Balance

Balance. Juggling. Teetering on the edge of 'having it all together' and 'watching it all fall apart'. There is no recipe. I think what I mean is being able to let go of unrealistic expectations that I’ve put on myself in exchange for a reality that is less than perfect, and more filled with grace. 

I was wrapped up in what others may think of me for a long time. I felt like I was in this awful place like limbo. Stuck. Where did I fit? I didn’t. I looked around and saw no one that I could relate to. I am an emotional, relational being by nature. I tend to navigate life through words and feelings. Like echolocation. I bounce off of the words and experience of others and sort out what feels right and truthful to me and let more of that into my world. It’s much easier to put into words now. Back then I just felt out of control. 

When we started our family there was no one I knew in the same situation as me. With no point of reference to anchor me, I fell to extremes. I took what I thought being a mom, wife, college-ager looked like and tried to manifest those perceptions. It was overwhelming. A foundation set up for failure. 

Part of the healing process (and a big part of our lives from then on) has been intentionally having conversations with Mike about what is important to us. These conversations become a compass of sorts, one that keeps us on track and moving towards the family we want to be. 

For our family what this looks like (ever evolving!) may be abandoning the chores for the evening and foregoing a cooked dinner in lieu of hurriedly packed picnic food and a long bike ride to the lake. It may mean that we opt out of a get-together with friends for a family hike in the mountains. Or that we kiss bedtimes goodbye and have a movie night. It may mean that after a particularly stressful day, Mike takes the kids to the library so I can decompress by watching tv and taking a long shower (without kids in the bathroom with me! Win!) Balance may mean being intentional about carving out time to reconnect, because even living in the same house, there are times where Mike and I seem to be on clouds that float by each other, co-existing but not really interacting.

As I write this, there is a big boy reading upstairs, girls doing math on either side of me, a baby driving a train on the floor next to my chair, and Thomas and Friends on the tube. And we’re all in our pjs at 11:30 am. We aren’t living in a magazine. It’s far from the picture of perfection that had a hold on me so many years ago, but it’s our perfect. It fits. And every day we get to live this crazy life, I am amazed and grateful.