As my kids near that end of the line of childhood and the beginning of college and independence, I hold two conflicting feelings in my heart: the absolute knowledge that they are capable, resilient and smart and an overwhelming need to protect them from ever having to leave the house.
Oh baby baby. It’s a wild world.
If you’d told me what I would endure in the four short years since I left my marital home and entered this big crazy world on my own—independent, capable, resilient—I may not have gone. I may have buried my head in chicken feathers and told myself, “It’s enough.”
Nothing I counted on happened. I failed. I got hurt. I hurt people I loved. I was so deeply betrayed that I will forever feel broken glass in the furthest recesses of my heart. I felt abuse, destruction, trauma, paralyzing terror. My support system slipped out beneath my feet. I faced financial difficulties. I weathered the COVID-19 pandemic and a global shutdown.
While raising teenagers.
I changed jobs four times. I loved and lost. People I loved died. My beloved dog died. I weathered these tragedies with my children.
I landed ever better jobs. I fostered a career. I met dignitaries. I traveled. I wrote. I fought for my kids. I got hurt and through gritted teeth and a clenched heart, I worked my ass off to stay open, to stay soft and to remember that I was put on this earth to love.
So here I am. My circle is smaller, but it is deep, true and unwavering. I am drawn less to the shiny things and increasingly to the difficult, interesting things. I value loyalty above all else.
I trust myself. I amuse myself. I am learning to love myself. For the longest time, I didn’t know what that even meant. But as I looked through my relationships—with my sister, my kids, my trusted friends—I see that love is an action verb. It’s not an infatuated feeling. It’s not butterflies and attraction.
Love is found in the acts we do. It’s in service. It’s in faith. It’s in steadfast loyalty. Love doesn’t make you small.
And so, to love myself, I’m learning to pour goodness inside. I’ve stopped poisoning myself with alcohol, toxic relationships, media. I’m working on letting in the good. It is vigilant work, but through all of this, I think I found the lesson.
I’m worthy.
For the women in the supermarket who want to know how it all worked out, I look up at them through scar-ridden skin, a bruised heart and a grin that shines from my gypsy soul and say, “Yeah. We are okay.”
We love you, but you know that. Also, it ain't over till the zaftig lady sings.