resiliency, or guilt vs. grace

Why are we so heavy with guilt?  As moms, this seems to be a running theme — whether it is guilt about our children, our marriages, our houses, our work — it seems as though we all carry an invisible burden that we are constantly not doing enough.  We fall short, and we beat ourselves up for it. We crumble to the weight.  I want to change that: instead of guilt, heavy and burdensome, I’m choosing Grace, easy and light. I want to embrace my inadequacies, bear them with my loved ones, and offer them up as sacrifices.

The Working Mother’s Research Group just published a report of a survey it conducted with both working and stay-at-home-moms and it found that well over half of both groups experienced guilt about the cleanliness of their homes.  Working women felt guilty about the amount of time spent with children and women at home felt guilty about not contributing financially.

This week I also read a study about praising our children.  There was so much in it that I want to think about, but one finding of this study had to do the type of praise a child recieves.  It suggested that for more resilient children, and therefore more resilient adults, as parents we need to be less generous with person-based praise and more generous with process-based praise.  ”Kids praised for their efforts believe that trying hard, not being smart, matters. These kids are “resilient” and take more risks.”

To me, these two issues are interwoven.  The idea that we feel pressure for perfection, and then guilt from not reaching it, suggests that we lack precisely resiliency the second study applauds.  It seems to me that we are motivated by feedback, and feel as though we fall short when we don’t get the positive feedback that we were anticipating.  Having grown up as part of this over-praised generation, this makes sense to me.

I don’t get a high five every time I put dishes away.  My children won’t have any concept of the energy and effort I spend on them until they are well into the process of raising their own kids.  I’m not going to get a Thank You for enforcing boundaries, giving rules and expecting manners.  If I’m super lucky, and it’s a good day, someone might say Thank You for cooking dinner as we sit down for grace before the meal.  The lack of praise could lead me to believe that what I’m doing isn’t good enough — that I need to pile on the guilt because there is more that I should be accomplishing, different ways of meeting others’ needs.  But I know better.  Though there are plenty of areas where I fall short as a mother, as in life, I know that I love my family and I am committed to them.  My shortcomings allow for me to receive Grace — His, and theirs, too.  It allows me to be human to my Little Ones, to show them that they, too, are worthy of His Grace.

Of course I want my Little Ones to be proud of who they are.  But I want them to know that there are not loved because they are Smart, or Strong, or Athletic, or Beautiful.  They are simply loved.  And I want them to pursue excellence in all things, and work hard, not because of the praise they will receive, and how it in turn will become part of their identity, but because of the chance to seek a challenge and apply themselves to the best of their abilities.  To learn how to fail, and allow themselves to picked up again, without the guilt.  I want them to truly know Grace.  Isn’t that resiliency?

10.26.09

Tomorrow we celebrate the Littlest’s second birthday.  Of course, in moments of milestone and reflection like this the usual sentiments come to mind: I can’t imagine our family without her; it seems like both yesterday and eons ago that she was born; she is a gift, a blessing from Him, who has both enriched my life and challenged me to grow in more ways than I can count.  And yes, all of this is true, if not a bit trite.

But there is more.  Isn’t there always?  Dear Littlest, you are this amazing person!  Your older brother can be such a torrent, such a force, already so well-liked, that at times I’ve wondered how you would make your own way in this world, under his shadow.  Why did I doubt your strength?  You have proven over and over that I needn’t worry.  You are not a faint little girl, content to be known only in relation to those around you.  We walk through the halls of the preschool to pick up your brother, your hand in mine when you let me, and you smile and say glad hellos to any who will listen, even greeting the teachers by name.  Your presence is undeniable.

I will not mistake your tendency to be easy with routine, and a personality that can move in flexibility for a lack of opinion or firm steadfastness.  No, you have shown me that you can have both an easy-going light-hearted spirit and still be committed, grounded.  You convey this easily, and with tenacity, but without the sometimes harsh edge that your brother carries.  Being so much like your brother myself, this is something that I admire and hope to learn from you.  I do not doubt that this will serve you even more as you earn your years.

You have an imagination that inspires me; an independence and depth to your play that is glorious to watch.  You have embraced a manner of playing that allows you to mimic what you see — in me, in our family, in our daily routines and our special occasions, and it is always entertaining to listen to your interpretations, and notice what carries weight in your mind.  The stories you weave, and sometimes sing, are complex and nuanced.  You encourage your brother and invite him into your pretend worlds, and I’m filled with love to watch the friendship between the two of you develop further, deeper, and without the aid of your father and I.   You complement his rigidity, and I laugh at the vision I get of a time in the future where it is you enticing him to make some interesting choices.  He laughs deeply and whole-heartedly at you, dear Littlest, and the love is fierce.

I am honored and challenged to raise you — a young girl, a young woman today, and mostly don’t know how to not over-think the feminine legacy that you will inherit from me.  What I do know is that you are your very own person, and that I trust God will guide me in ways to honor this, and give you what you need.

You, this bundle of pink — pink skin, pink blankets, cozy and content always in my arms as a babe.  You wouldn’t nap without me for some time, and that was OK.  I swallowed you whole, breathed you in, and even now, you allow me this from time to time.  My body grieves your growing, your streching out from my womb, but still  it is well, oh so well, with my soul.

Oh, Littlest.  You, who has been anticipating this day: “My birthday coming up!” for weeks now.  You, who began singing “Happy Birthday” to yourself three times before the crowd was ready when we gathered this past weekend.  You, who demanded chocolate cupcakes, only to lick the icing off of yours and trade it in, unbeknownst to me, for a new one.  You, dear Littlest, who won’t be the Littlest for long.  I love you.  Happy 2nd Birthday.

{this moment}

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. ~inspired by SouleMama

wisdom of Angela Chase

I’ve clearly pegged myself to a particular time in history when I say that My So-Called Life is probably my all-time favorite television show.  It was short lived — only 19 episodes, but each was a piece of literature in it’s own right.  And it is very quotable — witty quips, sarcastic bites, teenage angst and cynicism, and the glimpse of wisdom and clarity that comes hard-earned.  I studied sociology in my undergraduate days,  mostly for the love of people and the interest of studying all the strange dynamics that living in and around community creates (clearly not for the practical job opportunities). I could expound on a number of sociologists and theorists about different stages of growth and development of a person but today I’m going to let Angela Chase speak for me.

People alway say you should be yourself, like yourself is this definite thing, like a toaster or something. Like you can know what it is even. But every so often I’ll have like, a moment, when just being myself in my life, right where I am, is like, enough.  ~ Angela Chase, My So-Called Life

My adolescence, like most everyone else’s, was full of trying on different pieces of myself, seeing what fit well.  Some things stuck and seem rather permanent:  a life-long curiosity and love of intellect, a tendency for few, but close, friends.  Some things wrote themselves briefly, thankfully, into the story of my teen years: mismatched socks and a mouth that never stopped to listen.  I’ve ebbed and flowed in my tastes and I know that I’ll forever be evolving as I grow, older and deeper.

It has been hard for me to not lose myself in my little ones.  I have friends that I know feel like they have found their stride as they have moved from the insecurities of their early twenties into something more definite and steadfast in their late twenties and thirties.  Me?  Honestly, I feel the opposite.  Being a mother has challenged many things that I thought were part of my marrow, interlaced with my sense of self.  Being myself, at times, has never felt harder or more abstract of a concept.   Sometimes I’ve given so much of my self that I wonder how there could be any self left for me. Sometimes I need fervent reminders that I am more than my children, more than my husband, my house, my cooking, my (in)ability to put clean laundry away.  Because, honestly, some days if you had to look at it quantifiably, that might be all you could see.  Who am I if not these things?  Is my identity, my self more than my knowledge of current events, or my witty comebacks?

And than there are others times, times when Angela Chase’s words are all I can hear.  That having this moment, with all my foibles and quirks, feels full enough to me.  Times when I don’t need to know who I am going to be tomorrow, and I don’t have to be the same as I was yesterday.  Just because I’m not a teenager any more doesn’t mean that I can’t still be figuring it out.  Consistency is important in somethings, like raising little ones with strong love and conviction, but what if I can embrace this uncertainty of self and see it not as inconsistent, or insecure, but instead as resisting stagnancy?  To employ an overused phrase, I am in a “season” of my life that doesn’t leave a lot of free time for me.  That doesn’t mean that there is no “me” — it just might look different in this moment.

This idea of being myself — mostly I don’t even know what that means.  Authentic is a word that gets thrown around a lot, and though it echos the strong sense of self, I think it has more to do with this concept of being true to who I am in the moment.  Sometimes it has edges, like a toaster, and sometimes it doesn’t.  I have the rest of my life to spend with this self of mine, so I better get to know her, and like her, whoever she is.

one thing

It’s a line that many a proud mama spouts easily: we’re women, we’re multi-taskers.  It’s something that, either innate or cultivated, is worn with distinction, as a mark of this territory that we command.  And it’s something that I have come to face as my enemy.

It is easy to do many things at once, but I find that I’m not always very good at doing them well.  The laptop sits open on the counter in the kitchen, four different internet tabs open.  I flip between the ingredient list of a tonight’s dinner recipe, culling appropriate utensils from my kitchen drawers, and the NY Times editorial I’ve been reading in three sentence chunks.  I’m peeling stickers for the Littlest to plaster over construction paper, and ooh-ing and aah-ing appropriately over the latest masterpiece from the Eldest.  Music is playing.  The dog needs to go out.  The phone rings.  I answer an email.  Back to preparing dinner, and can I even remember why this news article grabbed my attention in the first place?  I’m getting it all done, and if this day is all about productivity and survival than, yes, I think my multitasking skills are setting me ahead.

But I want more than survival.  I know in my heart that if I’m spread this thin, that while it’s all getting done, nothing is getting done well.  There will be something to eat for dinner, bills will get paid, kids will have been looked after. But the little ones know the difference.  They know that I was just nodding my head, “actively” listening to their tales, while my mind was on some other task.  They know that I tend to lose patience, with them, the dog, myself, when I’m multitasking.  And I know the difference.

The false promises of productivity are robbing me of my moments.  If my mind is on so many things at once, it is missing it all.  I cannot breath this very breathe more than once, at one place, at one time, and so I follow it.  Inhale, exhale.  The present moment calls for my attention, intention.

With a gathering of women a few weeks ago, a thread of conversation gained strength that was contending with why it is that we seem to have so little time to pause, to think, to pray, to reflect as a woman in our modern culture.  Though we all have mountains of responsibility, I know that it is no more, and in many ways less burdensome, than the women who have come before us.  One wise voice spoke up, suggesting that because it is so easy in our time to do so many things at once we lose the forced quiet of menial tasks that previous generations of women had come to rely on.  So much of our work is made easier by our technological and industrial advances that we no longer need to set aside time to hang our laundry dry on the line, or hand wash our dishes.  These jobs, though tedious, required full physical attention, forcing focus on one task at a time, but not as much though,t affording a woman time to pause and breathe.  Maybe these things don’t have anything to do with each other, reflection and multi-tasking.  But I think they do.

Often I find myself answering the frequent demands of my little ones by saying “I can only do one thing at a time.”  I have found that I send a mixed message to them, by engaging in common multitasking of my choice, but forcing them to wait.  I fully believe that their patience in getting their desires met is a good and necessary lesson, and I am beginning to embrace this mantra for most aspects of my daily life as well.  I will be patient for what is next, whether it is luxury or tedium.  I can only do one thing well at a time.  How am I choosing to spend this moment?  To be intentional with my time, I am walking away from my woman’s badge of multi-tasker and daring to be more than my productivity.  I will only do one thing at a time.