Honest, tiny human teacher, To dream

A letter to my future children

To my future children,

I don’t have you and I’m going to be completely frank: I don’t really want you.

I have struggled on Mother’s day in the recent years. And each year I find myself thinking of you- of the fictional children that people believe I so desperately want.

But back to that honesty; I have no desire to replicate myself at all.

I don’t really want you.

I know you are wondering why I am writing this letter to you and what’s the point of me telling you I didn’t really want you-I’ll get there, I promise. Just stay with me.

Over the course of the last 15 years I have taken care of, pastored, mentored, coached, taught over 1,000 kiddos from all ages. I’ve worked for preschools and churches and non-profits. I’ve known a lot of kids. I also know all the names I will NEVER call you and the ways I will and won’t raise you.

But, you don’t exist and that’s ok.

I have changed diapers, cleaned cuts, cuddled toddlers with 104 fevers. I’ve been puked on, pooped on, peed on, bit, hit, cussed out.

While I have the ability to go home and drink a glass of wine in silence every night I still have voices in my head and worries and stress from so many different kids.

And that’s why the last few years, especially on Mother’s day, I’ve been stuck between worlds. The world of feeling like a mom but not being one. The world of wanting to take care of my own tiny humans and the world of having absolutely no desire to do so.

Not to mention the fact that as I write this letter I am almost 36 and have no possible husband material in front of me.

(And before anyone reading this says I could have children on my own, please just don’t)

So, back to the point:

Kids, I don’t want you.

(Here’s the but)

BUT

If you are actually reading this, as my daughter or son 15 or 20 years from now, you need to know something desperately important.

You are so loved.

The fact that you are alive means that something occurred in my life that was incredibly lovely and possibly surprising.

The fact that you are alive means I have gotten the chance to see how I am as a parent. I probably got frustrated that my nap techniques didn’t work or felt relieved that I’ve given the Heimlich to toddlers more. It means I was sufficiently grateful for all my knowledge of child development and that children are far less breakable than we think.

The fact that you are alive means I’ve met a love I’ve never known.

But, if you aren’t reading this, if you don’t exist, If this just stays on the internet to read by random strangers who pass by my corner of the internet, I want the random stranger to know that I am not less whole because you don’t exist.

I don’t feel as if I’m not leaving a legacy.

I don’t feel as if I’m not giving all the love into the world I can.

I guess, my point it, my dear non-existent future children is that you are whole.

No matter what relationship you are in or not in. Whether you want children or not.

And I just ask, that out of that wholeness, you give something away, you create something, you love something.

Figure out how you are going to put yourself out into the world.

Figure out how you are going to leave your footprint on the world.

How you are going to love yourself despite what the world may or may not say you need in order to do that.

To my future children,

You are already loved- even if you don’t ever exist.

With love,

Me

Uncategorized

a slightly aggressive love letter

I have to admit when I got this idea this morning I internally rolled my eyes. Because as a single human on Valentine’s day it feels incredibly cliché.

But, sometimes the most clich’ things are the most true things so like…here we go.

A love letter to myself.

To the badass that is Meg Reeve,

Wow, honestly wow. I am having trouble articulating how far you’ve come, how much more comfortable you are in your own skin.

How, shockingly so, the last year has been a game changer.

I know you’re sitting there, alone, in your cozy chair with a mimosa that holds a half a bottle of champagne and you’re contemplating what takeout you’re going to treat yourself to, as you ponder the words you’re saying to yourself.

But man, look at you.

You’ve come a long from the girl who didn’t really know who she was in college, who was constantly questioning her worth inwardly, who just didn’t really know how the fierceness she held.

And I know. I know that comparison is a rough game. I know it pops up more than you’d like it to. I know sometimes that the comparison game hurts your soul.

But, man. You’re doing it.

I know that your closet is filled with clothes you’d never even thought yourself capable of wearing. You have own more two piece bathing suits then one pieces.

You are truly living up to the “wear what makes you feel good” mantra you came into all those years ago.

You’ve surrounded yourself with people who never cease to hype you up and cause you to be the self you never thought capable of being.

I’m proud of you.

And I adore the woman you’re becoming.

I know you’ve spent a lot of years saying you don’t need xyz, but not truly believing it. I know you’ve spent a lot of years choosing to be stronger than you have the capacity to be.

And even though you are still rolling your eyes at typing these words out something in you is so hoping that they won’t just be for you but for someone else who needs hyping up and a reminder that they are all they need.

You’ve taken a long time to come to that headspace. You aren’t perfect at it (but who is).  You’ve had points in your life that have hindered who you are and you’ve been fighting to get those pieces back.

I know that it hasn’t been easy. You’ve had to prove to yourself that you’re worth getting those things back.

Spoiler alert: you still are worth getting those things back.

So keep fucking going.

That’s all.

I love you more than I can say.

(and I know that hasn’t always been the case)

Now order yourself some fancy take out and watch the third “To all the boys I’ve loved” while curled up in your bed.

With love.

Always,

Meg