Tag: mothering

Other Mothers

“Culture
The Moms Are Not Alright
What’s going on: We’re still months away from Mother’s Day, but Hollywood can’t stop putting moms on the big screen right now — and they aren’t just supporting characters. Two movies are currently driving the conversation: Jennifer Lawrence’s Die My Love and Rose Byrne’s If I Had Legs I’d Kick You. As Glamour puts it, they’re all about the mom meltdown. Lawrence portrays a new mom battling postpartum depression, and Byrne plays a single mother caring for a sick child while trying to hold it together. The stories are wildly different, but the women do share this: valid crash-outs. And in each case, a frustrating partner helps push them there. (Because honestly, who gives a new mom a puppy?)
What it means: Motherhood in America is a pressure cooker. Child care costs averaged $13,000 in 2024, according to one report. Nearly half of all mothers report symptoms of postpartum depression. Add the centuries-old demand to be the “perfect mom,” and it’s no wonder so many feel like they’re falling apart. These films don’t just tell that story — they confront it. Each one holds up a mirror to how society rushes to judge mothers for cracking under impossible expectations instead of asking what broke them in the first place. The result? A cultural moment that feels less like escapism and more like recognition. The only question now: Will people watch a movie that feels this close to real life?” – The Daily Skimm

I hadn’t planned on writing this morning. Lately, my inspirational “hits” have been more focused on my transforming “nest” and the upcoming holidays, but then I read the above blurb from the Daily Skimm. As a woman who is over the hump of raising her kids (my eldest son of our four “children” will be 30 in April, and our daughter, the youngest is 22) and as a mother, who has passed the threshold of the everyday duties of raising kids to become functioning adults, the words that I read above were still recognizable, and reverberating in my body. I ached with compassion for these fictional characters, and also for the many, many non-fictional women, over decades of generations, whom these characters represent. I ached with compassion for my younger self.

I intimately knew many fellow mothers throughout the years of raising my children. Despite our different theories, methods and choices in parenting, and despite our wildly different experiences and backgrounds, relationships, and nationalities and beliefs, these other mothers were my comrades and my compadres, my “sisters-in-arms”. I couldn’t have done it without them. Despite how vindictive, judgmental, catty and hard on each other, we women can be, it was the support of other mothers that kept it all afloat for me. It was the validation and the understanding and the quiet knowing of when to step in, and when to cheerlead, and when to send prayers and when to be a strong example (good examples and bad examples) that came from the other mothers (of all different ages) in my life – these are the things, all gifts from the other mothers, which got me to the threshold in one piece.

And so “crashing out”, “meltdowning”, “trying desperately to be perfect” mommy, let me be your compadre today. Let me be your sister-in-arms. You are okay. You are doing your best. You do not have to meet impossible expectations. You have many other women in your life who are mothers and who completely get it. Find the ones whom you feel safe enough to be vulnerable with, and let it all out. You love your kids. If there is one thing that all of us mothers understand is the undeniable strength that a mother carries every single day of her life until the day that she dies, because she allows her heart to walk far away from herself, into many unknown dangers and adventures and escapades, all apart from her, in all different directions, from the moment she experiences her first child’s first breath. A mother’s heart has pieces of itself scattered in many different directions, throughout the rest of her life. Understanding this, why would it not be hard to hold it all together? Sweet mother, answer me this, with the pieces of your heart scattering in the wind, how could you not have moments of crashing out and melting down? Why, in your unholy perfectionism, are you the hardest on yourself?

Movies are great for “escapism”, but people who actually intimately know what you are going through in life, are great for “recognition.” If you don’t need to see your life, dramatically splayed out on the big screen, that’s okay. But I guarantee you, in real life, you need someone who “sees” you. You need someone who can validate what you are experiencing, as a mother, externally and internally. Find those other mothers. Find the ones who are going through it with you, and also find those mothers, like me, who have graduated to a different level of holding up the scaffolding of a family that she has already built. Find those other mothers, and let them in. Throughout raising my children, I knew young mothers and older ones, working moms and stay-at-home ones, married moms and single ones, straight moms and gay ones, religious moms and non-religious ones, moms of huge broods and moms of onlies, rich moms and poor moms, and guess what? None of us were perfect. We all had our “crash out” moments (and we all still do). None of us cracked the “perfect mothering formula”, but the one thing that we all had in common is that we loved our children ferociously. I saw this meme the other day that stated it perfectly: “Mama Bear is such a sweet way to describe the fact that I’d tear you open and eat your insides if you hurt my child.”

Dear sweet mother, who is reading this right now, all of the while feeling like she may explode in her own pressure cooker of steamed, mixed-up feelings of anger, frustration, fear, guilt, resentment, loneliness, shame, doubt, unworthiness, hopelessness, worry and regret, let some of the air out. Let yourself breathe. Then take a look around. You aren’t doing this alone. Within blocks of you, within clicks on a computer, are other mothers who empathize with you so completely, and all that they are asking for, is just a little bit of your own empathy back. Dear sweet mother, as I continue to build the scaffolding of my own family and I continue to support my own life, and the lives whom I brought to this Earth (we mothers carry a load), I offer you tools from my own toolbox. I offer you a seat, where you can rest and wipe your brow. I offer you the wisdom of my experiences – what worked for me, and what did not. But mostly, I offer you my love and my reassurance. You already have all of the tools you need. You are doing a great job, working on that gorgeous building that so many generations of women behind you started, and added to, all the while doubting themselves, having crashout moments and many a meltdown, along the way. And yet, here we mothers are, still growing and still building away. There should be another word besides “other mother” which describe a different mother than you. In many ways, our mothering journey is the same. Our Mother Earth knows this intimately and ultimately. She knows in the end, we are all just truly One and that’s why we can rest so deeply in her compassionate and empathetic arms. Dear sweet mothers, give yourselves moments of resting in Her calming arms. See Her in the eyes of the “other mothers”. You are not alone. You never were alone.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

This Mom

I’m going to a Celebration of Life on Friday, celebrating the life of the mother of a good friend of my daughter. My daughter’s friend and his sister played on the high school tennis team together, and he and my daughter have always traveled in the same social circles since high school and beyond. My heart is bleeding for this family.

I did not know this woman very well. We only saw each other at tennis matches, but she was always kind and easy to talk to, and she clearly enjoyed watching her children play tennis. She was one of “us” – moms doing our best to support our children in their activities and interests. Her life clearly centered around her family.

At Christmastime, my daughter told us that this family was so excited that this mom was going to make it to Christmas. She had incurable cancer and by all accounts, it was a miracle that she was going to make it to the end of the year. Her family was thrilled to get to celebrate the holidays with her.

Frequently throughout this year, I would ask my daughter if she had any news on this woman’s health, and the report always seemed to be that she was holding steady. She made it to her daughter’s high school graduation, and then sadly, a few weeks ago, she started rapidly declining. This mom died a little more than a week ago.

It did not surprise me that this mom found the strength to hold on until her youngest child’s graduation from high school. It’s what all of us moms want at the very least, right? We want to make sure that we have successfully “launched” all of our children into being capable adults. We want to see it to the end. It’s our purpose. It’s our duty. It’s our innate instinct. It’s honestly primal. I remember feeling the biggest sense of relief, when our youngest child, our daughter turned 18, and then graduated from high school. Of course, I also felt so much pride and love and all of the mixed-bag feelings that come with big events like these in life, but the “relief” was personal. It wasn’t relief in the sense that I didn’t really have to actively parent on a daily basis any longer (although that is its own special kind of exhalation), but it was more a sense of relief that I had achieved my duties. I had honored my commitments. That me, my husband and the divine forces that be, had gotten a new generation of our family to the starting gate of adulthood. I had completed the mission. I had finished the race.

When I have talked to friends about death, no woman I know seems to fear death. We do fear the death of our children. We do fear missing out on all of the vicarious joys our children will experience in their own lifetimes. My heart aches that this dear woman doesn’t get to go to the victory parties of her children’s weddings, witnessing the births of her grandchildren, growing old with her husband. She got the shaft. Her life got cut short from getting to enjoy the more relaxing “golden” years. Her family misses her and they will miss her for the rest of their lives. That hurts. But she still shines. She found the vital, unearthly strength inside of herself (which I think all of us mothers have been shocked to discover inside of our own selves, from time to time), to hold on for the final lap. She saw her daughter to the finish line. Now, she can rest in peace.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

1535. How are you different from most people? (Let me the count the ways! wink wink)

Paradox

I’ve noticed a strange phenomenon lately when people ask me how I am enjoying my empty nest and I say, “I’m loving it!” Some people almost recoil. I had one woman say, “Well, don’t tell your kids that!” What?! Why?! Would it better for me to plague my kids with unfounded guilt over my own neediness? How can I expect my kids to confidently take up the reins of their own adult lives, if I don’t emulate how it is done?! Wasn’t it my primary job to give my four children the proverbial roots and wings? I have completed the main purpose of my job, as a mother. I know that I will always be a support player in all of their lives, but I have proudly handed them the keys to driving their own lives, into the futures of their own choices. I am excited to witness where their adventures take my darlings, and I am excited to dust off my own neglected keys, and to start driving into this next phase of my life, with a little more focus on myself, and the new destinies of my own choosing, this go around.

My family is a traditional family. Other than me having a few part-time jobs here and there, my husband was/is our family’s primary breadwinner. My main job was to run our household and to be the main caretaker of our three sons and our daughter. Out of the almost 29 years of our marriage, I have had the role of family caretaker for 27 years (the age of my eldest son). It has been quite a lot – a lot of fun, a lot of energy, a lot of money, a lot of adventures, a lot of tears, a lot of food, a lot of decisions, a lot of worry, a lot of excitement, a lot of scheduling. . . . Anyone who has ever been in the swirl of a big family, even for just one meal, thinks to themselves, “Wow, this is a lot.”

And guess what? I loved raising my family a lot. I gave it my everything. My family was always my highest priority, and it always will be that, in my heart. However, I am tired. I am spent. I am ready to keep things simpler, quieter and a little bit more focused on my own interests now. And that doesn’t make me a terrible mother. Nor does it negate all of the wonderfulness I have experienced raising my kids for 27 years. I have an excellent relationship with all four of my adult children. I am thrilled to start getting to know them now, more as interesting contemporaries, on a more level playing field.

When someone retires from a decades long career such as teaching or being a police officer or some business position, everyone is so excited for these people. They get comments like, “You must be so excited! I am so happy for you!” No one assumes that these people who devoted a huge portion of their lives to their vocations are devastated to be retiring, and pining away to still do it. Nor does anyone assume that because the retirees are happily anticipating retirement, that must mean that they detested what they did for a living. So why should it be any different for us parents who decided to make parenting and household management our primary vocation?! I have no regrets about how I chose to spend almost all of my adult life, raising my family. I am proud of the family which I helped to create and to lead and to mold. There is nothing in my life that means more to me. But yes, also, “I am so excited about my retirement!” Yes, I am eager to put more of my primary focus on to “me” now. And yes, it’s also a little disappointing to feel like I have to once again defend my choices as a woman, and as a mother, all of the way into the empty nest, especially when I feel like I am defending myself to other women.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

SB

I inadvertently read a really good blog post the other day, from a website that sells jewelry. The writer was talking about the fact that her mother always repeated the same old saying, with drama and sadness, “You are only as happy as your least happy child.” The writer came from a huge family who went on to have huge families, so invariably her mother would have at least one child, or grandchild, who was going through a hard time, and so her mother was always a bit down. Until she wasn’t . . . .

The writer (Jill Donovan) said that her mother came to a peace one day, realizing that ultimately her children and her grandchildren were not hers first. They came from Source/God/Spirit/Universe, and this same Source that had always gotten her through her rough spots, would get them through theirs, too. And so while the matriarch of this huge family felt empathy for her loved ones, and helped to support them, she came to a greater peace of holding on to the faith that these trials would just bring them all closer to the deeper meanings and purposes of their own individual lives.

This is a truth that we all “know”, but it is sometimes hard to live, isn’t it? We have these fantasy-filled visions of our children living problem-less, seamless lives, with no difficulties to deal with, yet in our own lives, if we are honest with ourselves, it was during the harder times that our most authentic selves rose from the ashes. It was when we successfully navigated through our tough times, that we realized how steely, strong, determined and capable we really were to handle anything. And we didn’t do it alone. The Source within us helped us rise to the challenge. And the people who loved us, were kind and validated our feelings, but because they also believed that we would overcome our adversities, that belief in us, and that belief in our ultimate triumph, was more helpful than pity and tears.

I’m in my fifties now and it’s been really fun witnessing the growth of my friends and peers. Most of us have grown children now, and so I am now seeing my friends taking the time to unabashedly explore all different interests, and parts, and relatively unexplored avenues of themselves. Many of my longtime friends are showing up with talents and interests which I never knew that they had before. (honestly, I don’t think some of my friends even knew about these aspects about themselves either.) It’s really inspiring. By the time you get to our deep middle age, I don’t know anyone who hasn’t experienced any rough spots in their lives. But it is true, time and experience, flowing through the craggy rocks of our lives, usually polishes sharp, rough stones into beautiful gems. It is so gratifying to witness women who have had to go through deaths of loved ones, and divorces, and heartaches with their children, and financial breakdowns, and struggles to succeed and grow in their careers, to triumph over all their adversity, and now delight in exploring parts of themselves that they had long ago buried, under the self-imposed burden of believing that it was their job to keep everyone else happy.

Whatever your beliefs are, just know that Something Bigger (SB) from where we all came has got us. SB has you. SB has me. SB has our kids, and our loved ones, and our friends, and our pets, and our world. So be as happy and as curious and as exploratory as you want to be, in any given moment. That happiness inspires us, and lifts us, and frees us to deeply explore our own selves, and our world with less fear and trepidation, and more openness and hope for all.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

What Should I Eat?

I’m so sick of figuring out what to eat all the time. – Erica Rhodes, comedienne (Twitter)

I was so validated when I read this tweet this morning. One of my biggest complaints over the years, being the stay-at-home parent to four kids, was figuring out every night’s dinner plans. I’m not a great cook. I don’t honestly love to cook. I find it frustrating that something that takes a lot of time and planning and expense, creates a big mess, and inevitably adds fat to my body, is also devoured in a span of a just a few minutes. I’m not denigrating those who love to cook. I admire you. I wish that I was as passionate about cooking, as I am about writing.

Now that my kids are grown and out of the house, I now realize that I still hate figuring out meals, even if it is just for myself. My husband gets tired of hearing me complain about figuring out dinner. (Breakfast and lunch long ended up in the “fend for yourself” category, even when our kids were still at home.) “I honestly don’t care!” he says with a frustrated tone. “Stop stressing about dinner! We’ll just eat whatever we feel like eating at the time.” But that’s part of the problem, too. How much time of your life do you sit in front of your open refrigerator, or your kitchen cabinet, and you think to yourself, “I’m really hungry, but nothing appeals to me. I’m starved, but I just don’t know what to eat.”? If we are honest with ourselves, true food cravings are few and far between, and they are usually related to hormones and/or emotions. True food cravings are wonderful, because they turn eating into a focused mission to be accomplished, above all other missions and chores.

Some people who read Erica Rhodes’ tweet were outraged, and called her privileged for even thinking such a thought, let alone tweeting it. (And then, at the other end of the spectrum, there was the guy in the comments, who truly does seem kind of privileged, when he mentioned his live-in chef. Sigh.) I think that it goes without saying, that of course, those of us who have plenty of food to eat, are extremely grateful for this fact. There is no need to shame anyone. Everyone understands that there are certainly many worse problems in life than figuring out what to eat. Still, it was relieving to see that a lot of other people struggle with this daily dilemma of figuring out meals. Here are some comments to Erica Rhodes’ tweet, that even if you don’t see them as viable solutions to this problem, you will probably get a good giggle from them. I know that I did. Comments to her tweet:

It’s such a bother! Makes me want the everlasting gobstopper from Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Every day! (Matthew Kenneth Gray)

I started eating salad every day for lunch six years ago. I hate it still after all this time but there’s a peculiar freedom in knowing I’m never going to enjoy lunch again. (Justin Stenson)

Grubhub needs a “surprise me” option. (John Dawkins)

Book a gig on a cruise. (Matt D’Rion)

Did Steve Jobs eat the same thing everyday? I know he wore the same clothes not to have to think about what to wear. Thinking about it, perhaps not the best idea anyway. (baranoide)

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Monday – Funday

Good morning. I read an article yesterday about the actress Sally Field. One time, one of her sons was going through a bout of anxiety, when he was constantly worried that she wouldn’t be there to pick him up from school, or she wouldn’t be there at night when he was falling asleep. Sally Field reassured him, “Sammy, I will always be there to pick you up, even when I’m not there.”

I thought to myself, “Isn’t that the truth? My own four grown children are all over the place, living their adult lives, and even though I am not physically there with any of them, I am there. I am always there. As I often say, my children are pieces of my heart walking around on eight legs.”

I hope that you have a wonderful start of the week. My husband is off for the holiday. I have to say that this late, leisurely start is the right way to do a Monday.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Aunties/Allomothers

I haven’t been a wonderful aunt. I love our nieces and our nephews, but I haven’t been a vital part of any of their lives. I’ve sent cards and gifts and loved on them during infrequent visits, but I don’t have a close, intimate relationship with any of them. This wasn’t something that I did, or chose to do consciously. I have my excuses: a large family of my own with a special needs child, geographic distance, sibling rivalries and distant relationships with our siblings, etc. But, whatever. I haven’t gone out of my way to be the kind of aunt whom I would like to be. This is not something that I am proud of, but in the words of my husband, when I confessed this fact to him recently is this: “It’s never too late.” It’s never too late.

And it isn’t too late. It’s only in the last five years or so, that both my husband and I have leaned heavily on the wisdom, and the love, and the strength, and the kindness of our own aunts, while dealing with various health issues and declines of our surviving parents. I am in my fifties and I do not know what I would have done without our aunts, especially in this last decade. Our aunts have allowed us to be children again, in a time when we still (surprisingly) desperately need “the adults” in our lives. They have given us the kind of unconditional love and support and comfort that only maternal, elder figures are intrinsically able to do, and I am forever grateful to all of them. Aunts, I love you and I respect you immensely. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Elephant tribes are mostly made of adult female elephants and the babies. Bull elephants are kicked out of the tribe when they reach early adulthood. Elephant mothers can rely on her “sisters” to take care of her babies, when she is not able to do so. Elephant mothers know that “her sisters” will protect her babies fiercely like they are her own. Elephant babies know that the tribe is full of female protectors who are helping their mothers to raise them. The elephant babies know that they have a strong, divine, feminine support surrounding and encircling them, to ensure their safety and well-being. An elephant tribe is mostly focused on protecting and nurturing their young. And elephant babies take a long time to grow up. This system is called “allomothering.” All of the female elephants in a tribe are “allomothers.”

I guess that I always knew that my husband and I, and our own babies, had this female tribe encircling us, but they have always given us the grace of space and understanding. Our aunts have always given us the respect and the autonomy to be our own people. Our aunts have given us an uncomplicated love. And I can continue this tradition with my own nieces and nephews. I can surround my own nieces and nephews with a force field of love, no matter how far away. I hope that our nieces and nephews know that no matter what and no matter when, they will always be the babies of my tribe, and I am willing, and I am able, and I am proud to do my duties of protection, nurturing, and support, no matter when that time comes for me to stand tall, with my ears flapping and my feet stomping and my head charging. I’ve had amazing examples to learn from, and so I must continue the tradition. It’s never too late.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Confession

A friend recently confessed that lately she feels like she doesn’t want to be a parent anymore. It was over a text, but I imagine if “the confession” had been in person, she would have sat tentatively, her eyes darting around the room to see if we, her friends who are also parents, would be looking down at her with glaring supreme judgment, even worse than what she was doing to herself.

And what she got instead was a lot of support, love, understanding, and relating. Parenting is hard. Caretaking is hard. Life is hard. Making those statements doesn’t mean that you are a terrible parent, an awful caretaker and that you hate life. Parenting is hard and wonderful. Caretaking is hard and rewarding. Life is hard and overwhelmingly beautiful.

Give yourself a break when you feel overwhelmed by your life and your responsibilities in your life. These are the times to lean into self-care and trust the Universe/God/Life with the rest. Give yourself the love and the care and the support and the advice that you would give to your partner, or to your child, or to your best friend. (in other words the person or people whom you love the most, because honestly, you, yourself, should be on that list)

I’ve shared this on the blog, before, but it seems appropriate to bring it back. Before I even became a mother, and I was spending some time in my head thinking about what kind of parent I wanted to be, I came across this wonderful poem by Kahlil Gibran. It has become my parenting mantra/philosophy/reminder throughout my entire twenty-six years of being a mother. It helps me to remember that I am co-parenting with a vast and loving and mysterious force of Life, and that I can lean into that wisdom and comfort whenever I need to just let go. This poem puts me – a fiery, sometimes control freakish mama, into her rightful place. And when I am in that place, I am freer to live in my own faith and to trust that bigger arms are wrapped around us all. I am freer to be loved, and to be Love. Gibran’s poem:

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.
     And he said:
     Your children are not your children.
     They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
     They come through you but not from you,
     And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

     You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
     For they have their own thoughts.
     You may house their bodies but not their souls,
     For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
     You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
     For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
     You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
     The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
     Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
     For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Reminiscence

I was twenty-five when I had my first child. He went everywhere with his two young parents – weddings galore, hiking adventures when he was just a couple months old in a colorful baby carrier, and a trip to Puerta Vallarta, Mexico where his favorite part was the bumpy ride on the public bus. Yesterday, when we were reminiscing with him about these times, before his three younger siblings were born, it occurred to me how somewhat reckless and fearless (and maybe even clueless) we were, and yet thankfully, it all turned out just great. Our eldest son is as independent and adventurous and “alive” as they come, and we still have a blast adventuring with him. Sometimes I wish that fearlessness and that bravado of my youth would come back to me. I long for that inner assurance to trust life, and to go at it with pure gusto. I desire to easily let go of so much caution, and to allow that caution to be thrown to the wind. Interestingly, I do feel my courage circling back again, now that I am into the first few months of my empty nest. However, it’s not blind anymore. This courage is not a cocky courage. This courage is full of knowledge, experience, and wisdom about the frailty and the preciousness of life, and all things in this life. And thus, it is a clearer courage. My middle-aged courage is clear and conscience about risks, and also clear and conscience about what you miss out on, when you don’t take risks.

I am headed out on an adventure with my curly, ginger haired 26 year-old baby boy today. He towers over me. My son teaches me a lot about the things that are popular with his young generation. Yesterday, he ordered a rare Korean thistle for dinner. (and I tried it and it tastes like chicken – kidding, it tasted like spinach) When we go on our adventures for today, we will both be brave and excited. He will have that fresh, free, unscarred curious courage of youth, and my braveness will come from my wisest most weathered place in my heart, which fully understands the risks of almost everything, and knows that it is important to take some of these risks in order to experience the uncontrollable exuberance of a fully lived life. The circles of life constantly circle back, in slightly different form, but always with the same simple lessons: to live fully, to love unabashedly, and to trust the experiences you have in life, and all that these experiences have to offer you.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Cycles

When endings come in life either through death, or divorce, or moving to a new house, or changing jobs, or children growing up, I’ve come to understand how complicated the grief of this situation can be. When endings come, you don’t just grieve the loss of the person, or the loss of the place, or the loss of the thing, you also grieve the loss of yourself that has identified strongly with that person, or that place or that thing, or that function, or that title. Even though we are human beings, there is a huge part of us who identifies ourselves by what we do, and we label ourselves accordingly. For me, I have many labels: I am a wife, mother, daughter, sister, niece, cousin, in-law, friend, homemaker, writer/blogger, American, Florida resident, JMU graduate, UF parent, Pittsburgh native, avid reader, dog owner, animal lover, boater, walker, mentor, deep thinker, adventurer, brown-eyed girl . . . . The point that I am making is that any of these labels that I identify myself as, can change (and have changed over the years) through death, moves, job changes, health changes, relationship changes, aging, world events (hello, 9/11 and the pandemic) etc. So when we are having a hard time letting go of someone, something, or some place, a lot of that difficulty of letting go, is the letting go of that function, or that label that connects us to the person, the place, the pet, the job, the house, the title etc. In order to let go, it feels like we almost have to cut off a piece of our own selves, that is still clinging to make this part of our lives, an ongoing part of our present circumstances. We have a hard time surrendering this person, place, or function, or thing, to our past, because we still desperately want it to be part of our present. We aren’t ready to sever that part of ourselves.

With the ailing of our extended family member, I’ve been reflecting a lot on grief and why it is so hard and unique to each individual. A lot of how hard you grieve someone or something, is how much you sunk your whole self into a relationship or a situation. When endings come around, you have to face that the definition of whatever you are grieving – the relationship, the place, the role, is soon coming to a close. There is no going back and changing it and making it different anymore. It is what it is, becomes the final statement. And so when you are packing up your things from your desk, or when you are turning in your keys, or you are signing your divorce papers, or you are attending a graduation, or a retirement party, or a funeral, you are giving away a little chunk of yourself. You are closing out a chapter on YOU. And that is so incredibly hard.

There are so many endings in life. Life is cyclic in nature. Summer is soon coming to a close. Many people have already experienced their long anticipated summer vacations. And there is grief in these facts, for many people. But as the saying goes, for every ending, there is a new beginning. I can’t wait for the cooler weather of fall and even the overload of pumpkin spice everything. I hate saying good-bye to anything or anyone important to me, but I also love anticipating fresh, new hellos to what’s next in my life, and the new pieces of myself that these new, fresh hellos will reveal to me.

“There is no real ending. It’s just the place where you stop the story.” – Frank Herbert