The New Year
The New Year is always an odd beast to me.
It’s like the world is yelling at all of us to do better and not waste opportunities. That we all need to look smaller and try harder and that maybe this will be ‘the’ year. “Let’s make this one the best yet!”
That’s a lot of pressure…
Maybe not for some of you. Maybe you thrive off of it.
But to me it’s like a constant reminder of how I’m just not good enough. That I can always be better. That improvement is always needed. That I get another chance to not screw up as badly as I did last year, to actually “make something of myself”.
And THAT screws with my heart and my head big time. I start living in a place of worthlessness. What is the point of anything that I do? I feel like a slightly chubby, minivan driving, baking and cooking obsessed, easily distracted, living with anxiety, part time employed housewife. If I’m not good enough now, then how could I ever be enough then?
You’ve just got to give your all! You’ve just got to try!
…as if I’ve been slacking this whole past year? I decided to take a break on everything and just chill?
You could do ‘this’ better!
Which leads to the obsessive thought that I need to better. Which leads to the obsessive thought that I’m not good enough. And suddenly I’m floundering through Ecclesiastes trying to catch the wind and a meaning in my life, forgetting…well, everything.
I forget who I am. I forget what I love. It’s like I’m put back to factory default settings and are looking around wondering “what do I enjoy?” “What am I good at?” “Is there any point to what I do?” But it’s so odd and confusing because your life is great!
Your husband is loving and sexy and funny.
Your kids are safe and happy and fun.
Your life is good.
But it’s like you can’t access the switch to remember who you are within it.
And then…
Then you have a day.
You wake up and decide to make biscuits. Not because making bread in any form is an accomplishment and feels like a victory but because they sound good to eat. And they are. Your family raves. You’re your husband says they are perfect and your kids squabble over who ate the last one.
Because they are good. Especially with your homemade strawberry jam. And you remember something…
And then you sit on the couch reading something entertaining while your family surrounds you, watching TV or playing video games. They come snuggle up next to you, forcing you to share your blanket. And you’re just together and your heart beats a little harder. And you remember something…
At lunch you grab all the leftovers from the week. Some you just reheat; two of the kids have chicken potpie on paper plates that stick to your kitchen table. You repurpose some; potato wedges and leftover roast, add some fresh ingredients and two fried eggs. A hearty winter hash. And then you take the leftover gravy and veggies and random rice, add a fried egg, and eat your make shift Loco Moco in front of the fireplace. And remember…
You bundle up in the cold and go sledding. As you trudge through the fresh snow you stop and make your kids listen to the complete silence that only comes with snowfall. You sled and you climb and you sled and you climb. You watch your children shout with joy. You watch your husband miscalculate something with a kid and are crying from laughing so hard. And then you get tackled by said husband and kissed. And kissed. With small chunks of ice and snow pressed by your two cheeks till you are actually breathless. And still giggling.
Then it’s back to the house for hot chocolate and movies and blankets and the fireplace and football. And your soul sighs and you are present and you remember…
Dinner is chaos to an observer but a symphony to you as you grate lemon zest and make a crust then bake the lemon bars and mix the meatballs and slice the veggies and simmer the sauce and cook everything, finishing with warm crusty bread and everyone is happy and full.
And then everyone remembers the lemon bars and suddenly their stomachs have room and the kids exclaim that they love lemon bars! And everyone is happy and sated and tired and warm and together. And you remember…
You remember…
You remember who you are.
You remember that the world doesn’t get to decide...anything. Especially when it comes to you.
You are a slightly chubby, minivan driving, baking and cooking obsessed, easily distracted, living with anxiety, part time employed housewife.
Sure you could be smaller but 70% of what jiggles on you is nice.
Your minivan is dearly loved, so freaking easy with your boys and they haven’t dinged another car yet and your 16 hour road trip this past summer was downright comfortable because everyone had enough space. Not to mention the stereo ain’t bad either which comes in handy when all three boys want to, loudly, rock out.
Cooking and baking obsessed? Yep. Because it is my goal to feed the soul as well as the body. It is my greatest outlet for creativity and experimentation and expression. And I’m good at it.
Easily distracted? Sure, sure, sure this leads to unfinished projects and a never perfectly organized house but it leads to adventures and experiences and memories and passions. It leads to the understanding that a basement full of wet snow clothes and the hassle that follows is absolutely worth it because of all the joy that preceded it. And that dinner being a little late so you can sit on the back deck, snuggled in a blanket with one of your quickly growing 7 year olds is worth it because they want to see the sun set with you.
Living with anxiety? …yeah. This is my thorn. But I am transparent with it. And I am honest with it. At least I try to be. So that when someone who has no experience or advocates or resources hears my words or sees me coping or sees my honesty with it…then maybe they’ll know that life doesn’t stop. And this isn’t the WORST thing that could happen to you. And that it is doable. This will always be a part of my life. And I asked God a long time ago to not waste this pain but to use it. So it doesn’t make me less and it doesn’t define all of me but it can be a defining moment for someone else.
And as to the negative connotation of ‘housewife’. You betcha I am. I’m here. My husband’s work schedule gets crazy, I’m here. One of my kids gets sick, I’m here. A friend needs some help, I’m here. Family wants to come in, I’m here. Even just the dog and cat need to be kept alive, I’m here. I’M HERE. I’m the keeper of my home and family. I’m the driver, the cook, the nurse, the secretary. And I get to all of it with only part-time employment. What a blessed woman am I.
You need these days to remind you of who you are. That the world doesn’t get to decide who you should be or how you should be. Neither does the New Year.
Remember who you are. Remember who you have chosen to be. Yes, you have faults but they are not greater than your whole. You are beautifully and wonderfully made.
And when those doubts start to creep in again? Take the moment, read the book, dance to the song, speak to the friend and hopefully, just like mine did last night, they’ll speak to you again of you are. Of the life you have. Of the life you are building because you want it. They’ll ask the passions that they know drive you. And they’ll make you laugh and you’ll make them laugh. And you’ll remember. Again.
