Balance

Balance: Equilibrium or an equal distribution of parts. 

Balance.  Such an easy definition.  Such a difficult concept.  I haven’t struck balance in thirteen years.  It is as if my body houses two vestibular systems-one that is found in the ear and controls the balance of my body, and a deeper system that lies within my head and heart that controls all other balance systems.  The second vestibular system broke the minute a tiny baby started growing inside me.  I have consulted doctors, acupuncturists, personal trainers, therapists, professionals, friends, schools, and books in search for a cure to my disequilibrium.  To date, I have found no such cure.

I can’t quite figure out how to consistently balance between work and family.  I struggle to balance time between each child, my husband, my friends, and my extended family.  I can’t balance between bouts of extreme dieting with bouts of sheer gluttony.  I have no idea how to balance my desire to be surrounded by the people I love with my need for solitude.  I can't balance my own needs with the needs of my children and I certainly have no idea how to make a tripod scale that would also balance the needs my husband. 

When it comes to raising my children, my sense of balance is even worse.  I can’t quite figure out how to balance anything.  How do I teach my children to be successful without cultivating greed, arrogance, and selfishness?  How do I teach my children to be happy with themselves without leading them to complacency, idleness, and lack of intellectual, spiritual, and personal development?  How do I teach my children to strive for excellence without at the same time sending the message that the person they are now is somehow not enough?  How I do teach them justice without causing them look at every situation through the lens of equality or becoming overly reliant on the application of deserts (the justice kind, not the dry, sandy kind)?  How do I protect and guide them without creating dependency and lack of resilience?  How do I teach them that vulnerability and strength can, and should, co-exist?  How do I hold the hard line and help them prepare for adulthood without seeming cold and indifferent?  

I don’t have a great answer-I wish I did.  Here is the only tidbit I have used over the years to help me.  When I look at my children, I ask myself is that behavior something that I would be proud of in adulthood? Am I teaching them moderation-a balancing of all sides-that will allow them to self-determine when it is appropriate to be off balance and when it will be necessary to recalibrate? Am I teaching them to appreciate the nuances of life, the subtle grays of every situation, the beautiful shades of diversity?  I am teaching them to always weigh the issues of humanity heavier than tangible items?  If the answer is no, then I know that I must pay attention and teach them better. 

I hope than in my struggle to achieve my own balance, they are learning their own.  I hope that they are learning to embrace the complexities of life, and of themselves.   Perhaps in helping them to seek balance in their own lives, I will find balance in mine.

Compassion

To all the mommas who secretly envy the fee time divorced mommas get, here is what you don't know: We do all the same work in half the time and send our kids out into the wilderness every time we kiss them goodbye. We spend time apart from our children worrying and trying to figure out how to stay connected and we spend our time together fighting like crazy to keep our kids on the right path and undo what has been done in that time apart. We fight hidden battles no one could imagine. Our hearts get broken again and again and again. We not only battle societal influences and friend influences, but we battle parental influences, which is so much stronger. We go to war every day to protect our children with half our army. The other half of our army has defected to the other side and knows all our secrets, which makes strategy that much harder. We can't give up because they are our children...and yet, it feels hopeless at times because we seem to be fighting a battle that can't be won.

We are all mommas....we are all tired...and we all have struggles...so please have some compassion. Divorced mommas were once full time mommas. We understand how difficult it can be. We know how tired you are. Please try to understand our struggle. Saying things like, "Must be nice" and "Oh, that's right...you only have your children part of the time. You have it easy." is just hurtful and naive. We don't get the day off just because we aren't physically present with our children. We don't get to be perfect mommies that have all the answers and are idolized-every time we send our children off, someone is telling our children how flawed we are. We are doing the same parenting job with half the tools, myths, values, traditions, and supports.

No one questions how difficult it is to be a full time stay at home mother or a working mother. Divorced mothers are all those things and more. We aren't looking for pity. We aren't looking for judgment. We aren't looking for perspective. We aren't looking for a scorecard. We are just looking for compassion.

Beauty Within

captured from Pinterest

~Silly~Careless~Speedy~Loud~Lazy~Worried~Loving~Flawed~Distracted~Sweet~Tender~

~Bleeding Heart~Twinkle~Crinkle~Witty~Scared~Soft~Passionate~Impetuous~

It doesn't matter what words you use to describe yourself, embrace every last one.

 

Make list of your own and then own the list. These words are you and you are your own kind of beautiful. 

Seek others that appreciate your beauty, all of it, unconditionally.

Love yourself.  It's the hardest love to find and perhaps the most valuable.

The Wilderness

Insecurity, stop following me, with your beautiful lashes and your delicious smell.  Your kiss, so soft and so sweet, steals my breath and blackens my eyes. Your siren song ruptures my ears, deafening love.  Your strong embrace is so enticing, but you are no good for me.  So I am leaving you. Please stop following me.  Out in the wilderness, in the speckles of light and shadows of beauty.  Please stop following me with your promises of warmth and belonging.  I am fooled by you no more.  Your whispers of us are silent now.  Out in the wilderness I go, without you.  Out into the speckles of light and shadows of beauty.

Awakening



Morning Light by Anna Razumovskaya

I didn't know I was asleep. My life felt dreamlike-fuzzy around the edges. I felt happy and content, but with a mildly acidic undertone of something more sad, or lonely, or fearful...something that could never quite be identified and was so subtle that it almost felt imagined.  Perhaps it was fear of more- more pain, more of the same, more of the past, more of something I couldn't handle, more sadness for what I would never have.  Perhaps it was fear of less-having less, being less, accepting less, owning less of myself.  It was all very wispy and quiet and when I sat still and listened, I couldn't hear it.  I couldn't hear anything but the whispers of other's dreams that I couldn't distinguish from my own.



As I start to wake, I lay lazy and content, ready to receive.   In the space where sleep and awake mingle, I am still in the mist, letting what is true be revealed to me with the sun. In the past, I would have strained to see with my eyes.  In my forcing, I would mistaken the grayness for something more concrete and I would have called it truth.  Now, I wait as the truth shines through the kaleidoscope of reality and wishfulness. I let the colors dance on my skin-I let them change me, warm me, brighten me. In the space between sleep and awake, I am peaceful and whole.  I can hear the whispers, and they are my own.

Things I lost in the Flood

Tsunamis are odd things.  They start as a disturbance that happens deep under the water.   The movement is slow at first, gaining inertia through the reconstitution of it's own energy, creating slow, long waves that almost appear harmless.  Miles away, unassuming bystanders have no idea what it coming.  There is no storm, no explosion, no breaking of levies, no crumbling of  mountains...there is nothing to signify the impending danger. The sun still shines on the day of a tsunami. Videos of tsunamis often show the victims staring at the large rolling waves, their brains unable to process what is different about the sea.  They stare into the blue, searching and scanning for something-but the same blue waves answer back. It isn't until the floods start to sweep away the structures that have been present for decades that the brain registers the danger. And it is only after the floods recede that everyone returns to survey the damage.

Years ago I experienced a small disturbance that happened deep under the water.  I didn't notice the quiet rumble or subtle shift in the sediment...and yet, it was already moving, changing, growing.  Cut to the present day, I am drenched, gasping for air, and returning to the scene to make a list of the things I lost in the flood.  I surveyed the damage and found that my family, the love for my husband, my career, my education, and my will were still intact.  Here is what I lost in the flood:

1.  My sense of style.  For the past three years I have either been pregnant, nursing, or trying to get pregnant.  I have gained weight and retained water, making me look puffy and lumpy.  I was limited in exercise and forbidden to diet.  I didn't want to spend money on clothes because I might get pregnant again and wouldn't be able to wear the new clothes.  I gave up shopping, accessories, and shoes.  I replaced high heels for tennis shoes and comfortable boots. My designer jeans were tucked away in place of yoga pants and stretch jeans.

2.  My beauty. I gave up all skin care regimens, certain hair treatments, waxes, and manicures and pedicures because of the potentially harmful effects on the non-existent fetus.  I forgot how powerful, put together, and beautiful I felt when I took care of my looks.  As the waves grew stronger, my personal sense of style and beauty began to erode.  It etched my face, dulled my skin, and snuffed out the spark in my eyes, leaving gritty pools of grey underneath.

3.   My sexuality, passion, and fertility.  See above. It is hard to feel sexy and desirable when feeling fat, lumpy, dowdy and old.  My sense of womanhood is intricately intertwined with my sexuality and fertility.  The power of the tsunami ripped them apart from each other, leaving notches and scars where the three had grown as one. Although my fertility perished in the flood, my womanhood and sexuality have remained, temporarily weak, but with a renewed sense of strength now that they have been freed from interdependence.

4.  My smile.  Not the face smile I give everyone, but the smile that happens from the soul and shines outwards,spreading joy and happiness regardless of whether the face smile is present.  It's the smile that doesn't require any effort and that takes my breath away every once in awhile.

5.  My sense of adventure.  I used to be the kind of person who loved to try new things, go new places, break the rules a little, and jump out of bounds every once in awhile just for the thrill. I delighted in creating my future.  Then the tsunami happened and  I became a slave to schedules, to needles, to the unknown.  The future stood still, just waiting for me.  I stood still, waiting for my future.  We stared at each other, paralyzed, waiting for someone to make the first move. 

Last night, as I scrubbed away the soot and the salt and took stock of what was lost, I also started to rebuild. I remembered how to walk in high heels, let the smile shine through my eyes, and remembered how it felt to feel sexy, stylish, and whole.
 
As with any natural disaster, there is much to be rebuilt...and yet, like with any natural disaster, there is an unwavering spirit and a sense of resilience that is revealed.  There is new growth, new developments, new hope, new beauty.

While much was lost in the flood, fertile ground has been left behind, ready to birth a new future, ripe and colorful with possibility.

Little Dreams

Little One,
I have dreamt about you for years.  I can't tell you how many nights I have laid in bed, my hands on my  belly, willing you into existence-or how many times I sat in the silence of my car, thinking of you, almost sure I could see you and feel you growing.  I dreamt of our life together.  I dreamt of you with you brother and sisters, laughing and running around the house.  I have spent countless hours laying on the couch, daydreaming of how you felt in my arms, the smell of your warm milkiness stuck on my skin.  I could see your round pink lips sucking in your sleep and your pillow hand curled around my finger.  I saw you  growing in my belly.  I felt you kick.  I saw you sleeping in the stroller.  I saw your first steps.  I saw you learn to talk, jump, run, and skip.  I saw the day I dropped you off at daycare.  I saw your first day of preschool and your first loose tooth. I saw your sisters hold you and your brother kiss you. My littlest one-I have wished for you so hard that I almost forgot you were just that-a wish, a hope, a dream, a whisper.

Today, I am so sad because I have lost you...not one, not twice, but three times.  You were growing inside me and then you weren't.  I blame myself for  for not being strong enough to hold onto you.  My head knows differently, but my heart still hurts.  I have lost you so much more than that-every month for two years I was sure you were with me, and every month I have mourned the loss of you.  But today, today is the worst because I not only mourn the loss of you-but I mourn the loss of the possibility of you. 

Littlest one, know this-I tried so very hard for you. I wanted you more than anything and I would continue to feel pain and loss for months on end if I knew that eventually I would get to hold you in my arms.  But sadly, the doctor said that isn't possible. I am so sorry.  I am sorry I am old and my body has failed you and your dad.  I am sorry for the life I can't give you or your father.  I am so sorry that my best just wasn't good enough to make it work this time.  I am having difficulty getting over the fact that I have lost this battle.  My body is sore and tender from the anger and frustration that is richocheting inside.  I hate losing-I also know there is absolutely no point in battling God.

Time will move on and you will become a shadow in my heart.  A shadow that I hide with light and glitter because I am afraid of the dark.  I will move on and be happy and live and love and appreciate the gifts I have-but I will always be sad that you weren't able to grow up with me. 

My love for you is great, and I am so sorry it just wasn't enough.

A Love Letter to My Husband

Everyone talks about what love IS.  Weddings almost always include the words, “love is patient, love is kind…”  Greeting cards, posters, and books are filled with what love IS.  Rarely do people talk about what love isn’t.  And yet, I find that the absence of certain qualities is exactly what makes true love different from all other variations of love.  Most people who are in love can point to some example in their lives that supports what love IS…and yet, their lives are also filled with free radicals that eat away at the healthy love and secretly birth cancers that crowd out what is good.  For some, these cancers will be maintained, causing only mild sickness and discomfort.  For others, it will take over until every space where love used to be is rusted and rotted.

True love is the absence of certain things.  It isn’t that two people work to eradicate these things; it is that true love creates the absence of oxygen for these things to live and grow in the first place.  Here is what true love ISN’T:

Judgment: This is the little and the big things.   Judgment hides in little statements that are written off as “just kidding” or “no big deal.”  It ends in “you are too sensitive.” It is veiled by jokes and eye rolls and chips away at the identity and worth of someone else.   Judgment lies in what is said and unsaid and it speaks to how we view each other.  It feels harmless, and yet is perhaps the most cancerous of the ISN’T’s. 

Keeping Score: Love understands the natural ebb and flow in life.  Love ensures that everyone’s needs are met when they need to be met.  It understands that as long as each party is putting the other first, everyone will always be cared for and will feel safe and supported.  Love doesn’t have memory capacity to keep score.  It doesn’t remember inequalities of yesterday, first because it doesn’t have the capacity to view it as an inequality, and second because it is busy making sure everyone’s needs are being met today.

Fear: Fear of losing love.  Fear of being judged.  Fear of not being enough.  Fear that revealing the “true self” will make the other cringe. Fear creates cancer in the heart and the mind.  It causes misperceptions and misunderstandings.  Fear creates the urge to attack in order to protect and hide vulnerabilities.  True love identifies vulnerabilities in the other and helps to protect those vulnerabilities from the outside world instead of using those vulnerabilities to win an argument or hold as collateral.

This seems like an odd love letter to my husband. And yet, before I met him, I didn’t understand that love was not only the presence of certain things, but the absence of other things.  I didn’t understand the power of love to grow and flourish, to be happy and strong.  I didn’t understand how to nourish love and how to protect against the free radicals that hide in the environment.  I would like to thank him for showing me true love.  I would like to thank him for showing me how to love, fully and completely, without fear, judgment, and scorecards.  I would like to thank him for the abundance of beautiful memories of those in existence and of those yet to come.

 Happy Valentine’s Day.

New Beginnings

As many of you know, this isn't my first blog.  I had another blog, fourfunmommy.blogspot, in which I followed my journey to become a mother of four.  I captured my journey through three miscarriages, two failed IUI attempts, and two failed IVF attempts.  When going through these experiences, I found comfort in reading the inspirational blogs of others.  I have decided to keep the Four Fun Mommy blog open should anyone else find comfort from reading about my experiences.  However, since I will no longer be pursuing a fourth child, the blog title suddenly didn't fit my life anymore.  I have started this blog, My Beautiful Life, so that I may move forward and continue to write about everything that inspires me in my beautiful life.  I have transferred over some blogs as these writings reflect my random thoughts.  I could have called this blog Random Thoughts, or My Ramblings, as that is likely what this will look like to others.  I don't spend a lot of time writing, and I don't write all that often.  There are weeks that I write every day and weeks where I don't write at all.  I write only when I am inspired and I don't spend a lot of time worrying about editing or structure. I write from the heart and I write with the intention of capturing exactly what I am experiencing at the time.  Sometimes it's fiction in content, but it is always authentic in emotion.

I love the idea of capturing life in print-through pictures or words.  My new obsession is Pinterest.  No longer do I have random photos saved on my computer.  Now the things that I find beautiful are captured and organized on pinboards.  Anyone interested in my pins can find me at jenlynch2.  So through this blog and through my pins, I am  attempting to capture what moves my heart and my spirit. Hopefully, along the way, I will move someone else as well.

Thank You for My Gifts

I used to think that as a parent, it was my job to impart Gifts to my children. Not the gifts that Santa brings, but the type of Gifts that will live on long after I am gone. I provide them with love and support. I teach them everything, from walking and talking to how to be a kind and generous person, a responsible citizen, a respected worker, a loving spouse, and a selfless parent. I viewed the love of parent and child pulsating between two hearts-glowing and magnitizing-but stronger and brighter in one direction. As a child myself, I have often wondered if my parents have any idea how deeply I love them...yet as a parent, I understand the profound deepness of parental love. A child's job is simply to love, grow up, and grow away. A parent's job is to love, to teach, and to stay still. We are lighthouses atop a rock-a stable beacon of safety and security for our children so that while they may wander, they may always find their way home.


Of course, as parents, we know that it is ridiculous to think our children don't teach us. Our children teach us every day. We learn patience and humility, selflessness and humor. We learn to recapture innocence. Our children force us to cast off our glasses, smeared and chipped from the smog and hardships of life so we can see life with the same brilliance they see- dazzling and sparkling under the virgin sun...all of it wondrous and new. It is in these moments that I am overwhelmed by parenthood. I am weightless in the joy and warmth.


We also know that our children are our beacon of light. Yesterday I was changing my son's clothes and gave him a kiss on his belly. He roared with laughter and shouted, "Again!" I chuckled and repeated....and repeated...and repeated....and repeated. We were stuck in a moment that will now forever be part of my fabric-his damp baby breath soft on my cheek, his warm hands on my face, and his sweet baby scent swirling and mixing with his laughter as it hung around us. We were nose to nose, giggling, breathing each other. In that moment, I was struck that my children are my Gift, straight from God. These moments are what Heaven feels like, smells like, sounds like. In that sliver of space between my nose and his-where we connect as one, in the absence of time and the abundance of light-that is where God lives. In those moments, God shines through my children to show me the way home.


I know that moment wasn't a gift to my son because that moment has already passed through him, indistinguishable from thousands of other moments. That moment was a gift meant for me-a moment captured with my breath and absorbed by my heart.


So while I give my children the Gifts they will need to grow and live well, they give me the Gift of Heaven on Earth each day. They help me to see as a child sees, as angels see, as God sees. Every day they walk me closer to Heaven. While I have been focusing on giving them the Gifts that will sustain them long after I am gone, they have been giving me the gift of Eternity.