It’s 8 o’clock on a weeknight. The kids are in bed and my wife goes to bed early. I feel like a lost soul. There is a laundry room to clean, basement to organize, and dishes to do, all practical and helpful things but they feel like drudgery. Those kinds of tasks are things I actually often enjoy doing but not right now.  They are what my mind tells me I should be doing. But my heart and soul and body are crying out to be heard. They are trying to tell me I am worth more than all the shoulds I check off my daily to do list. I get so stuck in all the shoulds I have internalized over my lifetime. I have forgotten how to listen to myself. I have gotten lost along the way. I know I need to hold onto myself but I don’t know what self that is to hold onto.

The idea of exploring what makes me happy or gives me life feels selfish and self serving. But the constant giving of all that I am and all that I have has left me feeling empty and at times resentful. This isn’t lifegiving for me or anyone around me. Today I have felt convicted that I need to carve out space in the day for me to just be. A time to be quiet and still and listen. To let go of the demands of the world.

So, here is the space I worked on today. A space for art, reflection, and stillness. A place I can practice presence.

I have started this blog post a half a dozen times and I never seem to get anywhere. I want to say everything but I don’t know where to start. My wise wife suggested I start with how I feel right now…

So…in this moment, I am looking at the tattoo I got on my forearm a few weeks ago. It makes me feel safe, and whole, and excited for my future.

The past year and a half has been about transitions, change, growth, and self-discovery. A common theme has come up for me over and over in my self help books, my book/bible study group, the podcasts I listen to, and parenting discussion groups I am a part of. This theme is the inherent goodness and worthiness of every human being. It is something that cannot be earned or gained but also cannot be lost. A concept I now describe as “enoughness”.

Last week, I was listening to The Listurgist Podcast and Hillary McBride said it beautifully:

Here are some things that are true:

You are good.

You have always been good, right from the beginning.

And I’m sorry if anyone told you otherwise.

This breath. These hands. Those feet. That smile. Those ears. That heart.

This heart. This beating heart.

This breath. This breath. This breath.

It’s good. It’s all good. So, so so good.

You are loved. You are so loved. You are loveable.

You have been working so hard and I don’t have to know how to know that it’s true.

You are precious. You are not a mistake. You are very on purpose.

You are not broken. You never were. I am sorry that you might have thought that. I’m sorry that anyone made you think that. That wasn’t about you.

But you, you are enough. You are totally enough.

You don’t have to earn your enoughness. You don’t have to grovel for value, for love, for goodness. You already have it. You already are it.

You are loved. You are loved. You…you are good, so, so good.

 

I can see hope each and every day that I am unlearning the lies my ego has been telling me for all these years about my enoughness. Every time I forget something important, there is grace. Every time I sit down to play with my kids even if the house is in chaos, there is joy. Every time I spend an evening with my wife instead of washing dishes, there is love. Every time I give myself space to consider what I need in this moment instead of giving weight to all the “shoulds” running through my head, there is enoughness.

I hope that today, you believe that you are enough in this moment just as you are. Not after your have finished your todo list. Not after you lose 10 pounds. Not after your child achieves some accomplishment. Not after your marriage is finally perfect, but right now.

I’ll leave you with the words of Coach Blitzer in the movie Cool Runnings:

I had made winning my whole life. And when you make winning your whole life, you have to keep on winning, no matter what…A gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you are not enough without it, you will never be enough with it.

Today, Ms. K, my son’s preschool teacher stopped by the house for a visit. We had been talking about the visit all day and he was so excited to show her the obstacle course he built. Then when she arrived, his little personality changed. He mumbled when he spoke and often darted around the corner out of sight. He wanted me to do everything for him, especially speak for him.

I tried not to pressure him. I tried to be gentle and patient but inside I was sinking into feelings of failure and embarrassment.  I wanted him to be the artistic, bright, and creative self that I see everyday. I wanted to feel pride in my parenting skills. And I hate that I had expected my 4 year old to give me a sense of self worth.

As I reflect on how I felt, I want to get rid of that part of me. I want to ask people to give me a step by step plan that will change me. But maybe I already know what to do. He is his own person. And I am my own person. I need to believe that I have worth and am enough as I am right now, without making any changes. Then moments like that can’t threaten my self worth because my worth is an irrefutable truth. I don’t have to earn it through my own actions or the actions of my children or my wife. And only I can give my child that gift of worth and enoughness as well.

This post was a reflection from early December 2019…

After moving to the city two weeks ago, Lily had to leave for a business trip yesterday. I was concerned about my mental stability parenting the kids on my own in a house that still feels a bit chaotic in a place we are still just getting know. I went through my mental checklist of top priority things that needed to be done and just picked one thing…well maybe it wasn’t just one thing since that one thing did kind of have a few prerequisite steps. But to me, it was really just one thing compared to the rest of the list.

A day after the events of Sunday, I am beginning to realize where I might have started to go wrong. In the process of prioritizing this one thing, my mind shifted without me realizing from “This will help me have a better week with the kids” to “This is the only way I can possibly have any hope for a good week with the kids and thus, without this one thing, our week can’t be anything but awful and miserable for all of us”

And so, on Sunday, while trying to accomplish this one thing, I admitted to myself it probably won’t happen. That admission just broke me. In that moment, I became so overwhelmed. I didn’t understand how not accomplishing this one thing could so deeply unhinge me. I felt overwhelmed by anger, hurt, and, frustration. And I hated feeling all of it. I just wanted to turn it off. I wanted to go back to being able to suppress my feelings because feeling all of it was terrifying. I didn’t feel in control and I didn’t know how to get it back. I tried to push through and just get the project done. My body and mind cried out and, eventually, I listened. I stopped pushing forward. I paused.

It was hard to start the conversation. It was hard to put words to what I was feeling but I needed to share them with Lily, even if I used all the wrong words. I didn’t have time or the mental capacity to come up with the best optimal way of sharing my story. I just needed to share it. And Lily listened. She showed up and was present. And she loved me through it.

I gave in to self care. In that moment, it meant giving up on accomplishing the “one thing”. It meant allowing life to be ok even in the midst of what felt like chaos. It meant cancelling plans to hang out with friends because I knew I couldn’t let myself heal if I was also trying to where my hostess hat even for friends I knew could care less if my house was a mess and all I served them was room temperature water. So, the whole family curled up on the couch with blankets at watched Little Women and it was just what my soul needed.

A day later, that one thing still hasn’t been completed but I am one step closer. And I and the kids were able to have many wonderful moments today. That is enough.

I am afraid of being honest. After a lifetime of practice, I am pretty good at figuring out what role people want me to play and if I care about what they think of me, I play that role well. Now, at 32, its hard to figure out what parts of me are me and what parts of the roles I have  unintentionally played. As I figure them out, it’s even harder to let go of those roles. They are safe. They are known. I know how people react to them. I don’t know how people will react to me, the real me. It feels like there is so much at stake. What if the real me is rejected? Can I let that go? Can I be at peace with that?

I desire to be loved. I desire to be well thought of. And I desire to be me.

I cannot have it all.

Being a parent of young ones has been humbling. It’s been hard to realize how much other peoples opinions of me affect my parenting. I can see my child and I know what they need but I am afraid of meeting it because what if I am judged for not performing in the socially expected way? Church is hard. My child need to move. I continue to take them each week and we take our seats in a pew. They color, and read, and play. We practice sitting and using quiet voices. And when my children have met their limit, I am learning to practice grace for myself as I follow their needs. A few months ago, I shared with members of my church how much each Sunday is a struggle for me. I would leave most weeks drained, sometimes in tears. I felt lonely and exhausted and I felt like I had failed yet again. I had failed to discipline in the right way. I had failed to get my kids to sit on the stage through the children’s message. I had failed to engage them in the service. I had failed to engage myself in the service. I had failed to be a “perfect” parent. Sunday afternoons ended being one of the hardest times of the week. I was miserable. But that time I shared these struggled with members of my church, my church reassured me that they loved my children. They assured me they remembered being there. They told me to continue to ask. They told me to go of my fears and worries. So, I choose to trust them and have begun to let go of my anxieties. Just last Sunday, as I was singing with the choir on the stage, my children joined me up there. I couldn’t see what they were exploring behind me. I thought about it for a moment but choose to let it go. I was up there to sing and serve. I have to take all the lessons I have learned from others, from books, and from my children and use them in a way that I am comfortable with because I am the one that has to life with my actions and my thoughts. I have a tendency to want to poll others for opinions on what I should do next. My therapist said to me a few weeks ago when I was asking about what to do, “I think you already know what to do.” It feels good to have the validation of others but I need to stop letting that desire for validation be a deciding factor in the choices I make.

Recently, I hosted a birthday party with my sister to celebrate my children’s birthday along with one of her son’s birthday with our extended family, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandma’s. I asked my wife if she wanted to come. She said she didn’t want to come. At first, I was hurt, offended, and insecure about this. My first thought was “What is everyone at the party going to think?” My first reaction was to put other’s opinions of me before what was really best for Lily and our family. I cared about looking like the perfect family more than being a healthy family.

She has always struggled in large group settings. As an introvert, they are extremely energy draining. Before transitioning, she struggled to play the role she felt like she was expected to fulfill. Now she is going through the slow process of figuring out who she is and what that looks like. She doesn’t have a guidebook on what to do or say. It is mentally and emotionally exhausting. If she came, she would need time the following week to recover. That would take away from the time she had to spend with Avery, and Adeline, and I. I would rather have that time with her.

I am thankful that she continues to teach me to stop being afraid of what other people think.

At that birthday party, Adeline got the book “Oh the Places You Will Go” by Dr. Seuss.

Congratulations! Today is your day, You’re off to Great Places! You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care. About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there”. With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet, you’re too smart to go down a not-so-good-street.

And you may not find any you’ll want to go down. In that case, of course, you’ll head straight out of town. It’s opener there in the wide open air. Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew. Just go right along. You’ll start happening too. Oh! The Place You’ll Go!

I love what this book says about navigating life. There are paths/streets that are already planned out.  They feel safe. I know where they go and what results they will bring. I know in general what people think of those who go down them. But I have to give up a little bit of what makes me “me” to stay on them. Instead of conforming, I could just head of out town. It is scary out here in the wide open air. Sometimes it is great and I feel like I flying. Other times it all comes crashing down and I feel stuck or like I am bumping around in the dark afraid to make the wrong choice.  We read this book at least once every day this past week and I love it every time. I hope I can show my kids it’s best to try to be themselves. Trying and failing is a beautiful process. It is the only way I can really learn and grow. There are many helpful voices around us that can keep us safe. I hope I can learn how to better listen to the helpful voices and let go of the hurtful ones so I can in turn teach them.

Everyday is a new chance to be me. Today is my day!

P.S. This past spring we had photos taken of our family. We ended the photo shoot with a campfire. Please enjoy seeing the utter delight I experience when eating a s’more. As a baker it may be seem like an unlikely choice but, if I am totally honest, s’mores are my favorite dessert. Thank you to the talented Jaime Hughes at Birch and Olive for capturing it.

A quick update on life. Last Tuesday, my beautiful wife had vocal feminization surgery. Not all trans women have surgery as a part of their transition process and those that do have surgery, don’t have the same kind of surgery. Some may even have multiple surgeries addressing different areas. As a trans women, the adam’s apple and the voice are strong indicators that they were assigned-male-at-birth (AMAB). The particular surgery my wife had took care of the reducing the prominence of the adam’s apple, and will hopefully result in a voice with a higher pitch that resonates in the head instead of the chest. Now that the surgery is over, we are playing the waiting game. She cannot make any sounds with her vocal chords for two weeks as her body recovers from the surgery. Then, as she begins to use her voice box again, she has to gradually work back up to her normal amount of speaking over the course of 4 weeks. The voice will most likely be all over the place, like a person recovering from laryngitis and it may still be months before we get to hear her new voice. But I am so excited. I can imagine if my own voice caused me discomfort, I would spend much of my life self-silencing. I would hide my thoughts from those around me because in order to share those thoughts, I would have to experience the sound of my own voice. My wife is a mom to two children. I want our children to hear their mother for who she truly is. They need that. She needs that. I need that.

Physically, her recovering is going well. The doctor reports there is very little swelling. She has slowly worked back into eating solid food. She still has pain when swallowing but it is less. She is completely off all pain meds. She has one more week off work but will be able to resume her normal works schedule next week since her work is done online and she can chat through instant messaging services.

I know that for those of you who knew ahead of time this was happening, some of you have asked how I am doing.  This week has been harder than I had anticipated. When I first saw her after the surgery, there were two things I noticed. The first was how beautiful and slender her neck looked without the adam’s apple sticking out. The second was how much pain she was in every time she swallowed. It hurt me so bad to see her in pain. I wanted to take it away, to fix it but I was helpless. I wanted to run away so I didn’t have to see it but I was stuck. Later, when I told her about my desire to fly, to go back into the waiting room in ignorant bliss, she told me about how much my presence in that surgery recover room grounded her and reassured her that she was going to be ok. It took us longer than normal to leave the outpatient surgery center but eventually we made it back to our beautiful Airbnb that is on a hillside overlooking downtown Portland, OR.

For the next two days, my wife rested. I made sure she had help when she was moving around, prepared soft foods for her, and got her medications when needed. I thought I would love this time without little ones needing me every second of the day but I grew restless. I didn’t know what to do with myself without being needed constantly. At one point, we were sitting out on our patio and I just lost it. I was an emotional mess but I couldn’t quite figure out why. I went inside to hide my tears and text a few friends. I didn’t want to burden my recovering wife. My friends responded right away. I tried to put myself back together and get some dinner made. My wife noticed my absence. She texted me and asked what was wrong. But my thoughts were so jumbled, I didn’t know what was wrong. I didn’t have words. I, the person that could physically speak in this relationship, could not formulate any coherent thoughts in that moment. So she wrapped her arms around me and we just stood in the kitchen in silence and she held me. And slowly, her physical touch calmed me down. As much as I didn’t want to need anything from her while she was recovering, we discovered that I did still need her. We ended up spending the rest of the day on the couch binge watching Queer Eye and snuggling.

Communication and conversations have been hard since she is not speaking. But with some trial and error, we have found ways to make dinner conversations possible. I know it will be hard for the kids when we get back since they can’t read the text that she types out but we will make it work. We will learn and adapt. A smile on her face and a gesture with her hands can communicate more than a thousand spoken words.

Thank you to all of you for your thoughts and prayers and support. There are countless people, mostly family but not exclusively,  who have loved on our children this week while we were gone. We couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you. And friends who have supported us emotionally or by caring for our animals back at home. Thank you. We feel loved.

On Sunday, I found my voice and was heard. Why do I feel so sad and lost? This doesn’t feel like a victory. We have a mountain to ascend. It feels like we chose to say “no” to the gondola lift and now have to hike up this mountain together…all of us, those who wanted to ride the gondola and those who said it wasn’t the right fit.

I feel sad about disappointing those who carefully chose this gondola ride for us. We asked them to pick a path forward and they did. And then we realized somewhere along the way, we didn’t communicate some important information. Maybe we didn’t know it was important until we were faced with the decision. But now we know. And now we have decided to forego the easy path. Will those who have chosen once have the heart to choose again? Can both sides say “I’m sorry” for the hurt and the misunderstanding?

I sometimes think about what would have happened if I hadn’t found my voice. What if we had all climbed aboard that gondola together, leading the reluctant ones on? What if we got halfway to the top and someone asked me what was wrong? What if I only then found my voice? Would people feel betrayed that I waited until it was too late to share? Would they feel like I lied to them when I didn’t share the concerns I had until it was too late? Staying silent felt like a lie. I can’t lie. I try so hard to be truthful, and honest, and open. It isn’t me to keep secrets. So I stood up and shared with a trembling voice and tears in my eyes. I shared my concerns which felt so personal and intimate. I shared because I am a part of this community and was making a choice to say “I am here and I am one of you”.

I hope those who are feeling hurt can find forgiveness for us who spoke. I am so sorry for your pain, sadness, and sense of betrayal. I know that you were making the best choices you could. I am sorry that I couldn’t say “yes”. I hope we can rebuild and start again.

I see this hike we are now embarking on will be long. I imagine there will be stumbles, scraped knees, and stubbed toes along the way.   I also envision the scenery we might see along the way that we would have missed. I think about the conversations that a slow hike together may allow to surface and linger. I hope we will find healing on the journey. I hope we will end in a better place than we started.