Yes, it's true, some grins are more genuine than others. Smiles are actually multifaceted, intricate expressions and the receiving of these gifts are filtered through our own assumptions and motives. But a lack of a smile says much. 

I may go as far as saying being someone who won't smile is selfish. But at the same time very self damaging. 

It wasn't until I smiled at grumpy customers that I saw the redemption in a smile. It wasn't until I smiled at a wedding when I actually longed to find love that I realized the joy in a smile. It wasn't until I learned to give a smile of encouragement in spite of all my crap that suffocated me that I realized the freedom in a smile. It wasn't until I laughed through the pain that I realized the healing in a smile. It wasn't until I smiled at my daughter through rushing and worrying that I felt the bonding of a smile. It wasn't until I smiled confidently at a stranger that I realized the power in a smile.

A smile can break down walls. It can initiate conversation. It can ease worry. It can release tension. It can eliminate assumptions (seriously, the thought that someone is being snotty brings many questions of "why?"). It can ease pain. It can increase faith. It can soften hearts. It can close gaps. It can unite different people. It can do more than you think possible. And the magic is often poured on both the giver and receiver. 

When I think of my sorrowful youth and how those around me (intentionally or unintentionally) made me feel, I know the power of a smile. I endeavor to have one to offer, knowing that it could change a moment. 

Or it could change a life. 

An Impossible Beautiful Change

Being a mom has opened my mind, strengthened my capacity, and enriched my emotions. This I knew would happen. I'd been warned. My energy has multiplied. (So has my exhaustion. Is that simultaneously possible?) I can function with much less sleep than I thought conceivable. I changed my mode of operation in many areas from my original (set in stone, I might add) plan of action. 

Some things previously seemed impossible. But a new reality occurs out of necessity. Priorities shift, which enables what would once be unfeasible to become the minimal requirement. 

Ten years ago, if you told me to act in confidence for the sake of my child I would have deemed the task impossible. But I never knew how much the love for another could motivate weighty change. 

I have always been insecure. My opinion of each feature would without fail contain the expression not enough. Body not skinny enough. Hair not smooth enough. Eyebrows not even enough. Muscles not toned enough... I could go on and on. But this isn't what matters. 

What matters is I know I wasn't born thinking like that and I know my daughter wasn't born thinking like that either. What matters is she will have many negative influences in her life and I want mine to be positive. What matters is that many of those thoughts are actually lies. 

I'm not perfect. I'm not formed to be. No one is meant to be perfect. Or anywhere near perfect. We are actually supposed to embrace our differences. Enjoy our unique features. And love who we are created to be. Stop focusing on the I wish so we can embrace the I am. 

In my desire to pass that on I only have one choice. I must believe that for myself. And in this venture I have discovered something that I never would have imagined.

I am capable of refraining from talking negatively about my body.

Even when she sees me try on an outfit that no longer fits. Even when I'm failing at a new hairstyle attempt. Even when my spouse has been too busy. Even when I am premenstral. Even when seasons change. 

Anytime she's there. 

Biting my tongue leads to refraining from feeding those negative thoughts. Pushing away those thoughts leads to accepting reality. Accepting reality leads to seeing the beauty in what is actually there. 

I have a bit of curve here and there like many women. I have thick beautiful hair (which I just really need to learn how to deal with). My eyebrows are dense enough and dark enough. (Which reminds me of the day my daughter cried because she could barely see her eyebrows.) My muscles are strong.

I could go on. Because this is what I have and I am to make the most of what I am. This is what I have and I am to take care of what I've been given. This is what I have and I am to highlight it and not hide it's treasure. 

Beauty is not in a perfect smile, but in a well used smile. Beauty is not in a certain frame, but in a confidently poised frame. Beauty is not in a color, but in what shines from within. Beauty is not in the size of the breasts, but in the heart they sit next to. Beauty is not in the mane, but in the mind it surrounds. 

The more I focus on my true beauty, the more others can see it. The more my daughter can glean from my vision of myself. 

It's a big task. Because she is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I want her to love her sprinkling of freckles. Enjoy her wisps of red hair. Have pride in her inherited tall stature. 

The first step is with me. But I can do it. Simply because I refuse not to.

I've only got one me. I best enjoy, and reflect, my bounty. 

I Don't Like My Friends

When I was younger I really struggled with relationships. I was so self conscious and apprehensive that I never felt anyone was really there for me. I worried about trivial things. Like, how should I act around this person? And, if I talk to this person, what will other people think? In my insecurity I picked up and dropped friends easily. I was so self absorbed that I never thought how it would feel to the others involved.

Friendships are a struggle for many people. It is natural to question whether it would be easier to just be free of them. They seem so much work and they are never guaranteed to go the way we want.  (Um, well, they usually don't follow your intentions.) They are a risky, time consuming investment.

The idea of letting someone see your faults. The act of accepting the shortcomings of another. And then pushing through your differences. Relationships can be painful. They can be tough. They can be stressful. Keeping them may require some clarifying questions. Some blind trusting. Some forgiving. Some letting go. 

Now that I am older, I have many long standing friendships. We have constant misunderstandings. We clash. We lose touch momentarily. We forget birthdays and anniversaries. We get too self involved at times to see the need in the other. We are imperfect people walking through life together. 

I don't like my friends. They push me out of my comfort zone. They test my patience and my ability to forgive. They make me question my beliefs. They examine my empathy. My motives. My commitment. My perseverance. They hinder my steps at times and change my direction at others. 

I don't like my friends. I  love them.  

They expand my horizons. Enrich my memories. Awaken my passion. Establish my character. Lesson my sorrow. Solidify my stance. Bring out my strengths. Sharpen my edges. They help me grow.