At the time I was having my children, I lived in Yosemite, aka, the woods, for those not familiar. I’d grown up there and through serendipitous situations, was living and working there as an adult. Somehow, I got it in my head that I’d have my kids naturally, without pain killers. Maybe it was that I had friends having their kids at home, sometimes in the bathtub. No pain killers seemed like a good middle ground. By and large, I did it. I had a little something with the first, because, well, he was nine pounds and a little complicated. But number two, nada. In truth, I think my body was well designed for it.
I remember my Dad commenting that I was a mountain-women for taking the no pain killer route. I wasn’t sure how to take that, but maybe it was a nod to the natural, mountain living, way of doing it. Either way, I’m not going to lie, having them without drugs was a personal badge of honor. Not the first or last time I went for the badge.
Many years later, I decided to walk a marathon. Walk because I’m not a runner and make no excuses about that. Again, my Dad said, “don’t you think you could walk 26 miles?” I did, so he asked me why walk the marathon? To prove to myself I could do it. Ahhhh, there it is.
Proving it. It’s not for the so-called glory. It’s to prove to myself that I can do it. And it’s a path I go down all.the.time. But why? It’s not so other people will notice, or comment. It’s the internal driver. Part of why I used to go out and ride 200 miles on my bike. The company, friends I was with, were a huge plus.
But there’s something about proving it to myself. In my mind, I equate it to a child, adamant in saying “I can do it myself.” I could hypothesize that it’s partially because of my foot amputation at 4 and a drive to show I was like anyone else. But I wouldn’t conclusively say that’s it. In Brené Brown’s work, she talks about it in respect to worthiness.
“Belonging starts with self-acceptance. Your level of belonging, in fact, can never be greater than your level of self-acceptance, because believing that you’re enough is what gives you the courage to be authentic, vulnerable and imperfect. When we don’t have that, we shape-shift and turn into chameleons; we hustle for the worthiness we already possess.” Brené Brown
When we don’t accept ourselves, we work to create the narrative. She’s tough. Persistent. A fighter. You take on the world to show that you’re worthy. Even if you’re only doing it subconsciously.
Truth is, and this is no news flash, I’m far from perfect. Most days I’m a hot mess. And this is nothing new. The difference is that I’m at an age where I understand and accept it. Less inclined to have the urge to prove I’m something other than the person standing in front of you. In the middle part of life where we look long and hard at ourselves and at long last start the process of acceptance.
But there still times my internal “prove it” narrative comes up. It’s my subconscious taunting me. Doubt. The false narrative. And we all have that nagging voice. The work is coming to terms with our own worthiness. Believing that we are worthy, even if we’re a hot mess. When we hustle, when we believe we can’t show up as our true self, we’re not leaning into our authenticity. Only when we’re being authentic are we our full, true self.
What’s your narrative? What are you doing instead of simply being your true self? You’re no worse for accepting your true self. In fact, you’re stronger. We have to stand in our truth, in our authenticity, and believe that we’re worthy. People will either accept us or not, but if they don’t, they’re not our people.
You are worthy. Now. As is. Worthy of love and belonging. Start with accepting yourself and lay down the belief that you need to hustle for your worth. You are perfectly and wonderfully made.
Sending you all the love. Be Brave.
Who remembers the children’s book clubs that existed at the same prevalence as Columbia House records? When my children were babies, I aspired to build a vast library of books for them and joined one of the clubs where I could quickly acquire my library for a low, low price. Many of those first books were from Dr. Seuss. In fact, they were many of the same books I read as a child.
Yesterday was spent with my youngest son, Bodie, hanging out in the Bay Area. He’s 25, 26 in a few months and he towers over me…both he and his brother do. As I often do, I think back to when he was a baby, small, not tiny, but I can remember the feeling that washed over me in the first time I held him…pure love. Anyone who’s held their child for the first time likely remembers that feeling. Looking at their tiny face, a reflection of yours, and thinking there was nothing more perfect. The same feelings swelled up in me with each of my boys. They were, they are, perfect. I’ve never hesitated in loving them since that day.
It can be a bit nebulous, leadership. People often assume the title based on a role they hold. A position they’ve aspired to. The pinnacle of a career – leader of people and their charting their own course. Yet, a title alone, a position, is nothing more than that. Being named a leader doesn’t automatically bestow upon you some magical fairy dust where people fall in line behind you. A leader is infinitely more than that.
I was called selfish the other day. It’s one of the worst insults to me, honestly. It doesn’t paint a pretty picture. I’m certain each of us has the insult that cut us to the core, and that’s the one for me. It’s rolled around in my head a couple days, and I should have known from the beginning it would make it to the page.
If you’ve had children, you likely recall the phrase, “use your words.” During that stage when they’ve begun talking, but are not yet English fluent, a child will revert to the behaviors that got them what they want. They’ll use the primal techniques that they instinctively knew as infants to communicate their needs, crying being at the top of the list. They’ll point, cry…anything but speak…in an effort to get what they want. In the moment, they cannot find the words to communicate what they want or what they’re feeling.
When I decided to move to the area where I live, I spent several weekends travelling to the area to look at homes. One weekend, I’d nearly given up and was taking a drive through one last neighborhood. Tired, a little defeated, frustrated the “right” house hadn’t jumped out yet. Driving through that area, I noticed a semi-truck with a livestock trailer. Suddenly, out from the trailer came sheep after sheep, I think nearly 200! Honestly, it was so delightful I simply sat at watched them, curious about their presence.
Every 4 ½ minutes, a baby is born with a birth defect in the United States. That’s nearly 120,000 babies born with birth defects each year. In my estimation, the prevalence of birth defects in the late 1960’s when I was born was perhaps more, because maternal care was not as sophisticated as today. Though I don’t have the stats on it, the advancement of medical care through the years has also likely resulted in a decrease in the long-term effects of some birth defects.
Does anyone else enjoy an afternoon hanging out in a sub-zero movie theater when it’s 105 degrees outside in the shade? Literal fry an egg on the pavement weather. I’ll quickly jump on that train as an escape and, hopefully, to be entertained. Which I was last weekend, enjoying The Farewell.
California recently emerged from a drought that lasted 376 weeks. From December 2011 to March 2017, the state endured one of the most intense droughts in California history. The cause was attributed to a ridge of high pressure in the Pacific Ocean, named the “Ridiculously Resilient Ridge” which often barred winter storms from reaching the state. Researchers can see evidence of past droughts by analyzing tree rings, smaller during periods of drought.