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Yesterday I had the opportunity to gather with strangers to discuss our community as mothers of school aged children with special needs. So I thought.

In fact, I met with mothers who were, are, accomplished professionals meeting with the intention of discussing business; the identity of their children secondary to our conversation. As the women introduced themselves, business cards identifying their area of expertise, I quietly pondered how I might identify myself and my place at their table without a professional identity.

Initially I tallied my insignificance with insecurities. I silently measured my worth by lengths of comparison that were as unkind to myself and those I presumed might judge me.

Tempting as it might have been in a fleeting fantasy to apologetically dismiss myself from their company, I invited my doubts to lunch and settled in to enjoy an experience that was a gift of error.

I believe fate is a marriage of opportunity and choice; yesterday three lovely strangers invited me to be present in a chance conversation, the opportunity and choice my own. Today I am reflecting on the space of self and the woman I am ever becoming in a community of women more inspiring for their diversity.

In the busy obligations of everyday life pieces of self curl against the familiar rhythms of routine, hiding in plain sight. Glimpses of sincerity streak between excuses and expectations, a trick of light that hints at emotional shelters.

Acts of love and gifts of care create comfortable compromises for the discomfort of the unknown. In doing for others I shuffle self into intention in place of action. Tomorrow becomes a string of empty promises that wear against my worth.

Today I am marking my consciousness in words, willing my spirit the sunshine of sight.

Sometimes I stand witness to moments that allow me to acknowledge pieces of self others cannot see. Personal truths filtered by expectations and assumptions can breed disappointment and frustration, understanding obscured by emotions. Knowing and being known a trick of sight.

Recently I caught a reflection of self in the actions of another. A teacher whose defensiveness alienated efforts to assist in classroom complications is really exploring a path I, too, once struggled against. I remember listening as teachers requested classroom change that seemed to undermine our family’s academic goals for our son. I couldn’t hear the kindness beneath their frustration because I was holding tightly to an image of success I couldn’t see past. Change aligned with failure when, in fact, without change success was impossible. Those teachers weathered my denial and resistance with kindness. They saw me as a mother navigating fears with good intentions and misinformation; never once loosing sight of my ability to create positive change as an intricate member of my son’s team of educators. This legacy of faith allows me to look past defensiveness, gathering the sharp corners of resistance into the trajectory of academic success.

Other times it is in feeling unseen that I look more closely at others; bumping into myself quite accidentally. A friend so lost to their own worries they cannot see the sadness behind my own forced smile became an opportunity for me to set aside my needs to be present for another’s heartache. Invisibility shining a light onto compassion. Sometimes a person cannot see clearly for the mask of bravery obscuring sight; blocking out the light that informs understanding. When I feel misplaced in my relationships it is often easiest to begin from a place of friendship, giving first what I most need. This one act gifting me sight of the places I am most mired in self, blinded by my own needs.

Sometimes I have only to look around more mindfully of my place among others. Individuals whose strength and conviction sometimes overwhelms me until I make myself smaller; weighing my significance against the accomplishments of another rather than standing tall in my experiences so that I can better appreciate my unique place of importance among those I admire. This ability to find beauty and belonging another gift of sight; removing undertones of competitiveness and replacing comparisons with inspiration to reach more confidently toward moments of self-realization and selfless acknowledgment of those around me.

Nowhere is sight of self and selfless sight more important than at home; seeing and being seen with a kindness that allows each imperfect piece to make us more whole.

In much the same way I might watch a stream of strangers passing through a congested train station, constructing stories from tiny details potentially insignificant to their personal truths, I sometimes lose sight of those closest to me for the busy details of our days. It is a messy exercise, detangling myself from expectations of those I love to better see those I most want to gift sight of self; removing filters of emotions and assumptions to see the individual beneath behaviors.

These thoughts have chased around my mind these past couple days challenging assumptions and begging me to gather a moment of sight to guide me when I cannot find my way. An incomplete series of questions rattling around my certainties, pushing against images of self and understanding of others, creating light and space for new knowing.

Often what I share evolves as a response to my environment, an organic evolution of experience that I sustain among words to recall later for reassurance or redirection. This week I stripped my schedule of outside commitments, determined to recommit myself to small, essential gestures of care that sustain me in times of illness and disharmony. Rest, balanced meals, exercise, meditation, conversation, and creativity. In the busyness of everyday life these essential elements are the first to be compromised for efficiency.

Writing a dear friend this morning I hurriedly stated: I was thinking of how sometimes those acts that nourish us are the small moments that we dismiss as a force of habit – until we fall out of habit and have to force ourselves to make time for the little things.

Capturing pieces of my experiences among words I endeavor to be true to self without inflicting injuries to others. It is ironic then that the words I do not voice are the source of recent unrest, the contradiction between intentions and emotions creating an internal dialogue that begs forgiveness for wounds uninflected but whose harm slumbers in subconscious unrest.

I have outlined errors from the safe vantage of my perspective while erring in judgement as I trip over emotions into the messy business of blame. Anger and disappointment undermining patience and tolerance. Indignation chasing humility demanding to be heard. I coddle frustrations with patronizing tones of harmony, tempering my emotions with logic. Life isn’t fair seems an overused, insincere simplification for small tragedies of injustice.

Today I am giving myself permission to hold tightly to the uncomfortable emotions that have been clamoring noisily between exercises in forgiveness and acceptance. Allowing myself to hold each unpleasantness gently, relaxing my guard against unwanted thoughts to better see uncomfortable truths. Naming and releasing, owning each emotion to make room in my mind and heart for tolerance and hope.

This space began as a written wish to share a simple moment of humor, growth, or grace with another soul. Initially I imagined sharing the stories of strangers who serendipitously came into my life leaving footprints on my path. Instead the entries evolved into a quiet celebration of an exceptionally, average experience. Days not unlike yesterday.

After saying goodbye to my children at their schoolhouse doorsteps, I wondered at how I might contextualize the uncertain emotions that accompany this familiar departure. There is a melancholy that fills the silence in my children’s absence, an awkward emptiness that echos off the walls that cradle the sounds of home. Alone I am more conscious of my identity without the easy markers of motherhood.

Lonely, I busied myself with nondescript errands; efficiently accomplishing tidy to-dos to unclutter the evening ahead for family time. This distracted drifting was interrupted when strangers stumbled upon my thoughts, creating an indulgent moment of self. While the freshly pressed post that created a unique introduction to an audience of strangers was tied to my identity as a wife and mother, the acknowledgment served as a timely recognition of a solitary effort.

Today I am marking this personal milestone with the same care my daughter nestled her school supplies in the sterile, uniform space of her classroom desk to assign value to an empty seat. Holding a moment close to weigh it in gratitude.

The older I get the more the past seems to follow me, like damp earth stuck to the tread of my shoes; the weight of my presence absorbing passing moments until the path I leave is swollen with memories. The pieces of my past I tried so tirelessly to shake from my company are ever-present, just beneath my consciousness and quickly called to mind unbidden but newly welcome. At this time when my children are casting the shape they will imprint across the paths they traverse, I am considering the measure of my own experiences and welcoming the earthy sense of belonging that accompanies remembering.