Blog
made for this
For the longest time, I lived my life a certain way. I lived defensively. I wore everything that had hurt me like a badge on my chest. I thought I had to. I thought it was necessary to my survival.
And maybe it was. For a while, at least. Maybe that’s what got me through. But that is no longer my truth.
It’s been almost a year ago since I got new insurance and had to switch over all of my mental health providers. I was so so upset and anxious about the prospect of losing all the history I had with my providers from ERC (formerly CED). Knowing that I could no longer seek treatment at a higher level of care at ERC was also a little bit scary. But mostly the entire experience has been freeing.
Sometimes what we really need is a fresh start. I mean it was good to work with people who knew my past and how my symptoms manifest and what works and what doesn’t. It was good to have people on my side who knew what my patterns looked like. But I think it also limited me. There was an invisible barrier between me and my healing. Created by definitions and diagnoses. None of my providers were capable of seeing me as anyone other than a damaged, traumatized girl with an eating disorder. No matter how much they cared or tried to help, I would always be that twenty-something year old incapable of growth and healing.
This past year was remarkably average, which is what made it so great. It has mostly been about redefining myself. My identity. Not as a sick person, but as a living one. I used to spend so much time seeking a purpose and getting super depressed when it eluded me. I’ve discovered that there is a difference between identity and purpose. I’m hopeful that digging into my identity will lead me to my purpose, but that is no longer my only goal.
I made a conscious decision that I would take strides toward freedom. And yes, I started with selecting providers that would look at me comprehensively. People who would keep an eye on me and my behavior without placing me in a box. I intentionally sought out community and relationships outside of a “recovery” environment. I set boundaries with people who refused to allow me to be anything other than the “sick one” in our friendship.
I tried something different. Rather than leaning into an identity rooted in illness, I chose to embrace one full of hope and joy. It was a different kind of vulnerability. I’m not denying my past or hiding it. I am not lying about who I am. I’m just deciding to align myself with the positive because—let’s be honest—life is so much better that way. My past is part of me, but it is not who I am. My past has shaped me, but it does not define me. I get to decide which parts I carry and which parts I lay down.
I am 100% amazed by Skylar 100% of the time. And the changes that I have made over this past year have allowed me to be more engaged and present with my daughter than ever before. Different parents have different opinions on which ages are the most enjoyable and/or rewarding ages to raise their kids. And then you have the people that say every age is their favorite.
My journey through parenthood has been a rollercoaster (as most parents will say, I’m sure). It would be easy for me to wallow in deep regret over the times I have not been as present and engaged in my daughter’s life as I would have liked. I even had a christian counselor tell me how many opportunities I had missed and how that was detrimental to my child. But that is not a very productive way of thinking.
After much thought, I have come to this conclusion. I am profoundly grateful that if I had to be in a “good place” for any time period of Skylar’s life, THIS is the period I would select. Today. Right now. In these messy moments. Sure, I know and recognize the importance of a loving and encouraging childhood. And I know with all my heart that she received all the love and encouragement a child could require, even if it wasn’t always directly from me. But these high school years. Man am I grateful to be present for these.
Everyone talks about the importance of leaving a legacy. For a long while, I was almost as obsessed about my legacy as I was about my purpose. But in these first few months of Skylar’s time in high school, I have decided that purpose and legacy can be a lot simpler than we make it out to be.
Over the years, I had become very resentful of my high school and early college years. Everything I had once loved, everything I had once dreamed of, everything I had once worked towards became a source of bitterness and resentment. I pushed it all away because it was just too painful. I saw no purpose in that suffering. It had brought me nothing but depression and poor decisions.
But over this past year, my heart has opened. I’ve been able to remember those times with fondness. I’ve been able to remember those people with love and gratitude. I’ve been able to see that even pain has purpose.
It was in separating myself from my illness that I have been able to relate to my daughter in meaningful ways. Before, I only remembered all the reasons why I hated high school. I only remembered the physical pain I endured during college. I only remembered the unbearable loss I experienced throughout my early twenties. That caused me to wall everything off, which prevented me from relating to others.
But in allowing myself to see the good, everything about me has softened. It’s like my ability to see, give, and experience love has been dialed up a bit. My heart bursts when I see my puppy run to greet me whenever I return home. I enjoy looking through old pictures. I swell with joyful remembrance when old friends reach out. I look forward to and celebrate everything that excites me.
And I want only “better” for my daughter. I don’t mean better in the traditional way. I want to share with her my experience in the hope that she will be free of the struggles that made my life miserable for decades. I know I cannot save her from everything. I know that she will face her own challenges. I know that she will struggle in her own way. But these years are formative. In them, she will learn how to chase her dreams. She will learn how to handle stressful situations. She will learn how to navigate difficult relationships. She might learn about love and loss. She will learn who she is and start to figure out who she wants to be.
I wasn’t very good at play time or story time or scheduling playdates. But this. This I am well prepared to do. It is not easy and I am not perfect. There have been evenings where we’ve both sobbed ourselves to sleep. And I’m sure there will be other challenges down the road. But as challenging as these years are, I know that THIS is what I’ve been groomed for. THIS is my purpose. SHE will be my legacy. And gosh does that make me joyful beyond belief.
There are a handful of people who I will carry in my heart forever and they will probably never know the profound impact they made on my life. Some are alive and some have passed. Most I haven’t spoken to in years. They might not even remember my name or my story, but I will remember them until the day I die.
They are my motivation to redefine myself. To recreate my identity. To strive for something more than survival. To tell my story from a place of victory rather than victimhood. To be vulnerable in a new way. To become the person they believed I could be.
It’s easy to look back on the past and say, “I think I wasted all the time I was supposed to be happy.” I have frequently believed statements like this. But I don’t believe that anymore. I believe that there is no limit to joy or happiness. I believe these things are a never-ending source of strength. But I don't believe they come from moments of radical realization. I believe they come from the mundane and everyday. They come from little moments of awe sprinkled through life. Some seasons have more joy than others. That is a fact. But there is more than enough joy to go around. Don’t be afraid to take your share.
power
Recently, I’ve been very focused on the process of taking charge of my own life. It started about a year ago. I was in treatment and my assigned psychiatrist was one I had worked with several years ago. I was concerned that she would only see me for who I was back then. I worried that she would let that overshadow who I am today. But the reality was quite different from my expectations. She definitely remembered who I was and used her knowledge of “Past Brittany”, but not to judge and pigeonhole me. She used it to understand me and speak to my soul. I think she is probably the only person in the world who could say what she said without me completely loosing my shit.
She compelled me to engage in some deep introspection. She asked me why I was who and where I was. Point blank. And I realized how long I’ve evaded both responsibility and adulthood. It was embarrassing and shameful. Even now, I can’t believe that I’m writing about it on the internet. Because it is so not cool to admit. Even to myself. That I have been running and running and running for years. Away from everything. Never towards. I had been overwhelmed by fear for over half my life.
Looking back now, I do not blame myself for doing so. I had many reasons and some of them were good. But they were not doing me any sort of service. My inclination to run was only holding me back from leading any sort of life worth living.
And it was in that moment in a cramped office staring at my psychiatrist with tears streaming down my face that I admitted what she already knew. I was the only one standing in the way of the life I hoped for myself. I was the only person holding me back from realizing my full potential. I was the one sabotaging recovery year after year. It was all me. I had no one else to blame.
But the way my psychiatrist led me to this conclusion allowed me to do so with self-compassion. Not judgement of myself for lost time, lost relationships, lost experiences, and lost love. But with a desire to change myself for the future. For today. And in that way, she empowered me like no other provider ever has.
Like I said, that was a year ago. The process is slow, but I have broken down so many barriers. I have let myself feel sorrow and experience grief. I have surrendered myself to rage and explored my anxiety. And by diving into all that is difficult, I have paved a way to joy, contentment, gratitude, and hope. Things I really thought were not in the cards for me.
The biggest hurdle that I have faced for decades has been finding a purpose. I lost everything in college. All that I had worked so hard for. All that I had dreamed of. All that I had hung my future on. It all vanished. Part was taken and part was surrendered of my own accord. I have come to terms with the past and realize that my college years and all that has followed ultimately became the foundation for my new hopes and dreams.
I have spent decades searching for my true passion. Something that excites and directs me. I never ever dreamed it would take so long to find something like that again. Something that gets me excited enough to risk the unknown and the inevitable challenges ahead. But I have. I finally have. And I received the full support and encouragement of people who had seen me at my worst when I discharged from treatment last year.
My life changed drastically in February of this year. The mental health providers that I had seen consistently for the last 15 years were no longer covered by my insurance. I had to find a new therapist and psychiatrist. If I ever have to return to treatment, it will not be with a familiar program. These things may not seem substantial, but they rocked my world for sure.
I found new providers and I have been unimpressed. My appointments with the NP who manages my medication last 5-10 minutes. Luckily I have been stable and on the same meds for a year, so it is no biggie. But I do occasionally worry how he will help me if I start to struggle again. The therapist I started seeing was truly terrible. It was all virtual visits and they were also very short. She didn’t really stay in her lane very well and always had an incredibly unhelpful opinion to offer regarding medical and dietary concerns. So much so that I avoided talking about such topics and would even occasionally lie to avoid her unhealthy views and judgements surrounding food. And that is 100% not like me. I know that therapy is only effective if I am truthful and vulnerable. It was not a good situation.
Luckily my insurance switched yet again on June 1st. One of the therapists I worked with when my “real” therapist was on maternity leave yeeeeeears ago opened a private practice and he accepts my new insurance. YAY!!! I dumped the crappy therapist last week and saw my new therapist yesterday and it was so so refreshing.
He sees patients both in person and virtually. I have not been to an in-person therapy session (outside of treatment) in over a year. Others may disagree, but I think something is lost when therapy is done virtually rather than in-person. Sure, there are benefits to having the ability to meet with someone virtually. But there’s nothing that replaces a face-to-face therapy session.
He is willing to meet me where I am right now and help me grow and walk into the life that I envision for myself. And I am so excited.
We talked about how paralyzing my anxiety used to be. And when I say paralyzing, I mean paralyzing. Life-altering. Incapacitating. He asked me how I overcame that.
And I didn’t have a good answer for him. I told him that was one of the things that worries me. The fact that I could not tell you what set of skills helped me to navigate and overcome that anxiety. It is worrisome because I won’t know how to overcome the anxiety again if and when it returns.
He asked me about mindfulness. And I said no, I don’t really practice mindfulness. Unless you count playing the piano.
On the drive home, I continued to think about our conversation. I remembered that mindfulness is simply being in the present moment without judgement. And I realized just how much I have practiced mindfulness in the past week.
I wouldn’t have called it mindfulness in the moment. It was busy and loud and overwhelming. But boy was I present.
The number of times that I paused, closed my eyes, took a breath, and felt joyful tears in my eyes over the last week? I can’t even count.
Thursday night. Closing Ceremony. Watching the little Primary kids sing their hearts out. Remembering Skylar at that age. Wondering how time could fly by so fast. Watching the Middle Schoolers perform a self-choreographed dance. Hearing Skylar give her speech. Her saying thank you. Realizing that maybe I’ve done something right. Seeing the graduates embrace each other before escaping offstage. Realizing that we made it. That Skylar is turning into a super stellar human and that the fun is just beginning. Realizing that because of the choices I’ve been making, I get to be a part of it. A part of her future. A part of who she continues to become. And just how lucky I am to do so.
Thursday night. Again. Dinner with 30+ people. Talking to parents. Being a part of a celebration. Despite not being able to hear myself think. Despite not hearing half of what the other people were saying. But being included. Having something to talk about. Being a part of the conversation. Not just there but present. What a gift.
Friday morning. Annual Picnic. Not worried about the weather or my outfit or the endless amounts of food. Just spending time with friends and enjoying the fellowship of the people who have been instrumental in Skylar’s educational experience over the past 9 years. Basking in friendships and good food in the shade of the trees.
Friday afternoon and evening. Hershey Park. Strolling. Laughing. Eating. And just being. With teenagers and adults who truly enjoy each other’s company. Who are authentic and genuine and comfortable and accepting.
And at every event and in every way I was present in the moment. Basking in the beauty of all that life has laid before me in simple and complex opportunities. I would truly pause, close my eyes, and say to myself, “Wow. Isn’t this something.”
To see myself move from purposelessness to where I am today in just one short year…I have much to be thankful for. I have much to live for.
And while I am thankful for family, treatment teams, friends, and God…I think it is equally important for me to be thankful to myself. It is my hard work. It is my tough decisions. It is my ACTION that has moved me so far down the path of healing. And it’s important to acknowledge the role that I have played in doing so. Because life isn’t some passive experience. The choices—big and small—that we make each day are what makes life fulfilling, passionate, rich, and joyful. And to deny or minimize the impact of what I have done for myself this year would be the equivalent of running and giving away my power. Something I sincerely hope to never do again.
I love this life far too much. I love my people far too deeply. I love my future far too fiercely.
To ever give away my power again.
happiest of days
Well today is May 18, 2024. It is exactly 1 year since my most recent treatment admission. It is also exactly 2 days after my 38th birthday. And I have a lot to be proud of.
Many people my age have a serious aversion to celebrating birthdays anymore. Aging gives them all sorts of negative emotions. And don’t get me wrong, I do have the occasional… “I seem to get older faster every year and I’ve barely accomplished anything of note in my life” moment. But. More than anything, I am filled with gratitude and awe. Which allows me to more fully celebrate and embrace every single precious moment. Which I think is actually pretty cool.
FIRST:
Last year I spent my birthday dinner in intensive outpatient treatment at Center for Discovery. Earlier in the day I had called Eating Recovery Center and planned my residential admission for the 18th. I spent most of the night sobbing.
This year, my dad and I went to Crumbl Cookies to snag birthday treats, treated ourselves to Starbucks, and drove to surprise my birthday buddy with some gifts after she got off work. Then Dad, Mom, and I went to Beck’s in Sykesville for a delicious dinner. I enjoyed every bite, every sip, and every breath I took.
SECOND:
Last year, I missed out on hearing all about Skylar’s school Adventure Trip. I was never available when she called from Chicago. I was not able to welcome her home due to my residential treatment admission. I said goodbye to Skylar on Monday, expecting to say hello in less than a week. I didn’t see her again for 2 months.
This year, I was home for every phone call and looked forward to her updates. Their plane from San Diego landed at 10:10pm yesterday. Way past my usual bedtime. But Dad and I went to pick her up and I was bouncing with excitement. Because I got to be there. I got to give her a huge hug and welcome her home. And my heart nearly burst. What a gift it was to simply exist in that moment.
THIRD:
Last year, I dreaded leaving the house and having to interact with the other parents at school or Girl Scouts. I felt inadequate, overwhelmed, and exhausted. 24/7.
This year, I have eagerly anticipated all the activities that signal the end of our MSW era. The Middle School Play was a real treat. I can’t wait to hear Skylar speak at the Closing Ceremony. I’m looking forward to the Annual Picnic. I’ll even tolerate the terrifying spinning wheel of death. The trip to Hershey with the Springdale-bound crew is something I’m excited for.
And that’s really just the start of it all. I haven’t felt this ALIVE in such a long time. I mean it’s certainly no cake walk. I’m still figuring out a lot of stuff. I have days that I just need to rest. So I do. I’m really just focusing on taking care of myself in every possible way. Which allows me to more fully engage with the people I care about the most.
I am more and more amazed with my daughter by the day. Watching Skylar grow is truly one of the greatest joys in my life. She is just an overall super cool human and I consider myself incredibly blessed to call myself her mother. I can’t believe we are where we are. In time. In our relationship. I mean the whole thing really is just one huge miracle that I’m surprised an overwhelmed by daily.
I guess what I’m saying is that my heart is filled with gratitude, which is really the best gift that I ever could have received for my birthday. I am blown away with the love, acceptance, encouragement, and support that I have received from everyone I encountered on my journey this past year. I wouldn’t be who or where I am without all the experiences and all people that I stumbled into.
All my love,
Brittany
Love Fiercely
I can't believe it's spring break already. I've passed 2 midterms with flying colors and I'm halfway through the semester! Wahoo!!
I started back at school last spring. I took one class. Then I took a summer class. Then I registered for 2 fall classes. Then life happened and I dropped both fall classes. I tried it for about a week and then I freaked out. My intermediate accounting class required a tutorial of everything you learned in 101 and 102. I was failing every module. I was going through some mental health stuff. I decided to take the semester off and get my head straight.
Well my head isn't exactly straight, but it isn't on backwards either, so I figured it was worth it register for some courses again. I'm an accounting major and I work in accounting, so no matter how I sliced it I was going to have to take that stupid intermediate accounting class. So I decided to go ahead and register for that one along with a decision science class. I dreaded it the whole month of January. That tutorial haunted my dreams.
But this professor used a different tutorial than the one last fall and it was actually more of a refresher tool than a "make you feel like a complete and total idiot" kind of thing. We had 3 weeks to do it and I sat down the Saturday before classes started and knocked the whole thing out in an afternoon. It was a long day, but I did it. The thing I'd been dreading since August was over and intermediate accounting could begin. Bam.
Well. I think it was week 2 or 3 when I just started crying in the middle of my bedroom with my textbook open in my lap. "I HATE this," I sobbed. "It's SO BORING." "This is what I've decided to do?!?!" "I can't do this for the rest of my life!!" "What have I done?!?!" "I'm going to be miserable." "I thought I knew what I wanted to do and now I have no idea." "I don't know what I want to be when I grow up but I have to do SOMETHING." "I can't stay where I am." "I'll never amount to anything." "I'm wasting my time and money." "What am I doing with my life?!?!"
Total. Freakout. But it's true. I like what I'm doing, but I can't support my family on my own off of it. I need more education to advance, but if this is what advancing looks like, I don't want to do it. I'll keep doing what I'm doing. I like what I'm doing. This stuff sucks.
But I can't stay where I am forever. I need to figure something out. I'm almost 33. I need to pick a road and walk down it. And this road makes sense. I'm told I'm good at it. And no matter what road you pick, you have to wade through the theory. Theory is boring. And there's theory wherever you go. You have to stick it out.
So I did. And a few weeks later we're working on deferrals and accruals and journal entries and discontinued operations. Oooooooo. Finally something fun! Maybe this isn't so bad after all.
You know it's really easy to get depressed. If I am able to maintain the pace of 2 spring, 1 summer, and 2 fall classes year, it will take me at least 4 years to graduate. 4 YEARS. I look at my degree plan and there's still so much to do. But then I remember. I'm 2 classes closer than I was this time last year. And I'm halfway through 2 more! You're required to have an undergraduate degree and 150 credits to sit for the CPA exam. For most people that means getting a masters degree. I don't know whether it's a good or bad thing, but I'll have 150 by the time I'm finished my undergrad without having to take any graduate level courses. So I'll take a CPA prep class after I graduate and hopefully sit for the exam. The CPA exam is in 4 parts and you must pass all 4 parts within 18 months. So MAYBE in 6 years or so I MIGHT be able to do what I actually WANT to do with my life. By age 40. Maybe.
And right now I'm not even sure it's what I want to do with my life.
All this work. All this money. All this time. And I don't even know.
But not doing anything isn't getting me anywhere, so I've gotta do something. Might as well get my learn on.
Life is stressful right now. I'm working full time, going to school part time, parenting a 9 year old, volunteering, trying to make friends, maintaining recovery, and I'm in the middle of some serious medication management. And I'm not sleeping at night. It's exhausting. Some days I get to the end of the day and I'm not really sure how I got there. I get home from work and the last thing I feel like doing is breaking open a textbook. And then my 9 year old has a complete meltdown. Her screaming. Her tears. My tears. My complete lack of faith in my ability to raise a human being. More tears. From both of us. Sometimes with a hug at the end and sometimes it's just crying ourselves to sleep. So we can do it again tomorrow. It's exhausting. And I'm not entirely sure how it's happening. But it is.
That's the part I have to remind myself about.
I'm not sure how it's happening, but it is. We make it through each day. Somehow. Some days are full of laughter and others we're limping across the finish line, but we're making it. And that has to be enough. We're not winning any trophies. That's for sure. But who needs a trophy anyway. They just collect dust.
If there's one thing I'm learning, it's this. We are fighters. Skylar and I. Sometimes that means we fight with ourselves and sometimes that means we fight with each other. Both of which are hard and unnecessary. But you know what else it means? It means we fight FOR each other. It means we fight for life. It means we don't give up. On ourselves or each other. It means we're there for our people. It means we're resilient. It means we're warriors.
And to me that makes the other stuff a little less important. It's ok that we both suck at spelling. And maybe math isn't her strong suit. We'll figure it out. We always do.
I keep saying I'm not cut out for this. I'm in over my head. I'm out of my element. And it's true. All of it.
I have not been adequately prepared for this journey. And it's no one's fault. Just like it's no one's fault that Skylar has trouble managing her emotions. We just have to accept where we are and take the next right step. And right is a very subjective word. Right today might be wrong tomorrow. You've just gotta do the best with what you've got.
So I take what I have. I draw on the resources around me. I talk to the people I respect. I study. I work. I learn. I rest. And most importantly...I love. Fiercely. Because when it comes down to it, Jesus isn't going to ask me how long it took me to become a CPA or if Skylar ever learned to write her cursive "b" correctly. He's going to ask me how I loved.
So I'm in this season of life where there's a lot to work on. A lot of things require my time and energy. And sometimes sacrifices are going to have to be made. And I don't like sacrifices. And I'm going to have to decide what can be sacrificed. Historically, I have sacrificed myself. I've come far enough to know that's not an option. So how will I decide? How will I know what can slide and what simply cannot survive without my undivided attention?
I think it's the thing that breaths. That has to be fed. The thing that requires love.
I think that thing is Skylar.
Skylar makes me a better person. Even in the moments of pain and rage, she shapes my heart and molds me into a more compassionate, patient, loving human being. In fact, it's especially in those moments. Sometimes she brings out the worst in me, but I think that's so I can take a look at myself and say, "Brittany, you are straight up unreasonable. You need to change." Sometimes it takes me a while to get the hint, but I get there eventually. So I'm better next time. I'm trying to become the person she needs me to be.
I'm quite certain that she is teaching me far more than I am teaching her.
If there's one thing I know it's that life isn't fair. Usually that's said in a negative connotation. All this shitty stuff happened to me and it's just not fair. I've definitely uttered those words. But you know what? Life isn't fair in another way, too. It's not fair that I got Skylar. I don't deserve her. She deserves far better than me. But she's mine. And I'm going to give her my very best. Some days that looks like studying by myself in my room so that I can provide for her financially in the future and other days that looks like a Harry Potter marathon on the couch with the family. Some days we are camping with Girls Scouts and other days are spent working on science fair projects. And some days are covered in tears. And that's life. That's love. That's our best. And that's all anyone can ask of us.
Branded
Motherhood does not come naturally to me. It is something I have to work at every day. It takes a conscious effort. Some days Skylar watches way too much TV. And some days the most I can bring myself to do is read a bedtime story. I consider playing a game a small victory and I count the moment as precious.
Precious. Now that's an interesting way of approaching the situation. Most days I get down on myself for not being more involved. For not being the energizer bunny. For not fixing cute afternoon snacks or scheduling playdates or planning craft time or setting up a sprinkler to run around in. For dreading going to the pool or working in a sleepover. I feel like a horrible person. A failure as a parent. A "bad mom."
But I've gotta say it makes those moments when we do read a story or play a game or head to the pool a little bit more precious to me. They are treasured moments. And maybe that's sad, but I'll take each one as a tiny victory. A reminder that parenthood is a privilege and a responsibility to be honored. Each one is a gift. A memory I am handing down to my daughter. And hopefully they're precious to her as well.
Being a parent is hard work and most days I'm not very good at it. The days that I feel the worst? Birthday parties. I HATE birthday parties. And let me tell you why:
I don't like driving to unfamiliar places. It gives me anxiety.
I worry about being able to find a parking spot. It gives me anxiety.
I wonder if my kid will behave. It gives me anxiety.
I wonder if I'll know anyone there. It gives me anxiety.
What will I talk about? It gives me anxiety.
How much do I spend on a present? It gives me anxiety.
How do I make my exit? It gives me anxiety.
Get the picture? In short, there's a lot of anxiety. Which makes me exhausted before we even leave the house.
(I am a master at finding things to be anxious about. I even get anxious about not being anxious. After all, there must be SOMETHING to worry about.)
Yesterday was the epitome of an anxiety provoking day. I was in for a 3 hour birthday party. At a pool. Full of people I'd never met.
3 hours is a long time. Especially when you don't know anyone. And pools terrify me. I'm recovering from an eating disorder and they say poor body image is the last thing to go. Putting on a bathing suit is the definition of vulnerability. It means accepting your body as it is and being confident enough to show it in front of others. It means putting self-consciousness aside and having fun anyway.
Well I don't know about having fun, but I did it. I did...
...find my way to the party while only missing one turn.
...find a parking spot.
...let my kid be a kid and swim her little heart out.
...know a few people there.
...hold a conversation or two without completely embarrassing myself.
...let my mom take Skylar gift shopping.
...leave when they said the party was over. Along with everyone else.
I even got in the pool for a few minutes. It was stinking hot outside and Skylar begged me, so I got in. And I was the only adult to do it. I walked around in my bikini and threw my hair up in a messy bun. Because it was hot. And my daughter wanted me to. And I wanted to be a good example.
A good example. You know, on days when I'm not feeling up to parenting or recovery, that's what keeps me going. I want to be a good example. I want Skylar to see what love looks like. I want to exemplify how to love others and how to love yourself. And that second one's gotta be the hardest thing to do. For me, at least.
Learning to love myself is a process. I say "is", not "was" because it's something I'm still working on. Some days I do it better than others. Some days I'm super critical and some days I'm more accepting. Some days I cry and some days I laugh. Some days I let anxiety dominate and some days I say "no." Some days the eating disorder thoughts still control me and some days recovery wins. Some days I hide in baggy clothes and some days I wear something super cute. Love myself. Accept myself. Value myself. Some days I do it better than others.
But I do it. If I can't do it for myself, then I do it for Skylar. I want her to see that it's ok to love yourself. That you SHOULD love yourself. That you are worthy of love. That you deserve love.
That there are lots of ways to love yourself. You can nourish your body, you can read your favorite books, you can have fun, you can swim, you can play, you can make new friends, you can listen to music, you can learn new things, and you can spend time with the people you care about the most. Golly day, even watching TV can be a way to love yourself. Anything that doesn't harm you is an expression of self-love. And those things are good. Loving yourself is good. I want her to see that. And it starts with me. Even on days I don't want it to, it does. It's up to me to be a good example. It pushes me to be better. To love myself more. To be kind to my body. To ask for help when I need it. To treat myself the way I treat others.
Motherhood does not come naturally, but loving my daughter does. Please don't doubt that for a minute. I love my daughter with every fiber of my being. She is one cool kid. She makes me smile. She makes me laugh. And she gives the best hugs ever. I mean, she even has to ask if you're ready for a hug, because her hugs are just that powerful. "Are you ready for this, mommy?" she asks. "Always." I reply.
Yesterday I got the chance to love both Skylar and myself at the same time. I got to wear my bikini. I didn't *have* to. No one else did. It was a choice that I made. Because she wanted me to and because I wanted to show her I could. That I wasn't ashamed of who I am.
And yes, I have a wicked sunburn. I was so caught up in the moment that I forgot about the whole sunscreen thing. My bad. I've been branded with what feels like will be an eternal bikini line across my back and side. But I like to think I've been branded with love. Sometimes love hurts. But there's nothing else I'd rather wear on my sleeves than an expression of love. Self or selfless. And who says it can't be both?
A Mother & Her Uppercase R
I knew there would be moments that I'd feel like the worst parent in the world. That there would be times I'd look back and wish there was something I had or hadn't done. That I would say something and instantaneously feel like a complete idiot. I knew it, but that doesn't mean I was prepared it. I'd like to say this was the first time, but it wasn't. And I know it won't be the last.
Skylar's preschool has a pretty structured morning drop-off routine. I hand the teacher Skylar's lunchbox, hang up her coat in her cubby, then she goes and washes her hands. Next, she goes over to the dry-erase board and writes her name to sign in. Then we walk over to the easel containing the "Question of the Day", which is usually a simple yes or no question. I read the question, then Skylar takes the magnet with her name on it and puts it under the answer she thinks is correct. Then it's time for goodbye hugs and we're off for the day.
As I was hanging up Skylar's jacket on Friday, one of her teachers walked me over to the dry-erase board. She said, "We're going to start working with Skylar on writing her name in lowercase letters. She's really good at writing her name, but she usually uses all caps. Especially her 'R'."
To most parents, this would probably be exciting. Me? I was mortified.
See, while I wouldn't consider myself an artist per say, I am slightly obsessed with typography, calligraphy, and the written English language as a whole. My handwriting changes every few months. I like to play with letters and create new styles. I enjoy addressing envelopes and I still journal by hand most nights.
My current "thing" is to make every letter "R" in uppercase. It doesn't matter if it starts a sentence or makes an appearance in the middle of a word. It is R. Never r. I think I've always written Skylar's name as: SkylAR. It looks much cooler when I write it by hand. I assure you.
So imagine my utter devastation upon learning that my one and only form of artistic expression may be the downfall of my child's preschool career. Okay, okay. I might be overreacting just a little bit.
I think we each have things that hit us with some force. We know that children imitate their parents, but we each have a brutal "aha moment" when the matter becomes real to us. I guess I'm lucky that mine came in the form of an uppercase R at the end of a word rather than my daughter repeating unkind words in the middle of the grocery store.
My daughter is amazing and I'm betting your kid is pretty awesome too. They soak in everything, man. Kids are always on. Skylar's memory astounds me daily. She observes the way I cross my legs, the way I say certain phrases, and--apparently--how I write each carefully crafted "R".
We always tell our kids, "Hey, I'm watching you!" Then we make that motion with our fingers from our eyes to theirs. You know what I'm talking about. Well I think we've got it wrong. The truth is, our children watch us more intently than we will ever watch them. It's time we noticed.
What is the strangest thing a child has done to imitate you?
“Oh, Ryeli!”
Sometimes I'm just going about my normal day and I'm suddenly knocked off my feet by a seemingly obvious revelation. It's usually one of those things I know that I know, yet I instantaneously find myself looking at it with a fresh perspective. It's startling and it usually makes me laugh at first. Then I pause and realize that there's truth in the humor; I step back and try to find a place for this new revelation in my current reality.
For those of you who don't know me or regularly follow this blog, you should know 2 things:
We have a 6 month old puppy. Her name is Ryeli. My very good friend has a teenage daughter named Rielly. My 4 year old daughter adores Rielly and therefore wanted to name our new puppy after her. I felt bad naming our dog after a very sweet human and my dad loves rye bread, so I decided we would spell our puppy's name Ryeli to avoid any confusion. I know, I know, you wish you had thought of this yourself.
I am recovering from hip surgery number 6. I had a fairly large hunk of metal removed from my femur a few weeks ago and am still pretty "fragile" until the bone fills in and heals. Existing in the same space as a highly energetic 4-year-old human and an 6-month-old puppy who has yet to become aware of her own strength has proven to be a challenge. The 4-year-old gets the crutches and understands "Be careful around Mommy so that she doesn't fall" (most of the time). The puppy, on the other hand, isn't quite as forgiving. I've pretty much had to separate myself from her during my recovery.
So now on to my newest revelation. I love Ryeli a lot, so it really makes me sad that I can't get too close to her during my recovery. I think she misses me too; when she sees me she starts wagging her tail really hard and her eyes practically beg me to walk over and say hi.
But she's a puppy and we're still in the housebreaking phase of things. So when she gets excited, she pees. Everywhere. It wasn't a big deal before my surgery; I just cleaned it up if she got too excited upon seeing me. But things are a little different now. If I decide to give in to her puppy eyes (literally) and hobble over to the gate, someone else has to clean up the inevitable mess.
In short, my actions have consequences that affect other people. My decision to gratify my own desires (i.e. to pet my precious pup) results in rather unpleasant consequences for the people I love (i.e. mom cleaning up the mess).
It sounds so simple, but it stopped me in my tracks that day. We're usually aware of the fact that our choices affect others, but I think we tend to apply this awareness mostly towards the "big stuff." You know, the place we live, the kids we have, the jobs we take. The big stuff.
But it's important to remember that even our smallest decisions have the potential to affect the course of someone else's day. And that's not a bad thing. It makes me appreciate my mom more when she says it's ok for me to go pet Ryeli; that she's prepared to clean up the mess.
When Ryeli has an accident inside the house, one of us usually sighs in exasperation and cries, "Oh, Ryeli!" Like we're surprised. Really? I think we should be more surprised when she doesn't have an accident. She occasionally switches things around, though. She causes me say to myself, "Oh, Brittany!" I shake my head and sigh, then thank her for giving me a glimpse inside myself.
What life lessons has your pet taught you?
Showrooming
Most of you probably have no idea what showrooming is, but the truth is you probably do it several times a week. It's happening more and more and it can be both a good and bad thing. Showrooming is basically using physical stores as a showroom for your purchases. You go to Best Buy, Barnes & Noble, and department stores to see what you like. You try things on, you hold them in your hand, you flip the pages, and you pick the brains of the store employees. You pretty much do everything possible...except buy the product. You're lucky if you even get into your car before you're browsing the internet looking for the best deal.
I get it. I do the same thing. I have a hard time picturing product measurements and colors. Pictures on the internet only show you so much. There's something about seeing with my own eyes and holding with my own hands. But I have to wonder...how long will it be until we no longer have the showrooms to visit? How long until our product questions can only be answered post-purchase by a customer service agent in India? Businesses can't pay rent, stock inventory, or hire employees if they're not moving product.
We're taking advantage of our resources. We use services we aren't paying for because it's convenient, cheap, and "hassle-free." We're taking consumerism to an entirely new level.
Our irresponsibility towards our resources will have consequences. Although not quite as concerning as pollution or world hunger, I am certain that we will experience a loss due to our showrooming tendencies.
We will miss out socially as well. There's something about walking into a book store and interacting with another human. You walk into the store seeking a good read, but you find yourself in conversation about the new best-seller or an all-time favorite. You tell the desperate guy where he can get the most for his used textbook (which...ironically...is online). You get some fresh air and can listen to music during the car ride. You might even walk out with a pile of paper wrapped in fresh binding. And wouldn't that be something?
I recently read a book to my daughter and the inside of it had a letter to the parents:
“The Library of Congress conducted a survey recently that showed that the most important factor in inspiring children to read on their own is not how often the children were read to by their parents—although this is very beneficial and enjoyable—but by how often they saw their parents reading books.”
This rings true on so many levels. Don't get me wrong; I love technology. I like having my textbooks on my iPad so I don't have to carry around 30 pounds of homework on my back. I like having inspiration at my fingertips. I'm writing a blog for Pete's sake. But I also wonder if we're loosing something by our showrooming. I want my daughter to know what a bookstore is. So I compromise. If I have a list of items to purchase, I buy a few in the store and I save a few to find online. Variety is the spice of life.
Oh, and I also think I'll drag out some hard copy novels to read in front of my daughter. I don't want her to think an iPad is the only source of knowledge or entertainment; she's too little to understand that mommy is reading, not watching a movie.
So save the bookstores. Buy a book. Meet some people. Change the world.
Worst Dance Mom Ever
For someone who always used to be on top of it all, this is difficult for me to say:
I am the worst dance mom. Like. Ever.
And it's not in the way you would think. I'm not obsessive, organized, and screaming. I don't have back-up bobby pins or an extra set of tights in my purse.
In fact, I'm the dance mom who:
Forgets to bring a hair tie to put my daughter's hair up every week (hey, now that my hair is short, I have no need to carry one around on my wrist).
Rolls my eyes when the director gets on her soapbox and says how much she loves all the "babies" even though I doubt she knows my daughter's name.
Lets my kid skip the last class before the recital.
Laughs when I'm corrected for calling the production a recital (I'm not even sure how I could make that mistake...it is definitely a production).
Picks up the"production t-shirt" on the way into dress rehearsal instead of...well...wait...when was I supposed to pick it up in the first place?
Tries to get one last week out of a pair of slippers instead of buying a brand new $40 pair for the "production."
She's 4, folks. She's wiggly and happy to be "dancing on the big stage." She likes to put a different color eyeshadow on each eye. She laughs instead of cries when she falls in a dirty rain puddle in her pretty pink tights (this is usually the one that nearly sets me off, though...I try to restrain my true inner dance mom in these moments).
She'd rather be goofy than perfect. I love it.
Sometimes I feel bad that I don't have everything together. Sometimes I wish I was the perfect dance mom who paid the 3rd costume invoice the day I received it (because they've changed the costume accessories several times). Sometimes I wish that I took her to class every week instead of rotating the duty with my mom. Sometimes I wish she followed the instructions and paid more attention. Sometimes I wish that I fit in with the other moms and had the production packet and week-long rehearsal schedule memorized. Sometimes I wish the instructor or director knew my name...my story...what I had to offer and bring to the table.
A few years ago, I would have. I would have been all that and more. I also would have been miserable, which means that Skylar would be miserable. The truth is that I'm okay picking my $20 tickets up on the last day possible. It's much more fun being the one giggling in a row by myself than going over routines in my head and flinching every time my 4-year-old makes a mistake. I'll throw the scuffed shoes in the MOPS bag instead of wrapping them in tissue paper and give my kid a high-five when she strolls off the stage super proud of her performance.
Because she's awesome. I'll be perfectly ok if she doesn't want to dance next year; I'd rather her try out some different things anyway. I want her to decide for herself what she falls in love with. And if, by chance, she does fall in love with dance...I'm already in love with her, so I'm sure it will be grand. We'll make memories together and I'll continue to find new ways of laughing at life.