Recently, I was reading up on my Facebook posts (I've been trying, with moderate success, to cut back on the time I waste, er, spend on social media) and a young friend of mine posted this beautiful post about how "what you focus on is what your life becomes" and "attitude is everything" and "the world is what you make of it".
I've become somewhat of a cynic is my curmudgeonly age of 31, because when I read (and inevitably repost) those "inspirational" messages, I sometimes find myself laughing so hard I snort.
This friend graduated college three years ago and just finished her first year teaching English to high school students. She is single and carefree with a dog who is "just like" her child, a very active social life, and about a zillion friends who like every time she posts a workout photo or a #Shakeology advertisement.
And the thing is, I remember being her.
I remember being young and not having worries, at least not serious ones.
I remember late nights studying lines for the play I was in and early mornings rushing to class.
I remember being stressed beyond belief in college and thinking "This is the hardest thing, I've ever done!"
I remember being bone tired working and student teaching full time.
I remember.
And now, I also remember the lightness that I took for granted.
Time came along. Time taught me perspective. It made an imprint.
Time turned my worries from passing my PRAXIS to feeding my children and making the rent.
Time turned my stress from making it to class on time to knowing that if I couldn't find a job, I'd lose my children.
Time turned working 50 hours a week and dropping into bed exhausted look like a cakewalk compared to 24/7 parenting with no sleep and endless frustration.
Time made me heavy.
This time of year, I feel the weight increase slightly, if only temporarily. This time of year is the Lent to my Easter. This time of year, I fell in love with a man I had no right to fall in love with. This time of year, I realized my marriage was a lie and that I couldn't remember what happiness felt like. This time of year, I was pregnant with my baby boy and his father was walking away and never looking back.
But this time of year, in 4 days, this time of year, God sent me my son. This time of year, soon, I embarked on the most difficult and rewarding journey there is; the journey of raising three children on my own.
No amount of attitude adjustment can take my mind off of it. No amount of will power will occupy my thoughts with anything else.
What's beautiful though, and what I've learned, is that the past me, the one I remember so long ago, knew nothing. She felt, but not completely. She was just as a young girl should be - hopeful, energetic, and completely wrapped up in a joyful life. She is as my friend is. But I don't envy her. The me that is emerging from reality may not be as carefree. She may not laugh as often or as freely and she may be bitter and a little off-putting at times. But she is wiser. She is braver. She is more grateful and her life is more colorful and full. She has more perspective and understanding. She is both more confident and more humble. She is more compassionate. She has stretchmarks on her belly, a door where her children emerged and scars on her heart that might never heal. She is real.
She is me. Imprinted with the brand of time.
I've become somewhat of a cynic is my curmudgeonly age of 31, because when I read (and inevitably repost) those "inspirational" messages, I sometimes find myself laughing so hard I snort.
This friend graduated college three years ago and just finished her first year teaching English to high school students. She is single and carefree with a dog who is "just like" her child, a very active social life, and about a zillion friends who like every time she posts a workout photo or a #Shakeology advertisement.
And the thing is, I remember being her.
I remember being young and not having worries, at least not serious ones.
I remember late nights studying lines for the play I was in and early mornings rushing to class.
I remember being stressed beyond belief in college and thinking "This is the hardest thing, I've ever done!"
I remember being bone tired working and student teaching full time.
I remember.
And now, I also remember the lightness that I took for granted.
Time came along. Time taught me perspective. It made an imprint.
Time turned my worries from passing my PRAXIS to feeding my children and making the rent.
Time turned my stress from making it to class on time to knowing that if I couldn't find a job, I'd lose my children.
Time turned working 50 hours a week and dropping into bed exhausted look like a cakewalk compared to 24/7 parenting with no sleep and endless frustration.
Time made me heavy.
This time of year, I feel the weight increase slightly, if only temporarily. This time of year is the Lent to my Easter. This time of year, I fell in love with a man I had no right to fall in love with. This time of year, I realized my marriage was a lie and that I couldn't remember what happiness felt like. This time of year, I was pregnant with my baby boy and his father was walking away and never looking back.
But this time of year, in 4 days, this time of year, God sent me my son. This time of year, soon, I embarked on the most difficult and rewarding journey there is; the journey of raising three children on my own.
No amount of attitude adjustment can take my mind off of it. No amount of will power will occupy my thoughts with anything else.
What's beautiful though, and what I've learned, is that the past me, the one I remember so long ago, knew nothing. She felt, but not completely. She was just as a young girl should be - hopeful, energetic, and completely wrapped up in a joyful life. She is as my friend is. But I don't envy her. The me that is emerging from reality may not be as carefree. She may not laugh as often or as freely and she may be bitter and a little off-putting at times. But she is wiser. She is braver. She is more grateful and her life is more colorful and full. She has more perspective and understanding. She is both more confident and more humble. She is more compassionate. She has stretchmarks on her belly, a door where her children emerged and scars on her heart that might never heal. She is real.
She is me. Imprinted with the brand of time.
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