"I need a date with myself - I just need to be only Elizabeth for a bit," I tell my husband as we schedule some free time on the calendar for me.
"What are you going to do?" He often asks.
"Whatever I feel like in that moment."
I give myself permission to uncomplicate my life - to remember what brought child-Elizabeth awe and wonder.
Uncomplicating requires shucking some layers. This is the internal work I often must do.
First, comes the protective shell. The one that feels a little rough to the touch, the one where my watchful eyes scan for any sight of hurt or danger looming on the horizon.
Second comes peeling back the friend, women's leader, sponsor, and doula layers - the layers that speak of coffee dates and text messages, of encouragement and listening to stories, of support and meals and information.
Then, the layer of motherhood, where I'm constantly trying to keep up with and disciple a curious and active toddler. This is the layer where I try to avoid being dive-bombed when nursing and I have bruises from those ever-moving feet.
Next, comes the wife layer and all the things I do to steward and nurture our marriage, home, and business. This layer is movement - bouncing ideas back and forth, fighting frustration at the merging of two very different people, the craziness of doing life with my best friend, and the snuggling up together at the end of a full day.
Underneath all of these layers, there is still me. The curious and talkative young girl with a big smile: bringer of "double joy" - that's what was prophesied over me in my mother's womb.
Elizabeth: creative dabbler, nature noticer, world wanderer, literary lover, curious communicator.
I give myself permission to create daily space for the life-giving practices that bring me awe and wonder.
I weave these practices in between naps and scattered toys. I tuck the moments in while perched on one of our bean bags or our cold concrete porch while Jael plays at her water table. I have also learned to schedule time alone, where I don't have to be on guard and responsible as in my mom role. Sometimes it's as simple as picking up a book or a conversation with a friend. Other times, it is exploring a new coffee shop sipping cold brew and feasting my eyes on a novel.
Creative Dabbler
A stack of magazines seems to have taken up permanent residence beside my couch, occasionally being torn into by my toddler, or me as I piece together a collage or create a visual for a written piece.
The watercolors have narrowly avoided being mixed with coffee instead of water when my paintbrush absentmindedly slips into the wrong cup as I doodle and paint. The thin black line of the Sharpie marker creates boundary lines as I draw, while the temperamental nature of watercolors adds an air of unpredictability.
My fingers itch to write, but being tired of sloppy scrawling, I usually grab my laptop to type. Sometimes the words flow out like a rubber river raft, swiftly navigating obstacles and currents. Other days the words are a caged lion, wanting to be free but held captive by steel bars of expectation. When I do write, it is like a breathe of air I didn't even know I was holding releases from my lungs.
Magazines, glue, fabric, and just about any other material I can get my hands on become fodder for creation and play.
I might have fifteen minutes or an hour, but the moving of my hands plucks thought-threads in my mind, untangling them and weaving tapestries. As I create, it pulls my heart strings tighter to that of My Creator, an inventive alignment.
Nature Noticer
When my focus feels too broad or life seems overwhelming, I practice noticing nature. Honing in, I tuck bits of a tiny flower or a patterned acorn top into my plastic bag to view later or hold my phone camera the perfect distance away to get a byte of the stigma and petals of a flower. I notice magenta clematis trellising up a telephone pole. I admire how a tree's roots curl around a rock like fingers around a marble.
I've been slowly logging hours on the 1000 Hours Outside app as Jael and I trek through the woods and meander around the neighborhoods.
to pause, notice
to breathe deeply of fresh air
to move my body gently
"Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better." - Albert Einstein.
Gathering these bits & bytes reminds me that even the sparrow is taken care of and the flowers are clothed in splendor. That I don't know what tomorrow holds, but if the trees were made to withhold storms, than so can I. I can flourish in each changing season, even if I feel a little more bare or shaken.
God's heart for details shines gloriously in nature, a gentle whisper that I too am grandly designed.
World Wanderer
I was recently in Florida on vacation.
“What do you think, E, could you live in Sarasota full-time?” my dad asked me as we biked around the village.
“Honestly, I think I would be able to live anywhere I put my mind to,” I responded.
And really, this has proven true in my life as I’ve lived in places as vastly different as the entertainment capital of the world Las Vegas and Fort Loudon, a tiny valley village.
There are definitely elements I tend to prefer – high nature areas (mountains and water being highlights for me) with places to go to engage people. But honestly, give me a coffee shop I can sneak away to and a sense of adventure and I can make it work. The happy din and bustle of people does wonders for my soul – a happy hum of productivity in the air running parallel with the caffeine buzz in my blood.
I love visiting places and learning the streets and local places. There’s a sense of knowing, and in a way, being known by places. Surely the sidewalk remembers the tread of my feet as I explore in my knock-off Birks, my favorite local café holding my lightheartedness and sense of freedom.
Whether I'm researching a new hiking trail, day tripping to a town around me to check it out, or mapping out a road trip, I'm learning to be a student of the world.
It’s a rhythm of a sort, new places and me. Or maybe it's a siren's song - calling me back to the tension of trying to carve a place of belonging out no matter where I am and an urge to grasp the familiar while fascinated with the colorful contradictions of what I thought I knew.
Literary Lover
I probably have 2 books coming in the mail I've ordered, at least one full cubby of books at home waiting to be read, an endless To Be Read list on Goodreads and the library sending me email notifications about books I've ordered in waiting to be picked up. There is something so comforting about a good novel, transporting me to another world. Memoirs bequeath courage in the form of common people doing both ordinary and extraordinary things. Chick-lit makes for a light and humorous read as I start to fall asleep at night, and audiobooks make folding stacks of laundry way more entertaining.
I've been quite distracted with my reading time lately and am practicing setting a timer for fifteen minutes to get back into the discipline of reading daily. There is something about a well-written book that reminds me to live and cultivate my own story, but given the gift to escape reality is also much needed some days.
While I'll curl up in my bean bag and read while Jael plays around the house, I still take a long read and nap in the hammock when I get the chance.
Curious Communicator
People are a curious sort to me. You can often find me questioning strangers at the market about their lives or listening to someone's birth story. Or chatting with moms while we push strollers or supervise kids. Or getting an evening away from home to chat doula business with friends. I ask questions, and sometimes smack a hand over my mouth when I realize I most definitely said something out loud that I was thinking.
I'm thankful for the gift of conversation, and I'm thankful that conversation defies parameters placed on it. It can happen anywhere, with almost anyone, and something can be learned or gained.
"Again with the coffee!" my future biographers will probably complain when they observe me yet again with a mug in my hand as I talk to friends.
I was made to communicate and connect, and I have permission to do that in whatever way works best for my season.
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Each of these traits - creative dabbler, nature noticer, world wanderer, literary lover, curious communicator - hold a key to a healthy me. They teach me the arts of delight & curiosity. So each day, I give myself the permission to be still me, Elizabeth. I can uncomplicate as much as possible and hold the space for awe-inducing practices. The roles I have in life should not erase the gifts placed inside me. Being a mom doesn't mean embracing martyrdom, nor do I get any rewards for driving my mind like a slave-master.
I give myself permission to take good care of my mind and body.
I give myself permission to giggle at silly things.
I give myself permission to take naps and rest.
I give myself permission to grow in my writing and expressions of creativity.
I give myself permission to make mistakes and to learn as I grow.
I give myself permission to drink deeply of the gift of grace.
Madonna says, "Poor is the man whose pleasures depend on the permission of another."
Elizabeth says, "Wealthy is the woman whose growth is found in the permission she gives herself."
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This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Permission Slip".
I loved the idea of shedding the different layers of obligation in order to get to the part of yourself that’s still who you were as a child!
ReplyDeleteThank you! It's been interesting to have to mentally unpack the roles in my mind, because they often layer so quickly, coloring my perspective in different ways!
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