The Motherhood Pact

I had been feeling quite absent for some time. The building of compiled stresses and exaggerated circumstances were beginning to swallow me up. Between work, a basement that’s unraveling like a string pulled from a sweater in hopes of an end, and some added worries in the air, I’d lost myself a bit. I was more often stressed and tired and short.

Feeling thread thin, I stopped what I was doing, hands in the kitchen sink full of dishes, and took a centering breath. It sounded more like an overfilled, stretched out balloon heaving air out upon release, but it served the same purpose. I started the kettle, prepped mugs and put on my Crooners CD. It was the littlest detail, really. And it was felt. The moment they walked in the door from the bus and their senses picked up swirling cocoa, smooth notes, and my presence, I felt their moods shift.

I told them to grab paper and scissors because there were snowflakes to be made. We sat in a huddle snipping a flurry of paper all over the floor, tickled by the surprises unlocked with unfolding their works.

I posted a snippet of this experience online and was flooded by comments from a handful of outstanding mamas expressing their connection to this struggle. Every flavor of lady. Women of exceptional worth feeling less than; pulled between their roles, never feeling fully accomplished in any one. We found relief in real company. Let’s continue to do so. Let’s stack hands and forge an understanding. A sisterhood.

Motherhood is the good, bad and the ugly. We aren’t only winning when it’s pretty and we’re not “losing” when we’re losing IT. It’s a little bit of it all. A grab bag, much like each new day we approach.

It’s a relief to know that love withstands the waves and do-overs are always within reach.

My babes have seen the full array of Mama over the past three years. I’ve been brought to the far edges of the spectrum of emotion and experience through navigating divorce and the challenges that hitched a ride along with it. It seems life has some plans for me and is slowly chipping away at the layers. I’ve parented from the gut through my hardest days and we’ve soared together upon the gusts of perseverance, the shine of life’s simple offerings magnified by the darkness from which we may have emerged.

I want them to know both ends. And everything in between. Resilience doesn’t look one particular way and it’s never boastful. It lives in every small step forward in acceptance and hope.

If I’m to expect so much of them, am I willing enough to see what that looks like in a mirror? When the roles are reversed, in the moments when they so desperately need my grace, will I recognize it as my own moments of desperation? They know not what’s going on inside of me, just as I’m at the mercy of attempting to understand what’s churning inside of them.

Love is looking those babes in the face and saying, “I’m sorry. Thank you for being patient with me. Life can be hard for a grown up. Life can be hard for a kid. We all have days where we want to give up or throw a fist in the air. It’s easy to show your ugly to those that keep you safest. Fortunately as a family, we make a team. The chance of us all being stuck in the mud at the same time is pretty slim…

I’ll promise to give you a hug when you need one if you’ll do the same for me. Scrap that, I’ll hug you anyway. I’m always here.

I’ll hear your apologies and you’ll hear mine, trying less to expect them but appreciate their authenticity when they’re given. My smiles will light your flame when it’s dim. I’ll remind you about the beauty of second chances and you’ll remind me of what life is really about.“

Cheers to linked arms. We’ve got this.