To All the Mothers Before Me

Thank you for your strength. Thank you for your bravery. Thank you for the sleepless nights and exhausting days you had to overcome. 

Did you, too, wonder how your children would turn out to be?

Did you cry because you were scared in between the times you cried from happiness?

Did you, too, wonder how you were going to do it all, then come to realize no one really does it all?

You taught me kindness and patience. You taught me the world can move fast, but moments move slowly. Thank you for taking the time to pick the wild daffodils with me. They still remind me of you every year when they pop their yellow heads out of the earth, a sweet reminder that spring is on its way. I never once heard you complain about anything. How were you so selfless? How do I become more like that?

You were strong. Stronger than I think I’ll ever be. You had so many changes come your way, and you were there to adapt and start over every time.  I still hear your words of wisdom when life feels too hard. Did 5 kids drive you crazy? Will 1 kid drive me crazy? Was it all worth it? I don’t need you to answer that. I know it will be.

I now know why you would get home from work and would sit in the driveway for 20 minutes, or until someone would come out to ask you a stupid question and interrupt you from your only moment of peace that day. Did you ever feel like your voice was being forgotten; an afterthought of all of our thoughts? I hope you know how grateful I am to you for making all my soccer games, tennis matches, or school plays when I’m sure you had a top 20 list of other things you’d rather be doing. Your support allowed me to shine in ways I hadn’t yet discovered. 

It is a terrifying thing to wrap my mind around the idea of becoming a mother. 

Yes, of course, there are moments when I’m excited to meet my little one, excited to see if they’ll have his daddy’s eyes or her momma’s eagerness to laugh. Excited to hold them for the first time and feel the type of protective love I’ve never felt before. 

The truth is, I’ve lived about 95% of my 31 years on this earth thinking I don’t want to have kids.

It’s a weird change.

It’s strange to see your friend’s kids and think They’re so cute, I want one vs. my recurring thought of they’re so cute, I’m glad I get to go home and be in silence later.

What if I’m not good enough? What if they hate me? What if I never get my toned body back after carrying a child? What if I lose myself in the identity that is now mostly defined by a tiny little person I can’t control? 

What if it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me?

What if all the mothers before me were teaching me that it’s okay to simultaneously be a mom and their own individual? What if, even if they didn’t get that luxury for themselves, it’s what they wanted for me more than anything? 

What if they were still here to meet my child, and teach them, like they have taught me, to be kind and strong and wise? What if the reason I am still here, is to teach my child all the things I was taught, even if there is no written lesson plan?

The mothers before me all have something in common: They all loved their children. And so, out of every other skill they have passed to me, this one stands out the most. 

Maybe I’ll never stop being scared. Maybe I’ll always wonder if I’m doing everything wrong, and I won’t get that much-needed sleep I crave. Maybe this little tiny human will bring me more joy than I’ve ever experienced. 

I know one thing for certain: I am an accumulation of all the mothers who have come before me. I have the strength and kindness within me that they had, and I have the love they have passed to me. I will gladly continue to pass it on to the next generation. 

I will love the next generation as often and as fiercely as I can, because they might need it one day, just like I need it now. 

Forward Movement

As the snow crunched under my feet, I looked up the hill to see the sun shining through the trees, its warmth providing the slightest bit of mercy to those crazy enough to be out here. There was a steady stream of thoughts running through my head: 

“Why did you do this?”

“How much longer do I have?”

“Another hill...really?”

“I’m not having fun anymore.”

“You don’t even LIKE running.”

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

When I look back now, it probably wasn’t what most people would call a good idea or even a fun way to spend a Saturday. The week before, I ended my training, planning to run a 10-mile race. When I found out I could run an additional 11 free of charge, I thought, “Why not?” and was now in the middle of a 21-mile trail run.

I was starting to question why my impulse decisions couldn’t be in the “buy a new outfit” category. 

With an IT band that was not fully recovered from a fall a month prior to the race, anyone in their right mind would have told me this was too much. Luckily, I didn’t ask anyone in their right mind for their opinion.

Around mile 15, I started to think I was about to die. My legs were so tired that I didn’t want to move, and I was getting extremely hangry. Yet, there was somehow a clarity to being out in the cold running over hills that were so steep they seemed out of place in Indiana. The morning snow had melted to leave a sparkling glisten on the dried leaves crunching under my feet with every step.

I looked over to my dear, sweet friend who was on her 25th mile out of the 31 she would soon accomplish (Yes, my friends are more badass than me). “Forward movement,” she said in one declarative statement. The phrase left no room for interpretation or bartering. There was only one way out of the woods, and that was to press on.

“Forward movement,” I said in agreeance with a nod that said, “This sucks, but you’re right, and we are in it together.”

That race has almost been eight months ago, but I remember very specifically a few things about my time in the woods.

First, I can do things I thought were impossible. All I have to do is really want it.

Second, Skittles taste better when you’ve earned them.

Third, Forward movement.

I don’t need to tell you this, but the past year has been a surprise shit show for all of us. Everyone is getting hit with 2020 differently, but I would venture to say that it hasn’t been great for anyone. Life as we knew it has vanished and the absence of normality has me experiencing loneliness on a deeper level than ever before. When my thoughts start to become as dark as the bottom of the ocean, I try to stop and think of myself completing a spontaneous 21-mile race. There were many times my legs were burning, and I felt stuck between the feeling of passing out and wanting a nap. That’s when I would tell myself those two powerful words: Forward movement.

We don’t have to move fast, and it doesn’t need to be pretty, we just have to put one foot in front of the other.

I’m not telling you the story of my 21 miles to brag about my accomplishment. The opposite actually. If you want to know the truth, I literally just got done watching a video of MYSELF doing push-ups last summer with perfect form and had the thought, “Why can’t I do that?”

…I’m sorry, what did you just say?! YOU ARE THE ONE DOING THAT. Just because you let quarantine hit just like everyone else doesn’t mean you can never do that again. It just means you’ve got to work for it. You’ve got to become the best version of yourself just like you have before. It doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy…it means it’s achievable.

One. Step. At. A. Time.

We can curl up in a ball and wait until the year is over, or we could focus on moving forward, whatever that looks like for you. No one can tell you what your own life should look like.

Lost your job in April and still relying on unemployment checks? Forward movement.

Kids driving you crazy? Forward movement.

Had your 10-year plan figured out and God had a different idea for you? Forward movement.

Find out your husband wasn’t who you thought he was? Forward movement.

Have to say no to vacation so you can pay off that debt that’s been eating at you for years? Forward movement.

You don’t have to figure out all the answers today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day.

Just keep moving forward.

You have permission to fall flat on your face on a daily basis. You have permission to question why your life is falling apart. You even have permission to get mad at the number of hard decisions you’ve already had to make. But we can do this. We can and will get back up, time and time again to keep pressing on.

This year has sucked. In the last three months, it seems like every big decision I’ve had to make has been one of letting go.

Letting go of free time.

Letting go of relationships.

Letting go of friendships.

Letting go of my dogs.

I so badly yearn for a time when I can get to a place where I don’t have to make the nauseating decision to let go, yet again. 

“It builds character,” they say. 

I hate that. I don’t want to build any more character this year. I want a break.

At times, I want to give up.

There were many times I wanted to give up in the 21-miles, but I didn’t. There are many times you’re going to want to give up in life, but you won’t. When I crossed that finish line, I couldn’t believe what I had just accomplished.

Me. The me who hadn’t been a runner a year prior. The me who had been told I would be nothing without him. The me who always told myself I wasn’t the athletic one of the family.

We are stronger than we think. Life is guaranteed to be an uphill run, but we have always had it within us to do great things, whether we knew it or not. 

So I’m the friend who’s here, running beside you. Running with you.

I’m telling you the phrase that leaves no room for interpretation or bartering:

Forward movement. 

Maybe one day we will look back on this time and think, “Holy crap. If I can make it through that, I can make it through anything.”

We have always had it inside us to keep going.

Until Next time,

Abbie