You know those women who need to be needed, the ones who seem to be at their best when taking care of others?
Yeah … that’s not me.
There are parts of who I am that do not fit with motherhood at all. I hate messes and filth and body fluids and whining. I don’t like interruptions or chaos or lack of personal space. I’m not a caretaker type person. I am scheduled and ordered. I have a temper. I’m maybe too businesslike when I should be more … motherly.
I’m maybe too harsh. But the world will be harsher.
Over time, those sharp edges have smoothed out and refined — but only because I allowed it to happen by first having a breakdown. It took a few stretches on anti-anxiety meds to straighten me out, but eventually I learned to stop fighting against the tide and roll with it instead.
When I threw up my hands and gave in, motherhood finally had the freedom to shape me. So while I continue to struggle with how best to maneuver through raising three small children, I am so, so grateful to them for teaching me how to be better.
|How to better handle messes.|
|How to better handle mischief.|
|How to have patience when a boy must build an army men fortress before he can go to bed. It takes forever … just so you know.|
|How to better care for injuries.|
|How to enjoy fussy, slobbery, teething babies who won’t let me out of their sight.|
Thank you, my three children, for being patient with me as I learn how to lead by example. And thank you to my husband who trusts me to be able figure it out — whatever “it” happens to be — while he is at work.
My role in life isn’t a burden, it’s a blessing. I forget that sometimes, but today I remembered, and I hope that you do too.