It’s easier to let go
of an expectation
Than it is to
Hold someone accountable
for letting you down
The world will crumble
And won’t think twice
about taking you with it
Much like a thorn
Who softens it’s prick
for not one soul
You’ll work around it
Ignore the pain
And keep growing
But that failed expectation
Will devastate even
the strongest of forces
I feel like my life is stagnant.
I feel like I’m lacking something. I have so much to offer this world, but I feel like I’m being held back.
I have so many goals and dreams, but it always seems like I’m too poor to accomplish any of them. No money means no success around here.
Not sure how to dig myself out of this hole. I work my ass off but it never seems to be enough.
I won’t ever give up, but damnit, sometimes I feel like I’ll never be on top
I survived this week.
For that, I am thankful.
……………..
Tonight’s Reflection Quote:
Tonight I want to get vulnerable with myself. I want to examine reality and determine what parts of it aren’t real.
And since it’s part of my story, I think it’s important to share it all with you. I consider myself a writer. It’s something that I feel proud of myself as. But I’m not just a writer. I am a sharer. I am a personal, stretch-the-limits kind of writer. I share the deepest, scariest, and most exposing feelings of my life and I think it’s why I always receive messages from people saying that my story helped them, or inspired them, or intrigued them.
So I won’t stop.
I can’t stop.
I have a story to tell and it’s important for me to share so that people like me know they aren’t alone.
Growing up, I lived about 30 miles from my mom. Just a short 25 minute cruise away. It wasn’t necessarily hard for me to search for her if I wanted to, and I think that made our separation feel deceiving. We weren’t really that far away from one another, yet we were living in completely different worlds.
In high school and even a short time in college, success was hard for me to feel appreciation for. I’d hit one milestone, feel the warmth of victory, but then put my nose right back down and focus on what was coming next. What was the next life trophy I can knock off the list?
The thing that made success the hardest for me was that every time I hit a moment of pride, I knew my name would be in the paper, or on the news, or on the radio.
And my mom was only 30 miles away.
Surely, she saw what I did?
Surely, she is proud of me?
With these wonderings, I quietly held onto the hope that only being 30 miles away gives you…
She probably knows where I’m playing basketball this week because she watched the news last night.
She might be at the next game.
Maybe.
OR
She probably read my name in the newspaper for my good grades last week.
I bet she was proud when she saw my name.
30 miles. I mean, how is that all that separates my mom and me?
30 measly miles?
It was enraging and sanity-deteriorating because I drove myself crazy looking for her every time I left my house. I’d walk into Wal-Mart and stare at the backs of any blonde-haired woman, daring it to be her when she turned around. I’d run across the river for gas and look at every pump.
I scanned the bleachers of every game of every sport I ever played.
Because she was only 30 miles away.
It was damaging in so many ways because I didn’t know how to release the pressure that built up in me and I didn’t know how to live a life where I felt like I always had to search for her. But then I got old enough to roam the world when and how I wanted to, and suddenly the clouds parted, and I was no longer searching.
I was suddenly only 30 miles away if I wanted to be.
And that had nothing to do with where I lived.
I accepted what was and quit being infatuated with any short, blonde woman that had her back to me. I knew that if I ever did find myself in a room with her, I was finally in a place to remain in control of my emotions. And that was something I never felt throughout all my high school years.
30 miles apart and I had no idea if she was following my growth or completely oblivious to the person I had become. Earlier, I stated that success was hard to appreciate, but it was still something that I was dedicated to and worked very hard at.
I wanted her to feel bad about missing out on supporting me while I followed my dreams.
I didn’t want to give her the easy way back in because I was doing just fine without her.
I became educated.
I got stronger.
I chose to serve my country.
I grew independent and caring and gentle.
I rose above every situation that was designed to set me back.
I made it to the other side.
All while missing my mom
From 30 miles away
Here’s a little reminder to end your week on:
You are fucking awesome.
There is no one else out there like you. Your thoughts, movements, attitude, passions, and interests are exclusive to only you.
Everyone might not love you, but the right people do. Do not overlook those that struggle to express it to you. Sometimes showing compassion is harder than expected.
Never stop searching for your individual purpose. Life changes constantly, so it’s okay if you change along with it.
Loneliness does not last forever.
Use your desire as fuel to accomplish your goals.
Be kind to everyone.
Beauty is more than a skinny waist or perfect hair.
You have survived 100% of your worst days.
I’m at drill soakin up the rest of my weekend. I know I haven’t kept up-to-date on here, but I always want to do better! Stay safe out there friends! Always feel free to drop me some love 👇🏻💋💞
As it turns out, gallstones SUCK! I was in the ER from 11am yesterday to about 11:45am today. When I went into surgery yesterday it was exactly 17:00 (5pm). When I got out of surgery, it was 18:15 (6:15pm). I’m finally home and really sore!
How has everyone else’s week been? (I feel like I was in another world the past two days!)
The whole reason I decided to start therapy was because a coworker told me she was going to start going again. She gave me the name of her therapist and told me to go to her website and check her out. So I did. I immediately requested more info and before the day was over, I was set up for an appointment.
When I was talking about what I wanted out of therapy, I explained to my coworker that I wanted to find out who I was aside from being a MOM. As mothers, we lean so heavily on our label as “mom” and base a lot of our vision of our success on how well we feel like we are providing for our children.
Let me tell you why I think that SUCKS.
In today’s world, it is DAMN HARD to feel an absence of insecurity in what we are doing for our kids. There are so many conflicting ideologies on “what is best” for a child. When we feel the amount of success that we have accomplished is based upon whether or not people agree with our parenting choices, it’s sooo easy to feel like we haven’t accomplished much. As mothers, we can’t please everyone, but you can bet your bottom dollar that we sure do try.
We are proud to be moms. We love our babies more than anything – it’s why we bend over backwards and dedicate our lives to making sure our children have everything. But that same dedication to our kids can result in a lack of dedication to ourselves. I struggle with this on a daily basis. My entire day is almost solely devoted to providing for my child; so much that I feel like there just isn’t enough hours in the day to focus on myself. I know it feels that way for a lot of moms too, so I think it is important that we are making not only our children and their health a priority, but also our mental and physical health a priority too. You can’t possibly be a good mom if you aren’t feeding your own flame every once in awhile. I think the issue here is that it’s so easy to fall complacent with only being a mom. And for some, that is all they want to be! Which is also totally fine!
But I want to be so much MORE. I want to be someone that is so much more than a mom. I want to love myself aside from the role my child plays in my life (Even though that role is huge!)
I want to indulge in all of life – not just the parts where I am providing for someone else. I want to provide for me, too.
I start therapy on Friday. I’m very excited, actually. I feel like the stigma against mental health is kind of diminishing and more and more people are trying their hand at therapy. In all reality, everyone just wants to feel better. I’ve always wanted to talk to someone about all of the feelings I have, but I’ve never been so lost that I felt that there was no other option.
That is how I feel now.
I am on an unexpected, anxiety-ridden rollercoaster of emotions right now. I have hit rock bottom and I scheduled the appointment without even hesitating. I need this.
Yes, I am a daughter and a friend and a mother and a partner… but who am I when it’s not based upon a relationship with someone else?
Who am I?
I want to strip down and view myself in a completely vulnerable and open way. I want to look at why I do the things that I do. I want to find the meaning of all the pent-up emotions that never address. Why haven’t I addressed them? Am I a complete narcissist and have no clue? What can I do to make sure that I am focusing some of my energy on ME? What in my life has happened that has changed the way I form relationships with others? What can I do to improve the way I carry myself around those that love me?
There is so much that I want answers on.
So much to discover.
So much to solve.
I am so ready.
Today I am celebrating twenty-three years of life. Twenty-three years of love. Twenty-three years of adventure.
I heard my birth story from my aunt and grandmother a bunch of times growing up. I think mainly because, as they tell it, it was a wild day! My mother was in labor prematurely and it was sometime in the morning when my aunt and grandma took my mother in to the hospital. I don’t know exactly how many weeks early I was born, but they had to life flight my mom from our local hospital to the hospital at the capitol, Springfield. My aunt and grandma tell the story that they actually raced down the interstate to beat the helicopter. They both swear they were in the hospital parking lot when the helicopter landed.
Sometime just after lunch I was born via emergency c-section. My back was actually up against my mother’s abdomen when they cut her open to deliver me, so I have a large scar across my back from where they cut me when performing the c-section. I was so small I wore doll clothes because preemie clothes were too big. I’ve been told it’s a miracle I survived.
But here I am. Flourishing in the sunlight, and dreaming of tomorrow. I have been blessed many times in this life. I do my best to slow down, breathe it in, and enjoy the things that bring me joy. In honor of today, I have made a list of a few of the things that bring me JOY!
Some are silly, some are very common. But all bring me joy and make me enjoy the life that I am living. Today I am celebrating twenty-three years of life. A good life.
I am so very blessed. Here is to a life full of love and adventure!! 🎉🎁🎊
With the tragic and horrifying mass shootings that took place in the United States this week, everyone has been in an uproar about gun control. I get it. Let’s do something. But I think the one of the reasons we have such an awful gun violence issue in the United States is something that gun control simply cannot fix. None of what I want to talk about today has anything to do with gun control or taking away anyone’s right to bear arms.
It’s easy to argue that the person pulling the trigger is responsible for the damage they cause, because that is the normal conclusion to come to when you hear of someone committing such a heinous act. And I would totally agree with that statement; however, there is another side to this that I feel is worth at least considering.
We have a gun problem. But more importantly, we have a HOME problem.
Since when did we become a nation filled with careless parents? Since when did we allow our nation’s children to be so disrespectful, lazy, and so careless about life? Since when is nearly 60,000 kids locked up in jails across America something that we are okay with?* Since when?
I know that most of America’s mass shooters haven’t necessarily been teenagers, but according to an article in The Washington Post, they are getting younger. Since the shooting in Charleston, more than half of shooters were under the age of 30. You may be quick to imply that it’s the younger generations’ fault that all of this is going on since they are the ones pulling the triggers. True. Ehh, kind of.
What if I told you that children are have higher self esteem, communicate better, improved academic performance, and are less likely to have psychological and behavioral issues when they are exposed to love and affection at home? In 2010, researchers at Duke University Medical School found that children with loving and conscientious mothers grew up to be more resilient and happier adults. The study followed 500 children from infancy to their mid-30’s.**
I know with 100% certainty that I don’t have to fill this post with a ton of statistics, links to articles, and sparkly, mind-boggling information. You have the ability to google any topic you choose, so I urge you to go read up on just how important we are as parents in shaping loving, gentle, and soulful children.
It is absolutely critical that we show our children love and affection, and that has absolutely nothing to do with guns. Life can be busy and adulthood is overwhelming at times, but we cannot forget that we are raising tomorrow’s generation. Let’s raise a generation that is loving and passionate and gentle and open to talking about mental illness. Let’s love our children fiercely and show them that they have caring people that they can rely on – no matter what.Let’s raise a generation that knows that pulling the trigger of a gun is rarely a necessity.
You want to end gun violence?
Quit teaching hate from within the walls of your own home.
Stop whatever you’re doing that you think is more important (it’s not) and go love on your kids.
* – https://www.aclu.org/issues/juvenile-justice/youth-incarceration/americas-addiction-juvenile-incarceration-state-state
** – https://www.mother.ly/child/how-a-parents-affection-shapes-a-childs-happiness-for-life
Photos from Washington Post.
Between the Lens 