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 fix.

"A nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished." Amanda Gorman

I hope we all listened to the woman that stole the show. To the woman that showed honor and grace and love and support. To the woman that showed leadership and heart and humility. To the woman that came to remind us, we don't need to fix the broken, we need to finish the job.

Each generation should get us one step closer, no, more than one step. This generation moved us leaps and bounds further because they forced us to come to terms with who we have been and who we are. But, we are not broken, we just are unfinished.

We took to the streets, we let our concerns and our voices heard. We voted. We voted hard. We stood up for what was just, we said enough. We are so ready to move forward. We are so ready to move forward as one. One Nation, one people, under God. We are so ready to finish the job.

We are ready to heal our planet, our souls, our bones. We are ready to heal our hearts, our hate. We are ready to heal. As one, we are ready to heal as one. I too thought we are so broken, there is no way to fix any of this. We are too divided, too angry, it is all too much.

Until a young, gorgeous, smart, incredible woman, took to the stage. She was so confident, so humble, so ready. And she reminded me, that we are not a broken nation, we are simply unfinished.

And our work begins as we try to finish our job for our littles, for our future, for theirs.

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 your.

Go.

Where is your line? Where is your line drawn in the sand? Where will you stand? What will you put up with and then where is your limit? What are your words, how will you use your voice? What is in your control? What is your responsibility? What is in your power and how will you use it?

This week, our nation continues with civil unrest and a civil rights movement. This week, our nation lost a warrior, a treasurer, a true leader, a woman that had grit/determination/love of her country/love of service/love of justice. This week we said goodbye to a national hero. When she was asked, what is your stance, she never waivered. When she was asked, what is your line, she knew herself. When she was asked, what will your legacy be, she knew.

This week, this mama is faced with small challenges but is still asked...where is your line? What will your voice say? What is your stance? What are your values? Who are you and where will you go from here?

The answer is, I do not know. Not all of it, not all of the time. I do know that my voice is getting louder (if one can even imagine). I do know that I am constantly trying to change and grow (even though I live in stubborn). I do know that I have always been and will always be determined. I too have grit. I too have a pull to do better, when you know better, do better. I do know I will land on this earth leaving a mark and one I will be proud of.

Stop.

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 church.

Go.

For some, it takes place in a building.

For some, it means praying and rituals and symbols.

For some, it means there is a "Person" involved, a God of sorts.

For all, it is a feeling, a meaning, a peace, and that can happen anywhere.

Church can be pancake Sunday with the kiddos so excited and happy and the coffee warm and loving.

Church can be our happy hearts where we share what we are grateful for, that week, during that time.

Church can be a run, a yoga class, a feeling of letting go and allowing something else to be in control.

Church can be a really hot shower, a warm bath. The sinking in to water that is needed to wash the day away.

Church can be an ocean, a beach, the sound and rhythm of the back and forth that allows you to listen, really listen.

Church can be a bed, calling to you. Asking you to close your eyes and lay your worries down.

Church can be a race, the adrenaline running through your veins as you come together as a community.

Church can be losing yourself in a book, forgetting all about yourself.

Church can be your community service and remembering others need you, this world needs you.

Church can be putting your babies to sleep, looking at those little faces, telling them we did our best today, tomorrow we will do better because we know better.

Church can be telling your family you love them and the feeling that comes from hearing it back, even when they talk to you from their sleep.

Church is not contained in walls, buildings, or by the God we worship. Church is all around us.

Stop.

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 young.

Go.

When I was young, I was scared.

When I was young, I was scared of my own shadow.

When I was young, I was scared of myself.

When I was young, I was scared of family.

When I was young, I was scared of love and needing it.

When I was young, I was scared of motherhood and couple-hood and I was scared.

When I met family, I got less scared. I got lighter. I became more free. The more I leaned, the more I gave up control, the more free I became.

When I was young, I met you, I fell hard. I embraced what you had to offer. You made me a better me. You made me better.

When I was young, I found family in places because even though I was afraid, I was needing it, I was craving it, so I created it.

When I was young, I had you. I held your little in my arms and I am just so happy I did. You were exactly what I never knew I always wanted.

Now, I have a front row seat to you being young and I get to watch this amazing person become. She is funny, and kind, and loving, and angry, and stubborn, and feisty, and has a need for connection...sound familiar?

When I was young, I was scared. Scared of myself, my shadow, the world. I'm still that scared little girl, but as the years have ticked away, I too am becoming.

Stop.

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 endure.

Go.

2020 has been one big roller coaster ride and the words "it can't get worse" are no longer on my lips. What we have endured has been unreal to me. What communities have endured for centuries is inhuman, ungodly, and immoral. What else, what now, what do we do now?

We have isolated.

The environment has healed.

We have lost jobs.

We have closed down.

Businesses have been lost.

People, we have lost people.

We have watched a civil rights movement finally unfold.

We have listened.

We have slowed down.

We have rested.

We have worried.

We have lost sleep.

We have been with our children.

We have forced them to be bored.

We have read.

We have cried.

We have moved our bodies.

We have not moved at all.

We have lived a life we should hold on to a little bit.

We have done the unthinkable.

We have lost and gained.

We have stood and knelt.

We have been separated but connected.

We have been divided but there are more of us that want to come together.

We have endured. Some have had to endure more. Some have had to endure for too long and we no longer want you to carry the weight alone.

So, what else...what now?

Stop.

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 worth.

Go.

I have defined my worth by my busyness.

I have defined my worth by my career.

I have defined my worth by how many meetings I have.

I have defined my worth by how many races I run, how many times I push myself too hard.

I have defined my worth by how many tris I can get in, how hard I can work my body, how much I can burn and do.

I have defined my worth by how high I can raise a middle finger to my MS.

I have defined my worth by how determined I am

to accomplish

to meet goals

to set new goals

to grow

to learn

to work on myself.

I have defined my worth by my grit.

I have defined my worth by my exhaustion.

I have defined my worth by how many hard things I can do.

I have defined it by an agency that changed my life, and the impact I wanted to make, how much I wanted to give back.

I have defined my worth by working hard, the harder the better.

And then, I stopped.

I can do hard things, I don't need to prove it anymore.

I can run just one company and be more successful when focused, and not breaking my brain.

I can run just because I love the sound, the quiet, the way I feel.

I can do yoga to remember how to breathe and work out because my body feels good in motion, I feel good in motion.

I can work hard on me, for me.

I can share my laughter, my joy.

My worth is wrapped up in a lot of things

like how my daughter wants to spend time with me

like how my son wants to play with me

like how my husband wants to enjoy our time together

like how my dog loves our walks and our snuggles and smooches

like how my home runs and operates and the breathing room I am providing

like fun

and joy

and friendship

and my squad

and my framily

and my laughter

and my heart

and my compassion.

I spent a lifetime proving my worth, to no one but myself, and I'm tired.

So, I stopped.

Stop.

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 how.

Go.

How did this historical school year come to a close? How did we make it through all of these months at home plugging away? How did we make it all feel so normal when it was anything but?

How did 2020 manage to level us and allow us to rise, all at the same time? How did it quiet us and slow us down and make us worry and make us panic and allow us to appreciate what really matters and allow us to give up what doesn't and change how we all interact and continue to fight for what is right, all while fighting a pandemic? How did we survie?

How is it only June? How is it not 2037 because these days are short and long and never ending and passing too quickly and stubborn and easy and hard. How is it only June?

How is this summer going to go? Things are starting to open up but camps are closing and children are bored of being home and parents are working and we are all surviving and how are we surviving?

How will this end? How will it be when we all come out of the other side? How will we treat each other, how will we move forward for change and equality. How will we speak up and how will be find the right balance and how will we move forward?

Stop.

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 stay.

Go.

I stayed too quiet. I would be outraged for a few weeks. I would not move mountains. I am so sorry, I was wrong, I will look harder and deeper and closer to why and I will move mountains with you.

What if after a few weeks, we all get "tired" and move on. What if it all stays the same? What if we all go back to our lives? What happens in our communities? What happens to those that need us? Why would we ever stop listening? Why would we ever stop helping? Why would we ever stop change? Why would we ever stop fighting? Why would we stay right where we have always been? What is their world and what do they go back to?

We cannot let that happen. This is life and death. This is right and wrong. This is the time. I will not hide my children from the media. I will not allow them to be protected from this. They will hear my cry, they will stand with me. They will be told they are privileged and have a responsibility, as a human,

to kneel

to stand

to walk with

to listen to

to ask questions of themselves and their loved ones

to lose "friends" to challenge themselves and family

to be part of the solution

to demand change.

We cannot stay where we are. It is a matter of life/death, right/wrong.

This is my message to the black community, to people of color we have wronged and turned our back on...

You matter.

Your life deeply matters.

I see you.

I kneel with you.

I stand with you.

I walk with you.

I am listening to you.

And I am so sorry.

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 born.

Go.

The night before you were born, I knew you were coming. It was scheduled and I sat on the edge of my bed, looking at my packed suitcase and wondering and wondering about you.

I knew I would love you, I already did. I knew we would make room for you, we already did. I knew she would fall in love with not only you, but her brand new role, she already did. I knew it would be tough, it already was. I knew it would be easy, it already was. I knew it would be good, it already was.

There were a few moments when you had some people thinking you would come a little sooner, but I knew you were going to be born on May 30th, I knew we would hang on. I knew I was not sharing you with the world until that day arrived, I knew I would keep to keep you close, a little while longer.

The night before you were born, I held you on the inside of my body, I talked to you, I felt you push into my hand and I told you a little about the family you were about to be a very big part of. The night before you were born, I held you tightly, knowing this would be my last night with two heartbeats, and your mamma cried.

On the night before you were born, I knew it was time. It was time to put a huge and incredible chapter in my life behind me. A chapter I had no idea I wanted to write and a chapter I loved every word of. I would never be the "expecting mom" again. I would never again wonder, I would never again sit on the edge of my bed and hold anyone this way.

Here we are, eight years later, on the day before your 8th birthday. Monkey, can you promise me you won't get older tomorrow...I'll try mom.

Some things will never ever change.

Stop.

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 forward.

Go.

Each Friday, I plan, in detail, my next week. I look at my meetings/events scheduled, I prioritize my to do lists. I figure out what I have to do and when. And each week, as I look forward, I keep deleting all of the "things" we had planned since they no longer are happening.

In the beginning of the year, I had planned to slow down and take things easier. I had planned to find a new rhythm and slow dance. I had planned for things to be calm and bright. Fast forward to March of 2020 and the world stopped spinning. At first, it was the exact pause I needed and maybe it still is. But as it continues to fly forward, I don't see an end and I don't see a solution and I don't see how this will ever change. I only see the pause and isolation.

I, and my family, have been very fortunate. It is a privilege that it has taken me this long for it to feel heavy. I am privileged, no question about it. I am healthy, I am strong, we are both working, my brand new leap of faith business is still going. So, with knowing this all comes from a place of privilege, the weight is starting to feel a little heavy. I don't know if I can keep going and going without an end and without connection. So, today, I say a little please to the universe, a quiet little prayer. I would like to start looking forward once again and having something to look forward to.