Body talk

I’m noticing it more and more these days. Whenever I fold my arms and hug myself, I sense there’s more to hang on to than before, a little more cushion. I’ve been growing steadily over the past nine years. I wonder if it’s age, Tamoxifen, menopause, or a few too many cookies. I wonder if this trajectory will ever taper off or if my body’s decided to gear up for the winter years of my life. I get weighed twice a year, when I go in for my oncology appointments. I also determine how I’m doing as I transition between seasons, do my shorts still fit? Jeans?

And here’s what happens if they don’t. I toss them. I don’t need any more negativity in my life. I don’t want to hassle with the emotions associated with clothes that are clearly not meant for me anymore. I’ve had to donate skirts I’d always worn because the zippers don’t close anymore. (Although I have two dresses I keep even though they don’t zip up; I just wear a jacket over them.) I gave away a new-to-me pair of white summer pants because the zipper wouldn’t stay shut over my soft belly. And I’ve definitely stripped my closet of tops that cling and are a struggle to wiggle into. Gone. I’m left with soft billowing blouses, sweaters that glide and hide, forgiving flannels, and bathing suits with gathers and a little extra flow.

I was garage saling with a friend and we were looking at tops. She said it, “I’m so sick of worrying about my weight.” She’s been up and down over the years like everyone else I know and it’s a constant source of angst and stress. I couldn’t agree more.

Except I don’t. Stress about it. Of course I’d love to be the same weight as I was 9 years ago, which is the same I’d always been since I even noticed weight to be a thing back in high school. Because then I wouldn’t have to decide if my clothes are going to fit or not. But who cares? I’m serious. Who cares one whit if my belly is a little softer than it used to be, if I’m a little squishier, what kinds of clothes I wear, what size pants I’m in, or what the arbitrary number on a little scale dial says? No. One. Not my friends, not my kids, and not even Todd.

I’m down for a Blizzard when Todd and I are on our Thursday dates. We’ll go for ice cream as a family in small neighboring towns several times over the course of the summer. And I’ll have a bowl of vanilla with hot fudge and banana right alongside them every Sunday night. I’ll eat salad and broccoli with my grilled chicken and potatoes. I’ll have a snack if I’m hungry, a bowl of cereal if needed after working in the yard. I take a walk or two with Todd every day. I lift weights. I work out like I have ever since I was 15. I work in the gardens and yard for hours every day. I don’t sit too much. I stretch before bed. I sleep plenty and take a nap if I need it, I drink water. I take my vitamins. I cook from scratch. We eat a plethora of fruits and vegetables, and the only thing I ever check on labels is fiber. I’m not doing anything else. That’s enough. And I’m just going to let the chips fall.

Because here’s what matters.

I’m here. I’m present. I’m not distracted by body talk except to be amazed by what they can do. I don’t care what anyone looks like or what shape they are or what size their clothes are. Why would I? Why would anyone? No one has ever, ever asked me what size I wear or mentioned that I’ve gained or lost weight or even about my eating habits. No. One. Cares.

But here’s why I want to be healthy, and thankfully I see this view touted more and more these days. I want to be around for a long, long time. I want to hike with my kids and grandkids. I want to be strong enough to pull out the thick, tough weeds. Todd needs my help moving boxes of tile and flooring and bees. I want my heart to stay pumping for me forever. I want my innards to have what they need to do their jobs. I want my body to be able to ward off problems and to heal quickly if the need arises. I want to walk five miles without breaking a sweat. I want to touch my toes and play pickleball and yard games with my family and friends. I want to be able to run after a lost ball and not have to sit out the next round. I want to be outside in the freshness and the sounds. I want to shovel snow and gravel and rock. I want to stack wood and have stamina that allows me to work and move and serve all day long if needed. I want a sharp brain, a clear mind, that’s not cluttered with details about numbers on a tag or in a food or what the newest fad in eating is. I want to eat real food that we’ve grown or made here at home so I know what it’s about. I want to have energy to make meals and treats and snacks for anyone who wanders in. I want to go to bed plumb tuckered out from a full day of using my incredible body for good.

I don’t have time to wallow in the fact that there’s a little more to love these days. I wish I knew what changed suddenly after years of being the same, but it’s more of a flitting curiosity than an obsession or concern. Because, like I said, I’m not likely going to give up Costco birthday cake, chocolate chip cookies right from the oven, popcorn on Sunday nights, a hamburger on the way home from boating, or a popsicle on the back deck on a warm summer evening. Those are tiny slivers of joy that I choose to keep. I know there’s talk about social eating, that it’s maybe not good. I disagree. I think it’s very, very good. Food unites and connects, and while I believe our bodies love it when we make efforts to take care of them, I’m all for a little treat here and there.

But we don’t need to talk about it. We don’t need to mention the calories we’re consuming or make comments about how we’ll need to work out more tomorrow to make up for it. We don’t need to be concerned about what diets our friends are on or what they’re doing now to lose weight. We just eat what’s good for us, we have a little treat every now and then, we move in ways that work for our schedules and lives, we do what we can to be our healthiest selves and carry on.

I’ve seen the most amazing stories of people with all kinds of bodies. One pregnant woman had a regular long leg and a tiny short one half the size. Another mother had no arms and it was inspiring to see how she managed the daily tasks of feeding and tending to her baby with her feet. We’ve read of the blind climbing Mount Everest and the man with no arms and no legs who surfs and plays soccer. Our bodies can DO incredible things. That’s what we should be in awe of, not how they look in a dress or bathing suit, but how crazy that they can push the limits, that they can do so many different things, that they heal, that they can create and learn and absorb so much. So yes, we should esteem our bodies. But not for how they look, but for what they can do.

In today’s world even I, a nondescript middle-aged mom, can get sucked right into the nonsense of it all. It’s brutal. Paraded in my feeds are women older and younger than me touting all sorts of lifestyles and habits and routines and products that will improve my everything from shape to skin. At my age though, I can see through the smoke; I’ve lived long enough to know what matters, and yet I STILL get ruffled every now and then when I’m not thinking straight. In talking with a college friend, I realized that even chatter about bodies can be detrimental and stress-inducing, even subconsciously. She believes there is just no need to mention anything about the looks of a person’s body. I’ve thought about this the past several weeks and agree.

I was telling my son just yesterday over lunch that that’s one thing I loved so much about my parents. They just did life. I don’t remember even one time my mom mentioning her body and how it looked, a diet, calories, anything like that. My parents never, ever talked about my sisters and me and our bodies or what we were eating, sizes, growing, shapes, anything. It was simply not part of our home life, and it’s only now that I’m realizing what a blessing that was for young, impressionable girls. And the effect of that background is still with us in that we’re largely uninfluenced by the advertising trends and admonitions of our looks-focused culture. I’m so grateful for this unintentional parenting win. Although today it is much harder to avoid, we as parents and adult mentors have much sway through our examples of what we value and what we say and don’t say.

I know it’s tricky to live in a time when there’s so much hype about bodies and the way they look. But I also know we are our children’s foremost influencers, at least setting the foundation for what they will believe and choose to value. Let it be what be matters. Let’s be healthy, our best versions of ourselves. Let’s of course take care of our bodies, our souls, our minds, yes, for sure. But let’s not obsess about numbers and shapes. Let’s love our bodies, be grateful for them, cherish them. But let’s not allow ourselves to fret about the details, the outsides, the appearances, and all that can change in an instant; we have so much more to share with the world than what we look like; we were born to use our bodies for good, and our time is limited and valuable. This pep talk is as much for me as anyone, I told you I’m right here in the middle of it all too. But we know better. Our heads really do recognize the lies, the deceit, the marketing, the industry intentions. I just think they’ve had their day. It’s time for us to be more than just veneer and to defend the truth of a person’s worth. But it has to start with us accepting ourselves right where we are and using whatever resources we have, including our bodies and all they can do, to establish and promote natural, original, and authentic beauty in all its forms.

Mixed faith friendship

I've been trying to gather my thoughts for months now.  As a friend and I had a teary conversation recently, it hit me why I hadn't been able to write anything.  It's because I don't have the answers, I'm right in the middle of it all, I'm still figuring it out, I'm not sure what it's supposed to look like.

Except that I'm here.  I'm willing.  I'm trying.  

I want to be both the friend where religion doesn’t have to come up at all while also being available to listen for hours.  While I don’t want it to come between us, I want to hear their experiences and what they think, to be safe if they ever feel like talking about it.  I want them to know we have a million other things we can talk about while at the same time acknowledging how tender and big religion can be.  I want them to know I’m curious and eager to listen, but I also want to be respectful of where they are and allow them space to figure things out.

The only evidence I have that anything is working is that our friendships and relationships are not only intact but that I, at least, feel more connected and closer than ever to my friends and family who are not in the church anymore.

As far as our conversations about it all, I’ve tried to leave it up to them because I’m not sure what they want.  And that’s on me.  All I need to do is ask if they feel like talking about what’s been going on or if they would rather not.  I guess my hesitancy in asking is wanting to maintain our friendship.  I don’t want to make it awkward or to ever let religion be a wedge between us.  So with my longest friendships and familial relationships, I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never even asked what made them leave, how they’ve felt about it, or even what their current beliefs are. I think it’s because these people left years, even decades, ago, and back then it felt like it wasn’t polite or any of our business to ask about something so personal. And at this point, after so much time has passed, I feel awkward about bringing it up, I hardly know where to start.

It hasn’t been long since we’ve started to become more open and have more dialog within our culture. But because of that shift, I’ve had such emotional, insightful, and long conversations with several friends about religion in recent years.  I could tell things were changing, and I decided it was worth taking the risk to ask them what they were going through.  I wanted to be a sounding board, to hear these individuals who were already dear friends.  We had a history, a framework of friendship, and so it was natural and safe to ask what they were experiencing and feeling and thinking.  “Tell me where you are, what’s been happening for you, what’s your story.” My husband and I have gone to dinner as couples, we’ve had friends over, we’ve sat in each others’ living rooms, we’ve talked in the hall at church, and I’ve gone on long walks.  But again, these have all been close friends. On the other hand, I know of others within my friendship circles who are also questioning or who have left but with whom I have no real connection other than the occasional social gathering.  It would truly feel disingenuous to insert myself into their stories about something so tender and personal as a faith transition when we don’t already have a strong friendship and foundation.  I think this is exactly what is so offensive when we suddenly try to befriend those who are wavering.  To me, this isn’t the time to, out of nowhere, strike up a relationship.  Friendships take time and lots of casual, normal interactions, to feel comfortable enough to share such private, intimate feelings of grief and loss and change. Anything other than that, ward members showing up with cookies out of the blue, invitations suddenly after years of being in the ward together, neighbors who want to get to know you now… it all feels like a little late and a little fake.

And so mostly I’ve just tried to keep things as comfortable/the same as they’ve always been.  And I honestly don’t know if that feels just right to some or insensitive to others. Some I know have felt grateful that they were able to just slide away, that no one pursued or questioned them.  Others feel disappointed and unnoticed that no one asked or seemed to care about this major change in their life. I have friends in both camps. From my perspective, I honestly just want them to feel at ease and loved no matter what they choose or where they are or go.  I want them to know that religion doesn’t have to be in our relationship at all, I’m here no matter what.  

But I wonder if I’m the one with a wall, protecting our relationship rather than allowing it to grow and change and become even more authentic and intimate.  I also wonder if I’m afraid of being misjudged, that they might feel like I have an agenda about how to “get them back” or “fix them” or “convince them,” when in reality all I want is to avoid making it harder for them by thinking they have to defend themselves; I just want us to keep on being friends.  I also don’t know that people view me as approachable when they’re leaving while I’m solidly staying. And yet, just as they’ve changed over the years, so have I.  I’m not as rigid in my thinking as I was as a teenager and young adult.  I have my own questions, I’m curious, I love hearing what people think about everything.  I wonder if because I’m a long-time active member they feel they already know how I’d react.  But I’m not blind, nothing much shocks me, I’m mature enough to know we all have our own take on the world. I love that we’re different; but more than anything, I believe we all have so much more in common than not.

I sometimes project and think people who leave assume that they know what I believe or think because they were just here.  But I feel like members these days are all over the place in their beliefs and interpretations and practices; to me, there’s no typical member, every marriage is a mixed faith marriage, and we’re all just figuring things out.  But I do feel like there’s been a positive shift in the past several years, and maybe it’s just getting started in some places… but the people I surround myself with as authors, podcasters, lecturers and friends are progressive, open-minded, articulate, accepting, intelligent, questioning, faithful thinkers, researchers, and movers.  We WANT to change the thinking of the past, to switch up the paradigm that faith looks the same for everyone, to question cultural ways of interpreting doctrine, to be inclusive, and to maintain relationships and build new ones with all kinds of people and ways of thinking.

In my experience with family and friends, I’ve found it most comfortable to just take religion off the table.  At least as something that could divide or differentiate us.  I want us all to feel like we can continue as always, that nothing will change the love I have for them.  But, at the same time, I want to be present and available to walk through the questions and grief and anger and disenchantment, and transition.  So, in that sense, I feel I’ve been wrong in not asking. And yet I honestly wanted them to feel it didn’t matter to me, that it wouldn’t change our friendship. I’m trying to be different for my friends who are leaving now, but I don’t know how to go back in time.

It saddens me when members say they have to just be superficial now that their loved one has left the church. I’m well aware that our religion tends to influence much of our lives, but I just don’t buy it in every situation, it depends. I have friends of different faiths or who don’t align with any particular religion or who have left this one who I am much more able to talk in-depth with than many staying members of the church who sometimes tend to be very shallow. I suspect it’s because anything other than traditional doctrine/accepted practice tends to be uncomfortable and a little threatening.  On the other hand, I enjoy a deeper, more satisfying exploration of ideas with friends of differing religious perspectives.  In fact, I think it’s because they’re usually readers and listeners and learners and thinkers that we do have a lot to talk about! From podcasts, books, movies, articles and studies, performances, trips, current events, the houses and projects we’re all working on to how we’re navigating the teen and young adult years with kids and in-laws, health issues, messy relationships all around, caring for parents, aging, finances, marriage, and all sorts of mixed emotions, my friends and I never, ever, ever run out of things to talk about.  Religion never even has to be a thing; and yet, sometimes a friend will want to talk for hours about nothing else and I’m game for it all, I’ll take conversation of any kind because that’s connection.

For now, all I know is what’s helped build bridges.  It starts with both sides assuming the best from the other and remembering we truly care about each other more than we care about differences of opinion or life choices.  I feel like we need to trust the relationship, all the years we’ve shared, and to remember the inevitable ups and downs that are part of any relationship that we’ve managed through. We need to continue to give each other the benefit of the doubt and assume good intentions.  We need to be vulnerable with each other and admit when we’re having a hard time understanding or seeing things the same, but assuring one another that we’re here, we’re willing, we’re trying.  We want help seeing another way.

It’s taken many years, I’m ashamed to say, to make these deeper connections viable.  I feel so regretful and sad that my friends in the past (and even still, I’m sure) have had to be someone different with me than they authentically were, that they thought they had any reason to feel that I would judge them.  I think they’ve felt embarrassed drinking or swearing around me, they didn’t want me to see their tattoos or new clothes or lifestyles they thought I wouldn’t approve of.  I have deep sorrow over it all especially because it inhibited closeness and made them feel they couldn’t be themselves. I’m so sad when friends show relief that I don’t care that they’ve come out, for instance, as if that should ever be anything.  But as I’ve become friends with such amazing people, I have been so disappointed to hear that they didn’t think we would accept them because we’re “Mormon.”  We have got to do better at sharing our unwavering and unconditional love because no one should ever have to worry about something as basic as showing up authentically.  I can’t tell you how sad it makes me to think of anyone being afraid to be anything than who they are, and yet I know I’ve contributed to their pain and discomfort. I wish I could change the past and be more obvious about how much none of that matters to me.  There must be something that still puts people off though, and that’s hard for me because while I love my beliefs and try to live congruently with them, it doesn’t mean I’m not open to all kinds of other ways of living.  I don’t know how to show that though.

Because I actually love it when someone is quiet while we pray because it tells me that they’re comfortable not having to conform and be different for us.  I like that they’re ok drinking whatever they want with me, that we can go to coffee shops, that they have their coffee and tea stashes here on our shelf for when they visit. I love that they don’t have to preface things they think I might be shocked by, that they can talk naturally without filtering.  I love hanging out with my friends with different lifestyles and beliefs who have enriched my thinking and my life so much.  I can’t tell you how grateful I am for their acceptance of me, someone who could represent an institution or set of beliefs they no longer subscribe to and that has contributed so much to their grief and upset, that they see me as a person and not the church.  I’m so deeply thankful for the respect they show me.  Largely due to our strong foundations and our desire to maintain what we’ve always enjoyed, I have seen a warmth and closeness growing within my relationships over the years, both in and out of the church. 

And yet, here we are.  This is all very one-sided.  We are desperately in need of hearing much more from others and their experiences and perceptions, what is helpful and what has been hurtful. I’m grateful for the things I’ve heard and read that help me understand and see other perspectives; I do believe there are many who are trying to help us build these bridges. Because, in my mind, there’s no reason we can’t continue to have the friendships and relationships we’ve always derived so much strength and joy from just because we change our minds about something, even something as personal and big as religion.

What I want our kids to know that they might not know

As you’re all but gone and you are starting your own lives, I wondered if you would like to hear the back story on why we did the things we did as parents. We hope you picked up on some of this along the way, but we’re not ones to over-talk things in our family, and so maybe some of this is new to you.

1. We were absolutely teenagers once upon a time too. We know what it feels like to be talked about, left out, embarrassed, confused, unsure, in love, broken hearted, regretful, excited, overwhelmed, discouraged, let down, overworked, worn out, lonely, bored, ashamed, scared, worried, and stressed. We remember our first kiss like it just happened. Music was our whole world too. We cared about our clothes, we had to get up early, we had too much to do, we felt dumb when school was hard, we were overlooked, and we had to miss important things too. Our parents said no. We thought they didn’t understand. We cared about the environment and worried about what the world would look like for us. The news made us anxious, and we worried about wars and natural disasters and violence. We stressed about grades and college and if we’d be smart enough. We wondered if we’d ever get married and have kids even though we wanted to so much. While the details are different, know that the world has always had equal amounts of good and bad; and in so many ways it’s so much better now than it used to be. And while you’re a completely unique individual, we’ve all been there. We really do get it.

2. You can’t shock us. We’re not dumb. We’re old. We have friends. Combined, we’ve seen and heard it all. And there is absolutely nothing you could tell us or that we could find out that would change the love we have for you. Nothing. We probably won’t respond the right way. But trust our love. Help us understand as we talk through things. Help us know how to help. We will do anything in our power to be there for you no matter how old you get.

3. We walk a very fine line between wanting you to be independent and wanting to offer guidance. It is very, very tricky and wobbly and we fall off all the time. We seem hands-off not at all because we don’t care. Actually, it’s the complete opposite. We care so much that we choose to trust you to live your life. We will never micro-manage you because we want you to figure out things on your own. And yet we want you to know that we are always, always here for you. I feel like we’re the spotters on the gym floor, nearly invisible but constantly on guard and watching. I don’t know if we’re getting any of this right.

4. We are grieving the loss of our children and the family we’ve always known. You can’t understand right now how sad this is for us. Ever since you were born we’ve been preparing you for your adult life, helping you to be confident and self-sufficient. We couldn’t be more proud of your independence and your abilities to live on your own, but we’re mourning the changes in our family constantly. We have to keep focusing on the good in it all. But sometimes it’s so overwhelmingly sad to see you all moving on and I have to consciously make myself do my own life so I don’t just think of my little kids all the time.

5. We want to be your friend, of course. More than anything. But not your buddy. We’re here to teach you, mentor you, guide you, help you, support you. But we’re not going to abdicate our responsibilities as parents so that you and your friends will think we’re cool. We’re ok being old-fashioned and a little out of touch with trends, but we love to have you explain things to us! As you get older it feels like we have become more like friends. And we’d love to be your advisors just to bounce ideas off. We like to do that with you too.

6. We respect you and your privacy probably to a fault. We’re not the type to read your texts or journals. We know that’s probably not wise and definitely not along the lines of current thinking. We want to trust you. And yet we know you’re hiding stuff from us. We know you’re not telling us the whole truth. We wish you felt you could. But we believe so much in agency, we’re willing to take the risk that you’ll make mistakes and have regrets. We’ve all been there. We are willing to let you hurt and fail so that you will learn. We have always tried to teach you a better way, but we have to be ok with letting you choose for yourselves. We know it will back-fire. And yet we still believe it’s the better way because we would rather have a trusting relationship than one in which you feel unsafe with us.

7. We’re not taking the easy way out by having you do chores. Not at all. It would be a million times easier to clean your bathrooms and do the dishes ourselves. In fact, I love housework, including dishes, bathrooms and laundry. I’d rather do it all myself. We are trying to not only teach you the skills involved in mowing, ironing, and cleaning a toilet, we’re trying to get you to notice your surroundings. We want you to see that trashes need to be taken out, floors need to be swept, living rooms get dusty, the counters need to get wiped off, the big dishes that don’t fit in the dishwasher need to be washed by hand. Ask anyone who’s had roommates or an employee how valuable the ability to see that kind of stuff is.

8. We don’t hold back because we’re cheap. We do it because we’re trying to create artificial scarcity and not give you everything you want. We give you limits and have you pay for things not because we can’t afford them or we don’t love you, but to help you understand what it takes to work for your life and the things you need and want. The last thing we want is spoiled kids. We don’t want you to take your comfortable life for granted. We want you to appreciate things. We paid for experiences we wanted to make sure you would do, opportunities that would strengthen you in long-lasting ways.  We didn't feel that way about sports so much, so we left that up to you for the most part.  But we never wanted you to miss out on something we felt would change your life because of money; we considered those things literally as investments.

9. We encourage you to write thank you notes not because we need your praise or because your aunt will be disappointed if you don’t send her a note. No. We simply want you to grow up to be grateful, humble people. We want you to recognize and acknowledge those who help you out, those who are generous or helpful, the ones who do things for you. We want you to thank your waitress for refilling your Sprite and your nana for doing your dishes for you or for the money she sends you. We want you to thank dad for helping you pick up your jeep or for buying you new shoes. Occasionally we’ll do something out of the ordinary for you like change your sheets or leave a little treat on your bed. We don’t need the thank you; it’s fun for us to do a little something for you. But we want you to say thank you because we want you to notice the people around you who are helping you make your life a little better.

10. We did it both ways. We tried putting you in soccer and karate and piano and swim and art. We ran around after school and into the evenings and weekends for years and years. But then we made the hard decision to quit most of it because we saw it was turning our life upside down. We wanted more time as a family. We wanted less craziness. We wanted dinner together. We’re sorry that you aren’t top athletes or dancers, but we’ll never apologize for choosing our time together. We encouraged you to do more as you got older and became more independent, yet we recognize maybe you’ve been at a disadvantage because you didn’t have as much as exposure to things as other kids. But we didn’t want to spend our weekends driving to far-off cities sitting at a soccer field; we wanted to camp and hike and be in the mountains and go for ice cream. We weighed things out and didn’t see you wanting to be olympians or playing for college, so we took that into account. We also listened to you when you said you wanted to quit piano and band and art and scouts and your yw program. We knew you’d most likely regret your decisions, and we tried so hard to talk you out of it, but we chose to respect your agency rather than force our ideas on you.

11. We would choose kind over smart, successful, popular, beautiful, talented, or athletic ANY day of the week. Of course we want you to develop your gifts, to try new things, to engage with people, to do your best in school. But we would rather have mediocre students and average athletes who are kind to everyone than anything else in the world. We don’t want your identity to be wrapped up in what you do; we celebrate the type of person you are. The greatest compliment we hear is how genuinely kind you are and that you are true friends. I can’t think of better qualities in a person. I’d take that over a gold medal any day.

12. We are prouder of you than you can even imagine even though we could do a much better job at showing it. You are our truly our greatest joy, and we brag about you every chance we get. We honestly think the world of you, but maybe we hide it a little because we don’t want you to get an ego. But I think we need to tell you more.

13. We absolutely believe in you. We’ve always tried to let you do your own things whether it was pulling apart electronics, sewing, painting, knives, building a forge, belt grinder, or computer, doing lights for plays, pole vault, or cooking. We completely enthralled with your talents, skills, gifts, and interests; and we hope we’ve encouraged you to try anything you feel drawn to. We have loads of confidence in you, and you delight us to no end.

14. I know you don’t agree with all our decisions, but we really are coming from a place of love, and we’re trying to live in congruence with what we believe. We’ve talked about all the reasons we say no to things, and to be honest, I really don’t know if we’ve made the right decisions. If there even is a right. But here’s the take-away. Know that your parents stood their ground for what they believed when it came to things like sleepovers and keeping Sundays different from other days. That’s something you can hang on to. We truly want to follow through with what we say we believe. We want you to know you can count on us to have integrity and to walk the talk. And yet, we loved hearing your thoughts and opinions, which is why we let you choose some things we didn’t agree with.

15. I know it sounds wrong and mean, but we’re not all about wanting you to be happy. At least not at any cost and not all the time. We’ve been willing to let you experience disappointment, discouragement, loneliness, boredom, and failure so that you will become stronger and a more empathetic, sensitive, kind, resourceful, resilient, and wise problem solver and friend. And sometimes learning all that that doesn’t feel exactly happy. I’m sorry it hasn’t always seemed like we’re on your side and that we haven’t protected you from the hard things. We let you struggle as little as you had to in order to learn, but we still believe there is value in experiencing life aside from happy.

16. We have a million regrets. Maybe a trillion. Things we’ve done wrong, things we’ve said or didn’t say, the affection we withheld or didn’t think to give—maybe honestly because we were so depleted ourselves. The ways we embarrassed you. Our inexperience and ignorance and naivety. When we chose ourselves over you. Our lack of knowledge and skills. Things we didn’t think through. When we parented from fear instead of love. When we didn’t see what was right in front of us. When we just didn’t know what we didn’t know. When we neglected to talk about the important things because we didn’t know how. And then it got too late and we still didn’t know how. When we butted into your lives. And when we failed to get involved. When we said too much and listened too little. When we insisted on doing things our way instead of asking for your input. When we parented by the book instead of from our hearts. When we tried to do it like others instead of listening to what we knew to be right for our family. For when we cared what people thought. For when we were so tired, so hurt, so distracted, so harried, so torn, so perplexed that we ended up letting you down. When we didn’t have anything to give. When we got angry and yelled or withdrew instead of holding you and hearing you. When we missed the cues that you needed us. When we thought you didn’t need us and so we didn’t try to connect.

I say it all the time to anyone who will listen, to myself, and especially to your dad. I would do it all over in a heartbeat if I could do it with all that I’ve learned. I know it could be better. But we were only young 20s when we started. We barely knew anything. Our heads weren’t even all the way done. We have learned soooooo much over the years and wish we could’ve done better. But despite it all, you’ve all turned out to be truly remarkable people, and we honor your resilience. As you become parents yourselves someday, take the good and leave the bad. Learn from our mistakes, but remember our love. You will all have your own lists someday. :) But hopefully as you eventually all become parents you will realize the depth of love we have always had for you, because you will feel that same love for your own children. You will likely want the same things for them as we did for you. You will have better resources, a stronger start, the benefit of all our mistakes; we always say and know you will do a better job, most generations continue to improve. But in spite of all we didn’t know and didn’t do, raising you kids has been the ultimate privilege and joy of our entire lives. You are our everything and there is no greater love than a parent’s love. xoxo

Wrestling with restlessness

My palm went to my forehead (my most oft-used emoji) as I told the blood guy I hate that question and presented my rehearsed soundbite to his benign conversation volley as to what I do: I volunteer, we do some remodeling, I help with our hobby farm, we’re working on a cabin, I have five kids. But no matter how many verbs I use to justify my use of time, it comes out a tad pale, vague, and weak, like I’m a pampered housewife with nothing to do but flit from appointments to luncheons. Without a job, business venture, or course of study, anything else feels like fluff when I’m saying it out loud.

Which is so far from how I really feel about my life. While I’ve intentionally tried to remain available these past several years, every fall and January I’m tempted to join the throngs who have gone back to school or started nonprofits or have become professionals to prove that I can be more than just a mom too. Mostly to my girls and daughters-in-law.

I declared English as a freshman in college with plans to teach high school. But then I found myself in a family science class, and my whole world lit up; I had no idea there was anything like this. I was converted immediately and knew I wanted to be a marriage/family therapist. It felt completely natural to me, I soaked it all up and, in my glory, changed majors right away. But over the Christmas break my grandparents put a damper on my plans, saying it wasn’t a marketable enough career. As a result, I floundered for over a year trying to find anything else I could love as much. I earned meaningless degrees that I don’t even like to talk about. My formal education feels like a waste, and I’m embarrassed anytime it comes up. Which breaks my heart because there’s precious little I value more than learning and education.

I was told once when I was a teenager that I would have opportunities to counsel others. And so as my kids have left and I’ve been able to take a breath and assess where I want to go next, I assumed it would be time to try school again and finally get the degree I’ve always wanted. But I’m not inclined to make such a major life investment without confirmation. And I’m just not feeling it. In fact, when I lean toward it, when I’ve done the research, when I’ve opened the application, even after talking to the lady on campus, it all kind of fades from my mind within a few days. And when I think about what I would have to give up to do it, my heart aches.

It’s been interesting to watch myself wrestle with this decision as the kids have grown and moved on, leaving me to wonder if I should do something “for real.” It’s been an internal tug of war: the feeling of wanting to contribute both to our family finances and to our community (that surely has need for more counselors) juxtaposed with the feeling that maybe there’s merit in the life I’m already living.

I ran into a friend last year who works as a life coach and when she asked me what I’m doing these days, I shared my wrestle. She told me I was “spinning” and that I needed to make a decision and stick with it for a year.

I thought about that advice and asked myself what I really wanted. Did I want to go back to school? Did I want to start a career or even get a job? Unexpectedly, when I stripped away all the shoulds, I found myself saying no. In my heart, I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing and what feels right to me… not in good/bad-right/wrong sort of way, but in a settled, peaceful, right-for-me kind of way.

The wrestle, I realized, came from being indecisive. I realized I hadn’t been completely committed any time I thought I’d made a decision and that I’d been swinging back and forth, back and forth, for years. My restlessness came from not feeling satisfied with either decision because no matter which one I made I always worried about the other option. I was restless because I felt I wasn’t doing anything substantial here at home and felt pressure to do more. I finally realized I’ve been trying to make myself want to go back to school when my soul really just longs to be home, and that’s when the restlessness and the wrestle calmed.

That sounds lazy as I write it. Hardly anyone has this luxury, and I recognize how fortunate I am to even have the choice. And yet, there are many women who are eager to get back to the workforce or to finish their educations or to move on past the kid stage, who want to do something else with the rest of their lives. I have friends who get a little depressed when they don’t have something concrete to get up for, who get bored or antsy at home, who need the socialization of being out among others, or who can’t wait to do their own thing. While I totally get it, that’s not me.

I was talking with a faraway friend the other day, a two-and-a-half-hour break from our lives. As she was telling me about her social work program, how she’s applying to grad programs, and how she’s living the exact dream I’ve always felt drawn to, I asked her how she knew, what keeps her going. As she described the absolute surety that she’s doing what she’s meant to do, that she can only see herself as a therapist for the second half of her life, that this is her life’s passion, I quizzed myself. I feel none of that.

That helped me realize I’m finally at a point where I feel like trusting myself with this decision. I just read something this morning that warmed my heart and felt like confirmation, “Behold, the Spirit of the Lord has called him another way.”

Because maybe it’s ok that there are some women who can be flexible and who can make the treats and help out at the last minute. Maybe it feels just right to stay home with a sick senior daughter and cancel all the other plans to just watch movies and make soup for her. Maybe it’s nice to be able to paint the house and harvest the garden and clean the windows and make food from scratch and demo the cabin and not have to pay someone else to do it all. Maybe it works out just perfectly to be able to travel to see the grown-up kids and extended family and strengthen relationships with all the family we rarely get to see. Maybe it works better for some families to have someone to take care of the home stuff and who will keep the fires burning. Maybe counseling isn’t always connected with a paycheck or a degree. Maybe it’s a blessing to have the extra time to listen to young friends dealing with difficult issues. Maybe some of us are meant to have traditional jobs and some of us get to work in other ways.

And maybe things will change. Maybe in another year or so I’ll revisit it all and decide it’s the perfect time to do something else. But for today, for now, for the foreseeable future, I feel content and at peace being at home for a little longer.