Motherhood/Vulnerability, Part 2

(Continued from my last post).

Today, someone whom I trust and love said things to me that I received as judgment and criticism.  We have since totally reconciled, and it turns out that I misunderstood much of what she said and took it the wrong way (shocker!) because of my own insecurities.  But I've realized a lot through the experience.

After our initial conversation, I was devastated.  I felt completely misunderstood.  The conversation was about Douglas among other things.  Douglas is a kind, loving gem of a boy who is creative and insightful and inquisitive.  He also has boundless energy.  And his energy is often expressed through hitting at this point in his 3-year-old life.  He's happy, he hits.  He's excited, he hits.  He's frustrated or mad, he hits.  It's actually pretty remarkable to watch.  Remarkable in the "I wanna pound my head against a wall, this is so mind-numbingly frustrating" kind of way.  It's not all the time - he does find appropriate ways to talk about his emotions a lot of the time, but it's consistent enough to be an issue.  We work on it constantly.  CONSTANTLY.

The teacher at mom's day out and I talked about it because it's become an issue with him and another little boy.  I left feeling alone and insecure.  I know the mom of the kid who this seems to happen with the most at school.  I feel insecure about what she must think of me.  Of Douglas.  I worry that she thinks I'm a bad mom.  That I might actually be one.  I worry that the teacher or this mom or this kid won't see Douglas for who he really is.  That they'll judge him on the surface and not look deep enough to see his uniquely, preciously tender heart and loving, kind spirit.  I worry that their judgment, the world's judgment, will crush my sweet baby boy.

Then today this phone call happened with this person in my life.  A person who I feel should know how hard I'm trying to fix this issue.  Who sees me constantly trying to find a way to break through to him, to somehow help his 3-year-old mind to grasp what I'm telling him and to stop expressing himself in physical ways like that, for the love of God.  And the things she said made me angry.  And so incredibly sad.  I felt judged.  I cried for a long time.  I drove the kids around in the car listening to the same song over and over again from Rent.  "Another Day".  This is my go-to song when I'm angry or upset.  Poor kids.  Luckily they like the parts of the song that I fast forward to and belt at the top of my lungs until my voice gets tired and won't scream-sing anymore.   At the end of these sessions, I like when I hear Douglas' little voice in the back seat singing with the music, "No day but today."

I did something that Brene Brown says she does when she feels attacked - I acknowledged the feeling by saying to myself "pain, pain, pain, pain."  She says it helps to bring the logical, thinking part of the brain to the table instead of just letting the fight or flight part of the brain have a party alone.  I noticed how exposed I felt.  How raw and vulnerable and hurt and sad and misunderstood.  I felt myself harden off against my friend, against the world.  I realized then that I was reacting to feeling attacked in a vulnerable state.  Every day as a mom involves intense vulnerability.  So anytime someone tells us (or even when we just think they're telling us) that we're not doing a good job, it feels like we were attacked without our armor on, naked and exposed.  The intensity of my reaction revealed to me how much this whole situation with Douglas was impacting me.  How hard it was for me that people in general might be judging me or him and that I couldn't do anything to fix it or change it.   

Micah cares so much less about what people think of him than I do.  This makes him a much more secure person, of course.  I told him tonight how misunderstood I feel, how misunderstood I think Douglas is.  How I'm afraid the world will only see one tiny part of him because it's more glaring and in-your-face (literally, with the knuckles of a fist) than all of his other qualities are - all the ones that actually matter.  Micah said, "Who CARES what people think of us as parents!?  All that matters is that we're doing our best to love them and to know and love the Father." He pointed out to me that if it's not this, it's going to be something else, so I might as well learn now that our kids and their actions are not a reflection on me as a person.  That my identity isn't wrapped up in who they are or what choices they make.

Photo by Ashley Derr

Because later our kid might be the one who strikes out every time he's up at bat or the one who talks incessantly in class and gets in trouble.  Or the one who's shy and doesn't make friends easily.  Or who has autism.  Or who gets bullied every day at recess.  Or the one who uses words to make others cry.  Or the one who will wear nothing but black for years at a time.  We can't control our kids.  We can't control how the world will judge us for our kids' behavior.  All we can do is our best every day to actually see them, because the world probably won't.  All we can do is love them and help them to know with every cell of their being that nothing they EVER do could change how much we love them or how much God loves them.  No matter what the broken world tells them. 

“You are imperfect, you are wired for struggle, but you are worthy of love and belonging.”
― Brené Brown 

I have this thing about being misunderstood. I always have.  I don't care what people think of me for the most part, as long as they get the story right.  If I feel like they actually understand me and what I was doing or trying to do or who I am and they don't like me for it, then I know there's nothing I can do about that and I can move on.  I mean, it's not ideal, but whatevs.  But if I feel like they don't know me, like they're seeing it all wrong, misrepresenting me, I am devastated.  And angry.  I feel like I can't stop until I've set the record straight.  I hate few things more than feeling misunderstood, and judged based upon that misunderstanding.

Tonight, as I was thinking all of this over, this little voice in my head said, "hmm...I wonder Who else was misunderstood."  The One who did nothing but love and give of himself, the One whose entire purpose was to free us from ourselves and our own death and darkness.  And yet who we still killed.  Humiliated and murdered.  No one has ever been more misunderstood, and yet he wasted no time trying to set the record straight. After writing this whole post, Micah and I read this Advent Companion book we're reading that's a companion to the Catholic Magnificat.  I open it up and the reading for today is entitled "You Can't Please Everybody."  Hmm.   The scripture it's based on, the one that all Catholics in the world read today says this, in part: "For John came neither eating nor drinking and they said, 'He is possessed by a demon.' The Son of Man came eating and drinking and they said, 'Look, he is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.'" (Matthew 11:16-19)

I can't parent Douglas or Timon based upon what others will think.  And with all my heart, I never want to teach them that what others think of them is important.  I want them to learn from me and us that the world will judge as it will, based upon whatever snippets of information or mis-information they have.  But all we can do is our best.  All we can do is play our part, our role - the role that we were created to play.  All we can do is be fully ourselves, with all our quirks and flaws and wounds - and our beauty and gifts and uniqueness.  Who cares if the world tells me I'm a bad mom if my kid hits other people?  Who cares if the world tells him he's a bad kid if he is impulsive or super energetic?  All that matters is that we're trying our damndest to be the best version of ourselves, to love each other in the ways that we are uniquely gifted to.  I want our kids to know that what matters is who they really are, not who others think or say they are.  And that they are fiercely and ceaselessly loved by God the Father.  For all of who they are.  Even the parts the world says are ugly.  For all of who they are.

 “Because true belonging only happens when we present our authentic, imperfect selves to the world, our sense of belonging can never be greater than our level of self-acceptance.”

 ― Brené Brown, Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead

 

There's no hope of Douglas or Timon ever learning these truths if I live my life constantly stuck in my own feelings of inadequacy and fear of what others think of me or our kids.  The stakes are high because these precious kids are learning about life from us.  They are looking to me and Micah to tell them if they are ok.  If they have a place in this world.  If they are enough.  And I don't want my answer to be, "Yes, of course you're enough" while my actions say "Yeah, but I sure wish you were easier for the world to approve of because I care so much about approval that I'm insecure as hell around all the other moms."  I never want my motivation to have anything to do with other people's opinions - of our kids or of us.  Let's face it, each of our kids is going to do things that we wish they didn't or that aren't accepted by the world around them.  Do we want them to feel our shame, or our love?

“Perfectionism is self destructive simply because there's no such thing as perfect. Perfection is an unattainable goal.” 

― Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are 

Brene says that “Vulnerability is our most accurate measurement of courage."  Motherhood takes a ridiculous amount of courage.  We should all cut ourselves some slack.  Stop worrying about what other people think.  Stop being critical of ourselves.  "If we can't stand up to the never good enough and who do you think you are? we can't move forward."

 

“Authenticity is a collection of choices that we have to make every day. It's about the choice to show up and be real. The choice to be honest. The choice to let our true selves be seen.”

― Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection

Motherhood/Vulnerability, Part 1

* All of the amazing pics in this post are taken by my super-talented sister-in-law, Ashley Derr.  

One aspect of motherhood that I never anticipated is the general feeling of inadequacy that I would experience.  I wonder if there's a mom alive who feels like she's kicking ass at motherhood.  If there is, I haven't met her yet.  Every single mom I know feels like she's just not cutting it.  Like the stakes are very high and she doesn't have what it takes to do a great job.  Like she's failing in ways big and small - pretty much all the time.  Like every other mom out there might just be doing a WAY better job than her.  We look at each others' Christmas cards and say, "Oh, wow, she must totally have it together.  I, on the other hand, am a hot, hot mess."  What we fail to recognize is that she was inevitably about to poke her own eyes out immediately before that adorable and picture-perfect photo was taken.  We underestimate our own capabilities and overestimate everyone else's.

And in our own fear of inadequacy rests a sizable dose of judgment toward other moms.  I don't even think we know we're doing it most of the time.  I wonder what would happen if instead of judging each other, we started looking for the good things that every mom we encounter is doing.  If, when we spent time together, instead of judging each other to make ourselves feel better, we just ignored all of that crap and really looked.  Saw the ways that the other person uniquely and beautifully loves her children.  And then if we told her what we saw.  I wonder what it would be like if we told one another what a great job each of us is doing.  In our own unique ways.  Using our gifts, the special qualities that only we have, to love and bless our children.  Loving them in ways that only we are equipped to love.

Micah and I were talking tonight, me hurt and wounded from something that happened today with someone close to me, and he said this: "You're an amazing mom.  You know you're an amazing mom.  Our kids are kind and gentle-spirited and loving.  And they don't get that from me.  They get that from you."  I cried.  I thanked him for saying those things.  Because even though I know somewhere deep, deep down that he's right, that place in me is covered up by so many lies and insecurities and self-criticisms that I never let myself live in the freedom of the truth of those words.

Brene Brown in her incredible, so-freaking-amazing book Daring Greatly defines vulnerability as "Uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure."  I realized today that motherhood and vulnerability go together.  They are inextricably linked.  To be a mom is to be vulnerable.  Constantly.  People ceaselessly judge how good or bad a job we are doing at raising our kids.  And by people I mean everyone.  Strangers on the street, checkers at Walmart, friends, family members.  All of them.  And we are constantly uncertain.  We have no idea what we're doing.  How could we?  Raising a child is way too big.  No parent EVER in the history of the world has been certain all the time.  Or even most of the time.  And it's risky as hell.  We do our best.  We give our kids everything we can.  Use every last tool in our rinky-dink tool box.

But there are always holes in what we have to offer.  We are human and therefore far, far, far from perfect.  And ultimately all we can do is our best and then send them out into the world and hope to God that they survive.  And thrive.  And find joy and peace and love.  And the world might not like them.  At all.  The world might be cruel to them.  Or try to break their spirit.  It might even succeed.  The world might tell them they're a waste of space.  Not good enough.  In fact, the world will almost definitely tell them that.  And then the world will look at us and point a finger and say that we are the reason that they are screwing up.  This, my friends, is risky business.  Risk, uncertainty, emotional exposure.  The definition of parenthood, the definition of vulnerability.  Same, same.  And as Brene's years of research on vulnerability shows, “Staying vulnerable is a risk we have to take if we want to experience connection.”

Martyr Mommy

So.  Hi there.  I'm alive.  And well, in fact.  The truth is, I just haven't felt like writing lately.  And when I say lately, I mean for five months, as it turns out.  Imagine my surprise to discover that!  I'm excruciatingly careful not to pressure myself about writing on this blog.  The last time I wrote for any reason other than for fun was when I got paid to write a few articles for a local magazine, and it just sucked the joy right out of writing for some reason.  So anytime I noticed myself thinking, "Oh, I haven't blogged in a while.  I should maybe do that," I promptly ran the other direction.

The past few days, I've felt a blog post brewing.  And last night I started typing.  This morning, I woke up at around 6 am and couldn't sleep because I was writing it in my head.  At 6 am.  On a Saturday.  Reluctant to slide out of bed on one of two mornings a week that I get to sleep in with Micah, I knew I wouldn't sleep if I stayed.  And the twinkly lights of the tree on a dark morning and peppermint coffee were calling my name LOUDLY.

So here I am.  What an amazing way to start the day.  I have my holiday pjs on - red satin ones that remind me of my mom when I was growing up because she used to wear ones just like them.  Beautiful but cozy and warm.  And I've got my favorite blanket that totally looks like santa's red and white coat thrown over my legs.  It's perfect, I'm telling you.

I want to talk about motherhood - for this post and probably one or two more following.  But I don't want to worry the whole time that you're reading it through a lens of "Ginger's falling apart, I need to worry about her since she's been MIA for 5 mos and only comes back to write about motherhood and martyrdom."  I'm doing great.  Timon started sleeping through the night around a year finally, and all kinds of brain cells and endorphins started regenerating at that point. 

Motherhood Part I

One of the things I have become acutely aware of since becoming a mom is that there is a pervasive lie out there that as moms we are selfish if we take care of ourselves.  That somehow we don't deserve - well, anything really.  And that we are bad moms and selfish little vixens if we want to do things for ourselves.  Go away on a girls' weekend.  Go out with girls.  Work outside the home.  Get away from our kids for the love of God.  And, granted, I am living in Kansas.  And I am surrounded by a group of friends who are mostly stay-at-home-moms.  So I know those two things mean that it's probably more of a pervasive attitude in my circle than in some others.  As a stay-at-home-mom, I can only speak from my own experience.  So you working-outside-the-house moms out there, I hope you're catchin' what I'm throwin' even though it looks different in your world than it does in mine.

In Martyr Mommy Land, we joke about how many days it's been since we've showered.  Or about our half-chipped, 6-month-old pedicure.  We wear our "sacrifices" like a badge of honor.  And it's normal to be too exhausted or busy to keep up with yourself in the ways you used to - for a while.  But it's not healthy to make that, or things like it, the norm or an identity.  Because when the kids get a little older, the "not taking a shower" badge gets replaced by the "home schooling even though we hate it" badge or the "cook dinner every night even when I want to punch myself in the face" badge.  There's always some way to make this sacrifice into a currency.  And to get more and more depleted as the years wear on.

For whatever reason, I'm not as afflicted by this as some others are (read into that what you will). :)  I still have those voices in my head, but I'm pretty dang good at taking care of myself when I need to.  It's not because I'm strong and work hard at it.  It's a survival skill I developed somewhere along the way.  I remember in highschool telling my mom I needed a "mental health day."  Amazingly, she sometimes agreed to let me have one.  I love that about her.  She didn't know it then, but she was allowing me to listen to and develop that part in myself that knew it needed something.  That inner voice that set off an alarm when I needed nurturing and a little TLC.   So when I'm in conversations at a party where this self-minimalizing attitude is rearing its ugly head, I'll say some version of - "Hey, you know what?  You should get away.  You need to get away.  There's nothing about that that makes you a bad mom or makes you selfish.  It's not selfish to take care of yourself.  It's not selfish to take care of yourself!!!"

You know what the response always is?  "That's true.  I can't very well love and care for everyone else if I'm run down and falling apart."  This is what we do.  We justify getting time to ourselves or taking care of ourselves by saying that it's all in the name of taking care of others.  It's a problem that we think we have to justify taking care of ourselves in the first place.  I think it's very easy as moms to forget that we have to allow ourselves to be filled up first before we can overflow for others.  That a broken, cracked cup just leaks water all over the damn place.  It doesn't serve anyone, especially the cup itself, to let the cup get all cracked and beat up.  But I think it goes one step further than this even.  Not only should we allow ourselves to be filled up, to receive the blessings and goodness and love of the Father so that we, in that fullness, can love others - I also think we should allow ourselves to receive all those things just because.  Because we are beautifully and wonderfully made.  Because we are deserving of love and affection (from ourselves and others) as much as our children or our loved ones are.  Because we are amazing and lovely and valuable in our own right.  Not only for what we offer the rest of the world.  But just because we are. 

I was talking to a girlfriend the other day about her stopping nursing her baby.  It was a painful and difficult decision for many reasons, many of which had to do with shame and guilt and the sense of inadequacy - what would people think?  Is she selfish to make a choice that helps herself?  Shouldn't she be endlessly, tirelessly, nauseatingly doing things that help others, never herself?  (As if it wasn't enough that she had just pushed him forth into the world through her vagina!!)  From where I was sitting, it was clear that the deeper healing here, the most important thing, was that she was learning to take care of herself, to nurture herself.  That she was learning that it was ok to choose not to nurse simply because she didn't want to nurse.  Gasp.  It was beautiful to watch her struggling through this so bravely.  To see her listening to her voice, validating herself by saying, "You know what?  I hear you.  I hear that you hate this and you want to do what's best for your child, but you're miserable.  We are going to stop now.  You are loved and valued and you don't have to do this.  Your baby gets so much of you.  He doesn't have to get all of you all the time.  Thank you for telling me what you need."  We are all worthy of love and nurturing.

Micah and I took the boys shopping yesterday for an angel tree gift.  Once that was accomplished, we wanted to walk them around the festive mall for a bit.  I wanted a cute new outfit for a Christmas party, so I semi-timidly asked Micah what he thought about us looking for said outfit while we perused the mall.  I felt bad hijacking our Angel Tree Extravaganza (even though we had already finished that part) and wondered if he'd think I was selfish to make it about me at the mall.  He didn't.  He (after briefly rolling his eyes - he hates shopping in all forms) totally jumped on board.  He pushed our double stroller around the mall and was 100% engaged.  He stood outside dressing rooms and gave spot-on, insightful opinions about my festive outfit choices.  I felt so incredibly loved and valued.  As I lay in bed this morning, it dawned on me: what an amazing example things like that are for our kids.  They may not get it yet (although Douglas does on some level) but there they are, seeing a man really loving and caring for a woman.  There they are seeing their daddy a) listening to the needs and desires of their mom b) completely engaging in the activity she wants to do c) showing her that she deserves love and care in these ways.  That part deep within me that sometimes believes the lie that I shouldn't take time for myself or that this shouldn't be about me or my needs or wants felt so touched by that experience.  I will not soon forget the mental picture of me coming out of the fitting room with my fancy holiday shorts and blouse on, and cowboy boots because that's what I'd worn to the mall, and showing my three fellas to see what they (read: Micah) thought.  Douglas did throw in a "that's beautiful!" once or twice.  It completely caught me off guard how valued and special it made me feel that picking out my holiday outfit was a whole family affair.  It made me present to the truth that I am worth it.  

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that this culture has a completely skewed view of women.  The biggest part of the true feminine is the ability to receive.  Look at Mary, the most perfect example of the feminine.  Sometimes we focus so much on her sacrifice - her willingness to accept this child into herself even though it meant she would be judged fiercely by others, even though it would jeopardize her relationships and her life, even though she would have to suffer excruciating agony as she let go of her son and watched him die a torturous death.  Mary's sacrifices are countless and hugely powerful.  But let's not forget that one of the most powerful things Mary shows us is the feminine ability to receive.  As women, we need to let ourselves receive, not just give.  We are made to do both.

Receive love this Christmas season.  Receive joy and fun and nurturing.  If you are someone who struggles to receive the blessings you are meant to receive, open yourself up to them.  Receive the pedicure.  Receive the freedom to stop nursing if that's what your inner voice is saying.  Receive the freedom to slap some peanut butter on a stale piece of bread and offer it to your kids for dinner.  Two nights in a row.  Receive the joy of a long, hot bath with a bajillion candles and music and bubbles overflowing.  It's all receiving.  I'm not saying it should be all about us.  You also get to receive the fun and beauty of watching your kids as they discover the joys of Christmas - as you help (and sacrifice) to create the magic of that time for your family.  It's all part of the same thing.  Giving, receiving.  It's all wrapped up in one big ball of joy.  My point is this: let's not glorify the one and completely forget the other.  As women and as moms, sometimes I think it's easy to get waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too far on the side of glorifying giving and demonizing receiving and to make a full-on identity out of it.  Martyr Mommy.  Yucko.  We are all made to give and to receive love.  Which one is harder for you?  Whichever one it is, consider using this holiday season to learn about that one - allow yourself to embrace it more fully.
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I'm going to post this one with no more editing, no fun pictures.  Because the house is awake now and it's time to start our fun Saturday - and I'm afraid if I wait until I get it perfect or put all the perfect pictures in where they belong, I may never do it.