To all my beautiful messes…

messe

 

Life can be f***ing cruel sometimes (sorry mom, I know…I owe you a dollar).

The world’s unfairness can knock the wind out of you. Falling hard and pressing its weight heavy on your chest. Adrenaline pumping as you gasp for air. Wanting desperately to fill your lungs but being unable to grasp it, unable to grab your breath and inhale the oxygen. The moments feeling like a lifetime.  Once you catch your breath, around the corner another blow hits. Right now in the solar plexus, you hear more news that burns holes in your soul and lets the pain flood in again.

The guilt follows that pain. Like a skeleton twin, closely behind but estranged from the pain. Presenting its pompous and pretentious demenour to the pain. Making sure we know that guilt holds the cards. Guilt that makes no sense. Guilt that tells you how to act, how to feel. Guilt that manipulates your logic. Guilt that masks its self in karmic intentions. The feeling of undeserving joy because pain is happening all around you. It connects your feelings, your choices, your words to the outcomes surrounding your pain. wrapping its self around you like a tightly wound coil. Burning slowly and breaking you down.

We know no more then what our reality is, and yet we drown in the pain around us. We feel the weight of it all on us.Wanting more then anything to fix the messes that we have noticed. That we have seen created around us. Spreading our energies out, thinly and conservatively, stomaching the blows.

We pay attention to the world. We see the beauty in the sunlight,  the treasure in the dark. But we feel the pain breaking our hearts. Because we pay attention.

The cheery face we wear, hoping to allow it to mask the pain that we feel. Hoping the smile hides the loneliness that we feel for the people we miss. Praying our laughter will help us to forget how each day can be a struggle because we pay attention.

Losing our grip in a second, crumbling below the straws that broke or humped backs. Anger, frustration, sadness into the wrong directions. Spewing out like a broken hose.

Because we feel like failures for not making it better, messes for not cleaning it up. But we are not. We feel to much, hurt to much and notice to much. We are Spirited, told to dial down the passion. Told to push back the tears, carry the weight, hold our tongue. Because WE are too much.

We are not a messes, I promise you. We simply notice. We simply See.

Don’t tell me to smile.

Smile. 

Stop being so negative. 

Don’t be mad. 

Snap out of it. 

It can’t be that bad. 

Look at how lucky you are? 

 

When the anxiety of life is weighing on you. When you you struggle to keep yourself below an 8 at all times. This is not what you want to hear. It really is advice that tears apart your soul, scratching at it like sandpaper on metal.

It really can be that bad, because right now it is. Right now my reality does not meet your perception. My reality is making everything feel like vinegar. And with every new interaction, it feels like baking soda is being dumped in the acidic nectar. Over flowing in volcanic bubbles, leaving a big mess to clean up.

I want to feel mad and can’t just simply snap out of it. Some times the glitter you want to see, does not exist. It may have existed before but the gale force wind that is my anger has blown it and taken all the pretty things with it.  And like most acts of mother nature, my anger is unpredictable.

and you want me to smile. That I may be able to pull off, but the smile that you see is not wrapped in the truth. It is wrapped in what you want to see. You want to see brightness. You want to see societies version of a presentable woman and mother. But right now I have plastered on a mask to pretend to be that person,  to make you feel better. To make you feel less uncomfortable being around me.

Because that is the sad truth about anxiety. About the looming passenger that has taken over….Being and  loving a person who suffers from it can be torturous at times.

It can be uncomfortable to be around it.

Regardless of if we hid it or if we speak out,

anxiety…sadness….anger…..depression….

it makes us all little squeamish.

It makes us all ask why?  or when? or how did this happen? I makes us want to say ….’come on..its not that bad’

But anxiety comes with the super power of  being able to not bow down to the questions. Questions that were meant to help, questions that were meant to create understanding.

That passenger actually seems to gain head way with these questions and advice such as the above. It seems to act as gasoline to the fire. There are no real answers to the questions and this scares us. It makes you believe even more so that your ability to be normal is impossible..and there we spiral further down the dark adventure with an unwanted passenger.

So if you see the signs that the person you love is  about to take a trip with a terrible companion, don’t ask them why. Don’t tell them to cheer up or to smile. Don’t belittle their anger. Just be there. Make them a blanket fort, read to them, hug them, make them tacos, bring them coffee, find out what they love and make it happen. Let them know you love them. Because I promise they will find the road back to you and solid ground.

And if you happen to be the one taking the awful road trip…remember to accept the love. Take the hug, drink the coffee, eat the tacos, sit in the fort, close your eyes while they read. Even if you don’t say a word, take in all the love. It will become useful when your feet fall back on earth and you will need it for strength. You will tap its energy to help you stand back up, over and over. Be patient. Always stand up one more time then you fallen over, no matter… what you will be OK. Just keep trying. Each time you do, your bravery shines through.

They are all that matters.

“Is that your son?” she says to me with a look of disgust. I am jolted from my conversation with my friend Nina. A rare moment in the day where we were sitting. We took a moment to stop, while our little beauties played within the ‘Bob the Builder’ room at the children’s museum. We had been chasing and playing all day, trying to keep our toddlers busy. I am tired and hitting the 1 pm wall and Nina is really pregnant. We deserved to sit, or so we told ourselves. They were happy playing on their own so we were taking advantage. We had strategically positioned our selves in front of the only door in or out, and watched them play. Canton was unfortunately just out of view, hidden by a big slide. We knew he was there, as we could hear his little voice talking to his trucks. He kept counting his trucks, calling them by name. I was trying not to giggle as I heard him say, ‘This is my chuck the truck’ which sounded all too much like he was cursing. His voice slurring the sounds to make it sound all too much like he was swearing like a sailor.

“Grey sweatpants and blond hair? Yes, he is mine” I say with a smile, trying to save this interaction.

“Well, He just yanked my son from the big truck.”  She looks at me with a look I recognize too well. The judgmental stare of a mother. She looks us up and down, frowns and walks away.

As she brisks past me, I embarrassingly mutter an apology and go grab Canton from the yellow truck. Of course he throws a massive fit. He is two years old and he wants trucks! He has no idea why I grabbed him. I try to discuss with him what happened, but seriously, he is two. He has no idea why he is in trouble. He doesn’t remember pulling that boy out, or hurting him. He simply is in love with trucks. His whole world is shut out when he is with the love of his life, Chuck the Truck.  It was three minutes ago and to him it might as well been a lifetime ago.  My beautiful and brutish son has a memory of goldfish.

I can feel the woman’s eyes on me. I am now acting in fear of more judgement now. I better do something, I tell myself. If I don’t act fast, I am terrible mom who lets her kids bully other children. The worst mother. If I don’t do something the whole world will know I am fraud. A child pretending to be a mom, because sometimes that’s how I feel. Like I am playing dress up in my real life.  Like I am pretending to be an adult and soon someone will catch on that I really am nothing of the sort.

So I put him in a time out, for an event he does not remember and I did not see. Its insane. He is screaming, I am frustrated as I pin him down to the bench. He is kicking me and I am getting more upset. Nobody is winning, and I want to cry with my boy.

I decided to give up.

I take him in my arms, wipe his tears, hug him and whisper in his ear that I love him and he can go play with his trucks. I still do this very silently so no one will know that I gave up. I did not follow through, I did not go make him apologize for something he does not remember or do I take away the trucks, since now the other boy is busy with the ball vacuum as his mother stands near him.  With a new smile on his face, Canton skips away and keeps on playing.

We don’t last much longer in the room, Nina and I both sense eyes on us. Our free playing, fun-loving children are weirded out that we keep coming to play with them. They stare at us and walk away. They were happy to be doing their own thing and telling us the stories of their adventures once they felt like finding us.  But we are simply trying to do what good moms do.  We are following the rules.

We leave the museum, pack the kids up, get them cozy in their car seats and let them nap in the car. We are in a mission to find a Starbucks to get coffee. Our minds our busy with the preoccupations of the daily lives of a mom.

On the forty minute drive home, we finally talk about what happened. We let words replace the silent energy that we both felt. The feelings that made us so uncomfortable, that we were judged for not being there with our kids. For not letting our kids be the center of our world for 15 minutes. For failing as moms for those moments. We knew they were safe and happy, we were doing what we thought was best.

I realized as we talked, as we let our feeling free, that mom rules are bullshit and makes most of us feel bad.

These rules are designed to give us hope that we are doing OK as moms. If there is a set of rules to follow, whatever set you choose to follow, you can feel better about who you are a mom. We can judge others who follow a different set, then we can feel better about out choice. We can feel good and know that we are doing a stellar job. The judgement gives our ego a sense of superiority and in motherhood, a world so foreign to us all, that makes us feel good.

but I have a secret, YOU ARE AN AMAZING MOM! No one can tell you any different. Just take a moment to look deep into the eyes of your child and you will see just how beautiful you are. Just how loved you are. Our children love us unconditionally, and their opinion is all the matters. Not the opinion of the parenting gurus, or the grannies at the grocery store, or even the moms at the museum.  Your kids are all that matter. They love you. That makes you a great mom. That makes me a great mom.

You are a beautiful mama, no matter what ‘style’ of parenting you adapt.  You love your kids no matter what. You show up everyday, even if tattered and broken, you show up.

Showing up the hardest part.

So lets stop judging ok? We have no idea what each mama’s stories is. As they have no idea what our stories are. So instead of judging and breaking down all the wrongs, lets band together as storytellers.Telling our stories to one another with honesty and love, too show our kids that showing up counts and love is powerful. Lets show our children what it is like to embrace the world around you with compassion and grace.

Lets simply forget the judgments.

Who cares if the mom next to you is on her phone the whole time he child plays on the jungle gym? Maybe she is working from home and took the time to bring her free-spirited child to the park. Maybe she has a family emergency she has to deal with and doesn’t want to alarm her child, so she brings him out and deals with it silently. Maybe she is tired and this is the only down time she gets, browsing her phone. The possibilities are endless. So who are we to judge? Smile instead. Act with beauty and project love and acceptance. Simply know that another down fall as a mother is not meant to make you a better mama. Your kids know you are a great mom and they are all that matter.

Much love,

Jessica

museum blog post

Your beauty.

A nap time confessional.
A moment peace in my new creative space.

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praise,
Trust,
Hope,
Faith.

Trust the universe.
Hope for you
Faith in the beauty.

Share with us your beautiful song.
Sing deeply and longingly.

Invite us into your beautiful soul.
Eagerly waiting the invitation…
Into the amazing creation that is
You.

You. Only you.
Your story so profound. Your beauty so breathtaking.

Share that song with us.
Write those words

Share that beauty.

Because there is no one in the world quite like you.
An honour it is to be near such a life force.

The world is waiting. To hear…to feel… And to see you LIVE.

Each of our own stories are begging to be heard. They are begging to be set free. Because there is one else like you and no story quite like yours.

Shine the beauty on!

Much love,

Jessica

Tantrum

Can I be kind today?
Kind to myself, kind to others, kind to my world.

Some mornings I wake up and really have to think about it. The urge to go back to bed, to snap, to yell are all to overwhelming.
Anger can be so intense. The urge to explode, lava pouring out with the words of feelings of frustration. The daily grind becoming too much to handle.

The list is too long,
The kids aren’t listening,
I am tired, hungry, etc
Money is tight,
My husband is preoccupied,
There is not enough time in the day.

The constant feeling of hovering over the edge. Swaying dangerously on the ledge of explosion.
It stays like that, waiting for that moment, the moment the release will occur. The yelling, the stomping, the crying, the screaming.
The tantrum.
In the moment it feels worth it, but is it?
What was accomplished? Really…

The high after release, then the guilt of explosion.

It can be hard to be calm. I know.

Tantrums are a tool in my adult tool belt. Inappropriate for my age, but I still haven’t grown out of them.

Tantrums haven’t gotten me anywhere efficiently. The slow down the progress, push me down until I can build myself up again.

So today I will be kind. I will be calm, and breath.

I will remember that it is never worth the tantrum.
I am stronger, smarter and better then that.

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Much love,
Jessica

The stream that flows

Our love is a stream,
Slowly pushing and flowing.
A creek, with rocks that line the outside.
Trying to push back and collapse in.

Our love is a stream,
With dips and turns.
Rushing freely and with wild intention.
Sometimes predictable,
Sometimes intense.
But always moving.

Our love is a stream,
With a current beneath.
strong and pulling
delicate and soft.

Our love is a stream,
That can dry up.
On the hot and intense days,
It seems to be gone.
But it always there.
Waiting for the next downpour,
To fill it up and grow strong

Our love is a stream,
Pushing towards a larger body
A united goal
A joint love.
Finding a river to flow towards.
Finding them.

Our love is a stream that flows to their river.
Our love fills them up and keeps them alive.

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