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Being a single, working Mom is rough. It is my day off and rather than relaxing I am resetting myself for the week ahead. Thankfully, it is a little bit of a slower at the beginning of the week with a hard push during the weekend.

Being on top of everything without being OCD and controlling about my environment is difficult for me. I have zero problems being disciplined, it’s just when I am I tend to be a bit much with myself and not in a healthy way. Which results in very negative energy that I absolutely do not want around my son.

In a lot of ways I struggle giving myself grace. Being raised in a home where I felt inadequate because my mental did not mesh well with what my family expected of me. I could never stay on a single task as a child, I got distracted easily, I would get so hyper-fixated on what I was doing for short bursts of time that I forgot to clean up my mess from before. These were not traits found to be ideal in my immediate family (literally… my left eye just started twitching from stress as I recalled that time in my life).

It’s always, “I just don’t understand,” “you know you are so capable,” “why are you like this?” Even to this day. The constant lessening of my Self altered my undiagnosed ADHD brain, it made me hate my Self to the point that I tried forcing into the line they wanted me to fall into. All I wanted was their support, for them to meet me where I was at. Unconditional, expansive love is what I have always needed to unlock my capabilities; now in my thirties it feels like such a shame that I wasted so much precious time trying to appease people who felt like I was burden rather than extraordinary. I beat my soul into submission to please them and for awhile my discipline worked.

They praised me a little bit more frequently, gave me (some of) the support I wanted, and appeared to be on my side… as long as I kept beating my soul into submission for them. Not that they knew that, I could never tell them that. A massive wave of blame shifting would occur accompanied by a long list of my shortcomings; it’s become so natural that I do not know if they realize they are doing it or not- despite my cries for understanding. It became too much though, their rigid line was not meant for my wild soul. It was already disheartening enough to hear that I needed to show mother respect even though she has emotionally and mentally wounded me without taking any accountability, that for as long as my son and I lived with her that I would need to lessen myself to make her feel better. Why does she need to be made to feel better by me? I am not sure, my only guess is it is a power thing and I refuse to give up my power anymore. Even to her.

Why must I show respect without a sincere apology for all the diminishing forms she chose to enact? I didn’t ask to be called a Nazi, I didn’t ask to be smacked in the head when she “played” follow the bunny and my brothers laughed, I didn’t ask to be called over-dramatic when I found a lump in my breast, I didn’t ask to stop being hugged when I was a child. These were all things that happened to me and I was made to believe I was the problem. I was and am always reminded of her struggle, as if it is an excuse for her shitty treatment towards me. The weird thing is, I did used to respect her… all I asked was to be treated like a person as opposed to an ATM and for my parents to meet me where I am at. She failed to do so and blames me every step of the way.

That’s okay though. I now understand why they are the way they are, the chains they still choose to carry, the morals they choose to uphold. I wish they would have chosen to show up for me how I needed them to, especially when I cried out for it; sometimes love comes with strings though and it’s up to us to figure out if that is the life we want to lead. I sure don’t, fuck that. I want a love that sees my wild as something to be glorified and praised. I want a love that holds me tenderly at my lows so that when I reach my highs again I am more confident in myself than I was before. I want a love that makes the effort to understand. Even if I am the only one giving my Self that love and faith that we will see a brighter day. Breaking generational patterns isn’t for the weak of heart.

So now I hold tight to the fact that I am simply in my Job era (it’s a book in the bible that is actually worth reading if you need reassurance of unwavering faith… and I don’t recommend books from the bible typically, so it’s worth a read), for my heart could never be described as weak. My name means “beloved” and my path has not been easy or light, yet I continue to find joy and love in my everyday life. I am trying to navigate this new season of healing to the best of my ability. I want to be more organized, I want to be more diligent, I want to be more focused, and because I finally rejected the role I was never meant to play I get to pave a new way for myself and my son.

It’s looking a little messy at the moment, but that’s the beauty of creating… things always look worse before they look exactly how you dreamed it!