Tag Archives: mom

How to Be a Mother

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Breathe. And not just
during the contractions.
You must be well-oxygenated
to care for another human being.

Give up. And not just
once. Keep at it.
You must release your grasp
before your muscles cramp.

Laugh. And not just
when it’s funny.
You must include sadness and shock
and exhaustion in your mirth.

Tell the truth. And not just
to yourself.
You must tell the other moms,
and listen to their tellings.

Accept your new self. And not just
the nurturing and brave parts.
You must accept the anger,
the desperation, the invisibility.

And remember to breathe.

Writing My Eulogy

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I didn’t set out to write my own eulogy. It just happened one morning as I journaled: I want to go to Anthony Lakes today, but I think I’m running from something, hoping the lakes will sooth my spirit. I’m on edge, discontented, anxious. I could blame Michael’s excessive screen time or my premenstrual hormones, but no matter the cause I have to live with myself, and my family has to live with me.

At this point I paused, uncertain what to do with myself, uncomfortable with my pittance of emotional energy to face the day. Then my Counselor (Jesus) nudged me to write, Who am I? Another pause, and then these words: I am a loving mom, a devoted wife, a faithful friend, a humble (sometimes) follower of Jesus.

Hmm. What a strange re-route, from anxious and inadequate to “loving mom” and “devoted wife.” My un-counseled conclusion would have been: I am messed up and have some work to do. So this whole eulogy-writing business was definitely God’s idea. And, really, it’s just like Him to gently lift my thick blanket of not-enough and let in a little oxygen.

I exist in the mess that is my life, looking at it all from an uncomfortably close distance. My life probably looks good to people who don’t know me, and even to some who do. But from this distance (which is to say, no distance at all), the anger and complaining are hard to miss. I make a new mess while cleaning up the current one. I step in the yuck that is my hurry and worry, and I track it around. I feel piled high, like a sink lost under dirty dishes, and it’s hard to see anything else.

And yet, by some miracle, I believe those words I wrote: loving mom, devoted wife, faithful friend, sometimes-humble follower of Jesus. I am those things. Within these roles things get messy, but if I zoom out just a bit, I can see a baseline, something to come back to on those days when all I see is the proliferation of both literal and metaphorical dirt in my life.

The Counselor closed my journaling with these thoughts: Today doesn’t have to be a growth day. I don’t have to become a better wife, friend, mom, or follower of Jesus. I can be what I already am and it will be ok.