Motherhood is tough, isn't it? It's like the most glorious experience on earth, mixed with a tinge of absolute hell. It grows you right out of your very own skin, which is mostly good, and always painful. The good times far outweigh the bad, but the bad somehow seem to stick in my conscience on repeat. I could do a million things right: I can kiss my children, I can balm their soul and speak gently, I can nurture them with all that is in me, and when I don't hold my tongue or lose my patience, that is precisely where I take harbor.
A friend recently said that we live too much in the shadow of Freud, and I totally feel that within my bones. With much anxiety, I lend a lot of weight to the things I do wrong. I can enlarge a single moment into the destruction of my child's very future because of how I think it is growing them internally. No doubt, there is pause to be had over the weight of our actions and words as parents, but the incessant dooming fear over wrongdoings is just silly. I cradle those bad moments in my arms and nurture them into a beast.
I have needs that require me to separate from the chaos of everyone's feelings. There is no defeat in requiring respite from time-to-time. I'm realizing that the weight of my children's future isn't solely in my palms. I want to give them a solid foundation to build upon, but the choice will ultimately be theirs alone. How I can walk in grace for them and myself is knowing that I will parent imperfectly, but with great love. I can't take harbor in the past - on the choppy waters of my emotions and fears or failures - but I CAN rest knowing that whether I do wrong or I do right, I don't have to fanatically obsess over it, I can simply move on to do the next right thing.