Letter to a stressed out Mom at Christmas

I see you there. Looking gorgeous. Dressed just right. Making small talk at the party.
I see the list floating list over your head too. Wrap  presents, bake cookies, pick up gifts for teachers, wine for neighbours and Doctors. Get nails done. Dress kids up - have photos taken, send cards.
Get tree. Decorate tree. Try not to be an obsessive cow about how and where
ornaments are placed upon it. Uphold at least three to five annual Christmas traditions,
whatever they may be .....annual girls Christmas party ? Make gingerbread house ?
Bake and decorate five different kinds of cookies ? Take kids to see Santa ?
Go to Santa Claus parade ?
Fit in dance recital school concert and attend at least five different festive functions which fall on three nights, all overlapping - find a way to figure it out - just get there - to all of them.
Decline, none of them . Just check it off of the list.
I see you dreading the road trip home to the in laws, I see you imagining you didn't have to attend that work party. I know you would rather be at home in yoga pants watching Netflix.
I see you do all of this in the name of the season and  I also see you completely unable to step aside from the madness, the expectations and the lists, to take some much needed time for yourself.
I know you think it's not OK to do this. Once upon a time, I did too.
I know you think you have to keep enduring all the chaos simply because you can.
I also know that just because you can, doesn't mean you should.
I see all of this because once upon a time - I was just like you.
Then I got divorced.

I learned the hard way and am learning still that traditions can be both our comfort and anchor but the expectations that go with them, when unmet or perhaps unmatched with equal passion, can be down right painful. They can bond us in joyful memories for years to come, or hurt us in quiet resentment and dread as we smile and force our way through it.

I am not really sure what the middle ground is since I only know and observe the pendulum as it swings between one extreme and the next...but I cannot turn away from the disconnect...from the people who are truly struggling and trying so hard to uphold the impossible, and from those who have no choice but to humbly embrace their quiet lives.

I understand in the most bittersweet way, what a stressed out mother would not give for the silence I have learned to sit with, if only for a day.
I also understand what a lonely single mother counting the sleeps until her children return to her, wouldn't give for a cut of your chaos, just to have her children close and her world a little less divided. Even if she chose this.

The truth is, none of us ever fully understands another individual until we have walked in their shoes and allowed ourselves to entertain the idea that not everything is as it seems.
Consider the fact that we all struggle and search and at times feel like frauds, one way or another,  as we try to muddle our way through this game of being grown ups.
Consider that the only measure of true happiness, of the lasting kind, comes from a peace within. Know that the only judge of what that is, is you. The real you. The one the world doesn't get to see enough of. The one you try so hard to hide from the world around you, lest you fail to measure up.

Dear stressed out Mom at Christmas time, wake up, look in the mirror, love yourself enough to take care of your own needs, your own soul, your own inner voice. Know that in doing so, your children and spouse and anyone else who loves you, will get the absolute best of you, and you in turn can bask in the glow of being the most authentic version of yourself. 

Love is Christmas

Last Christmas Eve, was my first without my daughters.

I planned for it. I ran errands until late afternoon. I saved all of the wrapping for that evening. I made arrangements to meet my friend at Church for the late service in our hometown.

It was a good plan and I enjoyed the peacefulness and purpose of the night before me.

Then the song came on, "Love is Christmas" by Sarah Bareilles

Something about it spoke to a quiet place in my heart.

I don't care if the carpet's stained  //there's food upon the table//I don't care if it's gonna rain our little room is warm and stable

I am grateful for the memories of Christmas past. 

For myself and my daughters. For our families.

Thankful we sat at the table with four generations. 

Thankful I learned what it is to anticipate drama or conflict over silly things due to the dynamic in families forced together by marriage. 

Thankful to have known the preparations, expectations and challenges that go along with all of this. 

why so scared that you'll mess it up when perfection keeps you haunted, 

all we need is your best my love that's all anyone ever wanted. 

Thankful too; that as our family grew smaller and then divided, we remained thankful and continued to see the blessings as opposed to mourning the family gatherings that were no more.

We still take comfort in our traditions, lights and decorations. Baking together, Christmas crafts and choosing gifts for those we love, just on a much smaller scale. 

I hope that my girls know as I do, that although these things are a part of how we celebrate Christmas, the absence of any of them in no way takes away from the joy that is in Christmas.

The joy that is present simply by embracing one another and being thankful just for that. 

Love is not a toy and no paper will conceal it//love is simply joy that I'm home.

Its not that I didn't feel a darkness briefly - the one that suggests somehow that Christmas could not be celebrated in the absence of the familiar chaos of extended family and multiple dinners, chairs at the table and endless commitments. 

I can still remember the pain in my heart that first Christmas Day, two years ago.

The tears, and loneliness that overcame me as I dropped my children off at their Daddy's.

Arriving home to an empty house and a full glass of wine. 

I steamed the carpets with otherworldly determination, 

I don't care if the carpet's stained  //there's food upon the table 

I paused and aimed the ipad at the ceiling to hide the tears on my face as my girls excitedly reported over facetime, the gifts that Santa had left at Daddy's house too.

Love is not a toy and no paper will conceal it

Finally I worked the courage up to go to my parents house for our humble dinner of three.

My father is unwell. My brother is estranged from them. There was a heaviness in the air but it felt ok. We were, afterall, together. 

I was relieved that it went well and felt a little ashamed of myself that I had secretly wished to stay home with another glass of wine and more carpets to clean.

why so scared that you'll mess it up when perfection keeps you haunted

I reminded myself that my children were safe and loved and healthy with their Dad.

This was new, and unfamiliar but still I felt our blessings that day were many and were found in being with one another, although in a newly fragmented way.

As I left my parents home that Christmas night, the home where I grew up, I remember my Mother moving briefly into a place, where the darkness of regret and loss can cause you to speak in a way that doesn't serve the moment for the better. 

Anger about estranged relationships, bewilderment and lack of acceptance that I could be there with her, without her grandchildren. On Christmas.

"I don't know what kind of Mother can go home and sleep on Christmas night when her babies aren't with her"...she said, or something like that. 

I think I may have left my own body for a moment as I hugged and kissed and thanked her and chose not to allow my own sadness and hurt to make the moment worse.

why so scared that you'll mess it up when perfection keeps you haunted,

I did taste the darkness that day and I would be lying if I said I hadn't since.

I am pleased to report that although I tasted it, I did not feed upon it.

I observed it and I allowed it to pass. 

all we need is your best my love that's all anyone ever wanted. 

In that moment, I did my best. 

love is simply joy that I am home

The following year, last year, I was able to face the holiday at peace within myself. 

Thankful for the choice I had. For the choice I made. For the blessings that are many. For every quiet moment with friends, my daughters and alone. 

love is who we are and no season can contain it/love would never fall for that/

let love lead us/love is Christmas.

The first time

I will never forget the first time we put her in the saddle for a lesson.

She sat up straight. Her expression was so attentive and serious, Like in so many riding photos I have taken since.

She held the reins and pushed her little boots into the stirrups. Slowly the pony led her around the arena.

Next, her coach asked her to change directions. She took the reins and did as she was instructed, elbows moving,  hands tightening, head turning....slowly the pony responded.

NO WORDS.

Leg. Reins. Intention. Eyes in the direction she wished to go.

The light went on.

I will never forget the moment.

What I observed in her was a sense of recognition and relief. She sat up straighter. She had control over something in her life.....and not by force or by rage or entitlement.

She had control because she was in control of herself. She knew her intention. She knew the direction she wished to go. She trusted herself. The rest (including the pony) fell into place.

I am sure she will not remember what that first time felt like. The time when her intentions and confidence allowed her to effect direct change and control over her circumstances in one moment in time.

But I will. And I see it each time she confidently handles a majestic and strong willed horse ten times her size.

It is my hope that as she moves through life, this lesson is locked somewhere deep inside of her.Disguised perhaps, as an inner sense of knowing. It will serve her well. It will not forsake her.

Intention. Confidence. Direction and patience.
The rest will fall into place.

The hardest part

The other day, sitting at the table in a rare but peaceful moment, I asked Miss P, how her garbage can was. That's code in our house, for,  "what kind of emotional junk is building up inside of you, burdening your heart and soul. "

Not too bad, came the reply. Always a relief, and then a question or two more to ensure that this is in fact the case.

"what is the hardest part?" I asked. {about Mommy and Daddy splitting up}

A long pause, and then an honest answer...

"The hardest part, is not knowing whats going on with you when I am not with you." came her reply. 

Then a little more, "I worry about you when you are away from me, I worry if you are ok, if you are safe, I want to know how you are....{and then quickly to balance the comment} and I worry the same about Daddy"

"I am sorry", I replied....because, this isnt the kind of thing a young girl should worry too much about, and yet I suggest,  with Mommy as a flight attendant and Daddy an exec who travels alot, she might still have these worries if we were together. 

Not the same, Mommy. Came the look across the table. 

The burden of being alone in loving the other parent, weighing on those eyes, that heart. 

"but......", I continued, "Mommy always makes sure to say good morning and goodnight, to let you know her schedule, to tell you when its changed and to be there for lessons even when its a Daddy day."

"I know", came her reply. "but still....",,,,,,"that's the hardest part".

Fair enough.

I suppose I can't really know what that feeling is as I have not walked or lived in her shoes. In the shoes of an eleven year old girl who loves both her Mother and Father and worries about them when she is away from them. When they are away from her.

Yet, I know well, as a divorced  Mother of two beloved daughters, what it is to love them and let them go, to be ok with not knowing everything. Not being there for everything. To celebrate with them, joys I hold no part in. To support them in relationships that no longer serve me, but are very much a part of their lives, and to accept from them, the new realtionships they make apart from me. 

I could feel it go down, bittersweet I could taste in my mouth...

Silver lining the cloud, oh and I, I wish that I could work it out.

It takes a huge amount of grace to do all of those things. To detach from ego. To embrace the dysfuctions and awkwardness, to heal from the brokenheartedness. 

I have worked very hard at this,  I feel my daughters have too.

So resilient are they.....yet they look to their parents to show them the way.

They need at least one parent to do that. 

The truth is, children know when things are awkward and unhealthy, and they secretly hope that the adults in their lives can blaze the trail gracefully through it all, so that they can too.

***click on the Link below  to hear "The hardest part {acoustic}  -by  Coldplay"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zuozgD_esms

....and the hardest part was letting go, not taking part.
you really broke my heart.

A little more about light

Sometimes the universe is perfectly in sync with our hearts, our homes and our circumstances,

In truth, I believe the universe is always in sync with these elements,  its just that we can't always see this when we are in the midst of a storm.

The other night, I was reading from a children's encyclopedia to my youngest daughter.
We were reading about the universe, space, the atmosphere, sound, colour, speed and light.

The following passages struck me on a personal level.

"Light always travels in straight lines. Light can spread out, but it cannot bend around things"

"Shadows are made when light hits things it cannot shine through. This is blocked and so, a patch of darkness is made".

These are scientifically indisputable facts.

As I read, I couldn't help but draw a contrast to the truth of this in very real human interactions with ourselves and others as we struggle through relationships and other life challenges.

Sometimes its life circumstances, difficult relationships, personal struggles or a combination of all three. These things create blocks in our lives, preventing the light to pass through.

Rather than be afraid of these blocks, be grateful for the shadows they cast and the lessons to be learned within them.

So many of us are raised to literally flee from the shadows towards the light. This is a useful survival instinct. We all seek the light, enlightenment, a lightness of being. Of course we do.
Yet so many of us fail to acknowledge that in order to contrast our very real need for the light, we must also dwell in the shadows.Spend time there. Embrace our own darkness, learn our lessons and find our way back.