Supermom? For Real?!?!

Sunday, February 26, 2017

Mmmmmmokay; it's been quiet on the home front, yes? Nary a post since before Christmas and I'd loooove to say it's because I've been too busy with work to rap out a few lines here and there, but that wouldn't be the truth. Ah, the truth, how I'd love to hedge the truth...

My eternal struggle with the work/life/blog combo, is that I'm never sure how much to share. Do I just write pithy and encouraging fashion blogs about how to be the 'best you' (barf)? Or do I write about life with 3 kids and 3 jobs and an amazingly talented artist husband who has had spotty employment for the last 2 years? Is the sharing of that somehow going to make me look less professional, ya'know, if I allow you to see the squidgy parts of my life...?

My answer to this struggle came this week when I was called 'Supermom.' Ugh, Supermom... *aside* I say that with zero pride and 100% shame *end of aside*. It's been said before and I never (repeat, never) know what to say because it's so far from the truth. Organized, yup. put together, sure. But super? Nope.

Here's why I think I get dumped in that category and it carries its roots in my sad teenage story. I was profoundly sad and introverted most of my adolescent and teenage years. I made it a goal to be invisible and truly succeeded in that mission. I was very chubby and wore a uniform of jeans and hoodies; usually the same style hoodie in multiple colours. This was my uniform. High school was the Char equivalent of 'doing time' (for real, it was like jail without yard time) and my body type, my fashion choices, allowed me to fly under the radar until I was released. But, BUT, somewhere along the way I remember distinctly thinking "I don't need to be thin, or beautiful, or my perfect self to put effort into me now." So I started to care about getting ready in the morning. I made an effort. I marched out of high school and built on the 'self-care' effort into college, into young adulthood, and even into motherhood.

By the time I had my first kid, the principle of: get up, shower, get ready, care; was so well ingrained that I left the hospital post C-section with shaved legs and a dead cute dress on. I knew that, even though I felt like shit, was emotionally spun and overwhelmed, that I could truck through following the same principles that marched me out of depression in my earlier years (I firmly believe that our emotions will catch up to our actions if we're consistent, so I never "sit in it", "dwell"; acknowledge what's happening for sure, but never wallow in self-pity). And it proved to be true for me again. After about 8 weeks post baby, I started to feel normal.

Get up, shower, complete the day, repeat
This brings us right up to today: Supermom. Put together, organized, and totally struggling. Life has been hard the past few years. Full of grace for sure, but uncomfortable, character stretching, and sometimes just balls. Our family is experiencing the growing pains of launching freelance careers, which is exciting, exhilarating, and terrifying all rolled into one. We've had struggles with our kids and with difficult relationships in our lives. Hell, we've even had deaths in the family and ongoing health concerns. It's been so hard guys! We are a work in progress for sure. But, BUT, I will get up, shower, get dressed, and care about how I enter the day, every day, because that's what I do. I show up. I may feel like screaming expletives all alone in my van to burn off steam (not that I've done that... wait... I totally did that.., like, on Friday), but I'm all in. I will march out of the discomfort of life right now because I believe that there are better things coming. I will get dressed for the day that I want to have, not the day that I'm having. And I will apologize for the appearance that I have it all together, when I just don't, not even a little. We're a small family humbly living in God's grace.

Like I said, life is sometimes balls, but I will endure it and march through wearing fancy shoes, smelling like Chanel (okay, also shouting the occasional profanity and praying my way through ongoing stress & anxiety).

But Supermom? *insert spitty raspberry sound here*


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