#withheldlove

Yesterday I sat in the schoolroom of our home as I heard the pitter patter of my daughter’s footsteps run up the stairs.  At the end of each school day, she sings, “I’m done with school for the day!” to the tune of some song she used to hear each day on her favorite cartoon.  The joy. The comfort.  The restfulness. The peace.  The deep breathing. These are the things my girl knows. 

It’s so amazing to look at that little girl with her hair dyed purple and not smile in adoration.  Not even just because of who she is but because of what she has been given.  This girl is bright, beautiful, kind, compassionate, loving, direct, unafraid (except when it comes to spiders!), spunky, witty, intelligent, and well mannered.  She is a seasoned world traveller at the age of 10 and is incredible with people.  When I look at her attributes alone, I sit in awe.  But if I take it just a step further, I see that this girl has been set up to win.  Her life, her circumstances, her parents, her home, her relationships.....she feels safe.  And in her safety, she finds herself.....even at the ripe old age of 10.

When I was her age, we were homeless, jumping back and forth between someone’s basement....and my grandma’s house. We were going paycheck to paycheck.  My mom was desperately trying to get into a government subsidized apartment, but the waiting list was so long.  By this time, I had gone to a new elementary school every year since Kindergarten and I had very few friends. I rarely saw my dad, and if I did, it was short and sweet or marked by some strange drama his girlfriend would bring up. I was a good student, but really missed my favorite teacher from the year before. Life was hard....even when it wasn’t. I just wanted comfort. A safe place. A mom and dad who adored me. Peace. But none ever really came.

The interesting thing about tumultuous childhoods and times of unrest and feeling unsafe is that when one reaches adulthood, decisions must be made.  Did I learn about parenting and providing a safe place for my children to learn, make mistakes, and grow? Am I reckless in my behaviors? Do I provide a peaceful home? Do my children feel safe or do I use my hands (or any other mechanisms within reach) to injure or hurt them?  Do my children believe I am *for* them? Or am I stuck in this never-ending cycle of looking inward and trying to please only myself? Do I care about their well-being or leave them in the hands of someone else? Am I constantly looking for my value and worth in other people or in other things or can I be content in this place, with these children, doing *their* things?

I’ll admit, I used to struggle with this.  I used to struggle with simply finding my “identity” in being a mom.  I wanted so badly to be the one who shined....who was adored and seen for what she IS and for what she DID....and I believe that a lot of that is from a childhood of love that was given and taken away like the ebb and flow of the ocean. Love was given when I was obedient, did my chores, made good grades, kept my emotions to myself, and caused no problems.  Love was taken when stressful situations arose or when I disobeyed or showed weakness or did not walk carefully enough on the egg shell of a life I was given. Because this was my life, I took that knowledge into my adulthood.  “Well, if love can be given and taken away for my actions, thoughts, or feelings, I must follow the social rules. I must do. I must withhold.  I must tread lightly.  I must be polite.  I must not share my feelings. If I do what I’m supposed to do, life will be easier, and people will love me.” Or so I thought. 

But as I’ve grown into knowing myself better and recognizing that the way I was raised wasn’t the most conducive to growth and well-being, the more I have tried to UNlearn.  I don’t have to go out and do great things to be a great wife.  I don’t have to be on every board of directors or coach every team or have a four course meal for my kids in order to be a great mom.  I do not have to earn love in this home.  It is a safe place for my children to grow and thrive and fall down and get back up and receive grace and mercy and guidance. And it is for me and my husband, too.  

Regardless of where we have come from or what has been done to us, we have a choice, friends.  Do we want to repeat the story we have been handed or do we want to take the highlighter and the sharpie and the editing tools and re-tell a story of healing, intentionality, growth, kindness, grace, and redemption? Do we want to provide a safe place for those in our care to move forward with the baton they’ve been given and see the wonder and the holy around them because their mom (or dad or aunt or cousin or sister or friend or daughter) fought for a new ending to the story?