When you wake up and discover that you ARE judgy mom

If you have kids, are expecting a kid, or are around people with kids, you are probably familiar with the concept of mom judgment, parent shaming, and the "really? you do X?" trail-offs.

In today's world of hyper-active parenting, we know from point of conception onward - thanks to no shortage of opinions and methods - exactly how we want to do things.  We care a lot. And my generation in particular, all discovering our family-issues, we especially want to "do it right" and not "mess them up."  And everyone else?  Well, they have an always right opinion too. Some assert it loudly.  Others passive-aggressively.  You know the the looks, the side-eyes, the "helpful advice," the "well, if I were you..." "I always..." "I could/would never..." comments.

Meanwhile, growing in equal number are the blog posts, [and more blog posts], articles and humorous clips entreating us "don't be judgy mom" "remember, we're all on the same team." [Does anyone else find it ironic that often times the tone is, "don't be judgy like she is..."?]

I don't know about you - but I swore that I didn't want to be a judgy mom. (You too?!) That I would be better than that.  That I would be flexible, accepting, and a team player - encouraging others, blessing their different parenting styles, and remembering that no one has it all together.

But then, one morning I woke up, and realized:  I absolutely, 100% am a judgy mom.

Not always.  And I try really hard not to be. Not intentionally.  And rarely out-loud.  But I am.

It's a dirty little secret fact - and one, quite frankly, that I would prefer to blog about how to avoid.  How I triumphed over it and am not there anymore.  But here's what I need to say instead: despite our best intentions, as people who care very deeply and want to "do it right" and have different interpretations of what that means - I guarantee that we will find ourselves here, especially if we're honest with ourselves.

So what do you do when you find yourself cloaked in the scarlet "J" of "judgy mom"?  When your self-awareness kicks in and you realize just how ugly or condescending your attitude towards another mom [dad, parent, person...] is.  Or even as you open your mouth to share yet another piece of sage advice.

Can I humbly suggest five self-examinations that I have found helpful?  Ask yourself:

1. Am I feeling insecure or guilty right now?
This is not always relevant - sometimes, I'm just judgy and condescending - but 9.7 times out of 10, when my attitude towards another parent is patronizing or corrective, it's a neon flashing warning light that there is another area in my parenting or my life in which I'm feeling insecure.   Often times, those judgy days fall when I feel like I'm messing everything up, and I'm desperately searching for standing ground, one thing that I actually know or can do right. Use that word-vomit impulse as a signal to be introspective, and self-aware - deal with your own heart and attitude first. Consider, rather than correcting the other person, whether it would be appropriate to share the places I'm feeling insecure - seek commonality, and understanding, rather than shaming them in the place that I feel secure.

2. What do I need someone to say to me, right now?
I've joked before that I need to make flashcards for my husband, so that he would know what to say when I'm angry, sad, etc. - and there would be very few of them, with one that would be used ALL.the.TIME.  That one would read "You're doing a good job, Mama." Ranking close second would be, "I see you." "Thank you." "I'm proud of you." "I love you." "Would you like some alone time?" [freebies for your use and pleasure, btw.  You're welcome].   Ninety-five percent of the time, when I'm feeling critical or superior, if I take the time to evaluate what my soul needs in the moment, it reveals the deeper issue in me, and renders me more empathetic and kind.  And gives me perspective to realize that advice, unless solicited, is rarely what anyone needs or wants.

3. Do I believe that s/he loves their kids and is trying to do their best for them?
No "buts" allowed.  Simply answer it yes or no.  If the answer is yes, and the children are not in danger, leave it alone. Obviously, if children are being harmed, speak up.  No question. But most of our judgment comes over kids doing something that kids do or over something that we simply happen to have a difference of opinion on.  Rather than tell her what you would do differently, tell her that "you can see how much she loves her kids; it shows." Where there is legitimate struggle, and a desire for advice, that simple phrase will open far more doors than simply proffering it unrequested.  If not, well, you've simply encouraged her/him.

4. What would I need right now, if I were in her shoes?
No mom wants her kids running naked through Target, pulling everything off the shelf - no parent wants their kid poking you on an airplane while screaming because their diaper is god-awfully stinktastic - and yes, while my sleep strategy is awesome and I really want to help you, unless you ask for it, I'd give you a hundred bucks that no sleep-deprived parent wants that to be your lead.  What do they need?  "To be told what I need to do better," said no parent ever. A compassionate smile, someone to push her cart, a cup of coffee, an encouraging word, "what can I help you with?" - those all come to mind.  Somehow, compassion and empathy, they seem to move us out of judgment zone.

5. Is there a long-term, relationally-built, place for conversation?
Sometimes there are places were feedback can be helpful - deeper conversation, dialogue, suggestions, out of an initial judgment.  I am very grateful for conversations people had with me about how to buckle car seats appropriately, dangers of different kinds of carriers, different strategies for better sleep.  But the ones that I listened to, the ones that I welcomed, were the ones done in the context of trusting relationship - people who I knew, who knew me, and who asked permission before sharing.  Here are my measuring tapes: Will this matter in 30 years?  Am I the right person to share this piece of wisdom?  Would I welcome something similarly from them?  If you answer no to any, then ziplock those lips and seek out ways to focus on #3 and #4.

With love, from one working-on-it judgy-mom to another,
May we find ourselves here less and less.

KD

Monday Me Too's

Many times, I've thought about my crazy, "I can't be the only one who..." or "I know I'm not alone in..."  And so, "ME TOO! Mondays" were born in my head.  If this is you too, please stand up and whatever along with me.  The camaraderie is encouraging and kind of the point.  If it's not you, well, take solace in the fact that you're probably at least marginally more normal than me.

This week, I have...

1.  Shamelessly eaten food from my toddler's tray, without even thinking that it was weird in the slightest.  And then caught myself, as I turned his melange of mushed up leftovers into a chip-dip, and wondered "When did this become normal to me!?"

2. Known that I needed to go to the gym... had time to go to the gym... planned to go to the gym... and then split a half dozen apple cider donuts with my one year old instead.  But hey, it was a bonding experience, right?  And we split them 50-50, lest you think I'm too much of a glutton... #healthymom for the win.  I'm not sorry in the slightest.

3. Had one of those dreams that was so.real. that it shaped how I dealt with my day in real life once I woke up.  So beautiful when dreams are good and inspiring; rough when they're not.

4. Tried to read my books out loud to my toddler, in interesting voices, so that I could do some "me reading," rather than re-read whatever the book of the day was.  Did it succeed?  It did not.  But it did buy me approximately a three minute break from reading the now-memorized books of the week.

5.  Used the line, "but will the government really know, if...?" in a sentence that made sense.  To which the answer was, "No, Kristen.  But I think you still have to do it." Good thing there are responsible people around me.

If you need me, I'll the #healthymom over here, shamelessly stuffing my face, evading the government, and dreaming of days when I get to read books without pictures, all the while loving my normal-crazy life and my normal-crazy-wonderful (adorable) kids.

What about you?

ME TOO! Mondays

This is one of those weeks where I have eighty-eleven things to do, deadlines galore, AND somehow decided that if we were going to potty train our almost three year old before he turned twelve, that it needed to be this week.  And fun and puddles were had all around.

Pardon any jiggles and misspelled words.  It's like 30 degrees outside and we still have not turned our heat on, so I'm sitting here stubbornly typing and shivering and wondering WHY GOD WHY have I not turning the heat on yet.  But then it'll be like 70 tomorrow, so that's why.  But WHY!?

Several times this week, I've thought, "I can't be the only one who..." or "I know I'm not alone in..."  And so, "ME TOO! Mondays" were born in my head.  Hopefully not adding to the crazy - and maybe just giving a little outlet for it.  We'll try it for a few weeks, and if it's lousy, then it'll join a bunch of other good intentions on Trash It Tuesdays.  If this is you too, please stand up and whatever along with me.  The camaraderie is encouraging and kind of the point of the "ME TOO!" part.  If it's not, well, take solace in the fact that you're probably at least marginally more normal than me.

This week, I have...

1. ... seriously contemplated whether potty training is actually necessary or whether when they're teenagers they'll just figure it out on their own.  Even though I know it's time, and I know he's ready, and I know that I am the grown-up and have to act like one, part of me seriously wonders if maybe there's still a shot at finding a really good excuse that will get me out of it.  If you come up with one, let me know.  I'll be somewhere cleaning up yet another puddle "near" the toilet.

2. ... pruned a ginormous rose bush with kitchen shears, because that's all I had available.  Not a wise decision, and one that I'm really hoping I'm alone on.  What city dweller has pruning shears, am I right?  But pruned it now is.  And swearing off rose bushes, I now am.  (Left, halfway done; Right, done; not pictured: copious scratches battle wounds).

3.  ... discovered (again) that I am mildly (moderately) lactose intolerant and still haven't done anything about it, just routinely deal with the consequences.  I know I should, but I really love ice cream, and cream, and cheese, and inertia is a powerful thing, friends, even against the tiniest of aids.

4.  ... totally tried to channel Lorelei Gilmore in my tough parenting moments, and actually found that it helps me be a better parent (she doesn't sweat the little stuff, and a dose of humor goes a long way).  Also, as an aside, re-watching Gilmore Girls as an adult, still totally fabulous, and oh my gosh, how are they so quick-witted, funny, and cultural-savvy all at the same time?

5.  ... been completely exhausted, literally counting down the moments till bedtime arrived more than once- had my buttons pushed even on the shortest of days - and wondered whether that meant that I shouldn't be a full-time stay-at-home parent, wrestling with guilt, comparison, and just exhaustion, and wondering if I wasn't cut out for it.  And yet somehow equally powerfully, and even more often, loving and treasuring the sweet moments that I do get each and every day with my kids, and so incredibly certain that we made the right decision there.  And so grateful that we did.  It's a paradox that I can't explain, but so.real.

You too?

it's not okay.

Sneakers, bare legs, shorts, a boy, only a boy... blood.  Lying in the road.  My road.  My street.  Half a block from my house.  I didn't see him above the waist until they put him in the ambulance.  Pronounced dead on arrival to the hospital.  Fatal stabbing.  In the back.  Blood everywhere.

I left around 4:55pm, to take my sister to the airport, and arrived home about 5:13pm, and there he was, lying in the street.  I had to swerve the car to miss his legs.  I walked down the street to see what was wrong, through a trail of blood - his blood - that lead up the street toward our house.  The police and ambulance arrived shortly thereafter and the whole street was slathered with police, police tape, and homicide detectives.  "Don't step in the blood."

The girl who said she found him, whose mother called the police, was playing tag with her little brother, maybe 2 or 3, when she saw him.  She couldn't have been more than 10.

His name was Irvin - his last name means, "of peace."  He was 15 years old.  They don't know what happened, or who, or why.  I recognize him from the neighborhood, even though I did not know him personally.  I wonder if I would recognize his mother.  I grieve as a mother, knowing only a small piece of what I can only presume is her grief.  He was only 15.

"They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. ‘Peace, peace,’ they say, when there is no peace."*

I don't know how to process this.  I don't know where to begin.  I feel numb.  Compartmentalized so that I can continue to manage my household, my family.  Not unsafe. But changed. I walk the same street today as I did yesterday, tomorrow, and the day before, although I have yet to walk past that spot again.  I did not lose a person that I knew, and I am not fearful for my own or my family's safety, and so my grief does not have the usual outlets to express itself.  But I am grieving nonetheless.  I feel loss nonetheless.

Peace, peace, they say, but there is no peace.  The newspapers have moved on; the heralds of modern decree, our "prophets" of today have declared, "all is well once more."  The police tape is gone.  But there's a 15 year old boy, named "of peace," who is no longer here.  A gap in a family, a community, a neighborhood.  I don't care what the reason was.  I don't care what he had done, who he had pissed off, who had a grudge against him.  I don't care if he was a saint or a sinner, whether he was in with the wrong crowd, or was a straight A student (or both), whether he was beloved by his friend (he was), or hated by all.

He was 15.  And it's never okay.

It's never okay.

*Jeremiah 6:14

floury chaos and temper tantrums and diffusing anger

Monday mornings, y'all.  They're totally a thing.

It had been an incredibly long morning already, and it was barely past 10 o'clock.  It was rainy, and we were stuck inside, which is always fun with two uber-active kiddos.  We were on temper tantrum number I don't even remember what, all forms of nourishment, grace, and love had been outright rejected with tears, angst and the incredible particularity for detail that few other than toddlers can muster, and time-outs had been had all around. We were on a hair's trigger for everything, and tempers made a millimeter look long.

In a last ditch attempt to salvage the morning, and live into the "fun mom" "making the most of the situation" image, I declared that we would be baking cookies.  Because, that totally makes sense.  Take chaos and add flour.  Totally wise.

Enter complete and total chaos.  One child stuck his entire hand into the butter and then smeared it across the table; the other attempted to rip the flour container out of my hands in order to "I do it myself."  In the midst of gracefully Julia Childs-ing the ingredients into the bowl, I was performing circus aerobatics trying to keep the eggs from being thrown through the air and the sugar from being eaten by the handful.  "No, S" "No, E" "NOOO, not that" were my loving, nurturing, desperate, increasingly frustrated chorus, with a full ensemble backing me up with non-melodious howls.  Tantrums and grabby hands multiplied ten-fold.

And then a child grabbed the flour container again, and prepared to hurl it across the floor, and then chastised me, "Mommy, you are making a BIG mess" as I sloshed oats out of the bowl, trying to manically extend my reach to save the inevitable floury catastrophe.  The other child was screaming, angrily attached to my leg, because I had put him down for 0.3 seconds to handle the first.

And I lost it.  As I grabbed the floury child, I was so angry, it terrified me.  I wanted to throw something: the flour, and the cookies, whatever.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to quit parenting, and be done.  And most of all, I just wanted just five minutes of quiet, away from screaming children.

I didn't do any of those things (nor have I, nor will I, God help me).  I put both children in time out in a safe space, left the room, called my husband, in my own tears, and told him I needed a grown-up to talk me down.  That I was scared by my own anger, and I was so frustrated that I needed help.  And he did.  Five minutes on the phone, kids still screaming in the background, getting my own tears and frustration out, I was able to calm down enough that I could rationally, responsibly, and calmly deal with my children.

Why am I sharing this?

I am not proud of this story.  I handled my anger when it arose, asked for help, and no children were harmed in the process, and that is worth holding on to.  All things that are a mark of maturity and wisdom and, dare I say, necessary components of good parenting.  But it was ugly anger, a loss of perspective, and a parent on the verge of temper tantruming herself.  And this is not the type of parent that I want to be (because I'm sure it's the type of parent that you want to be, right?).

I'm sharing this story because when this all was said and done, kids were a-snooze for a much needed nap, and I finally found my five minutes of quiet - I found myself wrecked with guilt and shame, as the voices in my head accused no holds barred: "You're the worst mom in history." "You have failed miserably at parenting." "Your kids will be scarred for life." "You suck.  What kind of mom gets that angry and loses her temper at her two year old and one year old?" "No other mom would do this." "You should let someone else raise your kids."

You must be the only one.

Anger is one of those aspects of parenting that we don't talk about much. I'm pretty sure I've read a total of two blog posts about it, and had a very small number of honest conversations about it. It's not sweet, ideal, or kosher, or pretty.  But it happens, nonetheless. And I'm fairly confident that it happens fairly often. Now, several days of perspective later, I am confident that I am not the only mom who has lost her temper with her kids, or been frightened by her own anger and frustration.  Am I wrong?  They are adorable little humans, precious, treasured, with worth beyond measure.  But they also know how to push every single little button that we have.  And make more chaos and mess than your average whirling dervish.   Some of you have been here as well, no?

But because we don't talk about anger - when it does rear its ugly head, it feels incredibly isolating, shameful, and scary.  And because of that, we struggle to ask for help.  To learn from those alongside us, and who have gone ahead of us. To gain the perspective that we need in order to press into those places, to defuse our shame, to ask for forgiveness from our kids, to gain tools in our tool-belts to handle our frustration better in the future so that we actually can be better parents.

Anger is normal - nearly everyone gets angry at some point in time - what we do or say in our anger, or with our anger, or to others in our anger is where problems ensue.  And when those problems aren't repented of, rectified, or help sought, well that's where the deep wounds are formed.  Please believe me when I say that I don't want to minimize those - I know intimately the depth to which unrepentant, repeated, and internalized angry words or actions can wound us for a lifetime, especially from someone in authority.  But I also firmly believe that many of those words can lose their power when true repentance happens, perspective is regained, parents grow, and anger is held accountable by truthful community.

Because here's the reality - anger and frustration bottled under shame and isolation is a tinderbox ready to explode and those explosions rarely avoid casualties.  Anger unacknowledged causes an immeasurable amount of harm.  But a parent who knows that they are not alone - who knows that without shame, they can acknowledge hard places, ask for help/wisdom/perspective - that parent can take a step back, gain perspective, and move forward in a healthy manner.

Talking about it - acknowledging it - takes the wind out of shame's sails.  And true community, the village that it takes to raise our kids, can speak truth, correction, healing and help over us, in ways that we can't to ourselves.

Even if that acknowledging it is actually confessing out-loud something that is hard, like anger and frustration.  And asking your friend to encourage you to ask for your children's forgiveness too.  

Even if that acknowledging it is a friend listening to you cry and saying, "Just breathe.  I've been there too and it sounds like today has been really hard.  Give yourself some grace.  You're doing a good job."

Even if that acknowledging it means a good friend saying, "that actually does sound like something you need to work on, so that it doesn't wound your children, and I'm here to walk with you in finding that help."**

So I'm sharing this story in the hope that it will be freeing to you, if you happen to be like me, and occasionally lose your temper with your children.  You are not alone.  Oh sister, brother, you are not alone.

It matters what we do with that anger.  It matters immensely, for the sake of our children, our souls, our families, and our selves.  But do not let shame intensify or isolate those emotions and actions.

You are not alone.

Say it out loud.  Be the safe place where others can say it out loud.  And let's walk out of shame, towards growth and healing together.

By acknowledging it together, sharing it out loud, walking alongside one another in truth without condemnation, repenting together, encouraging one another,  we can actually enable one another to be better parents.  To bless one another with freedom from guilt and shame, and the encouragement and tools that we need to grow.




** While most instances of parental anger and frustration are not matters that require intervention, or CPS/DCF aid, I am fully aware that there are places where a friend does need to, in truth and true friendship, enable a parent to seek professional help in order to protect their children and families.  My prayer is that as we talk more about anger, in both big and small instances, that the diffusion of anger will increase, and those instances will become fewer and farther between.

come alive: the you stuff

I was hanging out with a mom friend this morning and, amidst trying to get our (my) kids to play well with one another and attempting to speak over the dull roar of construction vehicles that our children were animatedly watching,  we were catching up on life.  Among other things, I was sharing with her about my new venture - starting an Etsy store - and her whole face lit up, she became animated, and her excitement was tangible.  What she said was really powerful to me, and that's what I want to share with you.  She said (paraphrased):

"I am so so excited for you!  You can tell you're excited.  Because, this... this is YOU stuff.  This is you living out of who you are, not just as a mommy, but in what gives you life and energy.  This is we moms need, and struggle to do.  I am so proud of you!  This is the good stuff!"

This post has nothing to do with my Etsy store, spoiler alert.  It's in the menu bar if you're interested.  It's not about promoting it, or part of my grand marketing strategy.  That's still piecemealed together on napkins that my toddler may or may not have attempted to eat.  Slobber is not underrated in this enterprise, apparently.

Rather, this post is about finding what gives you life and doing that.  Developing and fostering parts of you that your kids might appreciate, but that aren't solely for them.  Teaching them how to be men and women who follow their dreams, follow through on their goals, and pursue joy - by doing it.

Have I written this post before?  Yup, pretty sure I have.  Pretty sure it's been part of any post that I've written giving advice to my future self, to moms of littles, to future parents, and probably just about anyone else.

It's so easy to give yourself away daily - even while it is infinitely difficult - so much so that we lose all of who we are, and all our toddler can answer when asked "what does mommy enjoy?" is "dishes" "laundry" and "me."  All important things, and not to be minimized.  Hence, why I will continue washing dishes and folding laundry, ad infinitum.

I want my sons to know that I adore them.  That I would do anything for them.  That nothing can diminish, alter, or interfere with my love for them.  That I love their Daddy with an equally strong, fierce and passionate love.  This is first and foremost, if they learn nothing else from me.  That they three, husband, and sons, are my priority.

But I also want them to see me follow my dreams, to chase after my goals, and to live a full and joyful life.  I want them to see me have the courage to be all of who I am, so that maybe just maybe when I encourage them to be all of who they are, and to chase after their dreams and do the hard work of fulfilling their goals, that they will have examples of what that looks like.

I was reminded this morning, by my friend's kind words of affirmation - this sister has the gift of celebrating with others with her whole being - that it is not a small thing to pursue who we are and to strive to live into the whole of who we are.  That it's not just for us - although it is a good and beautiful thing for us as well.  That it matters for our kids.

That life perpetuates life.

And that pursuit of life is a good and holy thing.

Will you join me, friend?  Will you carve out seconds, minutes, hours - that are costly - to foster life?  Even if it's just five minutes a day, will you be intentional to make it happen?

Maybe it's writing - maybe it's reading - maybe you love gardening, cooking, playing games, creating things with your hands - maybe you love singing or making music - maybe your soul comes to life when you climb a mountain or swim with the fish or soar above the clouds.

Whatever it - however long you can whittle out - will you do it? Put your strategy down on those slobbery napkins.  Write it down.  Speak it out.  Make it happen.

Because here's the beautiful secret - life perpetuates life.  And when your soul is alive, it spreads.  It flows out, it radiates from your being, and it energizes those who come in contact with you.

Come alive.

cleaning curtains, hiding clutter, and called Beloved

We're having company over for dinner tonight - new friends that have a son about S's age.  My children are finally napping, I have a few minutes of down time, and you know what I'm doing?  Of course you do.  You've been there too.

I'm cleaning.  Preparing.  Striving.  Sweeping, cooking, hiding clutter.

I even washed the darned kitchen curtains, which have never before been washed. To my credit - or shame, you pick - they did have huge avocado stains on them from one youngest son who has decided to use them as his daily napkin, and did desperately need to be washed.  But still.

Now two hours into nap, our house looks like no toddlers live here.  Aside from the copious numbers of toys that are haphazardly hanging out of the toy box.  And you know, the two toddlers that my friend knows I have, and is bringing hers over to play with.

"Accept me.  Love me! Think that I have my act together!"

What am I doing?

Ironically, the last conversation I had with this friend?  Mom guilt.  Comparison.  Feeling like we need to measure up, and how we all feel like we don't.  How we all feel judged, even if we're not.

Obviously there's a balance - hospitality is a good thing.  Creating a (beautiful, clean, comfortable) space where others can relax and feel welcomed without stepping on week old pre-chewed cheerios, is totally valid.  Good, even.  But meticulously cleaning so that others will approve of me?

We all know the lesson - we preach it to others all the time.  No one worries about you or your kids as much as you do.  Just be yourself - that's who we love and want to hang out with.  We've all been there with the hot mess melting down toddler.  Our houses aren't clean either.  Please don't worry about it.  Honestly, it's not a big deal. 

But then, we go home, and we worry.  We clean.  We prepare.  We work hard to make sure that our kids aren't those kids. That our house isn't that house.  That we aren't that mom.  

Or we don't.  And then we apologize profusely.  "I'm so sorry my toddlers are being loud" (never met a toddler that wasn't). "I'm sorry that I didn't clean up" (Please.  Drs Hoover and Bissell could live here and the carpet wouldn't be cleaner).  "I feel like I should have at least put on makeup; I look like a hot mess!" (You're wearing deodorant and look like you showered in the last day - so ahead of me).

("I'm so sorry there's no dinner tonight; I was too busy blogging my feelings..." jk jk. kind of.)

Somehow we all know the lesson, but somewhere it gets lost in translation and not applied. 

At a root and core, I think we're all just scared that we'll mess up.  That we'll be judged.  Not loved.   Not appreciated.  Found wanting.  Not thought to be [you fill in the blank]. 

That's true for me with friends, with company, and in so many other areas, blogosphere among them.

Ever post that I push publish on - I get antsy and scared that it won't be read.  That no will care.  That I won't matter.  Because I do that, even though I know the falseness of it and the dangers therein, my identity becomes wrapped up in what I do, where I am, and how I'm received/perceived.  And I desperately want to be accepted, loved, and respected.

Even though this whole blog is about how I'm called Beloved.  Given an identity that is unshakable.  Named. Known.  Loved.  Not defined by our successes or failures.  Somehow I always keep circling back into that pernicious cycle of looking for external acceptance and worth and value.

I don't have the first clue how to handle the urgent sense that I need to clean up, prepare, and make myself and our house presentable.  I don't know whether I should leave the clutter or find a hospitable balance or hand our guests a vacuum cleaner, or keep maniacally cleaning.  I'm going to hazard a wild guess that balance is the way to go.

But what I do know is this:  we're all right, in that lesson that we all know.  We are so much more than our houses, our children, or our ability to (appear to) have our sh$& together. 

Our identity is not found nor secure in others' opinions of us.

I am (you are) called Beloved.  Known.  Loved.  Accepted.  Belonging.  Free.  Free.  Free.  And that is unconditional, not based on what we do, who we know, or how clean our curtains are.

But it doesn't do much good unless we actually live it.

I need to tape it to my doors, mirrors, and toilet handles.  To my broom, my makeup kit, my toddler's back, to my wallet.  I need it tattooed on my hand, and written on my pillow.  Whatever it takes to translate it from my minds to my hearts to my lives.  Because when we actually live that out, we are finally able to actually love and welcome and know and accept others, and finally become that safe space, that comfortable person, and that shelter in the storm of longing that we desire to be, every time we preach that same old lesson.  Because we've learned that lesson ourselves.

One day at a time.  I'll keep writing the same story, over, and over and over again.