Sometimes I feel like I was born without armor. And a tether.
Like I was born without whatever it is that is needed to keep myself in and the bad stuff out. That thing that allows us to feel good about ourselves. That part that can hear criticisms and can take them in and then shut them out. Allowing us to weather the storms without them tearing us down from the outside in.
I wish what other people said didn’t bother me. I wish I could hear words spread carelessly, not even about me always, and realize that they are about an idea of me rather than me. That they are about a philosophy rather than a real, life, three dimensional, perfectly complicated human being trying to maneuver through a world that sometimes feels so foreign.
I wish callous words didn’t crush.
I wish judgment didn’t debilitate.
And yet the ironic thing is that I’m my biggest judge and my biggest critic.
I was lying in bed tonight trying to fall asleep. And I felt like I was floating away in every direction. I felt like there was nothing to ground me. To make me feel solid. To make me feel whole.
That’s the hard part of this mothering gig for me. Yea there are parts that require patience. But those are all minor in comparison to the joys. The real struggle I have is with the aloneness. With the fact that I am pretty much my only judge. That others can tell me the big things — feed the kids, don’t hit, don’t leave them alone in parking lots with strangers — but only I can decide everything else.
And that everything is big – meal composition, free time activities, screen time, bed time, discipline, word choice, school choice…
There’s no one to tell me what to do. There’s no one to tell me if what I am doing is right or if it’s wrong.
So I sit here assuming it’s wrong. All wrong.
Some day I would like to adopt a little voice. The little voice would tell me what I am doing right and what I am doing wrong. The voice would build me up when I feel torn down. It would correct me if I veer off track. It would remind me of who I am and what I value. Even when others think that who I am and what I value isn’t so great.
But there’s no Humane Society for little voices. Those of us who have lost ours simply need to find it. Or regrow it. Or welcome it home.
Life isn’t easy, and it wasn’t intended to be easy. But when I lay down in my bed at night with the lights off and the light sound of cars outside my window, I wish I felt less like I was floundering, less like I needed to hang onto the sides of the bed to keep myself grounded. Less lost.