Home Is Where You Make It - Even Without Family Nearby

This post was originally published on Her View From Home.

It wasn’t a decision that was made lightly. I didn’t think it would be forever, maybe just temporary. Freshly married, off we went into the unknown, leaving behind our families and the town we grew up in, where we had always called home. It wasn’t easy, but we did it.

That doesn’t mean I don’t miss the place I grew up. That doesn’t mean everything is super easy without any family around to help out. That doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t ache for my kids who can’t just take a 5-minute drive to their grandparent’s house like I did growing up. That doesn’t mean I don’t get teary-eyed knowing grandparents and great-grandparents are missing milestones in our lives I know they’d love to see. That doesn’t mean I don’t ponder on what is lost because we made the decision to move away.

That also doesn’t mean I regret making the decision. It just means it was thoroughly thought out, and it was one my heart had trouble making. I’m glad we made the decision to pack up and move away from all we had known because I think I needed to.

Moving away made me grow up. I had to.

Just because you get married, doesn’t mean you automatically become more mature overnight. When you later have a child, it doesn’t automatically give you a sound mind that makes all the right decisions. (Boy, don’t I wish).

Moving away taught me to rely more on myself and that I was capable of doing things—even the hard ones. Moving away made my husband and I rely on each other instead of on our herds of family members in the town we had just left. It gave us room to grow, separately and together, and now I hope it has given our children the courage to see the world.

Sitting here in my home in a state I never thought I would be living in, I’m happy.

We made hard choices and fought many battles to get here, but here we are nonetheless. We have made a new place home, and I love it. I love the fresh faces, new scenery, and previously unheard of opportunity that the new place I call home brings my family. I wouldn’t go back to change a single thing that brought me here and I sure don’t want to uproot my family from the place I’m contently and happily calling home. The place my kids will get the chance to call home as they grow.

I never want my kids to think they have to live where I do just because of familial obligation, pressure, or because they thought they never had the chance to leave where they grew up. Part of me thinks my kids may end up in the place I grew up, one day raising their own families. Nothing would bring me more joy than to know they had the courage and freedom to make that choice themselves. If they end up next door to me, I know my heart would rejoice more than anything, but I want them to do it because they want to.

Choosing where to live and raise a family is a monumental decision, and I don’t think anyone takes it lightly.

It’s even harder on the people who choose to lock in on a place that is away from all the people they know and love. It takes courage, heart, and a whole lot of determination. There’s fear, sometimes there is regret, uncertainty, and questioning. Occasionally, there’s longing for the people you love and there are tears when your children ask to go see their grandparents but they can’t.

But, there are planes and interstates. There are family vacations and FaceTime. There are cell phones and landlines. There are stamps for letters and there are packages that can be sent.

There will be love no matter where you decide to call home. There will be opportunities and support, too. You will make new friends who become like family to you, and boy, are they great. There will be long-awaited visits, both coming and going. There will be excitement and sadness. There will be chaos of emotions almost all the time. That’s life. But I can testify, there is freedom in allowing yourself to face the unknown and to chase opportunity.

There will be joy in finding a place to call home for your family.

Seek it.

Find it.

No matter where it ends up being, allow yourself to be happy.

Home is where you make it.

Dear Tired Mom, It's OK To Say No

This post was originally published on Her View From Home.

If the global pandemic has taught me anything at all, I’ve learned it’s OK to say no. I do not have to justify to anyone my reasoning for saying no.

No is a complete sentence and an answer.

I used to let the overwhelming possibility of missing out on life keep me from saying no. Well, not anymore. Now that I have barely left my house for almost four months, I’ve discovered I can miss out on stuff and (gasp!) still survive.

I still have friends. I’m still happy. I’ve realized my kids don’t know, or even care, what they’re missing if they never knew it was on the table in the first place.

I was the one who held that weight on my shoulders—weight I put there myself.

Don’t want another thing on your weekly to-do list? Don’t sign your kid up for that activity.

Say no to the demanding child. It won’t kill them. That’s right, I said it. Let them pitch the fit in the middle of Target over being told a big, fat no. I guarantee more women will be staring at you because of your guts than due to your crying kid.

Stand up for the way you choose to parent. Don’t let someone else belittle you, make you feel less than, or question what you’re doing. You are your child’s parent. Own it and don’t let people try to convince you otherwise. On the flip side, if you do make a mistake, then own that, too. Our kids deserve apologies the same as adults.

If you’re tired, then say no.

You don’t have to go to every girl’s night. You don’t have to meet up with family every single time they extend the invite. You don’t need to feel guilty if you don’t want to go to the park with your kids. Stay home in the AC all day and watch what it does for your soul.

You don’t have to do all the traveling for every. single. holiday. Do not do this to yourself. Roads run in all directions. People can come see you, too. If they don’t, then maybe that one’s on them?

Don’t want to cook dinner? Then say no. Tell the kids (and the big kid—ahem, I mean husband) to fend for themselves. Let them have cereal or frozen waffles or whatever they like. They’ll probably love you more for it anyway.

Do not let the weight of saying no hold you down. If anything, saying no just might free you.

I Wanted A Big Family But I've Reached My Mothering Limit

This post was originally published on Her View From Home.

These past few months have been . . . a lot. I honestly don’t have the words to articulate all the feelings I’ve had since the world turned upside down in March. I don’t ever feel like I can rightly discuss all that’s happening. I’m not informed enough, information changes too fast, I’ve been inside the bubble of my home for months on end, and I rarely turn the news on because it gives me anxiety and I don’t want to bring fear into my home that my kids will easily be able to pick up on—this list could go on forever.

Over these past few months, I have discovered I have hard limits.

I think we all have figured that out lately. As moms, we have had more thrown onto our plates than ever before and the mental load has become disastrously large for most. By the time my kids go to bed at the end of the day, it takes all I can do to simply pick a few things up and not leave a mound of dishes in the kitchen sink before I crash into bed myself.

I have never been so tired in my life yet unable to sleep due to sheer panic/anxiety/worry/fear/exhaustion/whatever you want to call it. At the beginning of the year, I jokingly said that my only goal for 2020 was to survive and, boy, what a tasteless joke that has turned out to be.

My kids have taught me more about myself than anyone or anything else ever has, and the pandemic has shown me that in epic proportions. I would follow my kids to the end of the earth (what mama wouldn’t?), but y’all, they have worn me out beyond repair and it’s only August. I have cooked and cleaned so much I’d rather just not eat than stand at the stove making another meal. I have opened and closed the back door so many times I’m pretty sure it needs new hinges. I have gotten so many snacks for tiny hands that if anyone yells “Snack!” at me again I might just lie on the floor and officially give up. There is enough laundry in my hallway right now that needs to be folded and put away for 18 people, but only four people live in my house. If it wasn’t for my husband stepping up and doing more than his share, I think 2020 would’ve already done me in.

2020, and this pandemic specifically, has opened my eyes to my limits. Every person has a breaking point. A person can only fit so much on their plate before it starts to crack and things start falling off.

I want to be a good mom, wife, sister, daughter, friend, cousin, aunt, and church member. I want to be able to not feel like my world is spiraling out of control. I want to be able to put effort into my marriage, into my personal dreams, and I want to give my kids the attention they deserve. I can’t do any of these things if I am spreading myself so thin there’s none of me left for anyone.

I know that if I had another kid to take care of inside my home right now I think my head would pop off my body.

I mean it, y’all. I just couldn’t do it.

Don’t come at me saying I shouldn’t have had kids, this is what I signed up for, I’m a terrible mother, etc. My kids are my joy and no one knew we would be parenting through a freaking global pandemic. Sure, I could use more patience and a break from my kids most of the time, but that doesn’t make me a bad mom.

The months-long home lockdown has shown my true colors in a lot of things. I’ve learned that in order to be the best mom for my kids, the best wife to my husband, and the best version of myself, I can’t have the house full of kids I thought I wanted.

I have learned that there is not enough of me to go around to make that possible.

And you know what? That’s OK.

A global pandemic turned most of our lives upside down and made us question most, if not all, of what we do. We have all had to reevaluate life trajectories and family goals. During these times we’ve all had to re-budget and dig a little deeper into our hearts to find the faith needed to sustain us.

I think this pandemic has shown me my weaknesses and strengths. It has opened my eyes to what I need to learn and what I need to tinker on inside of my own heart. I have been able to spend more time with my kids than ever before and I didn’t even think that was possible.

I want to be the best mom I can be and now I know I can’t do that if I am spread too thin to be even just myself.

Moms come in all forms, and some of the most mothering people I know don’t have any kids at all.

The number of kids you have living inside of your home does not make you any more or less of a mom. Please, don’t ever let anyone make you think that.

I'm A Recovering Perfectionist

This post was originally published on Her View From Home.

Before kids and honestly, even almost up until I had my second child, my Type A personality led to toxic perfectionism in my life. I wasn’t aware of my unrealistically high, perfect standards being detrimental. I thought I simply had boundaries and standards and was adult enough to be aware of them and strive to live according to them. 

Boy, was I way off the mark.

Scheduling works for me. I’m a planner through and through, both with my physical planner and the calendar app on my phone. (Excessive, I know, but bear with me). I thrive on routines, and honestly, my kids do, too, so these are essentially my lifeline. I want nothing more than a clean house, things organized and put in their place at the end of the day, and nothing makes me happier than clear communication even if it takes a little more effort.

Now don’t get me wrong, all of these things are great and have a place in life, but allowing ridiculously high levels of perfectionism to rule your life can become heavily detrimental.

I was becoming so caught up in what I wanted my life to be like that I was letting everything else pass me by.

I didn’t see my husband bending over backward, doing his absolute best, to try to please me and reach my high standards. I was only aware of how he was falling short of what I expected although I never verbalized my expectations—I simply thought he knew. This hurt our relationship. Thankfully, now we are fine, but it took him pointing out the error in my ways to make things better. I had to let go of who I used to be and adapt to my new life of mom and SAHM in order to get me out of my downward spiral.

Adapt and overcome should be the motto of motherhood.

We constantly have to go with the flow and change our plans, even when that’s the last thing we want to do. You have to grow in more ways than one when you become a spouse, and then again when you become a mom for the first time, and even more so when you have more children. Being aware of this and letting go of my perfectionist ways literally changed my life for the better. 

I used to think I could do all the things, be all the places, and be all the people I was supposed to be: wife, mom, daughter, sister, friend, church member. Now I realize I can do all of these things and be all of these people, I have simply realized I just can’t do them all at the same time. That is the key, my friends.

You absolutely can be the good wife, spend time with your kids, limit screen time, cook healthy meals, exercise, work, run all the errands, call your parents, sleep, see your friends, and have a hobby.

You simply can’t do them all at once—not on the same day, and honestly, maybe not even in the same month.

Realizing this unrealistic, completely toxic standard I had set for myself was a turning point in my life. Letting go of it took some major adjustments, some I still work on daily, but being aware of the fact that my perfectionism was becoming a problem was monumental.

Now instead of being consumed with a checklist of things that need to be done, I’m doing my best to be more aware of when I am letting a toxic perfectionist thought creep in and take over my mind. It isn’t the end of the world if the dishes sit in the sink overnight, or even for two days.

But, it is the end of the world if I let moments with my kids slip by because I am so consumed with my house and life being in Type A order.

This lifestyle change took a lot of effort. I still work on it daily. But I’m here to tell you there is light at the end of the tunnel. If you feel completely overwhelmed and like you can’t ever accomplish anything on your never-ending to-do list, then hear me out. Take a step back and evaluate if your standards are set much too high. Step back and see if you are prioritizing the wrong things at the wrong time and if that is the source of your consuming thoughts and stress.

There is a time for everything. Just remember you can’t do it all at once, and you can’t do it all alone. Hang in there, mama.

It's OK If Your First Child Breaks You

This post was originally published on Her View From Home.

My first child broke me. He split me right apart. Broke my heart and mind into tiny pieces I never thought would go back together.

Absolutely none of it was his fault. Not even the tiniest bit of it. He was simply the catalyst. That precious little boy turned me into a mama and, therefore, knocked my world off its axis. My head spun for months with no real direction.

I wasn’t prepared in the slightest. And even that feels like the understatement of the decade.

My sweet first-born threw me into a new world of less me and more we. I was no longer an independent woman—I had a tiny human I had to cater to, raise, and most importantly, keep alive. My days were long and my nights were even longer.

I questioned every single move I made daily, to the point of causing nearly debilitating anxiety.

I lacked the energy and personality I had pre-kid. I didn’t have the desire to change out of pajamas, much less leave the house. I didn’t care to engage in conversation with my husband, or really anyone else, anymore—I was too tired to try, and I sure didn’t want to argue. (Why does no one talk about the post-baby marriage exhaustion? It’s a real thing.)

I retreated into a person I didn’t recognize. I truly struggled.

But, I eventually overcame.

I didn’t realize having a child would be as difficult as it was. I didn’t realize how much my life would change. Call it oblivion, immaturity, or just general cluelessness. Maybe you could chalk it up to only seeing the good things on social media about having a baby. Who knows, really? I’m leaning toward a mixture of a little bit of all of it.

Why didn’t anyone tell me this? People always make out the hard part to be the labor and delivery—the actual act of pushing the baby out. Don’t get me wrong, that’s hellacious in its own right, but I didn’t realize that the true hardships come once you bring that baby home.

You attempt to change your entire life, literally, almost overnight. It’s earth-shattering.

If I could go back and tell my pre-kid self anything it would be this: it’s OK if your first child breaks you.

My sweet, precious, first baby boy taught me more than anyone else ever has, and probably ever will. I needed to be broken. I needed to fall apart. I needed to experience all the things I did because it made me into the person, and mama, I am now. I needed him to do it.

My second child was a vastly different experience.

I learned not to question my every move. I learned mother’s intuition is a real thing and I should listen to it. She showed me I don’t necessarily have to do things by the book.

As I held her as a newborn in my arms while I watched my toddler son play, I realized I am capable. I am enough. I do have the ability to do this all over again.

Yes, it was hard the first time. So incredibly hard. Truly, nothing could have prepared me for it. But the second go-around—I was ready. Wiser. Less scared. More in the groove of being a mom. More in tune with the baby, and even more in tune with the now-toddler running around.

My first-born made me question everything in me.

My second child helped me realize I am a good mom. I can do this.

I can learn from my first experience and I can prosper. I can love my babies, teach them, and grow with them. I can let go of the fear of the unknown I carried bottled inside with my first child. I can now face the unknown head-on because I know it’s OK to figure it all out as I go. No one has it all figured out. (And if they say they do, they’re lying).

My sweet children have shown me more about the world in less than three years than any other experience in life ever could. They each have shaped me and molded me into a better person in their own tiny, unique ways.

My first child broke me. But, I needed it.

Maybe I needed to grow up. Maybe I needed to be brought out of my oblivion. Maybe I needed to be less selfish. Maybe I needed to realign my life priorities. Maybe it was a combination of all of that and more. I may never know the truth, but I know I wouldn’t be the mama I am today without it.