Me is {more than} enough.

I wrote this post over 4 months ago. It is the culmination of a tangled, emotional struggling and growth, something of a metamorphosis, that I’ve undergone in the past few years. When I wrote it, I was standing on the edge of a precipice looking into a great divide, and I was ready to step off, not knowing if I was going to fly or fall. For awhile, I didn’t care which. As it turns out, I found I was carrying a bridge to the next peak in my own back pocket, and in unfurling it, what “fell” was this post, out of my heart and soul, onto the digital page. Something in me cranked, turned, and locked into place. I was absolutely sure I was going to publish the piece; I often publish my ugly stuff, my emotional wailings, and then… I didn’t. 

At the Blissdom Conference, Brené Brown was the Opening Keynote Speaker. I sat there in awe as she started talking about shame, about vulnerability and fear, and hot tears pricked the corners of my eyes. My mouth fell open when I heard her saying things I had written in this post. I had written that I was enough, that I accepted myself, and then I didn’t publish. Somewhere in there, I was telling myself “I am enough… but not quite enough to publish to the world that I am enough.” Kind of ironic, no?

Brené reminded me that when I allow myself to be vulnerable and truly open with the world, I am the happiest me that can exist. Yes, it can be frightening, but there is no more real way to live. And so I pull this out of drafts, I hit publish, and I affirm that I mean what it says. I hope it speaks to someone. It’s a truth from my heart.

~

I am {learning to be} comfortable with who I am. I know I am a being in process, unrefined, unsure, and, in many ways, different from others, different than you.

I accept me for who I am.

This has not always been the truth. Far from it, in fact.

For most of my life I have badly wanted to be accepted by others and worried that I would not be liked because I am not who or what others expect/desire me to be. My family taught me it is okay to be different. Society screamed at me {in whispers, with looks, in rumors, on television, in magazines, and at lunch break during school} that it was a lie! Different is bad, the world at large wanted me to be sure.

During grade school, my hair was dorky, my clothes weren’t “cool enough”, my ears poked out too far, and I was a nerd for genuinely liking to read and learn. I lived in the South, and most of my peers went to church and believed in God – I didn’t. I liked popular music, but also classical and old rock, preferred dorky to preppy, and laughed with a hitch. (#snort)

Most of the time I was okay with all of that.

Except for the times when I wasn’t. You know the times; the moments when others, intentionally or not, make you doubt yourself for your differences. Those moments shaped me in an ugly way. Those were the moments when I wished I was anything but me, anywhere but inside my own skin. I learned to put on a tough act, pretend I didn’t care. But I did, I cared so much it hurt.

I don’t think any of us are inherently comfortable with being put down, cast aside. I sure am not. It’s a painful thing. If you can accept that pain and move on, you’re golden.

I’ve begun to learn to accept Pain as the Dark Valley lying far below the Peak of Joy.

I’d never understand how high that summit was if I hadn’t climbed there from the foothills.

The disparity lends meaning to each extreme. I wish for it to make us focus on the blessings of our joys more greatly. Unfortunately, many of us (myself included, during a great many times in my life) dwell in that pain instead, and refuse to let it go, even when we’re at the peak.  Somehow, we take it with us, wrapped like a shroud.

That’s a negativity that can color as much of your life as you give it room to roam over.

So, for much of my life I have said and done things here and there, again and again, to try to gain acceptance from others. This is not to say that I haven’t also been true to myself in many ways and embraced many of my differences but there has always been an undercurrent of intense need that has made me strive to be what others want from me.

What a foolish waste of time. What an endless recipe for misery.

The acceptance that follows from such a practice is false. It may feel good briefly, or on the surface, but it is acceptance under pretense and deception.

It is an illusion.

As an adult, and increasingly in the past several years, I have grown tired of trying to please others to gain approval, to appear to be someone I am not in order to receive {perceived} acceptance and {false} fellowship.

I am not interested in relationships built around the idea that I should change, am not what I should be, think/feel/believe the wrong things, need help to be better, am broken, or need to be or do more *whatever* to be good enough.

And while I’d like to say I don’t need others, I will fully admit that I do. This is also something new for me; this is part of shedding the “tough act.” I DO need friends. I DO need support. I DO need people who care about me.

However: I do not need you to solve my problems. I do not need you to guide me. I need you to care about me, have an interest in my well-being, want to laugh with me, and be willing to listen when I need or want to talk. I need you to accept me for who I am, what I am comfortable with, and what I am not. I need for you to like me for who I am, or leave me alone.

I need you to like me, to even love me, for who I am right now, in this very moment.

And I will do the same for you.

If we are different, I am happy to find our similarities and celebrate them. I am happy to accept our differences and move forward. It *is* okay to be different, that really is true. What I have come to feel very deeply is that when you can accept someone, despite their differences, without trying to change them, that is true acceptance.
That is the basis for real friendship, humanity, and love.

[I am also okay with not needing to be friends with everyone. Tolerance and acceptance are the most important when there are differences that drive us apart.]

When I was a little girl, I loved Popeye, and I delighted in him saying, in his scruffy, twisty voice, “Iyam what Iyam, and that’s all that Iyam!” And I guess that’s what I’m saying. I am what I am, and that’s all that I am. And it’s enough.

I am Me.

I am {learning, growing, adjusting to being} comfortable with who I am. I know I am a being in process, unrefined, unsure, and, in many ways, different than others, different than you. I accept me for who I am.

I accept you for who you are, too.

Fwee Yee Olt

Oh, Braden.

On your birthday in 2008, you asked me to let you sit in a “big” chair for the first time.

You didn’t want your highchair any more. I was torn: pride, awe, amusement, and sweet sadness tumbled and mixed inside of me as I watched you try to be as big as the chair you were sitting in.

You never sat in your high chair again. But that is the least of it.

Steadily for the rest of the year, as children are wont to do, you just kept getting bigger and bolder. You got cuter, wilder, and funnier.

More difficult.

Infinitely more wonderful.

You just keep developing at a break-neck speed and you always seem to be at least two steps ahead of me.

My boy is charging through life.

I’m helpless to stop it.

Which is cool, because it’s awesome to watch.

Every day, you learn new things.

And because of you, so do I.

Thank you. I love you.

Happy “Fwee Yee Olt!” Birthday, Braden.

As you said this morning, “It’s party time!”

He Changes, Yet He Stays The Same

Most of the time I’m blown away by how much Braden changes, constantly. My little baby became a little boy almost overnight, and he’s constantly pulling new things out of his hat.

But has he really changed all that much?

September 2007

September 2008

Meal Time Memory Lane

First he ate like this,
through good times and bad, so close…
extension of me.

It did not work out.
His condition dictated
he would “bottle it.”

Wonder formula -
Nutramigen, Liquid Gold -
helped his insides heal.

Cereal was next.
Greedily, he devoured it.
That’s my little man!

Then add in green beans.
Mmmm, that’s good stuff, isn’t it?
Loved bananas, too.

First sippy cup use!
Soon after, snubbed it for months.
Such a little tease.

Loved variety…
Sweet ‘taters a favorite.
Looked good on his face.

He scarfed, and soon he
was quite the roly-poly,
little chub-muffin!

Prunes were oh-so-loved!
Meat, however, was abhorred!
Not a “texture fan.”

Cute, little booger
loved to gnaw a piece of fruit
in his safety mesh.

And look at the face
made with the first popsicle!
“Mommy! It’s so COLD!”

First time, own spoon/plate…
but just play, not serious.
Cute and happy, though!

Sippy cup returned,
though the bottle hung around
for a few more months.

Finally willing
to pick up “smooshie things” like
this banana piece!

Real attempts were made
at eating with utensils!
Determination.

He’s such a cup tease.
At 12 Months, used a real cup.
(He now refuses.)

His first whole apple!
I was so beside myself.
Such a “big boy” thing.

He even dined with
The Mexican, on the deck.
Had a lovely meal.

Successful spoon use!
Thus he was dubbed, “Spoon Master.”
Such odd, proud moments.

Many face messes.
I have loved his face through all
manner of dried foods.

Moved from sips to straws.
Helps to develop language.
Wish he’d use a cup!

All of a sudden,
A horrible thing happened.
Stopped liking veggies.

It’s okay, we still
offer them to him, and he
will eat them again.

Anyway, sometimes,
wearing your food is much more
fun than eating it.

Utensil use still
continues to improve, and
we are still so proud.

He even had his
first cereal with milk and
spoon, the other day.

Funny how you can
tell the story of growth in
so many ways, eh?

Close with video…
a photo progression of
eating applesauce.

[feed readers: there is a video here]

Uses his spoon well..
but still young enough to know
it’s fun to use hands!