Tag: mom

The Independent One

As a little girl, my mom told me that she knew from the moment I was born that I was going to be the independent one, that I wouldn’t need her, that I would be able to take care of myself. I was in Kindergarten the first time she told me that. I thought it made me strong and mature to be able to take care of myself and my siblings from a young age. I didn’t realize I was doing it because I couldn’t depend on anyone else.

In 1980 or so, there were warnings of floods in our area that winter. Our driveway and pastures often flooded so it wasn’t too far fetched for our minds to believe our house would flood. My older sister and I made a plan to save ourselves and siblings if our house flooded. Maybe she made most of the plan, but I definitely remember being in on the conversation; I was 6 years old.

When I was 8 years old, my mom worked during the day and my teenage sister slept in until late, so I had to make sure my siblings had breakfast and lunch. Oftentimes, I also made dinner for the family. I was a genius at making Top Ramen and corn dogs. By the time I was 12, dinner was my responsibility most nights too.

As soon as I got my driver’s license I was doing the grocery shopping for the family as well as driving my siblings and my mom to all of our appointments. I was about 17 before I realized that I didn’t have a childhood.

I grew up to believe I could only depend on myself, that if I needed anything from anybody else they wouldn’t love me, that it would prove that I was weak, imperfect, worthless, and unlovable. I needed to be independent to prove I was worthwhile.

People commented on how hard I worked or how well I worked on my own. I reveled in their acknowledgment. Feeling worthy through their eyes, but never my own. I still felt like a child seeking approval, trying to show that I didn’t need anyone, that I was independent like my mom had told me so long ago.

This past year I needed help with something big. I knew I couldn’t do it alone, I was going to need many people to do it with me. It took so much for me to ask for help. After I did, I cried. One of my friends asked me why it was so hard for me to ask for help when I know they will all be there for me.

My answer, “I never knew I could rely on people before.”

I have a few people in my life I know I can count on, I’ve slept on their couches when I had nowhere else to go, they’ve helped me move, I’ve called or texted them and asked last minute if I can come see them and they say yes. In my life though, they have been the exception, not the norm.

My goal moving forward in life is to surround myself with people who I can rely on. Who when I call and they say I need your help, they say I’m on the way without even asking what they’re helping with.

Forgiveness

I grew up being told that if in order to be a “good Christian” I needed to forgive those who did wrong to me. If I wanted God to forgive me of my sins against Him, I needed to forgive others of their sins against me. I mean, the Lord’s Prayer, what we are taught is the “perfect prayer” says, “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

If we forgive others, then God can forgive us and we can have a chance of an amazing future in Heaven.

What I was never taught, what I never learned growing up, was how to forgive myself, so while I was busy forgiving others, so that I could have a future chance in Heaven, I was living in a version of Hell on earth.

I wasn’t taught how to forgive myself for being “stupid” enough to trust my boyfriend to go with him to his friends house.

I didn’t learn how to forgive myself for being so “slutty” that I wore a knee-length denim skirt and a long sleeve button up shirt that day, that I had buttoned all the way up, but somehow, I must have been “asking for it.”

I never knew how to forgive myself for being so embarrassed about what “I” did that day, the day my boyfriend decided that I had been teasing him long enough, that he forced himself inside of me, without even taking my clothes off, that I didn’t tell anybody for months, and I “allowed” it to keep happening for another eight months.

I had forgiven him for what he did, so I could go to Heaven, but I had never forgiven myself. I get upset when people blame victims, but I had been doing that my whole life to myself.

Then a few months ago, my therapist asked me when I was going to forgive myself, as I was leaving. I was so angry with him, for the entire week between sessions. That question was all I could think about.

Forgiving myself? I struggled with it for almost two weeks. I cried, I screamed. I yelled at my therapist. I finally forgave myself.

I had to realize I was a fifteen year old child. I was not in control of that situation in any way. He drove me there, I knew something felt off, but I had no way of leaving and nobody to call, no way to call anyone since there were no cell phones back then. Once he started, he had me pinned down and was about 200 pounds to my 90 pounds, there was no way for me to sop him.

I didn’t have anyone to turn to when it was over. There were no safe adults in my life. The adults at school would have to call the police, my mom would think I was a slut and a sinner. If I told the adults at school my mom would eventually find out, which is exactly what happened months later. She ended up telling me that I had to marry him.

Since I forgave myself, I no longer feel like I’m living in my own personal version of Hell on earth. My thoughts have slowed down (most of the time) and I can sleep at night. I don’t constantly feel like I’m in fight or flight mode.

Forgiving others, is something I recommend if you need to in order to move on from them.

Forgiving yourself, I highly recommend, I don’t think you can live your life to it’s fullest potential if you don’t.

Finding Your Voice, Knowing Your Worth

I’m currently reading a book titled There’s A Hole In My Love Cup by Sven Erlandson. Yesterday I read a section that talked about confronting those who created your negative core beliefs, most likely a parent or parents. Most of us have never confronted them out of fear, not that they will lash out and yell at us for confronting them, but out of fear that they will minimize our feelings, won’t change how they treat us, and therefore confirm our core belief that we are worthless and don’t matter.

He goes on to say that not only do we have the right to get rid of all the crap that they filled our love cup with, but we need to get rid of it and give it back to it’s rightful owner, whether they are going to change or not. Once we do that, get rid of all the crap in our love cup, we have room for love to fill it. The people may not change, but our relationship with them will as we realize our worth and refuse to be treated as less than any longer.

Taking our power back, finding and using our voice, and knowing our worth will also change other relationships in our lives. There are people in our lives who see who we really are somewhere deep beneath the polished surface we work so hard to protect, down to the the hurt, frightened, little kid is hiding, hoping to not be found or hurt again. As we find your voice, realize our worth, and exercise our power, these people will be there, cheering us on and supporting us through the tough times, and there will be tough times because there’s another type of person in our lives.

The other type of people are the ones who hurt us, whether on purpose or because they were hurt and didn’t know how to love us doesn’t matter, they hurt us. When we decide it’s time to let them know how they hurt us, they will most likely respond with something similar to one of these:

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“You’re just overreacting.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“If you had just___________, then I wouldn’t have had to ________”

They will find a way to minimize us and our feelings in order to make themselves feel better. In that moment, we will know that we no longer have to listen to their voice in our heads because they never truly wanted what was best for us. If they did they would have built us up instead of tearing us down. They would have listened to us as we explained how we felt instead of minimizing us to make themselves feel better.

Writing my book was the ultimate way for me to tell my parents how they made me feel worthless as a child and how that affected my life. My mom had died twelve years before I wrote it and my dad had stopped speaking to me four years prior, but whenever I had brought things up to either of them previously, they dismissed me, proving to me that I was worthless to them. Writing my book, gave me my power back and my voice. It changed me and my beliefs about myself.

I know not everybody is going to write a book, but confronting the people who have hurt you changes you. It changes other relationships as well because you realize that you are worth so much more than how some people treat you. I have lost a few relationships since I wrote my book and realized that I have value as a human being and am worthy of love and that I no longer have to chase people to love me; either people will want me, as I am, in their lives or they won’t.

Find your voice, find your power, find your worth.

You deserve it and you are lovable just the way you are!

Invisible Me

Growing up I learned that it was good to be invisible. If I was invisible, then I couldn’t get in trouble. I couldn’t get yelled at. I couldn’t get beat with the stick. I couldn’t get dismissed. I couldn’t get sent outside. I couldn’t get told that I’d be given something to cry about. I couldn’t get ignored.

Being invisible was lonely, but it to me it was better to be invisible than any of the alternatives.

Of course when I was 5 or 6 years old, I didn’t realize what I was doing, making myself invisible, I was just trying not to be yelled at every time I didn’t argue or did exactly what I was told without talking back. By the time I was 7 years old, I was so good at it that when I cut my finger so badly that I needed stitches, I hid it from my mom for as long as I could, but it kept bleeding and eventually she noticed.

I learned that in order to get along and be loved, I needed to go along. I needed to agree with what people said whether I actually did or not. If I disagreed with them, they wouldn’t love me anymore and as a child, I NEEDED my parents to love me. I WANTED my parents to love me.

When I became a teenager, I became myself for a little bit, but not for long. I desperately wanted their love and acceptance. When I spoke my mind and said what I thought and how I felt that differed from their point of view I was rebellious, disrespectful, hateful, good for nothing…worthless. I couldn’t handle that feeling so I went back to being invisible. I went along to get along.

Once I starting agreeing with my parents again, I was the golden child, but who I was, how I felt, was once again, invisible. I didn’t really matter. The only thing that mattered was their perception of who they thought I should be.

This has really messed me up in many relationships. In my mind, I believe that for people to like/love/accept me, I need to hide most of who I am and only let them know the parts about me that agree with them. I know understand that this is a completely messed up way to live. If someone doesn’t love and accept me for who I am then they don’t deserve me.

I’d like to say that I’m completely over this, that I can tell people how I feel anytime, but I’m still scared. I still worry about if they’ll like me or not. It’s difficult to break lifelong habits, even ones that hurt you. But I am a work in progress. I may always be a work in progress and that’s okay with me.

Never Enough or Too Much

I spent a lifetime hearing from others that I wasn’t enough, or I that was too much.

I wasn’t smart enough. “Why isn’t this A an A+?”

I wasn’t dumb enough. “Oh my God, how’d YOU get an A on that?”

I wasn’t pretty enough. “You’re just lucky that I like you, with how you look!”

I wasn’t girly enough. “Do you even have any estrogen in you?”

I wasn’t Christian enough. “How can think that? Are you even a REAL Christian?”

I wasn’t American enough. “How can you teach about slavery; don’t you love America?”

I was too much of a nerd. “Do we always have to go to museums on vacation?”

I was too emotional. “Stop crying before I give you something to cry about!”

I was too anxious. “You know that’s not really going to happen, right? You worry too much about everything!”

I was too tense. “Can’t you ever just relax?”

I was too much of a vagabond. “Geez, how many places have you lived?”

I was too compassionate to others. “You want to take care of everyone else and you don’t care about your own family!”

I was too selfish. “I can’t believe you got McDonalds for dinner; you know I’d rather have something you cook?”

I was too needy. “I can drive you to school, but I expect a homemade breakfast every morning when I get to your house to pick you up as payment.”

For the longest time I believed them.

All of them.

Every.

Single.

 Lie.

Because that’s what they were. Lies. Lies that said I either wasn’t enough, or I was too much for everyone else.

Because I believed them, I started to hide things about myself that I thought they wouldn’t approve of. I tried to prove I was worthy of their love, their affection, and their approval.

I worked harder in school to get as many A’s as I could. I surrounded myself with other Christians, pushing away people who weren’t, keeping them on the periphery of my life, losing out on many good friendships in the process. I wanted my parent’s approval and love. I wanted the church’s approval. I wanted boyfriends to accept me. I wanted my husbands’ acceptance, love, and affection.

I did what I thought I should, I behaved how I was told. I stayed quiet about what I thought and what I needed. I went along to get along.

Even after a divorce, even after my mom’s death, even after being estranged from my dad, even after so much counseling, I still believed the lies that I wasn’t enough. I still believed that I had to prove my worth to others. That I had to keep my opinions, thoughts, ideas, to myself if they were in conflict with those of the people I wanted to be accepted by in fear of losing their acceptance.

I trust people will accept me for who I am, until they show me that they don’t. Until they say something or do something that shows me that I’m too much or not enough for them and then I fall into the trap of trying to prove myself to them.

That began to change in 2016 when I started writing my book, Worthless No More. As I wrote that book, I started to realize that I have worth for the simple fact that I am a human being and nobody has the right to treat me as though I am not enough or too much to handle.

I was created in God’s image. I was made to be just as I am. I prefer comfort over fashion and jeans to dresses, that doesn’t make me less of a girl. My curiosity is what makes me smart, I want to know things so I investigate and learn, it does happen to make me a nerd and want to go to museums in new places and I’m proud of that. I want to explore new places. I have experienced much trauma in my life, which has made me sensitive and reactive in certain situations, sometimes reliving past trauma, however none of it makes me unworthy of love or unconditional acceptance by those who claim to love me.

In 2018, about a year after my book was released, the movie, The Greatest Showman, came out. There is a song in the movie sung by Keala Settle, playing the bearded lady, titled, “This is Me.” When I heard that song in the movie for the first time, I cried. Right there in the movie theater, tears streamed down my cheeks because I completely understood the lyrics:

“I am not a stranger to the dark

hide away they say

’cause we don’t want your broken parts

I’ve learned to be ashamed of all my scars

run away they say

no one’ll love you as you are…”

As the song progresses it becomes obvious that she (and the others) have found their worth and are done hiding away and are proud to be who they are when they sing:

“I’m not scared to be seen

I make no apologies, this is me…”

I’m tired of being cut down and treated as though I’m not enough or too much. I’m tired of being an afterthought. I’m tired of hiding away.

This is me.

I am enough

There’s nothing I’m not worthy of.

Hindsight is 2020

As 2020 comes to an end, I’ve been looking back on the year, specifically the past nine months. These have been extremely difficult for so many people to say the least. As a meme that’s been going around the internet says, “We are not all in the same boat. We are in the same storm. Some have yachts, some canoes, and some are drowning. Just be kind and help whoever you can.”

This year has brought old as well as new struggles with my mental health. There were days that the thought of getting out of bed was too much, the effort it takes to live was too much. The difference this time is that I know that I’m valuable, I have worth and that made the struggle doable, it was like a life preserver.

I learned from a lot of people throughout my young life that I wasn’t valuable, that I was just a waste of space and time. My family let me know, adults and students at my school let me know, the people at my church let know and society let me know; I was worthless.

People didn’t seem to care about my feelings, they just dismissed my fears and anxieties as being over dramatic or just shy or just too much.

My mom used to take us to this park in our town that you had to drive on a levee road to get to. I was terrified that we would go off the road into the water, be trapped in the car and drown. So terrified that I would have nightmares about drowning the night before we would go to the park, waking up in tears. She dismissed it by saying that it would never happen. I learned as an adult, we could have gotten to the park without ever driving on the levy road. This fear of drowning by going off the road into the water got so bad, that I hated going over bridges, my mom continued to tell me that my fear was irrational and that bridges wouldn’t break, and cars wouldn’t go over the edges until the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake where the San Francisco Bay Bridge broke and reinforced my fears of falling off levy roads and bridges, being trapped in the water in the car and drowning. It took months of specific therapy to get over just that fear to where now I can drive on levy roads and over bridges with only minimal fear and no panic attacks.

By her dismissing my fears, she reinforced the fact that I was not important, that my feelings were not important.  

My dad was rarely home when we were with him, when he was home, he was busy working in the garage or watching television. We weren’t allowed in the garage; we could stand in the door to ask him a question and he made it obvious that we were interrupting his rebuilding of whatever car or motorcycle he was currently working on. If he was watching TV, we had to wait for a commercial to talk to him. Everything else was more important to him than we were.

Whatever I was, I wasn’t enough for my parents.

When I started Kindergarten, two things stood out to me that first week that showed me that the adults didn’t think I was smart enough. First, I went to school knowing how to spell my name; M-I-S-H-E-L-L. An adult helper thought she needed to inform me that I spelled my name wrong. I just remember feeling helpless and lost. I knew how to spell my name, but an adult was telling me I was wrong, so she must be right. Another adult told me that I was wrong when I said that my sister was starting high school. She absolutely was starting high school, she’s nine years older than me. I learned not to let teachers or even students know how smart I was. I needed to go along to get along. To be just smart enough, but not too smart.

Church was another place that I learned the lesson that who I was wasn’t good enough and that I had to keep who I really was hidden to be accepted. My very first Sunday wasn’t like that. I went to Children’s Church and there was a very large, extremely loud, bearded man in the front of the crowded room trying to get the kids to quiet down. I burst into tears because I was separated from my sister. He stopped what he was doing, came over to me, and helped me. He calmed me down and got me and my sister seats together. He paid attention to me, he didn’t dismiss me or belittle me, he helped me.

Then I got involved in the girls’ group at the church. In that group I learned that we are all sinners. One of the first Bible verses I had to memorize was Isaiah 53:6, “We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” Another one was Romans 3:23, “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” It was verse after verse about what a sinner I was. What a horrible person I was. How I wasn’t good enough.

Luckily, that loud, Children’s Pastor had a discipleship group, and I was in it. In that group I learned about God’s love for me from verses like John 3:16; “For God so loved the world that he sent his only son, that whoever believes in him shall have eternal life.” And Ephesians 1:4, “For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight.”

So, while I may not have been good enough for my family, or my teachers and others at school, or most of the people at church, I was good enough for Pastor Tim and God.

Unfortunately, I never believed I was good enough for any person. I always believed that I had to prove my worth to others, that they wouldn’t accept me for who I was, but then I wrote a book which I titled Worthless No More, and I realized that I am a valuable human being. I don’t need to keep any part of me hidden from others for them to accept me, if they don’t accept me, that’s their problem, not mine.

It hasn’t been easy, especially considering this last election because for some reason Christianity seems to be deeply tied into Republicanism. My Christian friends are where it’s the most difficult because I don’t like Trump. I’ve never liked Trump, since before he was President. I’ve had people question my Christianity because of it. Christians have called me a socialist, libtard because I believe that we should have accessible health care. Christians have called me a sheep because I believe we should wear masks to keep others healthy.

However, looking forward to 2021, I will no longer go along to get along. I will be me. I am valuable for who I am. I am Worthless No More.

Mother’s Day and Mental Health

Mother’s Day for me isn’t about my mom. It’s about my kids and becoming a mom myself. It’s about remembering all the women in my life who were like a mom to me, who helped me when I needed it and who reminded me who I was and could be, not who I wasn’t. It’s about remembering that I’m a valuable, lovable, human being, not a worthless child who never measured up and would never be good enough.

Mother’s Day became a day for me to celebrate when I became a mom. Before that it was almost always hard. I was forced to honor a woman who gave birth to me, but gave me no value. If I chose not to honor her, I was reminded about how worthless I was and what a terrible daughter I was. Not just by her, but also by her voice that lived inside my mind.

My mom and the church I was raised in, taught me to “honor your father and mother, this is the first commandment with a promise.” Ephesians 6:2. The promise was that if I honored them, things would go well for me and I would live a long life. So if I didn’t honor her, I would have a tough life and die young. Oh yeah, and most likely end up in hell.

It took me having my own kids and getting help from a counselor for my mental health to realize that I didn’t have to keep a toxic person in my life, just because she was my mom (or dad). She passed away when my daughter was 6 months old, but her voice stayed in my mind for much longer, still telling me all the negative things she always said.

After my son was born, I realized that I needed to take care of my mental health so that I could raise my own kids in a healthy environment. I’ve read a meme that parents should want to raise their children so that they don’t need counseling when they grow up. I think that everyone should seek counseling at any time. I tell my kids that we should all have a counselor on speed dial.

Mental health is just as important as physical health. We should get a physical done once a year to make sure that our bodies are in peak condition, well I believe that we should also regularly check in with a counselor to make sure our mental health is also in peak condition. We don’t need to wait until we are in the throes of a mental health crisis to look for help.

Our society has a stigma against people who seek mental health help. They label people as weak or crazy if they seek out a counselor or have a mental illness. I say people who seek help for their mental health are strong, they understand they can’t do it alone any more than they can treat their own broken arm.

Also, a mentally healthy mom is the best gift a mom can give a child. Take the time you need to take care of your mental health. Take the extra time in the shower or bath. Reach out to a counselor if you need someone to talk to. A mom who takes some time to take care of herself IS NOT selfish, they are making sure they can give their best self to their family and children.

One resource now for those of us sheltering in place is betterhelp.com. They offer online services for counseling, although from my understanding many counselors are offering online sessions now. If you use betterhelp.com/sleepwithme you can save 10% off the first month. (sleepwithmepodcast.com is a website/podcast I use to fall asleep. It’s bedtime stories for grown ups. It’s great!)

Here are two of the reasons that I always work on my mental health:

What I Learned From My Mom

It’s Mother’s Day and it’s Mental Health Awareness Month. Coincidence?

Maybe, but there are many, many people who struggle with their mental health partly because of the relationship they had with a parent.

There are many others who struggle with Mother’s Day in particular because of the loss of their mom or their inability to become a mom.

What I’m trying to say is, for some people, Mother’s Day takes a toll on their mental health, including me.

So this year I decided to look at all the positive things I learned from my Mom and put them in a list ( I love lists.)

  1. I learned to be resilient. According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary resilient means having the ability to recover easily from misfortune or change or capable of withstanding shock without permanent deformation. Those who know my story know I’ve been through a lot of junk and I’m not permanently deformed because of it, I’ve been able to recover and have a wonderful family and life that I love.
  2. I learned how to be a mom. Growing up, I kind of made a mental list of what not to do as a parent. Once I became a mom, I used that list to be the best mom I could be. I’m sure I make mistakes, but I’m doing the best job I can at being a mom, based on what I learned from my mom of what not to do as a mom.
  3. I learned to show and tell my kids I love them. I may not be the most hugging mom in the world, but there are plenty of other ways for me to show and tell my kids I love them. For one thing, I do actually tell them that I love them. Then I’m there for them. I listen to them, encourage them, talk them through things, support them…so many ways to show live besides just giving hugs and pats on the back.
  4. I learned to take care of myself. I may not have been an excellent chef, but I learned to cook, clean, hold down a job, and take care of the bills all well enough that I’ve been able to be in my own since I was eighteen. Being able to take care of myself has expanded to being able to take care of my family as well.
  5. I learned to ask for help. I watched my mom struggle on her own for years, too proud to ever ask for help. That taught me to never be too proud to ask for help. I’ve sought help for my mental health through both medication and counseling. I’ve asked for help in my marriage and as a parent. I’ve had mentors at work. I go to a doctor and dentist regularly.This life is too hard to do alone, I need all the help I can get.

This holiday can be hard, but today I chose to look at just a few of then positive things my mom taught me. It helped.

The best part of the day though, that I know not everyone has, are my two kids who made me a Mom and allow me to celebrate Mother’s Day from a different perspective.

They hate pictures.

#endthestigma Proud Mom Brag

I have two awesome kids and I’m super proud of them a lot. They are both friendly, smart, and totally different from each other.

In this post I’m going to brag on my daughter, just to warn you.

If you don’t want to know the incredible thing she did this week, stop reading now.

If you do want to know what she did this week to make me so proud, please continue reading.

She’s in eighth grade and taking a leadership class. This past week they were assigned to give a short, informative presentation, like a TED talk, but only about 2 minutes long.

The students picked their topics and some were; the importance of the gas light in your car, art, phobias, being a blonde, being a brunette, there was even one about TED talks.

My daughter chose to talk about mental health disorders. She wanted students her age to understand how common mental health disorders are, how they affect people’s lives  and not to make fun of people who have them.

She cautioned people to not use the names of mental health disorders lightly. For example, saying you have OCD because you’re organized. She informed her classmates that saying those sorts of things can really hurt someone suffering from that mental health disorder

.

The best thing is she didn’t even tell me about the talk; she usually goes about her school life without telling me what she’s doing. A student in her class told her mom about my daughter’s talk because it made such an impression on her. That mom came and told me.

When I asked my daughter about it, she shrugged it off like no big deal. She just thought people needed to know.

I can not put into words how proud I am.

#endthestigma

Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom!

For a long time, I didn’t think I wanted to be a mom. I didn’t think I’d be good at it. I didn’t think I’d know how to do it. I didn’t think I’d like it. I was never around babies on purpose, I didn’t babysit, I thought babies were just messy and loud, little beings that I couldn’t handle.

Then, one day I realized that I wanted kids. I was shocked, so was my husband, but he wanted them too. A couple of years later, along came the first one to make me a mom, almost three years after that along came baby two.

Let me tell you something… I never knew that being a mom was the hardest, best job in the world until I became one.

Let me tell you something else… babies are messy and loud little beings, but I could handle it, sort of, most of the time.

I was shocked to realize that newborns rarely do anything other than sleep, eat, poop and cry. A lot.

When they were little, there was a lot of laundry, a lot of cleaning and oh so many tears, both theirs and mine. There was a lot of wishing and waiting  for them to  reach the next milestone; teething, walking, talking, pre-school, kindergarten…

At some point I realized that I needed to stop looking to what was coming up next and just enjoy the stage we were in. Now that they are 13 and 10, I know my time with them will become more and more limited as they transform into teens, then young adults and finally adults and maybe even parents of their own(no rush there).

Being a mom is challenging.

There’s the constant worry about whether or not they are developing correctly. The stress of attempting to raise this strong-willed human beings into becoming productive, successful members of society. Anxiety over the fine line between advocating for them and teaching them to advocate for themselves. The constant fear of danger whenever they are out of our sights. The challenges are never-ending and ever-changing as they grow.

Being a mom is oh-so-rewarding though.

Watching them take their first tentative steps and the smile that consumes their tiny faces when they realize they did it. The way your heart swells (and eyes fill) first time they tell you they love you. Seeing the pride in their eyes when they know they can do something on their own. Hearing the full on belly laugh when the siblings are getting along (for once) and enjoying their time together.

While being a mom isn’t always easy or fun, and there are times I don’t want to hear “MOM!” (especially when I’m in the bathroom), I’m so thankful for the little people who gave me that title and all the joys and struggles that they have brought to my life.

Because of them I am a better, stronger person than I knew I was capable of being.