Balance.

I am not going to lie; I had to look back at my New Year’s post for 2023 to even remember the word I chose. Luckily for me, vulnerability is something I seem to get better at all the time, so I am going to call it a win. A growth. Yay for me.

2022 was authenticity. Both of those go hand-in-hand, really, which is what I wrote about last year. But something I have already been working on these past few months is going to be my focus for the coming year.

Balance.

It is going to embed itself into several areas of my life. The most important one – the one I have already been focused on – has to do with actually finding time to take care of myself in the midst of all of my responsibilities. I am wanting it to grow into areas like exercise and nutrition – the ways I find it hardest to take care of myself, after a regular shower schedule (do you KNOW how much work taking a shower can be, when you’re overwhelmed and stressed and perpetually have a to-do list three miles long!?!).

I also want it, eventually, to grow into relationships. Balance. Putting in the effort with those who are putting in the effort with me. I’ll be honest – I know I haven’t been great at relationships lately, in all forms. But I love my people, and I want relationships to grow and be more – real – and evident in my life. It is hard when I feel like every day, I am empty and have nothing more to give. But I think by finding a better balance – a better footing – I will have more. It is, perhaps, my greatest hope for the coming year: To be able to give more energy and take in more love from those around me.

Cheers to the new year.

There has been an undercurrent of grief in my life lately. Though I have had over eight years to practice, I haven’t quite figured out how to reconcile the complicated emotions that come with being Kiran’s mom.

I find myself envious of Eric’s ability to choose his role in Kiran’s life. I am sure it is because of my need for control in my own life. I didn’t get to choose this life – this version of motherhood.

The truth is (and this is one that is so hard for me to admit): I never would have chosen it.

The other truth: I would never want to change it.

I have had so much practice with various forms of grief in my life. People have even come to me as if I should have some sort of answer about how to navigate grief or how to help loved ones new in the grieving process. As if I’m an expert, somehow.

How can I hold SO much love in my heart for this little boy and be so thankful that I get to be his mom, while still deeply grieving the child(ren) I imagined I would have? While feeling that ache for the type of motherhood I longed for my entire life?

I don’t know. But all of it lives deep in my heart, and it has been seeping out during this season.

I’m supposed to be listening to the words of the song, but I am too distracted making sure he doesn’t feel left out because he’s sitting in his wheelchair while the rest of us stand. I try to focus my mind on the pastor’s message while keeping an eye on his communication device’s screen to ensure he doesn’t yell out today’s date at top volume in the middle of the Christmas Eve service.

I am painfully aware, in every moment, how much space we are taking up, in a crowded sanctuary. We managed to get a wheelchair space, but there are chairs set up right behind, and with his communication device and the push handle of his wheelchair, he’s long. His communication device is right behind the head of the man sitting in front of him, and his handle is definitely in the woman’s space behind him.

I try to quiet the never-ending commentary my anxiety gifts me by reminding my brain that he is allowed to take up space in this world. And I need to stop apologizing all the time for it.

I was awkward and clumsy, helping him back into his chair after the songs (Daddy Eric wanted him in our laps for a family photo and for some of the singing at the beginning of service). It took too many minutes for my heart rate to slow and my brain to stop perseverating over it.

I am allowed to take up space in the world, too.

You know how there is no manual out there for parenting?

I have no idea what I’m doing at least half the time. That’s probably a conservative estimate. And even though I doubt people are watching/judging as much as my anxiety imagines they are, we also absolutely do stick out in public.

Well, maybe. It’s amazing how many people seem to not see us as we are trying to navigate through a crowd.

I wanted so badly for it to be a peaceful Christmas Eve service, and instead, I was a stressed out, frustrated, tired mama throughout. Unsure of how to navigate it all, worried what others might think or feel about the space we were taking up, and overwhelmed by the crowded church.

I am thankful that I caught the part in the pastor’s message where he reminded us that we are welcome – and safe – in this church and with God – just as we are.