The first time I saw this picture of my son, I thought, “Boy, don’t you ever lose your innocence or your will to fight for what you believe in.”
This was taken two months ago, and as the days move forward, so does my frame of thought. I’ve become more progressive, more aware, more reflective, more…well…forward.
Everything about me is moving. Forward that is. My life for one; forward and in motion. “Onward and upward!” as my father would say.
My emotional state; grown and becoming of a woman who’s “been there, done that” to a degree. A degree which has jolted me but not removed me. I’m still here, standing, by the grace of God and also by lessons I chose to learn from, rather than let bury me into an early grave.
My perspective is that of a woman rather than an eight year old girl who use to lay head under her pillow as she cried herself to sleep at night, feeling undeserving of love. Now this woman, the body and mind that is the outer representation of her being, knows she is deserving of all love, because she is love.
My undying commitment to my spirituality; forward. Forward in a way that is so exciting, I can’t articulate in words. But I can feel it. And that’s enough for me.
Ok, so who cares, right? I mean really, who am I anyway?
Who am I?
And with all that is going on in the world, who gives an actual shit about what I’m going through? Or how I’m moving forward from one of the most common dissolutions in American society?
I mean, Trump is our president and fucking up our whole damn country, while pissing on the progress we’ve made as the UNITED States of America. Shouldn’t I focus on that? Shouldn’t we all?
And the suffering. There’s so much suffering in our world. Shouldn’t I focus on a charity or a way to give back selflessly? If I think about it longer than 7 seconds, I feel physically ill.
Why would I think anyone is even the slightest bit interested in what I’m going through as my life unravels and puts itself back together again?
And yet, people are. For some reason people are interested in me. Me. ME.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
It turns out, my story is hundreds, if not thousands of women’s story. Stories that have flooded by inbox. Stories that I hold so dear to my heart, I’m living my purpose. Right here.
But that’s not the only reason people might care. People don’t talk about their problems anymore. Sure, Facebook rants are all the rage and mommy blogs are finally real and raw. Surprise! Motherhood isn’t what it’s cracked up to be! It can be shitty! Then euphoric! Then shitty again all in the span of 45 seconds. But on the flip side, all we see on social media is the picture-perfect life, filtered and altered to hell! I’m as guilty as anyone in that area.
But that’s not the only reason people care. It’s not about ME. It’s about Them. It’s about You. It’s about Us.
When people speak up, people connect. When people say, “I’m ashamed to tell my story,” others say, “ME TOO!” When people say “I never thought my life would go in this direction,” people say, “either did I!”
And a bond is formed. A connection restored. We’re all searching for connection, and for some reason we suffer in silence, together, without sharing. Because yes, we are ALL suffering. I don’t care who you are, we all suffer. And when you suffer in isolation for so long, and one person speaks up and tells your story as their own, you want to jump out of your skin and into their space, because you’re finally safe. Someone finally gets you.
All we want to feel is “Got!” How beautiful is it to feel understood?! There’s nothing better.
So, who am I?
I am you. We are one.
When I look at this picture of my son taken two months ago, I think, “Boy You are so Beautiful. You see, son, people are going to see this picture of you and feel your spirit jumping through the lens and into their hearts. People won’t have a chance to judge that smile because they feel so much joy, warmth and love the moment they see it! Your happiness radiates and penetrates through all layers.
But, my sweet boy, once a few minutes pass, people may want to know what you are smiling at.
And Son, what I’m about to tell you is crucial.
You don’t ever have to share what you’re smiling at. You can. You can scream it from the rooftops. You can take the megaphone out and wake the world up, but you don’t have to. That is yours to keep, and you can give it away if you choose, but never do you have to.
Because, my sweet angel, some people will want to judge you for what makes you smile and what brings you joy. People will want to tell you that the things that make your heart sing, are wrong. They may take it personal, or choose to be offended. Some won’t care how it makes you feel, they’ll care how it makes them feel. But it’s only because they are scared. And that’s ok. Because if you choose to be free, completely free, this world will open itself to you and connect you to others who are free or yearn to be free…and you’ll teach one another to fly. Nothing else will matter. Not the naysayers, not the judges or the cruel. I promise, it will be worth it. It will always be worth it, but it’s your choice.”
When I look at this picture of my son taken two months ago, I think to myself, “DAMN I’ve come a long way!”
That statement isn’t meant for my ego, the ego has no room here. That statement is meant to say to everyone who connects with me that if I can do it, you can do it. We can do it together. We will move forward. We will progress. We will all be ok.