Feeling 22

 “Mothers have martyred themselves in their children’s names since the beginning of time. We have lived as if she who disappears the most, loves the most. We have been conditioned to prove our love by slowly ceasing to exist." Glennon Doyle

22 years ago this morning I had been in active labor for days.

My doctor, a very patient woman who had been reading the newspaper leisurely at my feet for the majority of this experience, says "This is not working. Let's try something else."

This new baby was face up. My body and her head had spent hours butting against each other.

"Let's work with gravity not against it."

I delivered our Princess on hands and knees, letting nature do its thing. We threw the birth plan out the window and let the Princess be our guide.

That became an omen for my parenting journey.

"This is not working. Let's try something else."

"Let's work with gravity (nature) not against it."

Again and again.

I was thinking on my walk this morning....as the Princess wakes all "feeling 22" (not for hours of course)....

22 was 1997.

22 was the year I realized I was worthy of better.

22 was the year my best friend became my partner.

22 was the year I graduated from college and tried to find my "next step" footing.

Then just 5 years later, I became someone's mother.

There are so many things I wish I could go back and tell me that day.

I had read ALL the books. I had taken childbirth classes (do people still do that?). I did prenatal yoga. I wanted this baby to be born into a Zen environment.

We built a crib. Painted a nursery. Installed a car seat. Bought ALL the things.

And then I held my breath.

Every time I had to "try something else" I thought I was doing it wrong. Felt guilt for the mistakes I was making. Felt overwhelmed with the responsibility for who they would become.

Clenched my fists. Held on tight.

I tried to balance the incoming advice. All the things I was doing "wrong" which is why she cried all the time, she never slept, I cried all the time, I never slept.

I wish someone had said to me "This will be hard. You will make mistakes. She will do NONE Of the things in the books you read. And that's okay. It will not be okay sometimes. And that's okay. There will be moments of joy. Speak those out loud. Don't forget you are worthy of space."

But instead, all the mom groups and blogs told me how fabulous motherhood was. How I was supposed to "cherish every moment." How I was going to "miss this one day."

I planned our days. Filled our family calendar with "fun" (which if we're honest rarely felt fun).

I woke up too sick to mother one day in late 2013. And I opened my palms. I said aloud "God they are yours."

I reigned in those Pinterest mother goals. My new goals became keep them alive, keep me alive.

I created more margin and white space in our lives than had ever existed before.

I exhaled.

I became a witness and a traveler on their journey.

Not them on mine.

I made space for "let's try something different."

I let who they naturally are tell me what's best for them.

I made space for me.

Mama Warriors, as we wake this morning on Independence day, I'm reminded that the end game is to raise independent adults.

There's no prize for being a martyr in the meantime.

If we teach our kids that micro managing their whole world is our full time job, it sends two messages.

One we don't think they can make their own choices. We don't empower them to live fully into who they were made to be. Or to learn from their mistakes.

Two, it teaches them that love looks like an obligation at the expense of yourself.

Let's try something different.