Who Am I?

There are situations and conversations and milestones and observations and events that have lead me here to the moment that I am in. This is a moment I have never encountered. It's blinding and seemingly never ending.... Not until I settle it. It's an interesting occurrence when you find yourself asking inside your brain and possibly even aloud,

"WHO AM I?"

But I am there.

I have been asking myself this time and time again in recent months and more and more with each passing day. It's a thought that keeps bouncing around in my head and it ping pongs off of my heart leaving a sting of pain behind it, with absolutely no sign of resolving--at least not without some serious prayer and meditation.

Since mom has been gone, I have all but totally fallen out of the habit of writing. And though I miss it, an issue has to be spewing out of me like lava for me to actually take the time to sit down and write. Here I am. So I will use this blog, as I have so many times in the past, (as a therapeutic outlet), with hopes of getting to the bottom of this conundrum I'm currently encountering.

I suppose to figure out who I am, I need to remember who I was...

As a child I was a writer. The minute I was introduced to poetry at Powers Elementary School around first or second grade, I fell in love. I would sit in a lawn chair in our yard to be "inspired" and write goofy poetry about everything and nothing. My mamaw and I even wrote a song together once. One Christmas, Santa (who knew me so well), brought both my brothers a shiny new dirt bike.... And he brought me the coolest typewriter ever made (it had a delete button!!!). This only fueled my desire to write. So I did. I wrote and wrote and wrote. It was my passion. I was a pleaser at heart. I did every single thing from chores, to good grades to good deeds to make someone, ANY one proud of me. I was sporty. I loved sports, though I don't know that I was ever great at any of them. I was a mediocre softball ball player, a so-so cheerleader and horrible basketball player. I dreamed of being a writer or a veterinarian. I wasn't like every other little girl with the pink and the dresses, and I was fine with that.

I was me.

When my home environment changed, I changed. I rebelled against everything I once was. No more pleaser. No more writing. No more praise junkie. And though it always felt foreign, I would make myself ignore my screaming conscience, just to prove I wasn't the same person. I admit I made some regrettable choices, although I'm at a place where I know ALL my choices made me who I am --even the most cringe worthy ones. And while I'm slap dab in the middle of an identity crisis, to wish away my past would be to wish away the gifts in my present, and I'd never do that. I remember craving stability. I loved going to friend's houses where the mom was home and the dad was home and they got along and they were not caught up in themselves or their own drama. I dreamed of peace... Calmness... and continuity... I was stubborn and hard headed.... And though it was definitely a distorted version,

I was me.

 As an older teen, I  composed myself, dropped the self deprecating behavior, and set some goals.  I had a slightly demented sense of humor, that still links my brothers and I in an unbreakable way-- to this day. I was a hard worker and determined to be independent and self sufficient. I took pride in my refusal look/think/act like other people. Appearance wise, I was the same plain jane tomboy that I had always been. I almost never attracted the attention of the opposite sex, and I preferred it that way. I always dressed purposefully not to fit in. In fact, if it was part of a fashion trend, I almost certainly hated it (even if I secretly liked it). I cut my hair off unlike most folks my own age and got a lil wackier and shorter with each trip to the salon. I admit I wasn't very confident back then. I've never really been. But I know I had way more confidence in myself then, than I do now. I loved children and dreamed of opening my own preschool. I was grounded but full of dreams and excited to chase them.

 I was me.

As a young adult, I pursued the dream of opening my own preschool. I went to school and graduated and I almost opened my own place! I was just beginning some renovations on one of my father in law's rental houses to start my own little school, when Patsy Walker from SCRMC called and offered me a job as the preschool teacher in the childcare facility for hospital employees. She explained to me that there was room to grow there, and a possibility for promotion. I was all in. And eventually, I was promoted to Director. After Neva came along, it didn't take long before I realized I wasn't cut out for the balancing act. I was no good at it. So, I became a stay at home mom and started helping at the shop. That is around the time mom got sick, writing reentered my life, and I started my blog.

I'm not a perfect mom, but I'm a pretty great tryer and I've always taken pride in introducing them to Christ, loving them, guiding them and teaching them preschool at home. For years my life was full of diapers and needy lil kiddos and though I stressed out every moment of every day, I wouldnt trade those moments for the world. My kids are still far from self sufficient, but things have definitely changed as of late. I have no baby in my house. There's no breastfeeding. No bottles. At 2, Maxx is potty trained. So for the first time in 8 years, I am not changing diapers. She likes to pick out her own clothes and can dress herself for the most part. Mili at 4, goes in the kitchen to get her own snacks and fixes her own drinks. She doesn't need my help washing her hair anymore and she will officially start school next August. The big girls are so unbelievably independent. Nori, 6, is just precious, a great helper and the greatest big sister. I would never know she was in the house, if I didn't walk in a room and it be magically clean or her whispering how much she loves me in my ear. Neva, 8,  is so mature. She reads and likes privacy and seems to be preferring the company and opinions of her friends over mine... Which breaks my heart and makes me want to declare a "no friends!" rule effective 5 minutes ago.

Yes, they're growing. But the final straw came while sitting in Maxx's closet. Yesterday, I bagged up a lot of clothes that she has grown out of. It hit me as I sorted that typically I would put those clothes in storage for the next girl. But there is no next girl. She's the last of them. It was quite a flabbergasting thought, that for whatever reason, I had never processed before. She's my last baby. And she's not a baby anymore. What does that mean exactly? I couldn't really grasp ahold of it. Still can't. It's like gazing into the dark sky and stretching and reaching with all my might for so, so long, trying to seize the brightest twinkling star.  But just as my finger tips graze the tiniest tip, it shoots across the sky with such speed and majesty that I'm left both heartbroken and completely in awe... and

excited to have been so close to something so great.... and

proud of having even a small hand in something so beautiful... and

curious about my next step: Do I chase it across the galaxy?

Or do I step back, watch proudly-- and let it soar?

My goal for so long was to get from A to B. I never thought about what happens when I get to C.

I am them.

They are me.

Without them,

Who.
Am.
I.
?

I cried.

Not because I want another baby. (or do I?) (No I def don't.)(But....) (um no.)

But because I'm done having babies.

And who am I if I'm not having a baby or caring for one?

I cried some more.

Not because my babies are growing up painfully fast.

But because I stopped growing a long time ago.

I've kept my head down and parented the best I could  for eight straight years. Tea parties and park trips, birthday parties, and sleepovers. Mud pies and art work and gymnastics lessons and soccer games... I never looked up as I wifed, daughtered and volunteered my heart out... Well now I'm lifting my head for the first time in a loooong time...

And I looked straight into a mirror...

and have NO IDEA who is looking back at me.

Perhaps this is something every mom goes through at various points along her parenting journey. Or perhaps I am once again just struggling with the closing of a chapter that I've been living in for years: "the baby chapter". Change is hard. If I'm being honest, I'll admit that I've hidden safe and sound under my "MOM" title for so long, that the thought of branching out scares me beyond belief..... And excites me.

I see Michael chasing his dreams every day. He knows who he is and what he wants. He amazes me!  I am proud of his savvy business sense, his tenaciousness and his unwavering work ethic. If he can dream it, he can do it. And pretty much anything he invests in, becomes successful under his authority. I am proud to have stood behind him on his journey, helping him, encouraging and supporting him. I am so proud! Now, I'm ready for us to stand side by side.

Together he and I will start reaching for that next star.

So today, after a lot of thinking (an yes, a good cry), I decided to get back to my roots: writing. And though I know it won't happen over night, through my writing and with the help of God, I hope to find myself....

not my old self...

My now self....

My real self.....

I want to be me again.