She’s growing and maturing. My selfish girl who is usually, always only thinking of her 13 year old self is thinking of us all. She knows having the elves brings joy to our entire family. She understand that I’m really trying and I want this experience for them, even if it is coming late. She knows her momma is working extra hard to develop a legacy that will help children for generations. She knows I’m burning the candle at both ends. She knows that I have more on my plate than I can handle. She knows that some things will go undone as a result.
Usually the things that go undone are laundry and home cooked meals, but right now the elves seem to be the thing I couldn’t maintain. Somehow, she understands the significance of the elves to our family; even if she doesn’t quite understand what it means to me to have her help me in this way.
As moms, we sometimes beat ourselves up for being distracted and disconnected. We question our impact and influence as mothers when our children are rude, selfish or inconsiderate. We beat ourselves up for not being enough for our children… for not doing enough or giving them enough. This whole situation reminded me that I am enough at all times— even when I am distracted, disconnected and forgetful.
Today, I am so aware of people who are in a state of missing. I’m thinking of people who are dealing with disappointment, loss and grief.
To be clear, there are many types of loss and grief with varying degrees, swinging like a wrecking ball on a pendulum.
And death isn’t the only pathway to grief. Grief can come from an anticipated loss. When you know that while you still presently have something, you will lose it imminently.
Consider folks who are in the process of divorce, a friendship that is on the rocks, abortion, layoffs, illness that causes loss of body function or lifestyle. Someone just found out their baby no longer has a heartbeat. Someone else has a home in foreclosure or found out their parent has 4 weeks to live. In the last month, I have heard of at least four different missing women.
Think of social media as a scrap book or family photo album. Picture your mother or grandmothers photo album on the coffee table. I don’t know about you, but I have seen those photos a hundred times and I never tire of them. They make me feel good. In every picture, the subjects can be found living, laughing and loving. In every picture I feel positive energy.
I haven’t seen a photo of a divorce decree, a police report from a domestic dispute, a custody order or a child’s failing report card in there. I’m sure the people in the photos experienced some of those things. YET… I have never had any expectation to find that information or evidence of that information in the photo album. I look at that book to see the very best of the people in it; not the worst. So, why do we look at social media any different?
Stop crucifying folks for only showing you the best of their life. That behavior only exposes the worst in you.
I am so happy to be writing today. Describing the last almost three months as difficult would be a major understatement . I have wanted to write— to tell you what my family and I have been facing. I have wanted to write about the truth of walking my child through a traumatic experience. I have wanted to share the intimate details of a helpless mother… the heartache of watching the best parts of you become the darkest part of you.
But this is my safe space… my joy.
This is a blog read by many people and yet it still feels so intimate to me. I didn’t want to tarnish it by discussing an experience I haven’t healed from. I didn’t want to transfer these negative emotions. I’ve been so angry and sad and angry and enraged.
Parenting is hard. I’ve said it in the past. I’m saying it now. And I’m pretty confident I’ll say it many times in the future. Parenting. Is. Hard. Everyone talks about baby showers, beautiful birth stories and funny toddler tales, but no one is discussing, flatly, the difficulty associated with raising children. Why can’t we stop using our children as a measurement of how much better we are than other mothers? Why don’t we all just admit we don’t know what the hell we’re doing and meet at Chili’s for $5 margaritas to discuss strategies and support each other???
Do I ground him for this? How many fruit snacks is too many? Should she be friends with that girl? Why won’t he stop lying? At what age should they date? How many wipes should I use before I give him a bath? How much fast food is too much fast food? Why am I more uncomfortable watching love scenes than violence with them? Is cookie dough really bad for them?
At the present moment I am feeling a little anxious about choices we are making for our children and choices they are making for themselves. This isn’t a positive or negative admission. It’s just me standing in my truth.
Growing up Black is a be seen and not heard kind of existence. In my experience, to find a Black child with the authority to fully BE, in the presence of adults is the exception; not the rule. Control, rules, excellence and respectability are major components of the Black child rearing experience. Black children need to grow up with their shit together. This didn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s a direct result of slavery, Jim Crow, the Civil Rights Era and a post racial America *side eye*. The privilege of speaking about anything at anytime was snatched from us and whipped out of us on slave ships, auction blocks, in the fields and in the big house.
Saying the “wrong” thing or being at the “wrong” place at that time could get an adult or even a child, literally killed— It still can. We have too many examples. Being seen and not heard is not a simplified way to parent; it’s a safety mechanism. Part of the Black experience is simply trying to keep your children alive in a way that it isn’t true for other races. The same is true of how we are steered towards career choices. Careers that are perceived as frivolous, i.e. dancer, artist or musician are not routinely supported.
This isn’t the land of make believe and you don’t have the ability to see through walls or leap over buildings in a single bound no matter what your children, spouse, or other people in your life think. I know. I know. The idea of being able to do anything at any time sounds fascinating and productive. Other people believing you can do anything, at any time, regardless of circumstances makes you feel important and needed. Look at how proud they are of me doing everything under the sun. Look at your chest all puffed up with the “S” stamp. You can’t get enough of the accolades. You feel amped. You feel invincible. Thing is…. You’re not.
You are not invincible.
You cannot do anything at any time regardless of circumstance. You know who can? God. You, my friend, are not God. I can tell you who you will be if you keep this charade up though. Resentful. Yep. Resentful. And who wants to wear resentment as a badge of honor?
I have worked in corporate America. I have worked in inner city classrooms of Chicago. Being a SAHM is still without question the hardest work I have ever done. This is in part because being a parent is more difficult than anyone lets on. My understanding of parenthood was incomplete… at times I think it still is. Being a stay at home mom is a 24/7 endeavor. From the time I wake up until I close my eyes, I am meeting the needs of someone who is not me.
Please don’t consider this a declaration of my unhappiness or complaint. On the contrary, being a stay at home mom is a gift. But it requires compartmentalization and understanding. There have been many days in this social political climate that I was grateful I didn’t have to go to work. Hell, sometimes I don’t even go to the grocery store because I don’t want to see the world. So, I know I would dread going to the office.
This isn’t complaining. This is me, sharing pertinent information. Also… listen carefully, I am not ignoring or minimizing the plight of working mothers. Most of them do what I do while working outside the home full time. For me, what I noticed and miss most was the drive to and from work. You know? Those small periods of time when I was alone to make uninterrupted phone calls or listen to music that is inappropriate for children who can talk. #JudgeYourOwnSelf
I was pretty rough and tumble as a child. I played with my brother and his friends all the time and wore my tomboy title like a badge of honor. I even earned a few bumps and bruises along the way. So, the scab didn’t concern me at all. I'm not a free range parent, but I'm also miles away from helicopter parenting. I mostly let children being children. They run, they play, they fall. The end.
My boy was up in his Nana's lap when she noticed the atrocity on his knee."What happened to my baby’s knee!?!” If your children have a Nana like my children; you know she acted like the boy had staples in his knee. She was appalled. So, I quickly told her what happened according to his father who was his caretaker at the time in question *snicker. At the end of my explanation, I gratuitously added, “And he didn’t even cry.” *insert my proud face
I am fighting with all my might to dodge the grumpy old man in me, but he’s a feisty son of a gun. I tried to use one of my strategies to avoid negative engagement. I cooked dinner for these people. I retired to my room. I didn’t even eat. Guess what my wonderful, loving husband did? He devoured his food at lightening speed and followed me upstairs. I am intently working. I would like to finish writing. Perhaps then I could enjoy a bath and maybe an adult beverage. He entered the room, walked over to the television and turned it on. Then, he started talking to me.
In our current society we are becoming so removed from the people around us. Authentic relationships are suffering because we prefer texts over a five minute conversation to say “I miss you and I love”. Our children are being raised by YouTube and the Disney channel. Some of that is because we need help, but for whatever reason don’t ask for it. Thank God for friends who will come get my children or who bring theirs to me. Your circle of influence extends to your children.
I thought I had somehow been cheated. I’m supposed to be in charge of everybody for the purpose of making life perfect. My thinking was unreasonable, unattainable and unfair to everyone, especially me. If you say you want to be happy, but can’t seem get happy and stay in that space; it’s probably because you are pursuing something other than happiness. For me, it was the ideals of marriage and motherhood; not the reality. I, with all my intellectual prowess, managed to confuse perfection with happiness. Too many make the same mistake.
It's unfortunate, but some folks love to downplay the role of mothers. …Maybe that’s not fair. Some folks do not understand the intricacies of motherhood. How it stretches from the time we know our babies exist in our bellies until we leave this earth. The trips to the grocery store, the homework we don’t understand, emails to teachers, doctors visits, meltdowns and the thinking about how to make it all fit together so that joy can abound. Mothers, and those who truly love them, know I could go on and on. So, don’t allow your work as a mother to be minimized and stop overcompensating to get recognized.
So, check it: I’ll be the last person to ever tell you not to aim high. I self-published ten novels in less than three years. I’ve dedicated blog posts on perfecting the side hustle. Productivity is a specialty of mine.
But if you’re running out of steam and inspiration from burning the candle at both ends, what are you producing?
I am human. I am imperfect. I make mistakes. I sometimes need help. The authenticity necessary to acknowledge these truths is my only super power.
-Me
We’re all fascinated by superheroes. I mean… heroes unto themselves are pretty darn special. They go above and beyond what the world would consider reasonable. They run into burning buildings, fight in wars, keep our cities safe and engage in a plethora of other good deeds. In other words, heroes are dope. They make you want to be a better person for the good of those you like and love. And they do exist. Like— in real life.
Superheroes though? Yeah… no. They come from other planets. They get bitten by spiders and shoot webs from a part of their bodies where most people just have carpal tunnel. Superheroes turn green, get 100 times larger and burst out of their clothes when they get mad, but still wake up fully clothed after they’ve calmed down. Funny, that never happens to me. Wanna know why? Because I’m not a superhero. And neither are you… neither are you.
This isn’t the land of make believe and you don’t have the ability to see through walls or leap over buildings in a single bound no matter what your children, spouse, or other people in your life think. I know. I know. The idea of being able to do anything at any time sounds fascinating and productive. Other people believing you can do anything at any time regardless of circumstances makes you feel important and needed. Look at how proud they are of me doing everything under the sun. Look at your chest all puffed up with the “S” stamp. You can’t get enough of the accolades. You feel amped. You feel invincible. Thing is…. You’re not. You are not invincible.
You cannot do anything at any time regardless of circumstance. You know who can? God. You, my friend, are not God. I can tell you who you will be if you keep this charade up though. Resentful. Yep. Resentful. And who wants to wear resentment as a badge of honor? There was a time when I tried to be Superwoman. I ate it up. I bathed in it. I was a superhero to my husband and my children. When he would say, “You are my Superwoman.” I would just melt. I heard him saying… I value you. You are magnificent. What I internalized was: I can’t stop. I have to do everything. And I have to feel happy while doing everything. If not; I was failing as a wife and mother. What a crock of shit.
When my husband donned me Superwoman and I grinned and loved it; he was in effect absolving himself of his full duty as my husband and as the father of our children. He was all…. “Look at you doing every-damn-thing and being so great at it. Go ‘head Superwoman.” And at first I was all… “All shucks, Babe. I got it. What else can I do?” And then it got old. Real old. He’s still getting his haircut EVERY week and missing zero social outings? Meanwhile, I was considering shaving my head or growing locs— cuz who has time for hair? Eff this! I started to resent him, his haircuts, his trips to the bathroom alone… EVERYTHING. I was angry at him all the time for doing what I had given him permission to do.
Per usual, you came here for the truth and I’m serving it hot. Open your heart to receive this gift of enlightenment and use it to reflect on the roles you play in your home. You are your own undoing. Miserable as hell. Smiling through it all. Understand that your projection of ideals associated with what you believe motherhood and marriage should be is harming your mental and emotional health. It’s also wreaking havoc in your marriage and you don’t even know why. Why does the sound of him breathing annoy me? What’s taking him so long to get home from work? Why doesn’t he help me? Well… the helping part might be associated with your control issues and the fact that you believe only you can do things right, but I don’t have time to talk to you about that today. Let that sink in though.
So, what to do?? First, talk to yourself. You’re not perfect. Stop pursuing perfection. Chase progress. And listen… I don’t give a damn how easy your mother made it look— she was working harder than a one armed paper hanger. I wish my mother had told me just how hard she was working. I would have liked to appreciate her more as a child. Tell your children when their expectations are unreasonable and HOLD THE LINE. Finally, proclaim it like Karen White did. I’m Not Your Superwoman. Tell him. Your husband needs to here you say, “I’m only human.” Teach your children that momma is good, but she ain’t God. You need rest. You need help. You need affirmation. You need your hair done. And you need to take an unaccompanied dump every now and again. I’m just sayin. Listen… I love y’all. Tell the truth. Reject the Superwoman narrative. Be transparent… especially to the ones who love you best. And above all else #ChooseYou every chance you get.
I’m not here because I’m an expert. I’m here because I have experiences. -Stephanie
