It's difficult to be gentle with myself.
As in, actually being kind, thoughtful, sensitive, empathetic, and understanding...of myself.
That sounds super odd to admit, but I'm thinking I'm probably not alone in this.
The thing is, there is NO one that will be more gentle with myself than ME. (Outside of God, obviously.) So if I'm not treating myself gently, then good grief...I feel bad for myself. Because of myself. I am my own worst problem sometimes.
It's incredible, the short leash I extend to my own self. I wouldn't say I expect perfection, but I don't take the big picture into consideration when I view myself. I tend to zoom in, all freakishly close, to peer at the spot that's lacking...the place I'm messing up. Then I beat myself up, lay on a thick helping of guilt, and do some good old fashioned griping, at.myself. Super helpful, I am, to me.
It's pretty insane. When I stop to think how ridiculous it actually is.
They say that admitting your problem is the first step to getting better. So there it is, I'm rather rough with myself, and I hope to be much more gentle.
More kind, thoughtful, sensitive, empathetic and understanding...of myself. The person I know inside and out, pretty darn well. It's time to start loving her a little sweeter.
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Planting & Budding
(Found in my drafts from almost two years ago...but still true of our hearts today)
The only way to really be able to handle this fostering thing is to accept these children as my own.
Confession? I enjoy other people's kids, but there is always a stopping point.
Yes please, let me cuddle your newborn. I'll sit for hours, inhaling that richly sweet aroma and rubbing my chin on its downy fluff of hair. But change it's exploding poop diaper? Get drenched in chunky, putrid spit up? Uh…pass.
Yes, I'll watch your toddler while you have a date night. I'll read stories, have tickle fests, and snuggle watching Elmo all evening. But change that one's man poop pull up? Get yelled at when I give the wrong snack, get snotted/drooled on during our cuddle sesh? Uh…pass for sure.
Why is it that there's always, undoubtedly an end to where my affections lie? It must be some tragic personality flaw…but I'm owning it.
So with this fostering thing, kids, not born to me, are dropped off at our house…and we are supposed to care for them. Day in, day out. All the cuddles, all the tantrums, all the poop diapers, all the spit up and snot. All of it.
Some people advised us to not get too attached. To keep a distance emotionally, in order to "protect our hearts".
No offense, if it was you who suggested that, but it's some of the worst advice ever. I mean that with all love.
To hold back our hearts, to stifle our affections would damage us all. It would deepen the wounds these little ones already have, their hearts so fragile from being in unsettling home environments, then torn from all they've ever known. It would build walls around our hearts, and make the responsibility of caring for these children such a burden, Without love growing and flowing between us, there would be the constant reminder…to them and to us, that they are not our children. They don't belong, they are outsiders, they are more of a frustration than anything else. There would be a ticking clock, a count down on their stay in our home.
We have chosen the harder yet easier route. To fully love these children. To accept them, instantly, as part of the family. To take their fragile past and uncertain future and hold it all so gently in our hands. This is the harder thing because there is absolutely no guarantee of the outcome. However, this love planting and budding makes each day so much sweeter…resentment and love cannot grow in the same pot. Yes please, we will take the responsibility of caring for these children, and we live it out with great joy.
The only way to really be able to handle this fostering thing is to accept these children as my own.
Confession? I enjoy other people's kids, but there is always a stopping point.
Yes please, let me cuddle your newborn. I'll sit for hours, inhaling that richly sweet aroma and rubbing my chin on its downy fluff of hair. But change it's exploding poop diaper? Get drenched in chunky, putrid spit up? Uh…pass.
Yes, I'll watch your toddler while you have a date night. I'll read stories, have tickle fests, and snuggle watching Elmo all evening. But change that one's man poop pull up? Get yelled at when I give the wrong snack, get snotted/drooled on during our cuddle sesh? Uh…pass for sure.
Why is it that there's always, undoubtedly an end to where my affections lie? It must be some tragic personality flaw…but I'm owning it.
So with this fostering thing, kids, not born to me, are dropped off at our house…and we are supposed to care for them. Day in, day out. All the cuddles, all the tantrums, all the poop diapers, all the spit up and snot. All of it.
Some people advised us to not get too attached. To keep a distance emotionally, in order to "protect our hearts".
No offense, if it was you who suggested that, but it's some of the worst advice ever. I mean that with all love.
To hold back our hearts, to stifle our affections would damage us all. It would deepen the wounds these little ones already have, their hearts so fragile from being in unsettling home environments, then torn from all they've ever known. It would build walls around our hearts, and make the responsibility of caring for these children such a burden, Without love growing and flowing between us, there would be the constant reminder…to them and to us, that they are not our children. They don't belong, they are outsiders, they are more of a frustration than anything else. There would be a ticking clock, a count down on their stay in our home.
We have chosen the harder yet easier route. To fully love these children. To accept them, instantly, as part of the family. To take their fragile past and uncertain future and hold it all so gently in our hands. This is the harder thing because there is absolutely no guarantee of the outcome. However, this love planting and budding makes each day so much sweeter…resentment and love cannot grow in the same pot. Yes please, we will take the responsibility of caring for these children, and we live it out with great joy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)