Gold Stars

The last day of the year always seems to require thought and reflection. This morning I scrolled through Facebook reading over everyone's memories of the past 12 months. As I sit here and drink coffee and stare at my fire I too reflect.

The same mental image keeps running through my mind.

Gold stars.
Those shiny ones teachers use for reward charts.


Today, this last day of 2018 I reflect not only on the last 12 months, but more so on the past..maybe even the last 36 years.

I was numb for a long time. Gold stars were my feeling.

Good grades, positive affirmations from teachers, compliments, a gift. These were my gold stars. These were my feelings. These were my pieces of validation.

It is why school became my place a refuge. The better grades I got, the more activities I belonged to, the more gold stars I built up.

The numb feeling built up, but my piles of gold stars also grew.

Fast forward to the last 5 years or so.

The numbness turned to anger. So much ANGER.

This led to needing and wanting more Gold Stars.

Throw myself into work, seek out the praise through being the best, yet being so mad at everyone who did not keep out.

Developing the most unhealthy yearning for compliments and verbal validation from anyone around me.

The obsession with gold stars manifested. Along with the anger. I was so numb, so cold and stony. So very unhappy.

2018. The year of Feeling.

Anger slowly began to fall away.  It was replaced by big feelings. Raw feelings.

Fear, Loneliness, Peace, Gratitude, Hope, and Joy.

But best of all this led to releasing the Gold Stars.

Current Status:

I am closing out 2018 in a good place, full of feelings, and without a single gold star.

I work at school that brings me true joy.
I parent Lauren without comparison or fear, but instead with realness.
I let go of the yearning for attention, praise, and validation from others.

All the gold stars are stuck on the pages of the past.

Mom Love

Last week I posted a pity rant about "THE NECKLACE" and homemade gifts.

Last night, my daughter gave me a gift. It is silly, but when I opened it all those pieces of my heart that broke apart on that drive home were glued back together and I am pretty sure more were added because my heart swelled. It was so full it could have burst.

My daughter made this for me. 

Once I opened it I was able to tell her my truth. I cried all the way home from work because I was so sad and jealous, and....

I don't think believed me at first.

Mom..just the MOM. The one that receives the eye rolls, the one too embarrassing to volunteer or be seen in public with.

I doubt my role many times. I recount the times I mess up, get frustrated, make the mistakes. I compare myself to those younger, prettier, more put together. 

And I worry. Worry so very much about the possibility of being replaced.

Then I remember. 

MOM

Moms cannot be replaced. We are safe and sturdy. We are the ones that never waiver and continue to be there. Moms see their children when they are most vulnerable. 

Moms love so hard and so much. The type of love that lasts through heartache, anger, tears, eye rolls, feet stomping. 

Mom love is deep.

Mom love is intense.

Mom love is very, very strong. 

This little homemade trinket is good reminder. 

It reminds me that I am MOM.

I will always be MOM.

That is one page that can never be turned. 

Too Close

My daughter's English Teacher called me today. She wanted to tell me that my daughter was pretty awesome.

She also asked me if I knew that Lauren had called the Suicide Hotline a month ago.

I am a social worker. I am trained in mental health. My daughter shouldn't have mental health issues. I must be doing something wrong. I am a bad mom. This is my fault.   The negative thoughts and self blame always swirl around my head, and become my worst inner critic.

The truth is my daughter struggles. She struggles in big ways. She gets angry. She yells. She attacks. She has thoughts of hurting herself. She has cut.

And She Has Been Too Close To Suicide.

It is real. It is scary.

I cannot fix it. I cannot mom it away. I cannot control it. To be honest, I really do not know what to do.

So I talk.

I talk and talk and talk to Lauren.

I tell her that middle school sucks. I tell her about when  a girl said I was gross because I was too skinny. I tell her about being poor and too embarrassed to ever have friends over. I tell her all about my dark days.

I talk and talk and talk some more.

 I tell her how unique she is. How bold and confident she is. How her sense of art and music is so beyond her years. That she is so much cooler than middle school.

I talk and talk and talk some more.

I tell her that she is strong. Her self worth is not based on the opinions of the minions. I tell her that she is more than the drama. ( I also tell her that the so-called populars all seem to have gigantic foreheads.) I tell her to fight and never give up.

And I love. I love her from the distance because at 13 your mom cannot get too close. Hugs are embarrassing. Moms are embarrassing.

I take her to counseling. I take her to her Psychiatrist appointments. I refill the medications. Finally, I pray. I pray that she will be ok, I pray she is healthy. I pray she is safe. I pray that she knows just how much she is loved.

Today Lauren let me peek. She let me peek inside her head and her heart and she shared the most beautiful piece of writing.

It was raw, vulnerable, and true.

After she read it to me I was able to breathe for a second. After she read it I realized why I talk and talk and talk. Why I pray and pray and pray. And why I love. Love so very hard.

Teenage years are one chapter I will be grateful to complete. So many pages of it are messy, angry, hurtful, and dramatic.


Excerpt of Imagine, by Lauren Page

Imagine… Being okay

Imagine… getting a break from school the next day.

Imagine… going to school the day after.

Imagine.. Finding friends to sit with.

Imagine… being fine from the past month

Imagine… believing you actually tried to commit suicide

Imagine… being thankful not dying.

Homemade Gifts

For almost 13 years I have gotten some sort of homemade gift at Christmas from my daughter, Lauren. Sometimes they were ornaments. Other times random drawings. I have the teddy bear print from early elementary, snowflakes with her picture, and other mementos made at home or school. These handcrafted gifts of love are perks of the mom job. They are priceless. Priceless. Just thinking back about these gifts makes my eyes tear up and my heart swell.

Today a conversation with Lauren hit me hard. I was not prepared. I do not think I could prepare. And my heart...my heart hurt. It is silly. Very silly. My brain knows that it is petty and silly, however, my heart broke a little. My 48 minute commute home from work was filled with tears. Sobbing, messy, blotchy tears. Most of all SELFISH tears.

My daughter is in year long art class. They have been working with fused and stained glass this semester. Lauren has been full of excitement. She has busily been crafting a very special gift for her Mimi and.....

And her dad's new girlfriend.

Ouch...

On the phone she exclaimed that she was giving the pendant she made in art class to her dad's girlfriend  for a Christmas gift to impress her.

Insert my jealousy and broken heart here...right HERE.

That fused glass pendant should be mine. I am the mom. I'm here for the tantrums over nothing to wear, the eye rolling, the crying, the door slamming, the countless groans....

I get the handmaid gifts of love.

I'm the mom though. So I smile and say, "oh how pretty. Let's get a chain and a cute box to put it in." Because I am the mom. And that is what moms are supposed to do.

And so my heart hurts. I am selfish. I secretly think...this girlfriend better wear this necklace every day and love it forever.

Moving on..turning each new page.. it is hard. No books, practice, self talk, prepares me for these little encounters that I navigate. 

So I cry on my 48 minute commute home, pull myself together, and embrace momness...

And help wrap the homemade necklace.