Day 141: The Difference a Day Makes

Edit: Since we all have different definitions of various undesirable parenting behaviors, I thought I should add a disclaimer. I never use abusive language toward my children; they are never belittled, called names, or otherwise verbally abused in the overt sense of the word. And certainly I never cross physical boundaries with them. What I consider intimidation and domination looks more like "normal" parenting in actuality. Raising my voice, shooting angry looks, using a hurtful tone, and throwing out threats of lost privileges are all forms of intimidation and domination which are ultimately used to coerce children into desired behaviors through fear. These are the things I'm referring to in this post.

 I wrote yesterday, but didn't post. Partly because it was more a therapeutic rant than a composed post, but also because it felt a little too raw at the time to put out there to the world (aka my tens of readers *snort*).

But having stepped back from the ledge I now think there is value in 'going there' - by which I mean not only writing authentically in hindsight, but letting authentic, real-time venting make an appearance as well.

So here's yesterday's post: 

Day 140: Overwhelmed

It seems like this feeling comes in tidal waves. It swells and washes over me, then fades until it's like it was never there.

The problem is that the days when I'm under, I'm really under. I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't move. And I certainly can't see the inevitable regression of chaos and inadequacy or the promised reappearance of order and capability.

Today is that day. With new rooms, neither of my boys are sleeping.

Max has been up since 6:30am and only napped one hour. He is now clinging to me as if I may forever abandon him at any moment simply because I tried to put him down in a new place. Never mind the fact that he's in the same bed with the same blanket, pillow and fan, or that I picked him up the moment he fussed, or that I finally put a mattress on the floor and nursed him to sleep there; I don't get any credit for that apparently.

Jack didn't nap at all. Can you say crazy? We've been in one long power struggle today, probably because I'm so tired from two weeks of waking all night with Max (when exactly is this fun little phase going to end?). Oh, and for some reason today seems like the appropriate time for an explosion in his desire for autonomy. Translation: Whatever I want him to do is now what he patently refuses to do because he didn't choose it himself.

All I want is for something to go my way. Can't something just be easy today?! Does everything have to be a struggle? And why, when all I feel like doing is crying because everything is so far from where I want it to be, is it easier to yell and punish my kids for the way I feel?

The fear of being unable to cope with less than ideal circumstances comes from being unable to cope with less than ideal circumstance. Days like today are the ones that make me frantic to control all things external in an attempt to avoid ever having to endure something like this again.

Yikes! Yep, that was the end. No positive conclusion, no pretty little bow to wrap it all up in. Yesterday. just. sucked. and I was wallowing in self-pity.

Thankfully my real-life knight in shining armor came home after a long day at work and jumped right in, doing dishes, playing with the kids, doing bedtime, and otherwise rescuing me and the boys from each other.

But with the perspective of a new day and a fresh sense of capability (I knew it would come, even if I couldn't feel it) I now have the benefit of analyzing my frazzled self from yesterday.

Here's the cold hard truth: It's my fear of weakness and the choice to feed into that fear rather than facing it that drives me to where I was yesterday.

When I start to feel as if life is just too much and nothing is as it should be - when the house is a mess (again...still), the HMN events need to go up (two weeks ago), the bills need to be paid (with what?), the article needs to be written (swallow your pride and appreciate the paycheck), and the kids need attention (are they still here?) - I feel inadequate. For me this translates into weakness, because if I were just more efficient, more organized, more focused or just all around better, I would be strong enough to carry it all on any given day. Riiiiiiiight.

My default reaction to weakness is to grasp at power any way I can get my hands on it. Unfortunately for the small walking and talking being in our household, this sometimes means asserting myself in the forms of intimidation and attempted domination. Tactics he is now (thankfully) confident enough to resist - hence the day-long power struggle.

Although I can't consciously identify it at the time, what I'm actually doing is trying to feel powerful and in control by taking power and control from someone else. How disgusting! And I don't say that in the self-deprecating, I'm-so-awful kind of way. I really just mean that this is objectively a disgusting way to treat another human being.

But the real problem isn't weakness or inadequacy. It's my refusal to let go, to accept my limitations, my circumstances and the lack of control I have over them. It's these things that leave me 'unable' to cope, not a lack of strength to power through and make it work.

Overwhelmed is much less likely when I'm living and parenting consciously. It even feels manageable when I'm focused on relationships over tasks, communication over accomplishment.

Instead of needing things to go my way, I see the value in reaching and expanding my limits and using the accompanying feelings as a guide in resetting priorities and reassessing responsibilities. When I release myself from the fear of weakness I feel what's real in that moment - be it sad, unhappy, unsatisfied, inadequate - instead of masking those 'inferior' emotions with 'powerful' anger. When I let go of expectations and address the reality of what is, I'm able to creatively meet challenges and I'm rewarded by feeling capable and powerful in a healthy way. And most of all, when everything goes 'wrong' I can still take pride and joy in connecting with my kids in the midst of all the chaos.

That is not where I was yesterday. It is thankfully where I am today.

The house is still a mess, HMN business still needs to be attended to, phone calls still need to be made, paperwork still has to be filed, and supper isn't going to make itself. But we're happy today. We're enjoying each other, laughing, getting through the hiccups quickly and cooperatively, and having a darn good day despite it all.

Thankfully days like yesterday make me appreciate days like today much more, so they do serve a purpose after all!

Day 137: Adaptability

We're about to undertake a few big changes here, and I can feel the heart palpitations coming on already.

Our bedroom is too crowded to be liveable with the pack 'n play in it anymore. And because it's adjacent to the living room, we walk around on eggshells when Max is napping during the day. My shushing and scolding is causing so much tension between Jackson and I that I'm ruining the only solo time we have together by forcing us into power struggles about where he can play, with what and how loudly. The whisper shouting has got to end!

So tomorrow Jackson is moving to a new big-boy bedroom upstairs *tear* so that Max's bed can be moved to the "nursery." He's also finally asking to sleep in a big-boy bed, so once he's used to the new sounds and feel of his upstairs bedroom, it will be time for that transition too. I don't know if it's for him or me, but I think one major shift at a time seems more manageable.

This also means that Max will have his own room *gasp* which he will be napping in and hopefully starting the night in before coming to bed with us where he usually sleeps. In addition to the noise issues, we're thinking this will ease the eventual transition away from bed-sharing as he gets older. Jackson was in his own room at only two months, but it still seems so strange to move Maxwell so far away at nine months. He's spent every night of his life snuggled up next to me, and even the first steps toward the beginning of the end of that are a little tough. 

I'm reminding myself that they are ready for these changes and that they are adaptable, that kids are so adaptable if we let them be. But there's still a twinge of anxiety. Because as a general rule, I don't like change (read: I fear change). Knowing what to expect provides a sense of security, even if what I can expect is something I don't like! And stepping outside of that predictability - even with the prospect of major improvements - requires faith and trust in myself, in them, and in the God who works all things together for good.

I don't want to find security in circumstances anymore. It leads to fear and makes me a neurotic control freak! I want my security to be unchangeable. I want to be confident that we will all be okay even if things aren't perfect or predictable, and to embrace the unconditionality of life that I so often reject. We are all capable of adapting to this and to much bigger things, and I want to give the boys an opportunity to practice being flexible and welcoming change.

Which leads me to the obvious question: What's the worst that can happen? Because a few sleepless nights and a few days of nap struggles are so insignificant, especially when weighed against all the positive things that will come from these changes. And I also have to remind myself that trying something new doesn't mean we're committed. We do what works for our family, and if we make changes that don't work we can always go back to what did.

Inviting these changes with enthusiasm is a step, small though it may be, toward faith and trust. I will anticipate great things and accept growing pains that may come with confidence that we'll all learn something valuable as we're drawn out of our comfort zones. And most importantly, I'll allow the boys to decide for themselves how they feel about it all instead of projecting my fears or expectations onto them.

Day 112: Isn't it Ironic

I'm not being authentic enough.

I've recently gotten a few very kind and much appreciated comments about my superior mothering skills (from someone other than my own mother believe it or not) so it must be time to air out some dirty laundry! I want to make sure I'm finding a balance between processing my parenting philosophy and my parenting reality - two very different things some days.

In a sadly comical turn of events, mere hours after I received one of these compliments I found myself yelling about potato soup train tracks and a spoon locomotive mess on the counter, complete with banging finger and disapproving eyebrows. Fortunately Jackson met my anger with quiet compassion: "Mommy, you should throw a ball instead of banging on the counter. Or you could hit something soft to get your angry feelings out. Those are things you could do because it's not okay to bang on hard things when you're angry."

Teaching him to advocate for himself, manage his own feelings, and even help me manage mine is my proudest accomplishment as his mother thus far. Not only for what it gives him, but for what it gives me. Along with a greater understanding of the grace that covers my shortcomings, this has released me from the anxiety I had been carrying.

My greatest parenting fear has always been the potential damage my mismanaged anger could cause. And when God found it fit to give me an intensely sensitive little boy, I practically started questioning His existence. Why would an all-knowing, loving God subject such a sweet soul to me?! Didn't He know I wasn't equipped for this?

Turns out He did know. He knew that the only thing that would draw me toward the kind of radical change I needed was the love I have for my precious son. He knew that the only thing that would get me to take an honest look at myself was seeing my reflection - sometimes in imitation, sometimes in effect - in the child I cherish.

Some days I still feel ill equipped, like I just don't and maybe never will have what it takes to be the kind of mother I want to be for Jackson and Max. Although fortunately not all catastrophic, the failures come daily.

But on the days I feel capable, when we all get to experience the intersection of philosophy and reality, I see the beauty of God's messy plan for our family.

He didn't give Jackson to me because I was the perfect mom, but so that He could perfect me through him. Every day I'm being refined by the love I have for Jackson and the God who blessed me with him, by the joy that comes with our peaceful and harmonious interactions, and by the grace that covers the chaotic discord that finds its way in more often than I'd like to admit.

So when you see me in a moment of loving patience or read about me celebrating a good day, know that those came out of the growing pains we've experienced along our way. And when you inevitably see or read the opposite, trust that grace, forgiveness and growth are not far behind.

Then extend the same kindness to your own parenting journey that you apply to mine, because you deserve it as much as I or anyone else.

Day 66: Pass the Bubble Wrap, Please

My fondest and most vivid memories of childhood all involve adventure. Whether I was hiking through the wood behind our home, swimming in the fish-filled creek up the road, or traversing the expansive nearby fields, it was moments of freedom and exploration that remain embedded in my mind.

Sure I played with dolls and put together puzzles, played school and house, and those things were fun. But there was something about being unsupervised, especially when there was an element of danger, that really made me come alive. This was when I got to feel powerful and capable, where I learned to trust my judgment and my gut, maybe even push my limits and learn something new about myself and my world.

I can't begin to count the number of things that could've gone horribly wrong on any one of these excursions. Looking back at my ten-year-old self coasting down a steep hill on my bike in the middle of the road, no helmet on my head, no hands on the handlebars, flying around a sand-covered corner at the bottom and just barely staying upright merely makes me shake my head and wonder how I'm still alive. But when I think about my sons taking those kinds of risks, I start sweating profusely and hyperventilating.

Knowing I made it out in one piece makes it easy to see those experiences as valuable. But looking out into the unknown with my own children makes me recoil in horror and reach for the bubble wrap.

Not a whole lot has changed in the world since I was young, but the way we see it has. There wasn't a single day of my life that I wore a helmet as I rode my bike through our neighborhood, but my son is required to wear one to ride a tricycle in the playroom at school. The risks are the same, but our assessment and reaction to risk is much different now than it was twenty years ago.

This culture of fear traps us in protective bubbles, where risk is always something to avoid and safety is the only goal. And if I'm not careful, I'm going to let it rob my children of the valuable experiences my own loving and protective parents provided for me.

Risk is an inevitable and important part of life, and one that I want my children to approach with wisdom and confidence, not fear and avoidance. I want to let them explore their own limits, find out what they're capable of, and feel that sense of freedom and independence that comes with choosing to take a risk.

My job as their mother isn't to protect them by avoiding anything risky; in fact that will only leave them vulnerable and ill-equipped when it comes time for them to face life on their own. Instead it's my duty to let them learn, in an ever-expanding circle of freedom, when to jump and when to back away from the edge.

I have to trust them if I want them to learn to trust themselves and approach life with confidence. Worry and trust are mutually exclusive, and I find myself worrying all too often, even now when they're so young their almost never out of my sight.

So I've been working on trusting Jackson more - letting him decide what he thinks is safe and what he thinks he's capable of. If I don't start now, I'm afraid when he's ten I'll be saying, "Sure, honey. You can go for a bike ride...as long as you stay in the driveway."

Today, he got to play outside in front of the house (with no snow pants or thick mittens) while I got lunch ready and watched him through our windows. I'm sure to anyone watching I looked like a negligent mother, but what I was actually doing was making a conscious choice to empower him. (And as a disclaimer, not all kids his age would be safe left alone outside near a street, but he is extremely cautious and would likely stay on the sidewalk even it was on fire and the street was his only escape.)

He shoveled, threw snowballs at the car, checked out a slippery patch of ice, and climbed precariously up and down the massive snowbanks. At one point I watched as a near face plant turned into a balancing act and recovery, an opportunity to feel capable I'm sure I would have intruded on with a hand hold or a "be careful" had I been out there.

There was no need to coax him into the house or to try to motivate him to leave behind the shovel (which I just realized is probably still in the middle of the sidewalk). I didn't have to tell him "it's too cold" or "it's time for lunch." When he was cold and hungry, he came to the door and asked to come in.

This might not be burned into his memory as an important childhood moment of freedom, but it will be remembered in mine as an important mothering moment of trust.

Day 62: Daring to Dream

My dream has always been to be a wife and mother. College was merely preparation for a backup plan should Prince Charming not ride in on his white horse soon enough. But that backup plan was never very definitive. I figured I'd need a career of some sort, but never really felt passionate about anything.

Thankfully I was married and pregnant when I graduated with my second bachelor's degree, and thus spared the grueling task of muddling my way through indifference toward a career path.

Little did I know, however, that becoming a wife and mother as I had dreamed would also stir up passion for a traditional career. (I say traditional because mothering is a valid career choice!) Suddenly I cared so intensely about so many things, and I wanted to use my talents (and expensive, so far monetarily useless degrees) to make a difference in my community and the world.

I thought about all the things I could see myself doing: homeopath, naturopath, doula, home birth midwife, lactation consultant... But all those things would require more schooling and take me away from my children, and my responsibility and greatest passion still remained with them. These are things that the future may hold for me once my children are grown, but they weren't right for our family's present.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't fulfilling my potential. Not that mothering wasn't important enough or challenging enough - God knows it is - just that there was something else I was supposed to be doing, other parts of me that weren't being utilized and challenged.

I worked so hard to earn degrees, then even harder to educate myself and grow as a person and a mother that I felt like keeping all of it to myself was a waste, almost selfish. (And now my fingers hover over the delete button because that all seems much too self-important. But I'm learning not to shy away from my strengths and abilities and not to sell myself short. So yes. I do have something to offer the world! *blush*)

After some time on discussion formus with some amazing women (who I hope to meet in real life some day!), I finally landed on writing as a way to impact the lives of women in my community and those far beyond my physical reach. This I could accomplish without ever leaving my children's sides. And while it doesn't allow me to give the hands-on support I'd love to offer (to every women on the planet), it's an opportunity to exercise some creativity and fine tune a talent in a way that hopefully brings something positive to someone else.

I know I can name a few women whose writings were pivotal in my mothering journey thus far, and I'd be humbled and honored to be a source of knowledge, inspiration, or encouragement for another woman in the same way.

But freelance writing isn't exactly an easy road. In fact, odds are you'll put yourself out there over and over only to be rejected over and over, especially as an unpublished writer. So each time I'd start working toward a submission, I'd find an excuse to give up long before I sent anything off.

I never admitted out loud that writing was one of my dreams, and especially not that I wanted to do it for any reason other than than a paycheck, because saying that it meant something to me would make it that much more painful and embarrassing to be rejected.

For two years, fear of failure kept me from ever trying. It even kept me from figuring out what exactly that dream of writing looked like, because entertaining the idea only led to visions of the inevitable reply: not interested and negative self-talk: it'll never happen.

It was somehow more tolerable to reject myself than to take a risk at having my work rejected by someone else, even though that meant cheating myself out of a chance at acceptance and success.

Then I started this project.

This didn't start as a writing project, and even now it isn't a writing project. But it is a space for me to take an honest look at myself and to challenge myself to do and be better for my children. And thanks to lots of encouragement from those of you reading along on this journey, I realized that writing is part of that.

I don't ever want my boys to see themselves for less than what they are, to write themselves off or downplay their abilities. I want them to be confident, take pride in their talents and use them to accomplish their dreams, whatever they may be.

They're not going to learn that by watching me squander my own gifts. If I want that for them, I'd better show it to them.

So as I write this, my first published article is appearing in a magazine - a small, local, free magazine...but I'm published. It's certainly not the fulfillment of my dream, and it's not work that I'm passionate about, but it's a stepping stone down the path, and one that I couldn't have taken if I hadn't put myself out there.

And now the challenge is to make time - somehow, someway - and take risks to keep moving toward the goal of having something meaningful published in a more prominent place.

Rejection is going to be part of the process, but after putting my writing and so much of my "dirty laundry" out in the open for everyone, including me, to see here, I'm ready to face that fear. I know what I'm capable of, what my gifts are, and more importantly who I am, and none of that is defined by whether or not someone else accepts or rejects my work.

So if I've given any inspiration or encouragement to any of you reading, please know that you've given me much more in return!

Day 61: Learning to Fail

Failure is not an option in a black-and-white world. Even small failures are associated with judgment, shame, inferiority, inadequacy, and worthlessness. I've always liked to live in my comfort zone, and it used to be that the rare occasion when I was forced out, I became a caged animal. Only I was on the outside of the cage pacing back and forth to get back in.

I tried the things I knew I'd succeed at, and avoided everything else at all costs. I almost never put myself out there if failure was a possibility, so after calculating my odds, I usually decided to stay where it was safe rather than jump.

As you can imagine, looking back in my life revels a sea of missed opportunities and things I never tried. It's a little sad to think about all the fun I could've had and abilities I could've developed if I had just taken a small step outside myself. But what's even more disappointing is realizing that passing on those things and the experiences they provided stunted my growth.

Limiting myself to comfortable experiences kept me from maturing into a well-rounded adult, and it's one of the reasons that I'm now learning so many life skills along side my two year old, sometimes at a slower rate than he is.

The beautiful thing about motherhood, is that I don't get the choice to stay comfortable. Failure is a daily occurrence, and there's no backing out or shying away from this job. It's in your face all day every day.

I've spent that past two and a half uncomfortable years working on basic things I could and probably "should" have figured out before I hit college. And now that I'm emerging from the bubble I created out of fear and insecurity, I'm realizing how exhilarating it is to take a chance, and how the process and experience trump the arbitrary success or failure at the end.

Repeatedly falling on my face and picking myself back up as a mother has opened my eyes to resilience and perseverance I never knew I had. It has taught me that who I am, how I see myself, and whether or not I'm okay does not ride on success or failure. And it shows my children what took me so long to learn; that failure is a necessary, useful and beautiful part of life.

Learning to accept and even welcome failure brings me one step closer to embracing freedom and trading in control for trust. And that is no small success.

Day 60: Squishy in the Middle

There was a time in my life, not so long ago, when my abs were tight, you could bounce a quarter off my butt, and nothing jiggled when I walked. There was a time...

But two kids (and no time for the work outs I love) later, things are a little, uh, squishier than they used to be. Now my abs, if I still get to call them that, are soft, my butt a little curvier, and let's just say I'm no stranger to jiggling parts.

My formerly hard exterior used to be matched by an equally hard interior. A list of words never used to describe me: approachable, soft, sensitive, humble, gentle, open, tolerant... Not that I didn't have any of these qualities within me, they just never got out to see the light of day.

I was more invested in protecting myself and keeping a safe distance from any sign of weakness or vulnerability than I was in cultivating relationships or nurturing the people around me. I mistakenly built this wall of protection with no doors or windows, which left me safe from intruders, but unable to enjoy the company of invited guests and unable to let even a glimpse of certain parts of me out.

The moment Jackson's wet, wriggly body landed on my chest for the first time, all that changed.

Suddenly there was someone who needed me to be all those things I had locked away, and that trumped my need for self-protection. I found out that hard interior was incompatible with mothering. Little did I know, it had been incompatible with marriage all along, but my baby was a little less patient than my husband!

All the things I wanted to give Jackson required me to dismantle that wall. And fortunately for me, falling in love with him made the process much easier as he painlessly melted much of it away.

And today, as I was approached by someone in the mall for the umpteenth time with questions about my children, my baby carrier, and any number of other things, I stopped to reflect on how nice it feels to have a squishy middle - one that's obvious enough for a stranger to see.

The list of words never used to describe me would now be the ones to pop into some minds. And if they're not the first to come up, at least they make the cut for most people. No longer is that a list of things I fear or conceal. In fact, that same list can now be renamed qualities I'm proud to reveal and develop.

I'll always be intense; I'll always be strong and passionate. But as my children are teaching me to balance those qualities with soft, open and gentle, I and the people I love, even those I barely know, can experience them in a much more positive way.

I'm still learning to accept and love my new, softer body for what it has created; how it has grown, birthed and fed two children for two years and counting. But I don't have to work hard to appreciate the other squishy middle my children are giving me.

Day 58: You Make Me Feel

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

A conversation on my Facebook wall today prompted me to think about this concept and how it relates to my children, namely what I model and teach them.

"How did that make you feel?"

"Did that make you feel angry?"

"That made me feel sad."

These are phrases I'm trying oh so hard to discard from my parenting repertoire. You may be asking yourself why. Emotional intelligence is so important and it begins with giving a child an emotional vocabulary and helping him connect with and understand what he's feeling. So these would be good phrases to use, right? Not quite.

Sad, angry and feel are great words, but make...not so much.

What I'm teaching Jackson each time I say this to him is that someone else's actions, feelings or words control his feelings. I'm unintentionally reinforcing the widely accepted idea (in our culture anyway) that someone else has the ability to decide whether we're okay or not. And in the process, I'm letting conditionality seep in to his unconditional world.

Instead of placing blame on a person or circumstance, I want to teach him to take ownership over his feelings and responsibility for what he does with them.

If he feels angry because a child took a toy from him, I don't want him to think that boy made me feel angry. I want him to think that boy took a toy from me and I feel angry about that. It may seem like an insignificant distinction, but I believe it's critical.

Placing responsibility and blame on the boy, the toy stealing or the feeling makes him a victim - a victim who has willingly surrendered his power to his assailant.

Seeing the experience as nothing more than something that happened and the feeling as something he has ownership over empowers him to do something about it. Instead of giving his power to his assailant, he retains that power and can direct it toward getting his toy back or accepting that the toy is gone and moving on.

I'd do well to remember this when he's "making" me feel frustrated or angry too! Because placing blame on someone else for my feelings disconnects me from the true source of that feeling. How can I see that my anger is arising out of a deeper fear or control issue if I put ownership for those feelings on him?

Feelings are God-given guideposts that shouldn't be ignored. They are a way to find healthy direction through life, and when we write them off as someone else's responsibility instead of paying them the attention they deserve, we take that away from ourselves.

So I'm in the process of replacing those phrases with others framed in a more accurate way:

"How do you feel about that?"

"I felt sad when that happened."

"Did you feel angry when that happened?"

And I'm purposefully connecting to the true source of my feelings, not the trigger. I hope doing so will keep my children from being conditioned by our culture's view of feelings.

Day 51: The Illusion Part III

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

When I get a glimpse of life as it is instead of life as The Illusion leads me to believe it is, here's what I see: Control is not up for grabs, and trying to orchestrate the people and circumstances in my life to my liking doesn't give me power, it robs me of power. And more importantly, it robs me of peace and joy. 

I can't control the world around me or even how I feel about it, but I do control what I do with those feelings. And each time I choose resistance over acceptance, negativity over positivity, coercion over communication, domination over respect, I choose to give away that small piece of power I do have to change my world by changing how I view it and respond to it.

When I start to take an honest look at these things, a small, devilish version of me pops up on my shoulder and whispers, "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain." Because the thought of relinquishing control, imaginary as it may be, scares me. Acknowledging that fear and insecurity, not strength and confidence, are what make me so volatile leaves me feeling too vulnerable. And so I run from reality, back to the safe arms of The Illusion where I feel comfortable. Unsatisfied, conflicted, angry, but comfortable.

It's all I've known, and if I don't make a change, it's all I will know and all my children will know of me. And that is a thought I simply can't bear. That realization brings the angelic me to the other shoulder pleading, "Fling the curtain wide open."

So as I continue on with this project, that is exactly what I hope to do. Nothing about this journey so far has been comfortable. Putting my words on a page in itself makes me feel exposed and vulnerable, and when the words are personal that intensifies. But, like childbirth, the discomfort is temporary and the reward worth every pain and push.

So I will learn to accept powerlessness and welcome vulnerability, because these are the things that will bring me strength enough to break free of The Illusion.

2 Corinthians 12:9 "Each time he said, "My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness." So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me."

Day 50: The Illusion Part II

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.
  
Fear and insecurity. Nobody likes to feel them, and certainly nobody likes to admit to them. They fuel the need for control, they turn powerlessness into rage, and they cloak themselves in clever disguises, like perfectionism or arrogance. In fact, they're so good at this masquerade that most people who carry a heavy load of fear and insecurity don't even know it, at least not consciously.

It took me years to figure out that my need for control was born out of fear - then years more to say it out loud. But if the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, I'm on my way, because boy do I have a problem!

Part of The Illusion is the idea that a person in control is a person with power. But, as I'm learning with most of life, things aren't always as they seem. Strength and power don't accompany control, they are tied to trust and acceptance.

A person living in fear and insecurity desperately grasps at any control within reach, real or imagined. Without external control this person is left face to face with her fear; fear of powerlessness, fear of the unknown, fear of being unable to cope with feelings or circumstances she considers negative. 

A person grounded in trust, on the other hand, doesn't need to exert power over anything external because her security isn't dependent on the world around her. She trusts that whatever she experiences, wherever her relationships lead, whatever she feels, she will come out on the other side not only in tact, but maybe even improved.

If I'm able to experience that trust in the big things, I know I'm capable of learning to embrace it in the small things. And, although I hadn't planned on a part III, it looks as though we're headed there as I embrace the fact that I can't control that my baby is teething and my toddler needs help with a puzzle.