to my daughter
September 9, 2016 § 5 Comments
Earlier this week you were scheduled to have multiple teeth extracted. I anticipated your fear, understood that this appointment would carry the burden of dread. I did not prolong the moment with unwanted reminders. I delivered the news quickly, acknowledging your emotions but underscoring simply the necessity of the appointment with short, staccato statements of must and will.
I let you sulk in the car, distracting myself as much as you with stories from my day. You were a silent companion the entire ride right up to the moment you walked stoically into the office. There was no resistance in your posture, only a quiet unhappiness; a peaceful protest. Fear and frustration coiled tightly in your muscles.
You accommodated each of the technicians’ requests, settling into the directions but holding your body rigid. I sat just out of sight, until the tears came. I understood there was no way to stop the procedure, to interrupt would be disruptive – so I placed my hand on your ankle. Such an insignificant offering to the scale of your muffled misery.
Of course, in this instance, I understood you were safe, but the fear was no less real. Your need to catch your breath and feel in control were tangible. The technicians couldn’t understand that the pain had validated your fears and erased whatever comfort or trust you had tried to offer. Their encouragements were hollow against your experience, so they worked through your emotions alongside you.
Your sounds were a primal language of fear, a flexing of muscle against logic; an uncomfortable demand for permission to claim your needs. I love this about you, your willingness to speak up even in the company of those with more knowledge or strength. I admired the messy, emotional declarations that interrupted the expected and took ownership of your fear with fierce tenderness for your own vulnerability.
You were not silent in pain, but you were no less respectful for your honesty. You did not flail your arms or clench your teeth, but you did not make yourself small either.
You are one of the strongest, most gentle spirits I know. I hope you always speak through your fear and disrupt expectations. I hope you take up space with questions and never settle for rote encouragements.
No one in the room thought less of you for your tears, no one shushed your sounds or undermined your fear. Every inch of your body is your own, to love and protect. Instead they honored the fear, called it by name and gave it weight. When we said you did well, everyone understood that you had not endured the discomfort but found your way to safety.
Love, Mom
to my daughter
May 9, 2016 § 8 Comments
This afternoon you came to me in tears, asking for permission to quit band. Your posture was folded over in defeat, your voice resonated with remorse.
I couldn’t rectify the shape of your request with the form of your eagerness this past fall. The way you would lean your torso toward the marching band, rolling down the car window in passing to let the notes drift on cool currents that chased after us as we turned the corner toward school.
You had begun to find a place for your future self in these fleeting glimpses of tall hats and sharp steps.
Looking over my shoulder, I could still see last year’s struggle in this year’s commitment. Weekend practices to supplement lost class time after an extended illness; you had been working to catch up when you fell in love with the rewards of your effort.
Then, this year, band was a familiar family of strangers as you settled into a new school. I was thinking these thoughts quietly as you waited for my answer.
In those short minutes, I wanted to muscle past whatever moment had undone your joy, to order you over the obstacle or help you see your way through. Except, you’ve always been as stubborn as you are sensitive and I was afraid I might chase you further from the truth.
So, I quit – first. I outlined your options and itemized the practicalities. It was only after I mentioned we would need to change your registration paperwork to accommodate choir as the foregone alternative to band that I saw the same fear that had driven you to quit.
Only then did I understand you were terrified of tomorrow’s solo. Standing alone. Judged.
The girl who worked comfortably in the artistic details of her class play wanted no part of center stage.
It was tempting to give you safe harbor, but the truth is our fears have a habit of reappearing in new challenges until we move past that horrible place where our knees knock and our voice wavers. Until we shine a light into the darkest corners of ourself and look lovingly on those imperfect images of self.
You confessed you were afraid you might be awful.
So we joked until you were ready to work. Then, you practiced until giving up something you enjoy to avoid something you fear no longer made sense.
Tonight you are still, palpably terrified. I can sense the closed throat and loose fingers clutching numbly at false bravado even as we set aside your clothes for tomorrow and you settle your clarinet into its case.
Even if you are awful, completely and utterly horrible, this time tomorrow the worst will have come and gone leaving only the joy that was there before fear.
I’ll be waiting on your stories.
Love, Mom
to my daughter
April 18, 2016 § 2 Comments
Yesterday afternoon we stole away for a moment of girl time among new acquaintances and old friends. It was your second birthday party since our move and the first one that pushed you outside your comfort zone.
I’m convinced the world can be divided into those who can roller skate and us.
I considered demanding you skate, there was even a fleeting moment of guilt induced pressure for me to lace up and drag us both through a painful display of determined whimsy. In the end, I decided to leave my socks at home and allowed you to bring along a quiet activity to fill the time between the others’ laps.
I told you in the car that it can be brave to go against the grain, to recognize your fear and stand safely where you can breathe. There are going to be times in your life when that reservation will keep you safe and give you the clarity to work through the risks and consequences of your choices. I secretly hoped you might change your mind, but allowed you space enough to choose.
It was only after pizza, when the party was winding down, that I spotted you trading your tennis shoes for skates. It may have been the longest, slowest test of will, there was no natural ability or mastery in your effort, but there was an exquisite vulnerability in stepping outside your comfort zone and wearing your fear in a demonstration of stubborn optimism.
Just as it is brave to stand in a solitary self truth, there is strength of character in reaching past your fears and holding tightly to another. We don’t have to be brave alone any more than we have to be perfect. Friendship gives us a safe place to fail colorfully.
Love, Mom
fear
December 12, 2015 § 5 Comments
Fear is a strange motivator, it tempts us on tiptoe to the very brink of possibility then dares us to leap. It is the friend to whom we whisper our most intimate dreams and who we enlist to guard our joy from harm. It is a tireless soldier of our worst imagination, but only by assignment.
Fear whispers, What will you do?
It challenges us to name our dreams with heartbeats that speak in uncomplicated truth, passion in a language of morse code. It is the internal knowing that drums a persistent noise in the quiet of our own hesitation so that we can hear the reverberation of truth above the din of doubt.
What would yo do if you were not afraid to succeed?
I think of this when my son drafts complicated blue prints for unlikely inventions or my daughter conjures lines into a tapestry of make-believe. More often, Fear is my companion in the space between necessity, when I am still just long enough to remember my own dreams and tiptoe closer to possibility.
failing forward
November 24, 2015 § 4 Comments
The past week has been a whirlwind of emotions. An unhappy argument that lead to an honest unraveling. Tiny earthquakes of the spirit.
Sad and angry, I pulled away from the places I normally find comfort and looked inward more closely for strength. My vision obscured by a new foothold, I saw myself in choices that reflected places of need that demanded change.
For all my many blessings and joy, there was room for more. A word I previously chose to name the year.
How far had I fallen in my distraction that this word was lost in my daily attention? Suddenly alert and eager, this word was like manna to an achy spirit.
I drew myself closely to the table and began demanding more, of and for, myself.
I had become stagnant in my self-care. Deferring choices to a status quo and squandering the preciousness of each moment with hesitation. Fully awake in this reality I dared to engage chance.
It was this day that I hurriedly scribbled a resume and cover letter into reality, tempting fate to challenge my intentions. A change that I had come to fear became a lifeline to a forgotten self.
I immediately reached out for necessary references and let loved one’s stand beside me in my action, honoring the fragility of this new possibility with transparency of intention.
Then, just when the busyness of my normal weekday routines dared me to sweep momentum beneath distractions, I bought an interview outfit and challenged fate to call me.
I started looking at those around me less as dependents of my attention and more as capable caretakers. I began conversations with my children that outlined places where they might mature into acts of greater support.
I even embraced small gestures of whimsy, signing up for a frivolous message from an uncertain Universe so that I would have a happy message to begin my day. A playful plan for the mornings I would need encouragement.
It was in this same mindset that I acted on an idea a friend shared; a link to network with other writers. Here, again, I enlisted chance with determination; recognizing that if I could leap into change to be of service to others, then I could also demand a space of passion for myself.
For the past week, each day has begun with yes. I have moved toward every affirmation with a stubborn, blind love.
Then, today, rejection came. A polite form letter informing me that another candidate was awarded the opportunity I sought for myself. I could tell you that this moment undermined my confidence, that I doubted my ability and curled inward. It is what I might have felt only a week ago, but no is not so painful when the work is not intimately tied to self.
More importantly, failure is intricately linked to success; we cannot learn, grow, evolve without uncomfortable risk. I failed in this early endeavor, but I succeeded in moving past anxiety, fear, and doubt to make that first uncertain step towards change.
I don’t know what comes next, I only know I’m tired of standing still. I want to dance the little girl open-armed twirls of my heart song.
naming fear
December 17, 2012 § Leave a comment
In the wake of tragedy, there exists a dialogue of fear. News networks race to assign blame, naming fear. As we endeavor to comprehend that which seems to contradict logic I hope that our hearts will nudge our minds open, making room for compassion. Let us not rest blame for violence on the shoulders of children navigating a world veiled by special needs or mental illness.
My son and so many others on the Autism Spectrum, often misunderstood and sometimes mistreated for their differences, cannot bear the weight of labels written in fear. Do not place this tragedy upon their shoulders. Lend my son and his community friendship in the face of fear, extend kindness to better understand individuals whose needs place a responsibility for compassion in place of judgment.
It would be simple to blame guns. Take them away and we are left with a conversation that reaches beyond weapons to messages of intolerance in a broken world. If we are to name our fear let us call out intolerance and complacency, ignorance and disconnect. Rather than point fingers, reach out a hand to those who stand alone. Wounds fester in hate and anger, we heal with love and compassion.
stormy weather
July 22, 2011 § Leave a comment
I wish I were someone who loved Mother Nature’s artful strokes of lightning or disorienting clashes of thunder the way I wish I could swan dive into the ocean. Instead I hide under the covers and peek at the sky with awe and terror completely humbled by the limitless authority of nature. This morning dark clouds gathered overhead, erasing the sun from the sky. Watching the water pour outside my windows I wished I could wash away my fear and let the beauty bring me peace.
Today’s storm arrived shortly after I returned from driving my daughter to her last day of summer school. Fear clouded my thoughts and I wanted to gather my daughter home; to know she was safe nearby. Watching the mature trees in our neighborhood sway strongly against the wind I weighed the safety of my imagined rescue mission against reality. Motherhood seems to ask us to place so much of our own happiness and fear in the hands of variables we can neither predict nor control. Each burst of thunder seemed to mock my doubts.
The storm is waning; clouds scattering and the rhythm of raindrops tapering into a predictable percussion. I am coming out from under the covers to marvel at the sheer brilliance of the trees no longer dangerous but rather resplendent from their shower. Silly me, there were no monsters under the bed, only shadows.
two wheels
April 2, 2011 § Leave a comment
Each summer my son faced his bike like a comic strip superhero disdainfully surveying an arch nemesis, his gleaming unmarred bike mocking him from the shadows of our garage. My confident, resourceful son was rendered powerless on two wheels. With each failed lesson he would slowly spiral into anger, frustration, insecurity and fear; tears and temper sabotaging his efforts, he evaded the childhood milestone of riding a bike.
Today, on a beautiful Spring day, he found his way on two wheels in the company of a friend. I marveled at this child’s ability to direct and encourage, acknowledge and accept my son’s progress with quiet compassion. I struggled to remain silent wanting to be present at the moment of accomplishment having so long been a companion on the journey. Together we stood in strength and my heart burst in soundless applause as my son faced his fear on two wheels.
trolls
February 15, 2011 § Leave a comment
My daughter woke early this morning, fearful of mischievous trolls lurking in the dark corners of her room. The dream clouding her reality she snuggled into me and began challenging her fear with questions. I wrapped my arms around her sleepy form and listened to my husband meet her doubts with concrete answers.
I have trolls too; horrible, irrational fears. Why hadn’t I thought to stand in a place of love and support where I could safely question the reality of my trolls? Instead I throw the covers over my head and hold my fear bottled, its weight heavy inside my heart.
There is no great revelation or endearing anecdote, just the simple acknowledgment in the early morning hours that sometimes you need only a safe place to challenge your fears.
breathe
January 24, 2011 § 1 Comment
Each time I dive into a body of water, I am convinced I am going to drown. Airborne and caught between the concrete and unknown below the water’s surface I am enveloped in panic and terror. Within seconds of submersion I sputter gracelessly, fighting to surface, choking on fear and exhilarated to see daylight. My mother lays the burden of this fear at the feet of a relative who threw me into a pool as a toddler and allowed me to struggle under water for instructional purposes. The swim lesson was a singular event, largely recalled through my mother’s eyes. Those feelings however haunt me in moments outside my control and help to give voice to a larger fear… the unknown.
Restless in my relationship with fear I have grown tired of tiptoeing through my days, holding my breath in hesitation. I envy those that seem to bound through their days with heart and energy, exuding confidence and strength; warmth and loyalty; passion and persistence. I gather these spirited personalities close to me and celebrate them. In the warmth of their support I find myself testing the water, fantasizing about the perfect swan dive.
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