 “Eight-year-old Sarah would be proud of the woman you have become.”
A text, from an angel here on earth, whose words I will treasure always, flashed on my phone nearly a year ago. The truth is I am not completely sure she would be. I have made a lot of mistakes. Felt a lot of pain, caused a lot of pain, lost friends and family members, lost myself even. The road to who I am now has been riddled with struggles and hurts and also incredible moments of grace, love and compassion. Sometimes that humility and forgiveness came on my knees, on the bathroom floor, in the middle of a hard battle with the demons that tormented me from the inside out. I was driving this morning to get a new battery for my ride-on lawnmower - a new project I was able to successfully tackle and complete by myself - when one of my favorite songs, Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol came on. “I need your grace to remind me to find my own.” In high school I had quotes plastered all over my bedroom walls. Some written in crayon, some typed on our StarWriter word processor, some cut from magazines. Lyrics, provoking thoughts founds in books, magazines, advertisements have always hit me like a pause button. Where the rest of the world freezes and I am in this state where the words cycle around and around in my head until they find the resonance they meant and land neatly in my heart. Truth be told - don’t ask me about names of songs or lyrics or book titles or authors - I forget those details. Completely swept away in the sentiment and emotion I imagine that was required to come up with those words. And overcome with gratitude that those words, often when I needed them most, found their way to me. “I need your grace to remind me to find my own.” As I tiptoe into this world of slowly removing so many masks of what and who people THINK I am, those words stuck with me as a reminder of why I feel so called to share. Surface level has never worked well for me. I suck at small talk. I suck at casual. I suck at just going through the motions of life. I can play the part - yes - but inside of me it feels like I’m dying in casual settings of chit-chat and frivalty. Daring to step out of my shell, of the image and expectations most people have of me, showing my vulnerability, flaws, strength and grace is both freeing to myself yet also a call to others to tell them its okay to do the same. We don’t always have to walk around with our armor on no matter how hard this world can be. There are those of us out there who want the soft insides of your heart and soul and to learn what lights you up (and what breaks you down) not to feel like we have something to hold over you, but rather another layer of your most authentic self to love. I share my words and inspirations and heartache and hope to give permission for you to do the same. At this stage of the game, I want only those who are brave enough to lay down their swords and let their truest selves shine through - whatever that looks like. I think that is what we are all craving most in this world not just connection but to be seen, to be unconditionally accepted. To be authentically loved. So, I will keep peeling off the costumes and layers I have acquired over the years to show you the heart of who I am, and I welcome, I invite, I hold space for you to do the same. For you to find your grace and to believe that your heart will still be held safe when you do.
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There are moments in life when we find ourselves staring down a fork in the middle of the proverbial road.
A decision that requires us to choose between continuing down the path we have been on, the one we have always known, the one that feels safe and secure, the one everyone imagines us in… OR The choice to sidestep from the life we have known thus far and dare to embrace the vast unknown of a new way of showing up in the world. For some of us, this decision is made in secret. In the quietness not only of our own homes, but rather in our own hearts. From the deepest caverns of our soul. It is more like a quiet voice calling us rather than a decision we make with our mind. With this calling comes the sinking feeling of complete knowing that there are many we will end up leaving behind. There will be others with whom we choose to share our new journey only when we have become solid and stable in the conscious choice of our own direction - not the direction they had wished for us. It requires an internal fortitude to find, within yourself, the trust in the path that appears overgrown with foreign surroundings and maybe only a glimmer of light somewhere far off in the distance. As opposed to the neatly paved, groomed and well-lit path you had faithfully been following others along. For months, I have slowly been stepping further and further in the direction of a world that doesn’t quite make sense, I don’t know where I am going, but I FEEL inspired and drawn to every single slow shuffle of a step. No one knows. No one in my circle knows. I am sidestepping out of the accounting, finance, business, political world and finding faith in the words that are strung together by the most convincing voice that echoes from the center of my heart. I am sidestepping out of the world of controlled appearances, controlled expectations and outside image over deep vulnerability and authenticity. I had to keep it a secret because I know all too well the disapproving eyes when you dare to move in a way that contradicts the way life was “supposed to be.” I have caved to it in the past. A thousand times over I have caved to the expectations, needs, fears, and disapproval that has come from others around me - even those closest to me. I needed to become a hermit in the middle of my own life sidestepping slowly, slowly, in a new direction. Gaining confidence, certitude, understanding and finding worthiness within myself first. With each new step of emergence back into the light, slowly sharing my secret new path as I grow stronger and stronger in a new direction, I find the love, connection and acceptance on the deepest level - the humanness in our vulnerability I have longed for and searched for - never believing I was worthy of finding. So, thank you for being here with me. Thank you for your strength and encouragement. I hope through my words, if you too have been struggling to sidestep, you find the strength to do so - even if in secrecy at first - and know I will be here to cheer you on as well.  Every spring the dreaded moment comes when I see the dump truck back down my driveway to deliver the three (which always feels like six) acres of mulch.
“Why don’t I just pay someone to do this?” I think to myself every.single.year. After a day or two of pouting over the amount of work it is to spread the mulch around all of the flower beds - by myself - or with my children helping which is still basically by myself… I finally start the dreaded task. I never wear gardening gloves and occasionally don’t even bother with shoes. In a life that is often controlled and planned and put together this task inevitably takes over as cathartic release of all of the normal adulting and I find the space to breathe that I need. My hands get dirty. My back hurts. My body is sweaty. But whether the sun is shining bright or there is a cleansing light rain when I decide to tackle this annual project, somewhere in the middle of it I realize I am simply playing in the dirt. Adult style. The earthy smell fills my nose as I kneel there on the ground smoothing out the large piles with my naked hands. I am playing in the dirt while tending to my home, while making my home beautiful and alive again after a long winter. The truth is I don’t like gardening that much - and I am not very good at it which is surprising given my Mother has a green-thumb that deserves to be in a Home and Garden magazine. I NEED gardening. Somehow life never seems to go as planned. While I am slowly (while kicking and screaming) learning to embrace the guaranteed derailment of every plan I make, I need to have an external validation in my ability to make something beautiful. I garden to remind myself that everything grows and blooms in its own time. I garden to remind myself that sometimes the soil needs to be changed, or the peony needs an extra year before its ready to bloom, or sometimes the animals are going to eat the vegetables and you just have to start again. I garden to remind myself that just because I am in an adult body, my heart and soul is still young. I need dirt. I need fresh air. I need exploration. I need silence (save the birds) to let my mind run wild with dreams and fantasy. So, this year, as I begin my annual mulch adventure, I am taking a little extra time with gratitude in my heart for the ability to play in the dirt - adult style. May spring also bring you a sense of aliveness, youth and wonder in the middle of your grown-up chores.  “Thanks for not hitting me, Mom” my son shouted out in happiness while he sat with the rest of his ninja class this morning. His very first-time being part of this ninja class, might I add.
I smiled and gave him a thumbs up while I pretended to not see all of the parents (whom I had never met until that day) give me a sideways glance no doubt wondering “what in the world….” I think every single parent out there has had these embarrassing moments when we want to crawl underneath the nearest obstacle and hide until no one is left standing around you. This morning was one of those days for me. My son, Joey, is the most loving, happy and brilliant young ten-year-old. And level 1 autistic. His difference, the way God made his brain and processing so INCREDIBLE, is this amazing gift that has been one of my biggest lessons in life thus far. Yet, until you get to know him, know how he processes information and where/when/how he is going to communicate it - it can be a challenge to navigate and to know how to respond. And these moments are not necessarily all that rare. What I love most about him, and what has also been the most substantial hurdle for me to climb, has been how social “norms” are completely irrelevant to him. He says what he thinks, what interests him, what confuses him, what he loves in the moment, and he doesn’t give a damn who hears. To most people in that room this morning, I am sure they are wondering something like “woah is this kid thanking his mom for her not hitting him because she normally does??” Before Joey - that is probably what I would have thought. But no - Joey was genuinely, 100% thanking me for NOT being THAT kind of mother. He watched some show that had a mean mother who yelled at her kids, called them horrid, pulled their ear to go to bed, etc. When he sees horrible choices made by people, I try to encourage him to find the positive - something like “thanks Mom for not hitting me” as in “thank you for loving me as I am and not losing your shit.” We try to have those discussions that some things are okay to say in the privacy of our home not in public, but these unwritten rules about what we can and can’t do depending on where we are or who we are with are just nonsense to him. I’m sure he just sees it as wasted energy trying to keep up with societal expectations to not “offend” anyone on accident. He loves skin color. Loves it. Is fascinated by it. We often say, “God wanted us all to be different.” One time, walking out of a social group, there was a woman with the most BEAUTIFUL ebony skin. When we passed her Joey said, “Mom the world would be so boring if God made us look all the same.” The woman smiled, looked at Joey and said “Amen.” The truth is, this beautiful gift of his to tell it like he sees it, but without an OUNCE of hatred or prejudice, just pure innocent observation, is something I am terrified is going to get him hurt. I think of myself in the karate studio. I wanted to cry. I was completely embarrassed and immediately thought of all of the awful judgements the other parents MUST be making about me. About him. About our family. I think about what would have happened if that kind woman wasn’t as kind and responsive and took his comment in an unintended or sarcastic manner. In so many ways, this world is just not ready for these beautiful little souls who I swear on every ounce of my existence, were placed here on this earth to mirror back to us our own hypocrisies and judgement and shortcomings through their pure and simple perceptions of life. He genuinely loves everything around him - even though in so many ways - this world is so, so hard for him. This morning, I was struggling with my ego’s emotions. This was a ME problem - not a “Joey’s comment problem.” And I have had ten years of practicing and learning to understand how to roll with him, how to understand where he is coming from and how to see the unconditional love and appreciation he emanates. He did nothing wrong. He thanked me for being a loving mother - in his own way. And he mirrored back to me all of my fears of how others perceive me and my children. He mirrored back my own lack of self-confidence that still exists no matter how much internal repair I have done. I know the kind of mother I am. I am a damn good one. Not perfect or even close, but you’d be hard pressed to find a more loving and patient one. Yet here I was succumbing to what I was afraid others would think of me - when my son was showing me gratitude. Through his teachings, I have learned some of the deepest wounds and fears that I have carried with me most of my life. He highlights the places I still need to heal. The unconditional acceptance I still need to learn. Of others - and myself. The glasses of societal expectations that are based on nothing other than “they just are” that I still need to remove. I know I can’t protect him from disapproving or confused eyes. I know this won’t be the last time my ego gets the best of me and instead of being present with him in his comments or observations I get lost in my own head. But I hope someday the world sees the gift of perception he and so many children are laying at our feet right now hoping we have the courage to pick them up and SEE the world and each other in a new way. To love and accept ourselves and others in a new way. Being a mother to both Joey and my beautiful daughter, Lexi (you’ll certainly hear about this young lady in future posts), has been nothing like I expected. Where I thought I would be the one to teach them all about life, somehow, they have managed to be my biggest teachers. And I am so grateful he thanked me for not hitting him, in a room full of confused faces. He professed his love and gratitude to me in the most meaningful way he could at that time. I pray the next time, I find the strength in myself to disregard what others think, and shout back “I love you too buddy. Thank you for being a blessing.”  Okay, don’t get me wrong, The Week Junior is one of my all-time favorite magazines for my children (and truth be told my father reads every edition we have when he comes to visit.)
But THIS is the front page? This is “The Big Debate?” As of lately I have had to watch my son like a hawk because he has recently discovered videos on YouTube of parents filming their children screaming at the doctors getting “six shots at once” that is deemed acceptable even with parental controls turned on, but emojis are our concern? We are witnessing unprecedented increases in anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts, self-doubt and so on with our youth, but emojis are our concern? We have seen increases in neurodiversity in our youth at rates greater than any other “disability” (or can we all agree to prefer “different ability”) without seeing the corresponding funding support or professional development support to help our mainstream educators be equipped to handle the different learning styles and we are focused on emojis? This is what we do though - we use the “easy” things to point to and assign blame rather than pausing to reflect on what the real cause of dissent could be. Unfortunately, in many ways we have become a society and culture that often prefers to find a magic pill to treat the symptom rather than going deep to treat the root problem. And then wondering why we are “getting worse” instead of “getting better.” Debating emojis is a lot easier than taking an honest look at the fact that despite being more connected as a society, we are less connected as HUMANS. Who cares whether we write in full sentences or use little pictures when the primary concern should be that despite having thousands of friends and “likes” many people are feeling alone and isolated - children and adults. Somehow, I don’t think it is the emoji that will be the primary offense to someone. I don’t believe an emoji is going to take away our ability to be thoughtful or creative. I am struggling to grasp how there is even a debate over it. Can we debate about the trauma of those kids in the video getting six shots at once while their parents choose to film them instead of comforting them? Can we go back and debate how we can modernize our schools and our course of education to reflect the changing social, emotional and learning needs of our students to match the strengths, skills and struggles our children are facing today? Can we debate about how the need for genuine, vulnerable, authentic human connection is at an all-time high right now? I know, I know it is time to get off my soap box - it was only a magazine article. But man, I am so ready for the conversations and debates and articles that dive deep into the “what are we doing to ourselves and others?” not the “how’s the weather” level of conversation. There is such a need right now to heal as a human race. So please, if you want to talk and debate about anything let’s connect. And I promise I won’t care if you send me a lengthy email or a thumbs up. "I do not promise to believe tomorrow exactly what I believe today, and I do not believe today exactly what I believed yesterday. I expect to make, as I have made, some honest progress within every succeeding twenty-four hours." Andrew Jackson Davis
It was May, 2016, and I had just begun the writing prompt “What is your greatest fear?” Spiders. Dying. Planes. Drowning. Fires. Nope. My answer: “If I weren’t my roles and responsibilities, who would I be? Would anyone want or need me? My biggest fear is I am no one—nothing.” I have been the other woman, the not-good-enough-because-you’re-divorced woman, the you-make-me-look-good woman, the boss, the fixer, the planner, the do-er, the wife, the mother, the daughter, and every one of these left me feeling exhausted and used and a little further from myself. I am ready to begin again. Why this, why now? I thought motherhood, home, family, marriage, accounting career was the answer to everything I had been searching for, the complete solution to every insecurity and instability I felt, until I realized that those too are all masks, roles, responsibilities—treasured ones for sure—but they still weren’t releasing everything I felt bottled up inside. Ultimately it took their complete shattering for me to slowly begin to find myself in the charred rubble left behind by the life I’d set fire to. Even my name has become an internal struggle. A lot of times I choose to go by Sarah Elizabeth, as neither my married name or maiden name seems to fit the woman who is searching to find who she is outside of what the world has told her she is supposed to be—or worse, the woman everyone thinks they know. Through every single slow step forward, I have found that the greatest side of me, the part I want to leave behind, to be remembered by, to be loved for, has so little to do with the roles I have played for others and is instead all about the lessons I have learned: the way my perspective of the world was forced to grow with each stumbling block, the way I kept standing back up stronger but softer too, the way I try to look for love in every person I meet, in every challenge I face, in every corner of this big, scary world. I Can’t Be the Only One… Saint Sarah is sometimes referred to as “Queen of the Outsiders” and I feel that. When I first read this nickname for her, I began to wonder if she was my true namesake and not the family relative I had always been told about. When my picture perfect life collapsed I stepped back and watched the world happening around me with a completely new perspective. A recognition that the collapse was an ultimate gift as in my core, I didn’t belong in the places and circles I was giving all of my time and energy to. It has been a lonely journey at times. Yet I have also found gratitude in my solitude of the last several years as I have excavated myself to determine who I really am. What lights me up because it certainly isn’t the hustle-bustle of suburban mommy and wifehood. I hope through my raw and vulnerable writings, I find others out there who like me, are searching for “more” even if we don’t quite know what that “more” is just yet. My Promise My promise is to write from the heart. About the normal, every day moments from an extraordinary perspective. Or maybe not extraordinary maybe just gut wrenchingly honest and with a hint of a sliver lining. I will include thoughts for you to ponder or journal entry topics for you to navigate, but mostly just reason to pause and center yourself so that we can all keep growing and expanding through the rawness of our human experience. “The ghosts of all of the woman you used to be are so proud of who you have become.” Nikita Gill Join me on a journey to go deep. |
AuthorJust a woman, finding the beauty in the ordinary, every single day. Archives
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