Childhoodtake2!

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on capacity.

Things have been popping up about my years as the CEO of BBBS.
I have been talking about it more recently and I have been thinking about my time there.
How much I allowed it to take over my life, my identity, all of me.
I identified as the CEO of the agency stronger than I did anything else, for far too long.
And then, I hit my limit. I finally reached my own capacity, and I broke.

When I think back to these years, I'm disappointed in myself.
I was living the life of a child, holding on to things so hard, making things so hard for everyone around me.
I was making life too serious, too anxious, too loud.
And then, I hit my limit. I finally reached my own capacity, and I broke.

I'm disappointed in how I handled myself.
How I handled love.
How hard I clung.
I'm disappointed in my lack of flexibility.
And my imbalance.
I'm mad that I allowed it all to get so out of control.
And then, I hit my limit. I finally reached my own capacity, and I broke.

And I'm sad that I had to break for it to change.
I'm sad the entire world had to stop spinning in order for me to stop too.
But I also have to appreciate that no matter how long it took me, I did get there.
I reached my breaking point and made a change.
And, most importantly, for the very first time in my life, I learned my lesson and carried it with me to this job.

I will never allow any one thing to be my identity and certainly not my work.
I will forever honor and love and respect how hard I work and that will not change, but so much has changed.
I hit my limit. I finally reached my own capacity, and I broke - so I built something new.

"You can't skip chapters, that's not how life works.
You have to read every line, meet every character.
You won't enjoy all of it. Hell, some chapters will make you cry for weeks.
You will read things you don't want to read, you will have moments where you don't want the pages to end.
But you have to keep going.
Stories keep the world revolving.
Live yours, don't miss out."

There are chapters I go back and re-read.
Over and over again.
Chapters like my college years.
Chapters like the beginning with Dad.
Chapters like the beginning with you both.
Chapters like our traditions, our trips, our Friday night snuggles.
Chapters like the adoption of all three of our puppies.
Chapters like all of your firsts, all of them.
Chapters like how long you lingered in childhood.
Chapters like how I would watch you sleep, and it was almost so precious that it hurt.

Then, there are chapters I wish I could skip.
But, if I skipped them, I would miss too much.
Like the seven chapters of fog that rolled in on us, if I never reread those pages, I would miss the beginning of Cole.
I would miss so so many firsts that I could not imagine pouring over those pages.
I would miss our first family trip.
I would miss so much joy.
And I would miss a very important lesson about family, how difficult things can get, but how loving they can still be.
I would miss the lesson that two things can always be true at the same exact time.

If I skipped the chapters of heartache, the ones where I had so much loss and disconnection...
Then I wouldn't have the chapters of love, warmth, and connection that brought on the heartache.
Heartache, grief, loss, it doesn't come without love, longing, and incredible memories.

So no, I can't skip those times..
I want to remember the good, even if it ended in ways I would not want.
Even if it ended in ways I would want.
I have to remember it all.
Luckily, my memory wouldn't allow me to forget.
I have it all locked in, at all times. Ready to recall.

I love you guys.
And if I don't say it enough, I'm so lucky to be your mom.
I am so proud of the books we have written together.
I cannot wait to see the ones you write on your own, but thank you for the most amazing library that fills our home.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on real.

When you were teeny tiny littles, I wrote a post about the Velveteen Rabbit.
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

My littles, it has been sixteen years.
Sixteen years of motherhood.
Sixteen years of loving you.
Sixteen years of being loved by you.
Sixteen years of love.
Sixteen years of being real.

Sixteen years of working on this.
Sixteen years of figuring this out and then re-figuring it out.
Sixteen years of building.
Sixteen years of creating a strong foundation.
Sixteen years of traditions.
Sixteen years of being real.

Sixteen years of arguments.
Sixteen years of hugging it out.
Sixteen years of making up.
Sixteen years of crying together, laughing together, sharing together.
Sixteen years of being real.

Thank you my sweet littles.
Thank you for all of the realness of life.
Thank you for making me real.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on explain.

Let me explain what happened to the mother who did not see motherhood in her life plans.
She thought she would always and forever scared.
She thought she would be the one that sets the rules, the one to always say no.
And then, when she picked motherhood, it actually felt as natural as breathing.
It helped that her first was the most gentle introduction to parenting.
It helped that her second loved food so much his feet danced while she fed him.
It helped that, as all mothers feel, that both of her babies looked like actual dolls.
With huge smiles, big gorgeous eyes, happy coos, and big stubborn feelings.
She laughed with them. She watched them sleep. She fed them.
And somehow, she didn't lose all of herself in them.
She felt happy.
Not all day, every day, but she was so so happy.

She still very much remembers her quiet, calm, little life before she became a mother.
She remembers lazy weekends and sleeping in.
She remembers only worrying about work, dinner, and keeping the apartment clean.
She remembers cooking more.
She remembers reading more.
She remembers her puppy being her one and only.
She remembers her quiet, happy, little life.

Let me explain what happened to the mother who did not see motherhood in her life plans.
She choose her bigger life.

Three years of therapy in 60 seconds...

#1. Turns out, your parents did the best they could AND fucked you up. But guess what, you still have to deal with it.
#2. No one is coming to save you. No magical mentor, no secret billionaire uncle, not even Batman. It's just you. And yeah, that includes doing basic stuff like doing laundry before it becomes your roommate.
#3. Boundaries. That doesn't mean blocking someone on Instagram. Say it with me..."no". With a smiley face..."no". See, revolutionary. You don't have to be mean or rude.
#4. Stop chasing people who treat you like a fucking option. I'm not a side quest, and if they can't see that, they need to go play someone else's game.
#5. Self-care isn't having bath bombs and face masks. It's getting eight hours of sleep, eating something that came out of the ground, and taking care of that email before it ruins your whole week.
#6. Feelings don't kill you. Crying won't kill you. Screaming into a pillow won't kill you. But ignoring your feelings? Oh, that's going to destroy you from the inside out.
#7. This one's my favorite.
You don't find yourself, you build yourself. Day by day. Some days you're leveling up, and other days, you're starting from square one on a whole new project. Both of them count.
Last one.
#8. Most of the time, it's not that deep. You're not cursed. You're just tired. Or thirsty and due for a snack.

There you go. @devin.the.one just saved you 15 grand in a 60-second rant. You can Venmo him $5 directly.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on thrill.

I remember the second time I saw your face.
That smile that I came to adore.
The thrill that came over me because I felt like I was home.
I was home with you.

I remember when you called me.
I picked up the phone, heard your sweet, kind voice.
The nervous kid who was so scared, but somehow confident.
I remember the thrill when I said yes, I would love to go out with you.

I remember our first kiss.
Our last first kiss ever.
Did we ever think it then?
Would that thought have ever crossed a 21-year-old's mind?
No. We did not have a clue.
Clueless on so much of life, but the thrill was undeniable.
I felt that kiss in my heart.

I remember the thrill when we told people we were engaged.
We were finally ready to make it official, but to me, you were always my home.
It was already official in my mind.
Yet, the thrill of telling others we were committing to us was undeniable.

I remember the thrill of finding our home.
The thrill of seeing the little line turn blue.
The thrill of telling family ours was growing.
The thrill of holding them for the first time.
The thrill of brining them home.
The thrill of Christmas mornings, first walks, first words, first giggles.

I built a life with you, and it has been thrilling.

Littles, your Aunt Mylind and I were talking today about endurance training and I realized...
For many reasons, I loved to train for half marathons, marathons, and triathlons.
So many reasons.
Like, I'm a little crazy and a little too intense.
Like, I'm a little obsessive and once it's in my head, I have to do it.
Like, it helps me clear out so much garbage I carry in my head.
Like, it helps me feel better.

And reasons like what it teaches me.
It taught me that I will never ever wake up on day one and do anything perfectly.
I will never ever build something in one day.
All of the important things in life take time.
They take work.
They take a sacrifice.
Things like a career, a marriage, relationships, home ownership, parenting, training for anything, they all take time, work, and sacrifice.

And today, I told her that so many people love the video of the runner/athlete doing "the thing".
Crossing the finish line.
But as for that athlete, they are crying because they know all they did to get there.
They know all the hours they put in.
How much their body hurts.
How much they gave of themselves.
And how incredibly worth it everything was.

All of life is not wonderful.
If it were, you wouldn't know it because you would have nothing to compare it to.
Life has moments of hard, dread, worry, sadness, loss, care, concern, hardship, crazy, loud, rough times.
And times of lots of hard work.
Times of sacrifice.
Times of losing faith in yourself.
Times of losing faith all together.

And that's how you know you're living.
Because you get to feel it all.
AND, you get to focus on just today.
You're not running a marathon today.
You're just running your training miles.
Today, you're concentrating on getting in 6 miles.
You're working on that. That's what is in front of you.
You don't have to worry about the day of the marathon, not today.

Until one day, you wake up and it's race day.
All of that hard work, all of those hours of training, all of those miles, they all come together.
And you're ready.
You're ready because you put in the work, the time, the sacrifices, the long, long hours, and the tough miles.
You've got it from here because so very long ago, you decided to take that first step.