Courage and my 4 year old

(Mandatory yet unrelated update: we think I have Adrenal Fatigue Syndrome. Boo Hiss. Might be more on that in a future post. Maybe not though. We'll see.;-) )

Every summer and family vacation...well, any chance we can get...our family gets in the water. We also feel that "real" swimming is a valuable gift to give to our children, not to mention a HUGE safety issue. Elasia is old enough (turning 5 in a few weeks) and we found a class that was 8 sessions long with an opening down on 14th street at a very nice YMCA and took the jump financially.

And that's how Elasia began swim classes.

This was her first time taking "real" classes. She qualified for the class where I don't have to get in the pool with her (which was wonderful, because what would I have done with my little monkey a.k.a. Zaqarah? I'm sure the YMCA staff would've had to call 911 within the first 10 minutes of class because she had managed to slip away and gotten herself stuck on the roof. I'm sure of it.) Elasia is very cautious by nature, and has never been in a pool with out us. I was pretty apprehensive leaving my little scrawny green bean alone with a handful of kids and 1 instructor.

I watched from the nearby giant window.  The whole class lined up by the side of the pool. It was then I realized that the odds were stacked against Elasia being able to get through this class with out a royal "freak out".

1. Everyone was older than her.
2. Everyone had taken swim classes together last season at this same YMCA and knew each other. Elasia didn't know any of them and this was the first time she stepped foot in this building.
2. She was the only girl.
3. The kind lady she thought was the instructor went into the office. A man she didn't know jumped in the pool and motioned for the children to get into the pool one at a time.

I saw her legs tremble.  I saw her wring her hands. She looked up, bottom lip trembling, to where she knew I was watching, looking for some kind of reassurance from me. I waved, gave her a thumbs up and a smile. (Truth: it took EVERYTHING in me to not crash through that glass, run across the pool deck and scoop my little girl in my arms and tell her we'll wait 'til next year.)  I had to steel myself and see what she would choose.

And then it happened.  She took a deep breath, knees still knocking, wrinkled her little nose with determination and willed her body to sit at the edge of the pool.  Every other kid slid right into the pool, as if they had the process memorized. They held on to the side of the pool and started kicking. 

I watched her wipe a tear that had snuck out of her eyes and down her cheek. Her nose still wrinkled in resolve, she looked up again and smiled at me. (smiled?! I still can't believe it.)

She tentatively slid into the pool and held on to the side and....... began her kicking.

With the other moms and their "been there, done that" expressions, I knew I couldn't really just scream with joy right there. But I really could've flown to the moon and back!!  I had just watched one of the most courageous people I've ever known make a really brave choice!!!  I know my little girl. I know what situations are difficult for her, and those same situations might not even be an issue for her little sister - or even anyone else.

Because of things we couldn't have known or foreseen, this swim class was set up to be one of the single most difficult things for Elasia specifically.  And she was brave. She chose to look her fear, her discomfort, her insecurity...all of it in the face...and she chose to go through with it. 

Now, would it have been okay if she had a melt down at the side of the pool, crumpled up in sobs and I had to sit with her in the lounge until she calmed down. Yes. (because she IS only 4, people.) I would've been set back a large chunk of change, as the classes are non-refundable, but I wouldn't set my daughter up for unnecessary torture. And of course, I wouldn't have shamed her. I would have been disappointed, but I'd have understood. I know life is going to present so many more of these same moments. I honestly would have been okay with "no way, Mommy" on this one.

But she chose to be brave. And her little determined, tear-streaked face is etched in my memory as a permanent book mark...a reminder.... for me to make similar choices.

When I'm tired and frustrated and it is easier to scream, yell and demean my children - I must choose to be brave, and be their hero. To lay down my own emotions to help them through the tricky paths of childhood.

When I'm intimidated by potential for failure, I've got to choose to be brave and take risks.

When I'm afraid of the consequences that my choices may have on the relationships I hold so dear, I need to be brave, to choose honesty and transparency - to live with integrity, as this is the only way to true intimacy.

 

I learn so much from my precious Elasia Hope.  From her sensitivity to others feelings, her care for the overlooked, her quick wit and intelligence...my list could be a mile long. (And she's only turning 5!)  But what I needed and what I've learned from her these past few weeks going to swim class is:

It's possible to choose courage, even if you don't "feel" it. (and if you cry when your scared, it's okay.)

Motherhood Mondays: Facing my biggest fear.

(If you stick with me on this longer Motherhood Mondays post - I'll let you into a very tender, vulnerable place in my heart - in hopes that you can feel the cyber-hug when your days are even remotely similar.)
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Nothing new: A lot comes to the surface when you feel just a tiny bit over-extended and you're operating on less than ideal amounts of sleep.

Something new: I had a melt-down a week ago.

Here's the lead up story....:

Once upon a time, a loooong time ago (if feels like it, but it was about 14 days ago), two toddlers conspired not to nap. Now, whether or not they slept was irrelevant to their mother - but the short break that the nap represented was critical.

It would not happen.

There was crashing coming from their room, things breaking, feathers being pulled out of pillows, and an entire sock drawer contents dumped on the floor.  Every 15 minutes their mom found herself having to go in, discipline, redirect, (insert various good parenting technique here) blah blah blah. It was grating.

Finally the momma gave up. She brought the two precious/over-tired girls out of their room and the three of them just sat on the couch - mutually exhausted from the war that had ended in a stalemate. She was fighting off guilt as she replayed every visit she paid to their room trying to enforce the nap. She declared herself selfish.

The more "emotionally aware" older toddler hugged her mommy and apologized for not sleeping which only made the mother feel more despicable. The oblivious younger toddler decided to use her mother as a jungle gym until she regained consciousness.

The rest of the evening involved a husband calling to say he was leaving work later than he thought, a botched dinner menu and a failed attempt at a bath (unless you could call getting some of their body sort of wet - then it was a success) and the realization that she had TOTALLY forgotten to do 3 things on her looming "to do" that would make those items "late". As the mother shut the toddlers' door at bedtime and felt like she was crawling emotionally out to the kitchen to clean up the mess - something sinister was happening.  Her broken heart began to harden.

She felt cold on the inside. Her husband walked through the door and could probably tell something had shut off. After a good handful of other things to do, finally lying in bed next to each other - at around...1:00 AM - he opened Pandora's Box.

Adam: Babe, are you okay?
Me: (Silence. Then a muffled noise.)
Adam: Huh?
Me: I said that I'm fine. Just a long day.
Adam: Oh.
Me: (sniffling.)
Adam: Hmmm. Is there anything I could do tomorrow that didn't get done today?
Me: No. I'm fine. It'll be fine. (more sniffling)
Adam: Okay. Good night, I love you. (rolling over)
Me: (trying desperately to stay silent while crying pretty intensely now.) I just....(sobbing)
Adam: (rolling back over and putting his hand on my face) ....yeah?
Me: I'm just terrified.....I'm just so scared of being really bad...at...at...something THIS important....(sobbing into the pillow)
Adam: (holding me) (silence)
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Now, the rest of that conversation went well into the wee hours of the morning and while important in-and-of-itself, it's this little part of my melt-down I wanted to focus on.

Ever since Elasia was born (4 years ago) and my "Sweet chubby cherub blissfully sleeping in her crib" picture was shattered with the reality of a reflux-colicky-underweight-passionate little screamer - I've had this looming...."something" that I've been running away from.

I labelled it "insecurity" and would tell myself over and over that I AM a good mom. Friends would tell me that I'm doing a great job. My mother is proud of me. Even more note-worthy, my mother-IN-LAW is very proud of me. I have an incredible husband who most days whispers in my ear, "You're doing an amazing job, babe." 

What is my DEAL?!

It was this melt down that got me to say it.  I just had to spit it out - be it with tears, snot, and sobs.  I am TERRIFIED!! 

Instead of facing my biggest, most fattest, scariest fear - I was used to ignoring it, leaving it unidentified, and moving on.  Every time it would creep up on me I would shrug it off and assure myself that "I can do this, damn it. I'm a worldchanger!!" (of course, I would NEVER say "damn" out loud - I'm not a NY potty mouth!)

I've had a parasite eat a hole through my intestines in Morocco, a worm make its home in my calf from swimming in a river in Bolivia. I've bungee-jumped and I LOVE roller coasters. I've always wanted to go to the hardest most needy area of the world and "make a difference".  But here I was holding this tiny helpless bundle of pure potential - and I was SCARED OUT OF MY MIND.

Not addressing this directly had really just hurt the situation. Two kids later and a few years into this adventure and my fuse had grown shorter, my capacity seeming to shrink by the day, and the list I was keeping in my head of failures could wallpaper the Empire State Building.

Having a Christian world-view, I knew the right answer was "God is in control", but my jittery heart couldn't digest that. Which only made me feel worse.

That night, crying and talking through things with my husband I watched (with the eyes of my heart) a big, fat, scary, Bully named Fear shrink before my eyes.

BECAUSE I FACED IT.  I just said it. And now - I don't feel alone. Now, I know my enemy.
There's something so liberating about turning the light on in the dark-scary-room to see what it is you were so scared of in the first place.

Running away from problems never solved them. Pretending they don't exist doesn't either.

So, somehow - on the other end of all those tears I have a deeper assurance that things are going to be alright.  As I kiss those chubby cheeks and laugh at their silly antics and firmly discipline their bad choices...and yes, lose it all together sometimes - I'm finding a new/deeper resolve. It will be okay. I love these children with all of my heart. I am loved with an Everlasting Love. And He loves my children more desperately than I do.  And the Punk throwing the sucker punches? Oh, his name is Fear - and I've got a good right-hook myself - thankyouverymuch.


In the words of the wise G.I. Joe, "Knowing is half the battle!"

Let's do this thing called "motherhood".
Bring it.