In progress

Peace and purpose. That's all I've ever asked the universe for.

When I hold my snuggly sleepy baby on my tummy, pressing my nose into her hair, I can be fully engulfed by her. In that moment, I know that being her mom is one of the most important and fulfilling things I'll ever do.

But I? Am still a person. And I'm a person who has a purpose beyond "just" being a mom.

I just don't know what it is yet.

I want to create something that is beautiful. I want to help people. I want to increase the quantity of peace and love in the universe and decrease the quantity of pain. I want to do something, to make something I'm proud of. Something that is all about me and at the same time, not all about me.

I just can't quite see how to do that yet.

And that's okay.

(Deep breath)

And that's okay.

I don't have all the answers. I don't know who I am going to end up being, what I am going to end up doing. I don't know how the story ends.

I am a work in progress. A beautiful, delicate work in progress.

And right now? That's not such a bad thing to be.

When no one's clapping

When BG had just turned one, we managed to teach her to hold up one finger. When we would ask her either "How old are you?" or "Are you one?" She would hold up one finger and say "DA!" with a huge smile on her face.

I remember telling one of my friends, "I'm almost certain she doesn't know what it means, but she knows that when she does it we cheer, so she does it. It's like I'm teaching her to do tricks, i.e., this is the secrete to education."

He laughed and said, "Well, isn't that the way it is all through life? You work hard for the grades, and then for the girl, and then for the job and the raise?"

I smiled and said, "Well yeah, so how do you know you've done a good job if no one claps?" And I thought about it for a second. "Actually. That's the secret to education."

The secret to education, and I suppose to parenting, is to eventually make yourself irrelevant. To teach them how to learn, to self-monitor, to evaluate. To make it so they don't need the clapping to know when they've done the right thing.

I win at teaching. Maybe I even win at parenting. But I don't so much win at life.

I still need the clapping. Actually, I need it a lot.

But I always got the A's. The awards. I never interviewed for a job I didn't get. I won teacher of the year. I have thank you letters from students that take my breath away.

When I was in high school, my friends threw me a party to thank me for taking care of them and helping them with their problems. That doesn't even sound real.

It's normal to need to feel appreciated and respected. It's human. It's healthy. And maybe I'm not getting enough of that these days. But, at some point, I need to learn to do it without the clapping.

I take criticism way too hard, and I take rejections way too personally. I don't know that I'm doing a good job unless someone is handing me a prize. I measure my worth as a human being on things like my blog stats and my twitter mentions. I beg for approval and stroking.

I hate that about myself.

(Yes. I hate my own low self esteem. No, that's probably not even the most counter-productive thought I've had today.)

I want to be the kind of person who can separate her own worth from other people's opinions of her. I want to care about and try to address other people's needs, but not be owned by them. I want to take pride in things I do, even when no one notices them. I want to believe that I am good and smart and have value, that I matter.

I don't know how to do that.

What if?

What if instead of making resolutions we couldn't possibly keep, we just focused on making every day the best day it could be?

What if instead of trying to lose weight or declutter the house or take a million photographs we just tried to be happy and to make those around us happy?

What if instead of worrying about the end of the holiday season and the beginning of the New Year, we just decided today would be an ordinary day, but that every ordinary day would be extraordinary?

What if instead of setting goals based on numbers or outcomes, we just strove to make positive progress towards the good, and to do that with every step we take?

What if instead of starting the New Year by pointing out all of our own flaws, we started by celebrating ourselves for where we are right now?

What if we all decided to sleep more, to laugh more, to play more, to give more, but we also decided that on any given day it would be perfectly acceptable to do none of the above?

What kind of a world would that be?



I'm linking up with Just Be Enough for Be Enough Me. Wishing you all a happy New Year, one that is filled with love and winning and most of all with hope.

Rules

Today's guest post is very special to me. It's from my real life bff and college roomie Elizabeth. Elizabeth isn't a mom (yet!), but she definitely understands self-imposed pressure and the challenges of finding balance in the blogging world. You can find her lovely craft-ish blog over at shelikesstripes.com.

When story asked me to write, I was nervous, because I'm not a mom (although I am not-so-patiently awaiting that day...), so I wasn't sure what I would have to say that would be fun or interesting, especially since I have been letting real life get in the way of my own blogging lately.

And the reason for that? My own self-imposed rules get in the way. I have a bad habit of getting myself into really involved blogging, photography, and craft projects, and then jumping through hoops to live up to the rules of these projects. I suppose part of me find the rules of a project to be very, very motivating... until they start to become sort of overwhelming. Here's a short run-down of the projects I've undertaken in the last few years:

--Project 365 (a photo a day for a year straight, undertaken FOUR SEPARATE times now. I'm currently almost at 100 days in year four)
--Scavenger Hunt 101 (a photo scavenger hunt)
--27 Things to do While I'm 27
--28 Things to do While I'm 28
--30 Before 30

and my current project: Handmade52, where I'm attempting to make a craft or cook something (I lived by myself up until mid-July of this year, when I moved in with my boyfriend, and I do NOT cook) each week for a whole year.

The problem, of course, is that I don't seem to be able to stop myself once I get into a project like this. I took a personality test once at a work training session that basically told me that I was an order-loving, rule-following person who loved things to be organized and as they should be and predictable. At first, I was sort of horrified, as I've always imagined myself as an easygoing creative type, a writer who then got into photography, who always secretly pictured herself as a novelist in a sunny attic room, writing the days away. And then the reality dawned on me, that I spent years as a librarian and I'm now an accountant, and when I was a kid? I collected business cards. BUSINESS CARDS, people. So I guess... I do like the rules.

And once I get myself into a project with numbers and/or deadlines, I really can't conceptualize just stopping. I got to day 92/365! I can't just... stop. I have completed 38 weeks of creativity, how can I just... abandon it now? It does not compute.

I suppose the conclusion should be that there has to be some middle ground, that if I finish 52 weeks of handmade things but they aren't consecutive weeks, that would be okay, too. And that if it's no longer fun but more like work or an obligation, that the spirit of the original project doesn't really work anymore. And when I'm feeling reasonable, sometimes that makes perfect sense. Maybe I should give myself a break, since photography and crafts and cooking are supposed to be things I enjoy and look forward to. Maybe I'm too hard on myself. Every. single. time. I have been 2/3 of the way through a Project365 year, I start whining and complaining about the rules and how HAVING to take a photo that day takes the fun out of it. I even wrote on my 30 Before 30 list that I was not allowed to start another daily photo project.

So what did I do?

Started a daily photo project on my 30th birthday. I think I have a ways to go yet.

I'm doing my best. And so are you.

I'm not lazy.

My dearest Yael is so fond of saying, "You're not lazy. You're tired." It's such a comfort to hear, but so hard to believe.

My house isn't clean. I don't put on makeup every day. I don't do charity work. I only have one child. I don't work, at least not more than 3 hours a week. It took me 9 weeks to read a novel. I don't exercise regularly. I've eaten takeout 3 times this week. My laundry baskets are overflowing (albeit with clean laundry). I've blogged about 3 times this month. I'm afraid to even open my reader.

But I'm not lazy.

I want to do better. I'm learning to do better. But right now, it's hard. I need to learn how to do things. I need to learn balance. I'm not good at it.

I'm not good at not being good at things.

But I'm trying. I'm doing the best I can. And I know that if one of you told me this, I'd put my arm around you and say "Oh, honey. You're doing everything you need to do. You're doing your best. You're doing just fine."

I'm not lazy. I'm tired. I'm learning. I'm trying. I'm doing just fine.

And so are you. I promise.

Being a mom is humbling

I was sure I knew exactly the kind of mom I'd be. I'd be kind but firm, innovative, attentive, and fun. My daughter would be brilliant, athletic (okay, that one was always a bit of a stretch), and impeccably behaved. She'd walk early, talk early, sleep through the night early; we'd sign, we'd play, we'd go on outings. She'd love me and respect me and appreciate how awesomesauce I was at this whole mom gig. And I wouldn't ever brag. I'd be totally gracious about how perfect we were.

Bwahahahahaha.

Here I am now with a 9 month old who doesn't sleep and who has now begun to throw temper tantrums. (Does that count as an early milestone?) She eats cheerios with every meal. We have no consistent nap schedule. She doesn't sign. She has a giant bruise on her face from an unfortunate incident with the coffee table.

But she's a great baby. Don't get me wrong. She's beautiful, she's funny, she's pleasant, and she loves me like crazy. She's healthy, she's growing, she's hitting all her milestones within the average range (although not early. Oh no. It's okay baby, mom's a klutz too). I'm not in the least disappointed with her.

Me on the other hand?

Meh.

I've always been good at things. I was a straight A student. Usually I didn't have to try too hard, but when I had to? I did. Am I trying hard enough at this mom thing? Am I just incompetent at it? Why is it so hard?

I whine too much. I tweet too much. I forget to sign. I don't try enough new foods. I don't read enough books. I don't keep the house clean enough. (That Cheerio on the floor? Not for eating, Baby Girl. Not for eating.) I don't cuddle enough. I cuddle too much. I need to sleep train. I shouldn't think about sleep training.

I am not a star at this.

And I know other people struggle too. Although, not everyone, right? Some people are brilliant at it. So why am I not? It's so conceited of me, but I assumed I wouldn't just be AS good at this as all the other moms. I assumed I'd be better. I'm not even on the low end of average, people.

Probably it's good for me. Probably it's good for both of us. Hopefully, Baby Girl will turn out okay despite all my failings, and she'll have a mom who can tell her, it's okay not to always be perfect. It's okay to lose sometimes.

And, y'know, really mean it. Not just say it because I'm being gracious.

I have a confession to make

So many things in my life have always been easy for me. In high school? I never studied and aced the test anyway. When I was teaching? Totally laid back, I could call an audible and wing it if something didn't work. My wedding? I called the vendors my friend used and just said, Do whatever it is that's done.

Then we decided to have a baby, and you know what? That was easy too. I had no problems getting pregnant, even though I totally expected to. I had a completely uneventful and easy pregnancy and a delivery that was almost TOO fast and easy (I'll have to tell that story another time).

So into this life comes Baby Girl. And on the surface, that looked like it was easy for me too. Baby Girl and I were immediately really good at breastfeeding (almost too good). She was well behaved in public, so I could take her anywhere. I made jokes. I lost all my baby weight in 6 weeks. Everyone said how great I was doing, what a laid back and calm mom how I was, how much they wanted to be like me.

But they didn't see me crying. They didn't see me searching the Internet all night long, thinking I'd find an answer to why she was crying. They didn't see the dark part of my head where I told myself I was doing everything wrong, where I second guessed every decision, where I was convinced I was a bad mother.

And the more people thought I was good at it, the more I felt like I needed to be. The more I felt like I needed to keep the fear and sadness on the inside. I was afraid to talk to people because I had nothing interesting and clever to say, and I didn't want them to know how sad and boring I'd become, or worse, to figure out that I didn't have anything under control. That for once in my life I was trying really hard, and I couldn't fix it.

I stopped writing. I stopped reading anything that wasn't about taking care of babies. I stopped being me.

And so, I've decided to finally tell the truth. I'm not good at this. I'm not a natural. I'm not a super laid back mom. And I'm sure there are new moms who need to hear this too, who are so afraid of what will happen if they aren't perfect: Being a mommy is wonderful. But sometimes it's hard.