It has been all about moms lately, which frankly freaks me. I love moms, I read mommy blogs, I think moms rock. And yet, way down there, deep inside, I feel like a fraud. Some days I am positively convinced I’m faking it.
Yesterday was one of those days. I got a scathing response to my personal branding post about looking hot. It came as a surprise because it was in email form and seemed sadly misguided. Worse was the implicit message that I am a cruel, unfeeling bitch. The line that hurt worst and my response to it follows:
He: If you want to see people who truly live the ideals you claim to espouse in that section of your 05-16-2008 posting (in my words “Smiling in the face of true adversity” or “Fake it until you can make it”), I invite you to follow me as I volunteer at the chemotherapy infusion center here in Boulder ANY Friday morning from 8 am to noon.
Me: I appreciate the offer to follow you around the chemo center. I know the ugly face of cancer, suffering and dying and I know what kind of huge heart it takes to nurse someone through it. My heart aches for those suffering in the world. My heart also knows joy at the victories associated with remission and recovery from cancer…even eventual joy at knowing the person that died is no longer suffering.
***
This week I finished reading What I Know Now, a gorgeous book (it’s more than a book, really…it’s more of a stage for the women that share their stories) that showcases letters from women later in their lives to themselves as young women. Women like Queen Noor and Vanna White share wisdom with their younger selves. I found myself jotting notes and nodding in appreciation at the way these women have figured out how to mother themselves, whether or not they had a mom around to help.
As I read, I felt surrounded by kindred spirits. I felt acutely aware of the fact that I was in good company. That trusting my gut and working from there was the only way to engage this world.
Marilyn Carlson Nelson (CEO of Carlson Companies) wraps up her letter to herself saying, “So you see, Marilyn, in the end you weren’t really dreaming about titles or positions or even about being a wife or a mother. Rather, you were dreaming about living the life that would complete you– one of purpose and passion and always with the intention to make a difference.”
That paragraph resonated deeply with me…deep enough to inspire me to write my own letter to my younger self (at age eleven when she died). I didn’t intend to share it with such a wide audience but think it may help someone out there who has struggled or is struggling with some of these life elements.
Gwendolyn,
The nightmares will end soon enough. You will make it through and nobody else will die for a while. The recurring nightmare where ninjas come and silently kill everyone in your family…it will end in a few years and nobody else will die. You will stop waking up unable to speak.
Right now you’re pretty scared. You think things will fall apart now that mom isn’t around to keep them together. You think you can hold them together but you’re young…do the things that you love now. Try to enjoy planting sunflowers with Mr. Allen’s sixth grade class. Be brave, but be gentle.
That’s what’s going to get you through, baby: gentleness. Court dates, meeting your father for the first time, watching your half siblings leave home, losing your step-father’s side of the family, your grandparents becoming your caretakers. All of these things you’re dealing with right now, you’re brave about. I’m proud of you. You’re going to get through with flying colors. You grow up all at once, but you can slow down, too.
You’ll go on to graduate at the top of your class, you’ll attend an amazing university and meet the first man in your life that will love you beyond what you thought possible. He’ll tell you (rightly) your mom is a “cross you bear” and play you an acoustic song he wrote to honor you and your mom. Heart open, you’ll go to therapy, meditate your way to a place of peace about her death. You’ll start exploring the wounds of your youth with tenderness…wonder if they’ll ever heal. They will.
You’re going to travel, to see the world, to teach and start businesses abroad. You’ll do so much more by the time you’re twenty-five than most people do in a lifetime. You realize you can’t take even one moment in a life for granted.
But will you remember to breathe, Gwen? Can you, right now, holding this letter? Breathe and relax. Know that it’s okay to cry and ask for help. People will help you with their whole hearts if you let them. I promise.
You’re going to be independent. You’ll speak languages that few people in the world even know exist. But for now, remember to have fun with yourself: sing more, color more, dance more. Don’t expect anyone to understand completely; forgive them when they don’t.
Above all, open to the grace within you. Know that moving from your heart center you can accomplish anything. And that accomplishing things isn’t what it’s about. Loving is. Love yourself, love others. More than anything, allow yourself to be loved.
I love you,
You at twenty-six
***
I’m telling you, it’s all about moms right now. Last week I came across this piece on Kirtsy. Julie Buxbaum, writing for the NY Times, tells about her experience of planning her wedding knowing her mom wouldn’t be there. I wrote to Julie to let her know how deeply her piece had touched me. This is an excerpt of what I told her:
“Long ago I read Motherless Daughters by Hope Edelman. You know, as painful as it was, I really grew as a person as I read/worked my way through it. My mom died when I was eleven and since then I’ve actively resisted all the wedding/babies/family things thinking things like “I might die” or “Who is going to teach me how to raise kids?” But I am beginning to ask the hard questions—could I figure out a way to have a wedding and family even without my mom? My father left my mom when she was pregnant with me, so I’ll have not one but two empty chairs on the “big day.” My friends have definitely become my family over the years.
Julie replied to me within a day with an equally moving response about her own story. The conversation begins and continues all around me. We are not alone. We are loved.
***
I get so results-focused at times that I lose sight of the importance of the conversations happening and relationships blossoming. One such conversation, many moons back, with one of my favorite people ended with him telling me this:
“This is me offering you all of the courage and support you need to leap…into setting a whole new standard, creating a new way of being in the world with your presence and the things you do.”
It is his wish for me. It’s my wish for you.
–
Daisy photo by Shilpi Paul
Flower girl photo by my mom, Celeste Bell
