Sweaty Triumph

I looked a mess.  I was sweaty.  I'm sure I smelled.  My clothes didn't hide much.  But despite my appearance and smell, I was perhaps the most triumphant feeling person in the weight room.

I have been terrified of that room for as long as I've been going to a gym.  There are mirrors everywhere, fit people, good looking people, fitness savvy people.  If I did go, I would sneak in quietly and leave as quietly and hope no one had seen me on the machines or by the dumbbells.  It has been a place of extreme discomfort.  It holds all of my insecurities in one place.  The mats haunt me with their slick blue facade and their dingy surfaces.  The overhead lights zoom in on every flaw on my imperfect body.  Other people's sweat taunts me with their high profitability potential.  I. Hate. That. Place.

But for the first time, I worked out without my amazing friend and partner who has been my security blanket, and I didn't feel in the slightest uncomfortable.

I carried a book around like a dork.  I was in typical gym clothes that were faded from multiple washes.  I was doing squats and walking with that weird jump rope thing that makes you walk like you are about to birth a baby.   My hair was matted to my head.  My muscles timidly peeked out from under my layers of fat.  My mascara had abandoned my eyelashes.  And yet, I beamed with confidence.

I can only attribute this sudden reversal of esteem to what is usually a temporary burst of tenacity.   During these stints, I feel content with who I am.  Comfortable in my people clothes.  I feel satisfied with being a single momma.  Happy with my choice of career.  Enthusiastically progressing in my business and spirituality.  Contented with how I look.  At ease with my personality.

When I was younger these moments of good self esteem were few and far between.  I have found that lately, however,  they take up the majority of my existence.  And the terrorized, insecure Rebekah is the temporary person.

I wish I hadn't wasted my youth on insecurity.  But perhaps the sweaty, gym induced triumph now wouldn't be so sweet.

Goodbye Amateur

Goodbye: farewell (a conventional expression used at parting)
synonyms: parting; so long; leave-taking

I'm not great at goodbyes.  I've moved many times during my life so you would think I would be better at it.  But nope.

Maybe it's because I'm a Baptist in New Orleans.  Baptist church goers that  I've met over the years were only here for a short time for whatever reason.  I didn't expect to make this my home, either.  But it got under my skin and into my soul so here I am....21 years later.  After Katrina, this phenomenon of people exiting the city became an even greater concern.  I said goodbye to many friends as a result of that storm.  It destroyed more than just our city.  I started asking people immediately if they were from here when I met someone I bonded with.  If they weren't from here, I did not invest in them because  it was likely they wouldn't be here long term.  It was a matter of keeping my heart from being in a state of continual breaking.  I'm sure I've missed out on some great friendships because of this.  But survival demanded it.

My tender hearted Graham unfortunately got this trait from his momma.  He would cry and cry when he was younger if he had to leave or if someone was leaving him.  If he did have to say goodbye, it was a long affair of kisses and high fives and booms until he was completely satisfied with the way the goodbye was administered.  I think God needed to teach me patience because he put a damper on any kind of hurry I was in.  Poor little guy still struggles with goodbyes but has toned it down.  At least externally.  I'm sure his little heart feels the same way, but as with most things, aging has taught him to internalize his feelings.  And going back and forth between his parents I'm sure is exceptionally difficult.  I hate this.

Romantic entanglements are not great for someone who has a hard time with exits.  Nor is it great for someone who is not great at deciphering between a good fit and one who is not.  Because I find people curious, I usually let the relationship linger longer than it should have because I'm just not done getting to know them.  I end up focusing on them instead of what I need/deserve/want.  This conundrum of curiosity and goodbye procrastination is not awesome for my tender heart.

I loathe finishing a movie or book when I love the character.

I'm a goodbye amateur when I should be an aficionado.

My Grandpa's Legacy

We were all singing the familiar song that I've been singing my whole life.  My cousins...many of which I have never met...young and old all singing "Come and Dine."  My aunts and uncles beaming with peace to have their family together.

I will never forget years ago when my Grandpa said to the whole family as tears fell that it was his desire for us all to love Jesus.  Above anything, that was his wish for us.  This strong, very masculine man, the patriarch of a very large family, weeping.  It was almost too much for me.

My family has flaws like anyone else.  But at the very center of everything is Jesus.  My grandparents loved Jesus.  And that permeated through every fiber in our family.  We were a family of Jesus people who just loved.  And loved well.

I have thought many times that it is almost unfair to come from such an amazing family.  It doesn't quite prepare you for the world.  It's deceitful in its presentation of what people are like.  When you come from a family where malice, deceit, betrayal, just pure ugliness doesn't have much room, it's difficult to comprehend that many others have these as a resounding trait.

I was naive.

I remember the first time I met these traits.  In myself.  I hid in my parents' bedroom, ashamed that such traits were inside of me.  But I was up close and familiar with the Man who remedies that.  And I chose to hide in my parents' room.  They love Jesus. I didn't recognize it at the time, but their room was a safe haven where I could sort out the ugliness.   After all, they were the ones who introduced me to the Man who remedies ugliness.

Perhaps that is the difference.  It's not that these attributes don't reside within my family.  It's just that we know what to do with them when they poke their ugly heads....leave it at the feet of Jesus.

My Grandpa left us a beautiful legacy...and now he gets to dine with the Master.

I miss him.

Muscle Shame

There is a room at the gym that I am terrified of.  It is full of mirrors, questionable machines and very fit people.  I make myself go in there because it terrifies me.  I feel awkward and foolish the entire time, and most likely have a face the color of my Plexus drink.  But still I go.

My gawkiness reached its all time high when I attempted to do a pull up.  I consider myself to be strong.  I do push-ups/sit-ups/lunges etc... often.  But this was a new skill.  A new set of muscles.  And something which proved to be a challenge.  A kind soul was showing me how to do it the amateur way....by just jumping up and grabbing the bar.  She underestimated my ability grossly.  There was no world in which I would be able to pull myself up even a little bit.  I finally compensated with a machine that would hold my knees while I did my inverted pull ups.

I was thoroughly ashamed of my muscles.  Or lack thereof.

My sweet friends assured me that it would take me a while to reach my goal and tat one point they weren't able to achieve it either.

Instead of retreating to the mats where I could safely perform my other exercises, I pressed on.  To my surprise, I became determined to overcome.  Not ashamed of my lack of skill.  (Though my muscles were in a time out for their shameful behavior.)

It was as if looking like a fool motivated me to succeed.

This is a completely new and different arena for me.

Who am I and what have I done with Rebekah?

I have now reached a place in my life where challenging myself is more important than the need to look like I have it together.  I am OK with making a seeming fool of myself if the result is more strength.

I have even reached a point where I am not terrified of people looking at my GB aka Ghetto Booty at the gym.  I have searched for clothes to hide this physical trait, but to no avail.  It has always been an uncomfortable part of my body and I was rid of it only when I was grossly underweight.  So, I am even embracing that gawkiness.  We are good friends now.  Me and GB.

I wish sometimes that I could go back to the afraid, insecure Rebekah who avoided feeling foolish.  But my hunch is, my young self would not appreciate just how massive this growth is because being without it means you don't understand what it means to carry it.

So in all my glorious mess, I embrace gym clothes and the horrid pull up bar.  And very soon I will be able to say that I conquered the crap out of that, too.

Goodbye Therapy!

I am officially released from therapy.  I have sat across from this woman for 3.5 years and struggled.  She took me from a scared, traumatized momma who ran from her kids to a proud, strong momma who doesn't want to let her boys go.  After Graham's accident, I was an intense mess of a person.  I made poor decisions.  I didn't want to be alone with my kids.  I self-medicated and sought temporary relief in sketchy things.  I had nightmares.  I had flashbacks.  I jumped at the slightest noise.  I cried just as easily.  It was a hard time, but because I had a woman who specialized in trauma therapy cheering me on, I had hope.

The changes were subtle.  And mostly invisible to others.  I gained knowledge on how to calm my brain down when I was triggered.  I practiced relaxing in the middle of stressful situations.  I picked exercises that permitted me to strengthen my body without stressing my mind.  I journal almost daily, and the woman who wrote entries 3.5 years ago is a shadow of who I am now.

What is cool and supremely scary about life is that changes happen subtly.  They come with small decisions that you make throughout your day.  In five second intervals.  You decide to forgo the second cup of coffee and drink water instead.  You turn the TV off to read a book.  You pick music to work out to that is more intelligent and less chaotic.  You light a candle.  Put bubbles in your bath.  Take deep breaths when you're upset.  Wade through painful emotions without pouring a glass of wine.  Cook brussel sprouts instead of pizza.  You finish the laundry before your kids get home.  You actually pay attention in church and put your mental to-do list on hold.

1,277 days in 3.5 years.
1,277,000 small decisions.

I didn't get it right all the time.  But I got it right enough times to help me overcome my demons.

And yes, I go to bed fighting them and will wake up again tomorrow looking the same ones in the face.

But this time, I'll know what it is I'm staring at.

Awkward

I found myself floundering for words...I wasn't making sense... I was contradicting what I had just said.

This doesn't happen to me often.  By most standards, I'm a decent communicator.

But this conversation was painful.  And with someone I hadn't known for long.

The primary thought running through my mind was... He just doesn't know me.

The worst part of dating is taking your time to get to know someone.  After being hurt so many times, it takes an act of congress to get you to lower your guard enough to let someone in.  All sorts of walls are built in order to maintain sanity so you can parent well, provide well, function without seeming like too much of a mess.  After all, you have parent-teacher conferences to attend, dentist appointments to make, homework to help with, clothes to wash, new pants to buy because your kids insist on growing, activities to make, haircuts to give, birthday parties to attend, discipline to carry out, chunks of time to give up so you can volunteer at their schools.  All this while running a company, managing people, connecting with clients and prospects, planning marketing strategies, paying bills, balancing budgets, hiring and firing, working out so you don't get fat, remembering to take your car in so you don't ruin the engine, grocery shopping, returning items so you don't allow clutter to overtake your small living room, reading to keep your mind sharp, and writing so you can release all the craziness in your brain.

It's amazing I am erect.

Getting to know someone with all these balls in the air is lengthy and uncomfortable.  And very close to impossible when it's difficult enough to be erect.

And it leads to a multitude of fumbling conversations.

At what point do you stop investing in someone when you know you don't have all their cards on the table?  At what point do you reveal your cards?  Fear of wasting your time is looming there somewhere amidst the millions of balls.  Fear of being rejected when they really just don't know you.  Fear of rejecting them when you don't know them either.

Just writing this makes me want to go back to bed.

But I press on.  Having awkward and annoying conversations.  Listening calmly when I want to run away.  Being patient when this is not a trait I maintain easily.

I have two little boys counting on me to make good decisions.  They are worthy of me enduring awkward conversations.

What if I gave up?

I'm not there yet...where I want to be.  It's looming and is possible, but it's not yet here.

But that doesn't make me unsuccessful.

I read this post by a Jewel Ambassador in Plexus and it blew me away...she listed all the reasons she had to quit and why she didn't give up.  She is currently making about $240K a year with Plexus. Granted, I'm making 13% of that but I'm not done either....

And all her reasons were relatable cuz this homegirl has been there.

So WHAT IF ....
--I had listened to a well intentioned man who told me God hates divorce and stayed in a miserable marriage feeling small and afraid for the rest of my life?

--I had given up when my friend told me she couldn't be my friend anymore because I had too much drama?

--I had believed my husband when he told me it was my fault our son almost died?

--I had stopped growing when someone told me I had too many red flags and too much baggage?

--I believed it when I was told that I was crazy and incompetent?

--I shut down my business because an employee told me it was worthless?

--I stopped working out because the man I was dating told me my muscles were gross?

--I gave up because four of my employees quit and started their own cleaning business?

--I threw in the towel after two divorces and again dated a man who did not see my value?

--I was not desperate enough to try Plexus and never took the products in the first place?

--I allowed the lies that I had slept with everyone and was kicked out of two bars to identify me?

--I believed the man I was dating when he told me I was inappropriate and shared too much?

--I had given up on God when my friend told me I was a typical, judgmental Christian?

--I gave up because my sister and brother succeeded in marriage and surpassed me?

--I stopped posting about Plexus because it annoyed some people?

--I believed it when a client/friend told me my company was mis-managed?

If any of these things had happened, I would not be where I am today...Paying my own way...Able to pick my boys up and drop them off from school and sing loudly to Justin Bieber on our way home..Able to stay home with them when they are sick...Able to shed the many reasons I have to give up and still wake early and tackle the day. 

I am still changing, growing, hoping.  I still love.  I still laugh.  I still choose to be happy when there are plenty of reasons to cry.

I press on.  Knowing that regardless of the negativity, and possible truth behind the negativity, my life counts.  I have a job to do.

And I'm not there yet.  I can taste it.  Touch it.  Feel it.  But it's not yet in my hands.

I am a glorious mess, but the trying is pretty dang fun.

Messy Syllabus

I read a story once about a man who was happily married and very successful.  He had people flocking to him with adoration.  His wife wisely saw through the superficial sentiment and reminded him that they would be gone if he lost his wealth and fame.

That day came and he was alone.  His wife died.  His dynasty crumbled and left him with no one.

My said dynasty has crumbled on me a few times.  I had invested my time in people who weren't invested in me, thus leaving me with a handful of genuine friends.  These friends sat with me when my son was fighting for his life.  They helped me move out of the many homes I lived in.  They called when they knew I was having a hard time.  They showed up when I was at my worst and had nothing whatsoever to offer them.  And they loved me.  Ugly or not.  Broke or not.  Sane or not.  Single or not.  Lively or not.  They showed up.

I will never forget looking around the waiting room at the PICU and seeing the faces of the ones who showed up.  They didn't speak.  They didn't hug me constantly.  They just showed up and sat beside me.  And let me cry.  Or yell.  Or whatever it was that I was feeling in that particular moment.  They loved me when I couldn't love myself.

Now that I'm older and have a full life with two kids and two businesses and multiple other jobs, my time is extremely precious.  I have to be thoughtful about how I spend it and with whom.  Do they make me a better person?  Do they encourage me to follow what's right?  Do they assist me in conquering my fears and unreasonable expectations?  Are they themselves moving towards something greater?

Do they love me when I'm unloveable?

This is a tall order for anyone.  And unfortunately as Christians we feel it's our duty to be this to everyone.  I was so glad when my Sunday School class didn't show up to help me move.  It restored my faith just a bit in the genuineness of the people in church.  They didn't know me and if they had showed, it would have been out of legalistic duty and nothing more.  It wouldn't have been a true act of kindness.

I think this is perhaps the core of free will.  God gave us the ability to choose Him or not.  We get to choose whether we love Him and how we love Him.  We get to choose what that looks like for us. In turn, when we force ourselves to follow a script, the free will becomes simply a rote task that reeks of insincerity.  And never quite makes that treacherous trek to our hearts because it is surrounded by sterile checklists and agendas.

But when we do act freely simply because we love, the choir in heaven must break into song.

Sincerity and pain have joined together in a song that no one can develop into a syllabus.

And when your dynasty falls, perhaps you'll find just who is willing to get messy with you.

Not YET!

In a study, students were taught that every time they tried "something new and difficult that pushed them out of their comfort zone the neurons in their brain can form new, stronger connections and over time they can get smarter.

In that study, students who weren't taught this growth mindset continued to show declining grades.  Those who were taught the study showed a sharp rebound in their grades."

Carol Dwecker said this in her Ted Talk The Power of Not Yet.

If we change "I've failed" to "I haven't accomplished it YET" perhaps our brains would get to the NOT YET faster...or perhaps if we didn't and just accepted failure as the outcome, we would never achieve the NOT YET.

I was walking with my boys while they rode their bikes and watched Brady continuously struggle to get going.  He recently learned how to ride his bike, and the take-off in the beginning proves to be the most challenging part.  I had listened to this Ted Talk today, so I just told him that it was difficult right now, but he would get it.  He just hadn't mastered it YET.  In the past, he would give up and cry and we would end up cutting our walk short.  This time, he got on his bike and pushed through the difficulty with the cutest look of determination on his face.

I breathed a sigh of relief that I hadn't FAILED in the past with my parenting, I just hadn't achieved greatness YET.  But in that moment, I felt like I had arrived.  I gave myself a little pat on the back and ran next to my two boys who were beaming with confidence.

Being divorced twice screams FAILURE.  Very loudly.  It perpetuates in my brain like a record that continuously skips.  I have FAILED at having a steady relationship.   I have FAILED at finding my life partner.  I have FAILED my kids.  I have FAILED my parents.  I have FAILED myself.

But if I translate that into NOT YET this is what it looks like:

Being divorced twice means I haven't found the right one YET.
I haven't achieved a steady relationship YET.
I haven't found my life partner YET.
I haven't YET achieved awesome parenting.
I haven''t YET achieved making my parents proud.
I haven't YET arrived.

I may not fully accomplish these things, but the challenge that I can makes me want to put on a headband to catch the sweat that will fall from my determined face.  And if I don't arrive, I'll die trying.

With my brain at full speed.

About Time

My son saw the book I was reading... "How to Avoid Falling in Love with a Jerk"....

Perhaps this is why people have switched to tablets/iPads to read.

He looked curiously at me and again asked if Daddy was a jerk.  This was the second time we have had this conversation.  He saw the book months ago and asked the same thing.  My response was the same...his dad and I were both jerks in our marriage because we just didn't know how to get along.  And it was better for everyone if we weren't together anymore.  But I assured him that just because something is true doesn't mean it's easy.

I have had to learn the hard way most of my lessons.  I am very stubborn and strong willed.  I like to talk things to death, simply out of curiosity.  I always make the decision that I want to make regardless of the feedback I get.

Sometimes these words not heeded led to pain.

But with my intense pain also came my intense joy.

(Not that I shouldn't have listened to wise advice....but you know. whatever.)

It's impossible to have one without the other.  The yin and the yang.  Good and Evil.  Dark and Light.  One cannot exist without the other.  I had the happiest moments of my life when I was married.  The pain didn't remove those.  Nor did they lessen them.

One of my favorite movies "About Time" captures this concept.  The lead character is given the gift of being able to go back in time to any point in his life and redo.  Of course he does it often in the beginning for silly reasons...to avoid looking like an idiot, to kiss the girl he ignored, to stop an argument, to pass a test he failed.  But what ends up happening is he misses out on LIFE.

We were created to taste, touch, hear, see, smell. (I may or may not have had to look up what the five senses were just then).  We wouldn't know what smells pleasant if we didn't smell something gross.

The character then goes back just to slow down and LIVE each day fully.  He listened to someone's pain instead of spewing advice.  He paid attention to the girl who served him coffee and received a smile.  He saw the beauty of a building he had run through in a hurry previously.

Living fully requires acceptance that we will sometimes be late.  We will often look like fools.  I mean, often.  We will stand out when we want to fit in.  We will have to be social when we want to be introverted.

If living fully means I get to fully experience life, then bring on the clown suit.  I'd rather look like a fool than miss out.

happy boys

I met with the boys' teachers and was thrilled to hear that they are doing well at school.  Graham is behind academically and will most likely have to repeat PK4 but he is loved by everyone.  Brady is a super bright kid who is also loved and is respectful to his teachers and peers.  Both teachers said they were very happy kids and I should be proud.

This was music to my ears.  Relief dripped through me and my shoulders relaxed a little.  I was expecting to hear the opposite.

Dragging them through a divorce can be summed up in one word...PAINFUL.  They miss their dad when they are with me.  They miss me when they are with their dad.  They have two rooms.  Two sets of clothes.  Two sets of parents.  They have people in their life that I won't ever meet or know.  They don't deserve the pain.  They are worth more than this.

I worry about their hearts.  I worry about their relationships with other people.  I worry.  Constantly.

As with Graham's accident, I will be prone to blame everything negative in their lives on the divorce.

E.G...

Graham is behind because his brain is damaged from the accident.  

Brady is addicted to his iPad because he is avoiding his harsh reality of a broken home.

Graham has speech issues because of the accident.

Brady sucks his thumb because he feels unsafe since the divorce.

Graham has temper tantrums because his parents aren't together.

And the list goes on.  But the truth is, I don't know.  No one does.  And this is terrifying.

In church yesterday, we were singing a song that escapes me right now but my prevalent thought throughout was that I had to cling to Jesus if I wanted to keep my sanity and raise my boys.  I have to trust Him.  I have to believe that whatever happens, He has them in the palm of His hand.

And He is a far better parent than I will ever be.

red face and sweaty palms

I could feel my face getting hot.  The warmth spread up behind my eyes and tears were threatening to fall.  My therapist had hit a nerve and knew it.  Per usual, she asks me to process what I feeling.  Per usual, the feeling under what she had said was that I felt rejected.

Rejection doesn't sit well with me.  It causes my insides to twist and my color to change.  It makes talking difficult sometimes.  It changes the pace my heart is beating and turns my hands clammy.  It is not at all my friend.  Not even a little bit.

Unfortunately, rejection is something that will never stop occurring.  Especially as a business owner.  Especially as a single person.  It will continue to come.  It will continue to cause a color change.  It will continue to threaten tears.  It is one of the few guarantees in life.

Struggling to speak, I dive into the why behind my tears.  I came into therapy happy and light and left heavy.   I have to face it in order to grow.  It's why I go.  Otherwise, my face would be continually hot.

Rejection has a purpose.  It has given me thicker skin.  It has helped me to weed out the important from the unimportant.  It has forced me to nurture my own soul.  It has catapulted me, sometimes screaming, out of bad situations.  I'm healthier because I have been rejected. 

Despite the benefits, I'm not really a fan of having a red face.

The difficulty is remaining yourself despite rejection's frequent visits.  And as a person who likes others to be happy, I find this an arduous task.  It is tempting to to change my game in order to avoid rejection.  I have done it frequently in my past.  I have abandoned my tasks as a mother in order for a relationship to survive.  I have let my friends dictate decisions that should have been mine alone.  I have made poor decisions in business in order to avoid it.  Rejection looms in the background, ready to pounce.  Taunting me with its red face and broken voice.  I change who I am in order to keep it at bay.  But this has not served me well.  Instead of having the desired effect, it results in even more tears and red faces.  If I would just persist in being true to myself, I would not find my life so challenging.  Or rejection so ominous.

But it wasn't me!

I remember saying that one day she would apologize to me for her behavior.  I was convinced that it was she who was the erroneous party and I was blameless in the situation.

Then I found myself years later dialing her number and apologizing.
(OK, a small aka LARGE part of me expected her to return the sentiment.)

That perhaps is one of the most humbling phone calls I have had to endure.

back in the days of my youth...when I THOUGHT I knew it all

At the time, I thought I was doing everything right.  And I probably was doing my best at that time.  But my best was not what was best for the situation.  It fell a tad .... or a lot... bit short.

And I find myself now faced with that same situation...but I'm playing the opposing role.  I am not the stepmom anymore.  I'm THE mom.  And my past behavior now haunts me because I know now what this position feels like.

How I wish I could pretend like I behaved correctly and respond with pomp and confidence.  But I know I didn't.  I'd like to just say "but it wasn't me!" or some other version of how right I am.  But I got nothin. Just look at me in this pic from Amsterdam (or Switzerland...no idea which).  I look like I have it all together.  All the secrets of the world and how to behave are just under that blonde braid.  Turns out this isn't true.  Never was.  I hate being wrong.

I suppose that God created us with this big ol' hole of wrongness.  Otherwise we wouldn't need Him.

I need Jesus but I hate being wrong.

Ordinary momma to extraordinary boys

I drop my boys off to school in the mornings and am greeted by preteens calling for Graham.  I see their excitement when we pull up.  They are genuinely excited to see this little four year old boy.   He  gives high fives and hugs as he struts past them into his classroom.  He acts like the mayor of the school.

My older son Brady walks behind, keeping a close eye on the interactions.  He is aware of Graham's popularity.  He smiles shyly and heads to his classroom, greeted only mildly by others.

My heart hurts as I watch this.  God and I shared some tears.

Graham is our miracle story.  He was not expected to live after falling into the bucket and drowning.  He was prayed over by thousands of people across the world, thanks to social media.  His story touched many lives.  Not only does he have the story of a super hero, but he has the personality also.  He is extremely charismatic and outgoing.  People are drawn to him.  His smile lights up an entire room.  He is curious and funny.  He gives affection freely.  He is easy to love.

Brady is more cautious with his affection.  He is pensive and insightful.  His humor is not so easy to pick up on.  He doesn't immediately trust people and takes more time to get to know.  He is largely identified as being Graham's brother.

Brady and I have had multiple conversations about his own significance and worth in the seeming shadow of his younger brother.  Because he is overlooked much of the time, even by those who don't know about Graham's story, he has had to navigate his self-esteem in a way that Graham does not.  Often times, people do not even know his name.  This is tough on a little boy.  This is tough on his momma.

I have also had to navigate how I parent them.  They each require different things from me.  They need different types of affection and encouragement.  They respond very differently to the same situation.  Seeing how different they are greeted by others has made me search for ways to equally boost their view of themselves, and focus on their internal well being.

We are a society of external focus...extroverts are given a lot of attention. The internal self is not as publicly praised. 

I am wild about both of my boys equally.  Seeing them grow and change, getting to experience in their lives and their development will probably be the most significant thing I do in my lifetime.  I love them in a way I won't ever be able to love anyone.

I sat behind Graham in church yesterday.  He sits in the front right next to his Papa.  I felt so full of love for this little boy.  I began reflecting on his short life and his great impact.  My dad spoke about the submission that Jesus had for his parents...though they were ordinary and He was extraordinary, He submitted to them.

My mind made the leap to my own kids and how extraordinary they are.

And how very ordinary I am.

Yet God in His vast wildness that I will never comprehend deemed me worthy to be their mother.

Graham .. my super, charismatic son.  And Brady .. my amazing, insightful son.

So totally opposite.  Yet so equally extraordinary.

one tired scientist

I'm not a huge fan of dating at 40 with two little boys.  It has got to be one of the most awkward things I have experienced thus far in my life.  It's not the same as when you were single, when things less appealing were tolerated and not deal breakers.  Every flaw is highlighted and examined until you as the scientist go cross-eyed with all the detail under the microscope.

Can they accept that I am an independent woman who has demands that won't involve them?  Will they love my boys?  Will I love his kids?  Do they take care of themselves?  Are they emotionally healthy and mature?  Can they deal with my difficult relationship with my ex?  Can I deal with theirs?  Will they love me when I'm needy? Broke? Emotionally abandoned?  Do they offer stimulating conversation?  Am I attracted to them?  Do they make me feel safe?  Can they provide stability?  Do I like their friends?  Their family?  Do we have enough in common?  Is he educated?  Does he love God?  Will he be a good role model?  How does he behave under stress?  Does he have time for me?  Do my friends like him?

After so many broken relationships is he willing to give himself to someone again?  Am I?

This is just the short list.

Even though there is great caution in the experiment, the results are tenuous and fragile.  One false move and the whole thing is contaminated.  And you must begin.  Again.  And again.  And again.

And maybe.  Just maybe you can't conduct the experiment without contamination.  And you have to just abandon the whole thing because there will never be a successful outcome.

I ain't doin' it.

The microscope is full of organisms.  And this scientist is exhausted.

Privileged?

I posted a video that I thought was amazing and didn't think anything about the race aspect of it....apparently there is a whole movement about "white privilege" and blah, blah, blah.  I don't even want to waste internet air on that but it made me think about what being privileged means...

I've lived a tumultuous life of my own making.  I had incredible parents and an incredible support group of friends and family.  I was educated.  I was given many, many opportunities to succeed and be at the front of the line.  And it was nothing that I earned....only what was given to me.  But because of the many wrong turns I made, I found myself at the back of the line.  Divorced and struggling to make ends meet.   Instead of working harder, I fell further behind.  I got in line behind those who didn't have the opportunities I had because I felt sorry for myself.  Or was just too scared to move.  Whatever the reason, I certainly lost my "privileged" status.

It dawned on me this weekend when I was surrounded by so many successful women that I was losing this race.  By choice.  I didn't have a partner in life who could aid me in life.  I didn't share my bills with anyone else.  I wasn't living in a two income household anymore.  It's just me and my two boys.  And I never want to have to ask my kids to take care of me.

But this is where I am.  I will have to work harder to get back to where I was in all my privileged glory.  I don't have the same "privileges" as other women my age.  But I can either let that paralyze me, or I can let it fuel me to bigger and better things.

I will be in a house with a pool someday.  And I won't have to wonder if I can pay my bills either.  One day.

My knuckles may be gripping so tightly to the thread that holds me together that they are white, but I'm in the same boat as many of my fellow black, brown, yellow, white women in this.  So if "White privilege" means "white knuckling it" then yes, yes I am.

Yawning and tapes

I have this annoying habit of yawning.  It's not that I'm tired.  I'm just overwhelmed. Anxious. Bored.?  Who knows.  But it's definitely not an admirable trait.  So I used the 5 second rule before I yawned to see if that would nip it in the sprouting bud that was beginning to get full of irritating habits.  And I succeeded.  My yawns are now simply because I'm tired...yay for me.

This accomplishment is small in the great scheme of things important.  But it just confirms that our brains are an intense mosaic of complexities.  I posted all sorts of positive reinforcements in my office.  I put them where I would have to stare at them daily.  Most of them were about my goals with my work.  And they were accomplished.

So now my notes to myself are:


"You are kind."

"You are smart."

"You are successful."

"You are worth it."

I play the most horrible tapes in my head about myself.

When I screw up the tape is...
"Yup, Rebekah, way to confirm that you suck.  No one is surprised by this."

When I fail...
"Of course you failed!!  You are not good enough for this."

When I feel someone doesn't care about me ...
"Why would they care about you????  You aren't anything special!"

As I type this Pandora chose to play, "Jesus Paid it All."

I hear the savior say, thy strength indeed is small

Child of weakness, watch and pray, find in me thine all in all

'Cause Jesus paid it all

All to him I owe

Sin had left a crimson stain, he washed it white as snow

Lord, now indeed I find thy power and thine alone

Can change the leper's spots and melt the heart of stone

'Cause Jesus paid it all

All to him I owe...

It's washed away, all my sin

And all my shame

And when before the throne I stand in him complete

"Jesus died my soul to save" my lips shall still repeat

Jesus paid it all

All to him I owe...

(I just watched an ad so I could hit the replay button.  Man, advertisers are genius.)

So there you have it.  His tape to me says....

"You are worth it."

"You are successful."

"You are smart."

"You are kind."

Maybe like the yawning I can kick the annoying habit of telling my brain ugly things and instead speak truth. Because He says I am worth it...He chose me when no one else would.  That makes me pretty damn special. 

thin air and little faces

Sometimes the air is too thin.  I take multiple deep breaths only to find my air supply wanting.  It trickles into my lungs like coins being tossed into a fountain.  Spreading out its minimal treasure with disappointed illumination.

Perhaps air isn't enough.

Sometimes it takes an army of resources to fill my lungs with enough life to sustain me.  It takes time.  A compassionate embrace.  Words that softly empower me.  And tears.

Tears and air and kindness.

But I'm afraid my boys are the only remedy to my loss of air.  The tears, air and kindness are just bandaids where there should be stitches.  I feel like I am having to create purpose where there is none.  I miss their little faces.

Not being the one who hears about their days, who kisses their scrapes and cuts, who fixes them dinner/lunch/snacks, who does their laundry and puts them to bed every night is insanely difficult to swallow.

Sometimes life is made in the difficult...Character is developed when there are trials...Purpose is found in desperation.  Right???

The air is too thin for me to think clearly.

feast or ice cream?

I tell my boys often that they should be reserving their emotional energy on things that are actually deserving of their tears/anger/sadness/frustration aka emotional energy.  This is not an easy lesson to teach to a 7 and 4 yr. old.  Especially since their 40 yr. old momma doesn't quite get it.
(homegirl just typed a 5 instead of a 4...give me a moment to collect myself....

.............................................OK, I'm back.  And I am 40 NOT 50!)

My boys are prone to get angry when their iPads aren't connecting or when they are losing a game.  They throw fits when they can't have one more scoop of ice cream or when their finger hurts.  They totally lose it when their brother takes something away from them.  That, perhaps, is the only thing that warrants a large amount of emotion.  I get upset when somebody takes something that is mine, too.

On the other hand, there isn't much in life that doesn't matter.

So it becomes a task of deciphering the emotionally warranted things vs. the things that just need to be paid attention to.  This is a life long journey...this task of keeping your emotions in check.

I was broken up with via text once.  It was a long enough relationship to warrant a face to face conversation.  I tried my best to be brave and dismiss it/him as insignificant.  But I had spent my precious time and energy on this relationship.  It certainly deserved more than a dismissive text.  I wrangled with myself on this one...trying to talk myself into reflecting his emotional dismissiveness.  I wanted also to have meager and cool feelings.   But that would in turn erase the precious months I spent investing in the relationship.  It would nullify memories and relationships I formed because of him.  He had seeped into every part of my life during those 9 months...intentional or not.  If I had agreed with his diminutive attitude, I was essentially saying that I can cut out 9 months of my life simply because someone else had decided to bow out with disregard.

I believe that the emotionally mature are able to stand by their emotions regardless of how they are received.  If our emotions are treated with indifference, it doesn't make them any less palatable to us.  Or it shouldn't, rather.

So in an attempt to grow up, I spend time alone with gratitude for the time to dig.  I journal to make sense of how I feel.  I accept things that don't matter to others but matter a great deal to me as important.  And I am continuously filing things away into the "emotionally deserving" or "let it go" file.

Life is made up of moments...great and small.  And most of the time we are too busy throwing a fit over one scoop of ice cream to realize we have been robbed of a feast.

Love despite my bad breath

"spirit lead me where my trust is without borders...let me walk upon the water...wherever you will call me..."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1m_sWJQm2fs

I have a tough decision to make.  Like the kind of decision that won't let you sleep and gets you out of bed at 4 in the morning.  It's irritating and needs to be satisfied.  Choices are fickle things.  You make them because at the time it seems rational and reasonable.  And then later on you discover that choice isn't the best one anymore...so you then have to make yet another one to alleviate the nagging feeling that perhaps you got it wrong the first time.

One small choice can turn a situation that was mildly manageable into wildly uncontrollable.

I'm not uber religious anymore.  I don't go to church like I used to.  I don't read my Bible habitually.  But there is a presence that stays with me always....the only thing that keeps me sane at times.  He never leaves me.  So when I'm in the midst of confusion, He is my peace.  He drowns out the other voices that contribute opinions.  He focuses my heart on what is most important.  He allows me to cut through the petty and stare at the nucleus of the problem.

And always, without fail, love is at the center of all goodness and hope and light.  Love, the kind of non-judgmental love that covers you even when you have a face mask on and you've gotten a little plump and you have bad breath from your mouth guard and maybe you need to seriously reconsider the color of your hair.  But this love isn't affected in the least by the minute and frivolous.  He is only concerned with the state of your heart.

So without borders...wherever He calls me...the decision will be made with the love that sees beyond my bad breath.