Honest

The chair between us

I wasn’t sure what to write today.

Mother’s Day is weird for me.

Because technically, I am not a mother, but I’ve spent a better part of my life with tiny humans.

And I woke up weird, out of a dream where a spiritual mentor was about to give me a talking to and woke up into a day where I wasn’t sure if I should go to church or not.

I sent texts to some fierce mama friends in my life who I’ve learned from and gleaned from, I went to church where I sat unsure what to do with my hands and then I sat in the sunshine with no words hitting my brain.

When I go to church 99% of the time I sit by my roommate Patty on one side of me. It’s comforting, it’s home, it feels weird when I don’t.

And then on the other side there is usually a chair between me and the person next to me.

I’ve realized that this is how I live my life. I have a chair between myself and the next human. Maybe it’s because I mostly have no personal space 40+ hours of the week, maybe it’s because I have walls around me.

Who knows.

But, I’ve been very aware lately of that chair and moreso aware when it gets taken away.

Through this season of life I’ve been walking in and the incredible unknown of what the hell is behind door #2 I’ve really counted on my space. I feel when I don’t get it, I feel when I get too much of it.

I’m not sure where the balance is.

I am figuring it out though.

I am learning what it looks like to give myself space to form thoughts and emotions and to find holes in my own thoughts.

And there, right there is how this becomes a blog about mom’s.

To the mom’s in my life, to the fierce, beautiful, lovely, warriors of mothers that I know:

When you are able, when you are capable of this-give yourself a chair. When the kids are at school or asleep or playing outside, give yourself space.

You need it, you deserve it and it’s there.

Taking space doesn’t make you less than or not enough. It gives you the ability to have more and be more.

To the mom’s in my life. To the fierce, beautiful, lovely, warriors of mothers that I know.

You got this.

Honest

I am not a mother

I have met a lot of moms in my life.

That’s kind of a side effect of working with tiny humans; you meet their moms.

I’ve made friends with, been mentored by, looked up to, laughed with, cried to, been cried on, by a large variety of mothers. My friends have become mothers before my own eyes. I’ve met moms in many different countries, across language and cultural barriers.

I, myself, am not a mother.

I process a lot in this blog. I process my thoughts through writing. I “think out loud” in order to lay the pieces out. I don’t say things to garner sympathy or attention. I say things to tell it like it is. I say things so, in case you feel the same way, you don’t feel so alone.

I am not a mother.
And I don’t know if I need to be one.

This isn’t saying that I don’t want to be a mother. Or that I don’t have moments of baby fever, because let me tell you my Facebook feed is blowing up with pregnancy announcements. And my most favorite place at the Y is in the baby room snuggling the babies.

But, I don’t think my world is going to crash down if I don’t get married or if my husband, whoever he may be, and I decide that we don’t want to have kids.

I also don’t think it will make me less of a woman, or that I would be selling myself short, or the world short if I didn’t “put a piece of myself into it”.

Women who become moms (through any means) are pretty freakin bad ass. From the women in a village in Africa who have a baby on their back and a basket on their head, to the single thirty something who is a foster mom, to the working moms whose tiny humans I’ve taught and taken care of during the day, to the single moms who do all the things, to the moms who stay at home and take care of their kiddos and support each other. BA every one of them.

And I know a lot of grown ass women who aren’t mothers who are also BA. Running businesses, managing companies, making a life from being immensely creative. Some of them may want kids and some don’t.

And that’s ok.

Sometimes it is hard, especially in a Christian culture, to understand a woman not wanting kids. Or being ok with not having them. Or sympathizing and not being condescending to the one who does and is unable too.

I have mom role models. I have women I want to be when I “grow up” (as always, Rachel B I’m looking at you). I take parenting nuggets here and there. If I do have kids, I won’t be scared of a singular two year old because for the past year I’ve averaged 12 on the daily. I have a lot of tricks up my sleeve.

And if I never use them on my own kids that’s ok.

I guess, what it really comes down to is this: it’s completely 100% ok not to want to have kids. It’s ok to not want to or need to be a mom. It is not ok to shame those who have those opinions or tell them “they just need to find the right guy” (and yes that has been said to me).

It comes down to being who you are.

And this is who I am.

So, to all of you mothers on Mother’s Day and let’s face it, every day.

You guys are amazing.

While, yes, I do take care of tiny humans, change diapers and put to sleep (think: MMA cage fighting a crocodile), I feed and teach and snuggle and love; I sleep in a bed that doesn’t get disturbed by the tiptoe of tiny feet. I don’t get yelled at that the toast is cut wrong WHILE also trying to get ready for work. (I still get yelled at for the toast). I don’t get awakened by screams, or have to watch shots at the doctor.

You do that.

So, if I don’t ever become a mom; if I spend the rest of my life, in some capacity, taking care of tiny humans, or caring for my friend’s tiny humans, I want you, sweet mom friend of mine, to know this simple four word sentence from me to you:

I got your back.

Honest, Spain g42

and this is why I bake

Growing up with a mom who was in the business of helping others I picked up a smattering of advice.

  • you have to suffer for beauty
  • if you don’t wear clean underwear something bad will happen
  • always make your makeup look natural
  • never return a dish without something in it even if it is just some store-bought cookies.

The one lesson though that I heard my mom preaching day after day was when you were stuck in yourself, stuck in your addiction, stuck in whatever you are in: you need to do something for someone else. Bake something, clean something, DO something outside of yourself.

And that is something I have grabbed onto and ran with.

When I am too inside of myself, when I can’t figure why I am down or depressed or when there is LITERALLY nothing I can do to make myself feel better; I do.

I bake, I clean, I buy someone a present, write someone a card. Keep my hands busy. Not allow myself to go into a black hole of murky unknown without a way out.

And that has lead to many different trails of life.

It’s led me to loving better because I’ve learned to try to make peoples days a little happier. I’ve learned that I treasure loving others and helping them.

But it’s also led me to spiraling into a depression and anxiety and collapsing on the floor because I’ve chosen not to think but just to do.

It’s why I detest the phrase “fake it til you make it” because while it does hold value to sometimes it also leads us to walking away from feelings and emotions that are good to have and get through.

I’ve had a couple of sleepless nights in a row; waking up with my heart pounding and my chest heaving with anxiety. I’ve been unable to get into a restful regular sleep and I know it’s because things are being pulled up and I’m longing to run to places I’m comfortable that in all reality don’t exist here.

I’m having to force myself to sit in anxiety and I’m striving to find words to fit the feelings and emotions of sentences that lack explanation.

But I’m also baking. Cleaning. Doing. Creating. Walking.

Because as my mind spins around and around with no place to land my hands will continue to move. And I will continually learn to write and speak and be. I was told this week by our rocker, renaissance man of an instructor Herman Haan to continuing writing because people need my story. They need to hear what I have to say.

So I will continuing saying them and writing them and figuring them out.

But I will continue baking and doing.

So this is why I bake. This is why I show up places with muffins and cookies. Partly because I enjoy it, I love baking, writing, cooking, serving but also I do out of place of healing.

So maybe I need to do less and talk more, I’ll strive for a balance but I want to encourage you; if you are stuck in a circle, if you don’t what to do or where to go, make something, bake something, help someone and you will have a moment of clarity in the midst of the chaos. You will create something and not destroy a piece of yourself.

You will stand.