Embrace

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Hug me closely. 

Hold me. 

Smell my hair and cherish me.

I am yours. 

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The world is not a perfect place. There is not one person in it that can claim complete and utter perfection.

Oh, there are plenty who will try…and there are those who do…but we are all imperfect beings, fallible and flawed.

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Learning

A few months ago, I was struggling with some really intense feelings.

I had realized, at this point, how much my therapist meant to me. How she had been the ONE person who had been there for me through all my struggles.

The feelings were complicated. I felt ashamed… I realized that I wanted more from the therapy relationship. I didn’t want to just be her client. I wanted to be her friend. I wanted to be special. She made me feel this way…I wanted that feeling to be the truth.

Yet, I also knew that these weren’t the feelings I should be feeling. I know the boundaries that exist in a therapeutic relationship…and I knew that I was beginning to over-rely on her for emotional support.  Continue reading

Parenting through my past

No matter who you are, parenting can be a difficult gig.

As a woman, I know that I frequently worry about the way my parenting looks–am I being judged? Do I look selfish? Do I play with my kids enough? Did I talk on the phone too long? Will my husband be upset if I try to go on a run this morning? And on and on the thoughts go.

And these are thoughts on normal days. Motherhood, in my experience, requires a thick skin. It is easy to let other people’s opinions affect you–it is easy to be pulled into dumb cultural battles (think breast vs. bottle, co-sleeping vs. crib, working vs. staying at home)–there is so much pressure to do everything correctly, and so many different opinions on what the “correct ways” are.

Long ago, I made the decision to do what was best for my family. I also made the decision to tell anyone else to do what is best for them. And you know what? That is empowering.  Continue reading

A grateful heart

Last night, I got hit with a wave of emotions.

It started as I finished reading a really deep, romantic novel. Each time I read a book in this genre, I start to feel melancholy. I look at the way the book portrays romantic love, and grieve over the fact that my love looks so much different.

I stayed up entirely too late reading this book. Around midnight, I snuck upstairs and crawled into bed. I felt a little battle-worn.  Continue reading