Long time no blog. I've been going a little crazy, while also reading stories and posts and books like a curvy woman jumping on a trampoline: bits and wobbles are spilling everywhere, boggling the mind, while also being huge amounts of fun.
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| "If you can promise me anything, promise me that whenever you're sad, or unsure, or you lose complete faith, that you'll try to see yourself through my eyes." -P.S. I Love You (2007) |
I have no doubt that my preference for writing over talking has been influenced by the years I spent pursing perfection—pressuring myself to sound and look just right. For every self-loathing message I said to myself, a wound was left on my soul. That wound deepened to the point that I wouldn't go to things if I did not like my reflection in the mirror. My wound deepened to the point that I shied away from sharing my thoughts and ideas if I feared they would come out wrong. It got to the point that I shied away from living, laughing, and pursuing my dreams because I thought I might not measure up. But things are different now. And I probably wouldn't have fully realized the healing that has taken place on my bruised soul had it not been for the wisdom of my son.
I can’t be sure. But what happened tonight seemed monumental. My mom, who had come to Max's game, after driving an hour. And despite having an hour drive ahead of her and a long day of work behind her, she paused to see my son’s smile. Suddenly, my mom put her hand over the heart, looked up to the sky, and cried out, “That game is the best one I've ever been to! Ever! And it was an exciting one!”
I had to fight back my tears as the significance of her words and my son’s smile hit me in full force.
My bruises, the ones made by years of critical torment, are healing too. Because each time I let go of perfect and allow myself to show up “as is,” the bruises on my soul fade a little more.
Let’s stop pressuring ourselves.
Let’s stop comparing ourselves.
Let’s stop being our own worst enemy.
Let’s stop holding ourselves back from life.
Instead, I see myself through the eyes of my boys.
Eyes that see beautiful when I cheer at the rink with a smiling face and tear-stained cheeks.
Eyes that see beautiful when I soothe away bad dreams in a faded yellow night gown with sleep-deprived eyes.
Eyes that see beautiful when I've got on my bathing suit and have slicked back hair as I twirl them in the pool.
When my boys look at me, they don’t see flaws and imperfections, they see love—sweet, beautiful, never failing love. Why not try to see it, too?
The next time you find yourself going down the damaging path of criticism or comparison, try this freeing idea: It's a brand new day.
Just that one little change in thought can provide the courage to show up, let go of perfect, and laugh until tears run down your face.
I saw myself through the eyes of my son today.
And I let the healing begin on my wounded soul.
