Author: jes (Page 3 of 6)

Most times, I feel life sustaining joy as a caregiver. I love to support, love, care for, and encourage those around me. But if I am honest, there are times when caregiving is triggering. I feel trapped and I panic. I hide in the bathroom while my kids wonder around those house yelling “Mama!” over and over. I get anxious the day before my wife’s surgery as my brain tries to look at the next 3 months of my life and feels overwhelmed. I get afraid of being lost.

I wasn’t taught growing up about the importance of listening to my body, to my physical, emotional, and mental well being. Growing up on a farm, you just kept moving because you had to. Growing up in the church, “selfless” was the highest compliment a women could hope to achieve. So for almost a lifetime, I pushed myself, constantly, to do more and give more.

I thrive on being able to give and serve others, especially my partner and my kids. But I think there are moments when I forget to give myself permission to not go the extra miles and I am triggered by feeling trapped. Trapped that all I am is that role and what I have to offer. Trapped by the lie that I am not enough and can only earn my enoughness through my productivity.

As I reflect back on that moment today where I hid in the bathroom, I am filled with gratitude. Gratitude because I, now, can notice when that is happening. I can feel panic instead of numbness.

I can feel.

My self isn’t silenced anymore. I can be human.

I made a mistake.
A mistake causing hurt and harm.
Lost trust .
I wanted to hide the mistake,
To erase it.
But it had happened.
It is a part of my story.
To hide it would be to hide a part of me.
To hide is to shrink.
I used to think perfection was my purpose.
Now I think differently.
Bravery is my purpose.
I want to face my mistakes.
Only then can I grow.

A few years ago, I remember reflecting with my therapist that I didn’t have very many regrets from my life. Now, I realize, what I meant to say, there weren’t many things I did that I regret. I am slowing beginning to see there are lots of moments of inaction that I regret. Moments I wanted to say something or do something but I was afraid of doing or saying it wrong…so I did nothing.

This past week, I have been practicing giving myself permission to make mistakes and trust that when (not if) I make mistakes,  I get the opportunity to repair the mistake and reconnect with i. It has been powerful. It helps ease the feel of trying to do something new or hard.

It is helping me be a better mom, wife, friend, ally, and human being. I will make mistakes. And I am learning, I am strong enough to repair them and reconnect with myself and others when they happen. Mistakes are no longer failures to be feared but opportunities for growth.

Please enjoy this bit of greenery that has been making me so happy this winter. I have tried year after year to keep a rosemary plant alive through the winter. I once saw the most beautiful rosemary topiary but didn’t buy it because it costs $50 and I was sure I would kill it. So, I have practiced each and every winter since before having kids so that when I see another beautiful rosemary topiary, I can buy it. This is the first winter I have kept a rosemary plant alive. There is hope that someday I can have that beautiful rosemary topiary of my dreams.

It is hard to describe my journey with my body.

I remember shame, guilt, and rejection.

I remember needing to compare myself to others to feel better since I wasn’t as “fat” as others. But then assuming others did that too much took away any comfort that brought.

I remember how purity cultural worked to my advantage, giving me a moral reason to hide so much of myself. If the flesh can’t be trusted, then I shouldn’t pursue feeling good in my body.

I remember viewing my body is a tool, like a practical, dependable, and functional car. Nothing too flashy or self indulgent but also not something to run down that is hard to maintain.

I remember how much I hated trying on clothes. I remember the humiliation I felt when I had to shop in the boys department because I couldn’t fit in the girls jeans.  Jeans squeezed me in all the wrong places reminding me that I was bigger than “normal”. Shorts showed the world the size of my thighs. Dresses and skirts were my safe place. They gave me a place to hide the parts I didn’t like and were the one place I felt pretty.

I remember just 6 months before my wedding, when I was student teaching in Japan, a Japanese women at the school invited me to join her at the local bath house. I rejected her offer because I didn’t know how to be naked around  other women, let alone myself.

Then, I married a person who loved my body when I wasn’t able to. This person, over time, taught me to see myself differently.

My body, she is beautiful. She is sacred. She is not a tool to be used or something that needs to perform to be valued. She is enough. And she has the right to be heard.

Which brings me to last night.  I went to bed with a mix of guilt, gratitude, and hope. I feel so cliché to say or admit that these past few months have been a series of tasty indulgences. And I don’t want to mark those indulgences as bad because I don’t believe there are “bad” foods. But there were times when I made food choices that were harmful to my body. I disregarded the voice of my body saying she didn’t need more fuel.  Those moments were repeated and now my body can’t hide they way she is feeling. She is tired. She doesn’t have as much energy as she did 2 months ago. She can’t keep this pace up. She is crying out to be heard. She knows what it is like to thrive and she can’t stay silent anymore. These past few weeks, I have felt out of balance. No part of me can thrive at the expense of another part of me because they are all me. We can only thrive together.

This realization that I had been overeating was was triggering because it reminded me of the emotional trauma of my struggle with weight from my childhood. It reminded me of viewing my body as a tool that I didn’t really like. But this wasn’t about the number on the scale or even the way I looked in clothes. Maybe outwardly it looks similar but the motivation feels completely different. This is about giving my body a voice so that we could work together to be our best version. It’s about drinking water to stay hydrated. It’s about trusting my craving to tell me what what body needs. It’s about making space for movement that feeds every part of me. It’s about celebrating this beautiful person that I am in every moment of every day. So, here is to a new day of trusting and listening. we can do this and so can you.

This year has been full of unique challenges. My heart grieves for those who have experienced unimaginable heartache because of the hardships of this past year.

For those who experienced financial struggles, I see you.

For those who lost loved ones, I see you.

For those who experienced loneliness, I see you.

For those who were overwhelmed, I see you.

This was a year of pain and sorrow and loss. It was a year where many givens were taken away, sometimes suddenly, and sometimes slowly. It was a year of adjustments. It was a year of collective grief.

In the midst of grief, I think of all the ways the pain pushed me to change. I think of all the time at home and the stillness forced upon me. For once, I couldn’t escape from myself. I couldn’t run away or distract myself from me. I had time to think, to be and for that I am grateful.

I am grateful for the quiet moments with the three people dearest to me. It was easier to let the distractions of the world to fade for brief times. The pressures to perform lessened. I could feel the brush of finger tips or the warmth of a snuggly little one with a new intensity. I could let the messes around me stay longer in exchange for reading another book, or playing another game. I could plan our evening around the ritual of candles, dinner, and thankfulness because dinner was the event of the evening, not something sandwiched between other more important things.

I am grateful for conversations with those I love both near and far, the way slowness opens up new space for connection. I am grateful for the way a 5 minute porch conversation could change my outlook for the day. I am grateful for the return to a trusted therapist with a listening ear and the time that gave me each week for reflection.

I am grateful for open conversations with my wife. I am grateful for all the ways our relationship and expectations have shifted.  I am grateful to learn I am whole on my own but together we can experience something like enhancement instead of completion. I am grateful to learn sex doesn’t require sacrifice. I am grateful to learn relationships can ebb and flow and that change isn’t failure.

I am grateful to be learning to love my own company.

I look back on this year with grief and gratitude. I look forward with hope that 2021 is a year we can practice the lessons 2020 has taught us.

To my beloved Children,

Thank you. Did you know that you were the ones that gave me a reason to listen to my body, my inner knowing? Learning to listen to you taught me to listen to me because you started inside of me. I began to seek my inner knowing because of you. You and my inner knowing were so closely related, seeking you meant I learned how to seek me. I began to quiet all the noises outside and sink into myself. Pregnancy and birth taught me I could trust myself and my instincts.

I didn’t realized how much having you in my life would teach me and shape me. I thought I would be the one teaching and shaping you. But you don’t need to do quite as much unlearning as I do. You haven’t learned to dismiss what your body, your inner knowing is telling you. You are the one that knows how to listen more than me. Thank you for showing me.

Thank you for feeling your feelings. I have learned how to hide my emotions and suppress my feelings. You don’t know how to do that and I am grateful. You show me when life is too much. You can’t hide that you are hungry or tired. You are like a canary in the coal mine. Listening to you keeps us all thriving.

I think about the times when you are upset. To me you appear cranky and whiney and clingy. You can’t contain your big feeling and you lash out. Sometime in those moments, I forget to look deeper and I just want you to stop. I want you to control and suppress those big feelings. I am sorry. You and your big feelings are important. They are prophetic. They are sacred. Life is moving too fast. Your big feelings remind me that connectedness is the priority. Our humanity, not our striving for perfection, is most important.

Dear children, you teach me to rediscover my humanity. Thank you. That is the most beautiful gift I have ever received. I hope in future moments, I can remember to treasure too.

playing and dancing
Avery’s love for me
getting to watch tv
crisp fall morning
Christmas
Poppy
being happy
Mama & Mommy
Mama
Ma’am
pizza movie night
being a girl
myself
our new house
Nanny’s house
therapy
friends
songs
Coconut
colors & rainbows
stuffed animal friends
a place to eat food
food to eat
bike rides
Indy
the city
board games
dinner
open conversations
nice neighbors
new clothes
a stable job
clean water
my sister
candlelight
my body
boobies
sunsets & sunrises
every D. ballot cast
sleeping
grass
green beans
my daughters
my living room
everyone
pictures of family
candles
visiting friends
baby snuggles
doors, walls, & cabinets
table
ready-to-eat food
Ellie
programing
going on walks
running
Our Family
this house
baking
time with my wife
patience
Owen’s house & our house
my beautiful wife
Elsa
lighting candles
trip to New York City
my inner child
building things
our 2nd wedding
doing projects with my wife
my sister
Children’s Museum
books
blankets
honesty
unlimited love
grace
my hair
magnets
wood
pumpkins
a wife who cooks dinner
internet
my sister

Identify does not come to us without journey, because to learn who we are means we face difficult truths in our own lives and imagine what life might look like as those work themselves out inside of us…whiteness takes so much from us, journeying…means that finding our way back may come in the most unexpected ways.

But the return is the key. How you heard the story of the prodigal son?…In the end it isn’t that he ran away or that we wasted money and years of his life. The think we notice is the jour home, the return, that open-armed father with tears streaming down his face, that son being beckoned back again. That is the sacred power of coming home, even it it’s a home you don’t recognize but long to be a apart of. – pages 14-15 of Native by Kaitlin B Curtice

My journey of finding my way back to myself is giving myself permission to be myself. Whiteness gave me  mixed messages growing up. I can be anything I want as long as it is already on this preapproved list. I can be smart as long as my curiosity doesn’t push me to ask too many questions.  I can and should be pretty and care about my appearance but not too much because the flesh is sinful and sexuality and desire must be tempered. I can and should help people but not in ways that would shift power structures.

These messages have left me feeling broken and small. I am afraid to be me. I am afraid of my fullness. I am afraid of be too much. Somewhere along the way, I and the world around me decided how much space I could take up. I didn’t fit it then. It seemed so vast to my small self. I raced to grow, like a new seed in a pot. I thought I could be anything. I felt so free. After years of growing, my roots began to hit the edges of the pot and I recoiled. I didn’t know there were limits. I shrank back. But I am not made to be small. So I push my roots out again, seeking truth and space to be my full self. My roots have reached out through the drainage hole. My roots have found life outside of this cultivated pot. I love this pot that nurtured me and gave me a safe and rich space to grow. I am grateful for the shelter it gave me while I was young and tender. And yet, something good can cause death when it stunts and limits growth. So, here I am, in my journey, trying to grow strong enough to push through the cracks in my pot and return home. Home to the belief that I am free to be me and there aren’t limits on how big I can be or what shape I must take.

I don’t quite know where to begin today. I have been silent for so long. I have so many internal thoughts going in so many different directions that I don’t know what to say, where to start, or how to say it. But maybe this is just about saying the thing I am afraid of so that I can begin to take away its power over me. I want to be an ally and an advocate and I am afraid of causing more harm. I have this idea that if I am going to do anything I have to do it right but how do I know what is right? When it comes to ally work, I know that mistakes can cause hurt. I don’t want to cause hurt but more selfishly, I don’t want to receive the critique that I did something that caused the hurt. I know that silence hurts. I have been in a place where the silence of those around me stung. I wished someone, anyone, would speak up for me and my family. I want to have the courage to wade into these murky waters and speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves. I want to have the courage to face my own mistakes with humility. I want to have the courage to try again and again, so that I can do better next time. I can start this work today.

10 years ago today, I married the love of my life. I had no idea what the next decade would contain. We have both changed so much that 10 years ago us would struggle to recognize us. Back then, I thought change was bad. I thought getting married was a commitment to remain the same person for the sake of the person I was marrying.  Somehow I thought I was supposed to grow without changing my path. I now know that it is impossible to grow while remaining fixed on one way forward. Growth requires the ability to let go of what once was. It requires stepping into the unknown. It requires knowing myself well enough to trust myself. I love the person I once was because she got me to here. She was brave enough to take one step and then another.

I love that person 10 years ago me married. She married a girl who didn’t know at the time she was a girl. That girl was trying so hard to be the person she thought she was supposed to be. She gave everything to our marriage but realized it wasn’t right. Eventually, she was brave enough to admit that she wasn’t who either of us thought she was. Slowly, she listened to her own inner Knowing and discovered the real her, hiding inside underneath all the layers of expectations. She makes this choice over and over. She has taught me to do the same every single day.

Just the last few weeks alone have resulted in discovering more about ourselves and moving to places I wouldn’t have anticipated. During the midst of change and growth, I often go back to a place of fear, afraid of the unknown. I have to choose to hold on to myself, to trust her and our mutual commitments to us and take the next step forward. I know we can’t go back. Once we know, we Know. I won’t go back to hiding from myself.

Tomorrow, we were supposed to celebrate our 10 year wedding anniversary with a renewal of vows surrounded by a small group of loved ones. Life has asked us to put that dream on hold. We will wait until another time to have that celebration. In the meantime, this weekend we will celebrate new commitments to ourselves and to each other.

I don’t know what the next decade will involve but I hope it includes her.

Please enjoy a sneak preview of two beautiful brides.