An Open Letter to My Daughter

Dear Brooklyn,

Now that you're almost two years old, you still have no idea how to read this. That's alright. I'm going to print it off so that you can read it later. Don't say I never think ahead! I have so many hopes for you and your future, but right now there are a few things that I always want to encourage you to do.

I want you to understand the word "no." This isn't because I wish you'd stop standing in your highchair, climbing on the table, or asking to play Pop Pop for the millionth time (although, I won't complain if you DO stop doing those things). This is because I want you to understand that there's always something better behind the word "no." There's an opportunity you just aren't seeing, or a chance you aren't willing to take. "NO" does not have to be a discouraging word. It isn't the end-all, be-all. When you hear the word no, from me or anyone else, take it as a chance to find the yes. No means that ONE door is closed, but not ALL of them.

I want you to work hard. More importantly, I want you to work hard at whatever makes you happy. I cannot pick your profession or your hobbies, and I'll do my best not to push my preferences on you. I'm not saying you have to be the best, or be the winner. You are allowed to fail, because that's what we do as humans. Your parents, grandparents, and even great-grandparents have all failed at some point in their life. Learn from it, and work harder to succeed if it's what makes you happy. Be a firefighter. Be a lawyer or a doctor. Be someone who works odd jobs and enjoys each day as it comes. Whatever you do, don't do it because it's the easy way Don't rely on what others give you, but always be accepting of help. Work hard to do what you really, really love. That, to me (and of course this entire letter is my opinion) is how you'll really feel successful.

I want you to give second chances, but in a smart way. Don't listen to the he-said-she-said about people; make judgements for yourself. Allow yourself to be a blank slate to each person that you meet, regardless of their reputations. I don't want you to be a doormat, or let an axe murderer into your home. What I do want is for you to understand the importance of a second chance in a tortured life. People are often aware when they burn bridges, and many are trying to rebuild to new paths. There's something quite honorable about recognizing a difficult journey and offering a helping hand to those around you. As I have previously stated, all of us have failed at one point. Some of us make bigger mistakes than others. Having said that, be open to what you can learn from the mistakes of others. Listen to their stories with compassion and an open mind. As they say, "Don't be quick to judge, lest ye be judged yourself."

I could go on for hours, write a million pages, and wish a million things for you. I know that it won't be easy, because these are all lessons that are taught, not inherent within ourselves. I promise to do my best to help you learn to do these things, and so much more. I promise to help you ride a bike. I promise to let you dress yourself (in weather appropriate clothing) even if it clashes. I promise to take you down the truck aisle AND the Barbie aisle. I promise to let you be yourself.

My biggest promise, and most important, is that I will always love and protect you. Life isn't going to be easy, and I'm going to do my best to help you through it one step (one biiig step for those short, chunky, perfect legs) and one day at a time. I will always be there, and I want you to know that.

Love always,

Mama

For a World that Values Strength: A Moment of Honest Weakness.

I can no longer stay silent.

I can't sit in my office this morning and do my normal things. I cannot clear the foggy feeling of tears out of my eyes. I can't take away pain, or anger, or frustration, or suffering. But one thing I can do is tell you that you are not alone.

There are days when getting out of bed is hard. I've been there. I have smiled through social events that I just didn't feel like I could be at. I'm not through those woods yet; I'm still walking in them every day. I know how your heart can hurt. So many of us play strong because it's what is "expected of us" by so many people. We cover our sadness with busy schedules, or waste our day trying to find a bit of laughter on Netflix. Our society tells us that it's only okay to be strong. It's okay to be strong.

It's also okay to be falling apart.

If you never hear it from anyone, please hear this now: you are loved. You are so loved, more than you can possibly imagine. You are loved more than I could ever put into words. And the people that love you don't want you to be strong. They want to take you as you are. They want you broken, and messy, and suffering. It's hard to hear and it is even harder to understand, but it's true. You are loved.

My brother-in-law posted this on Facebook yesterday, and I wanted to share it with you:


"Aren't all these notes the senseless writings of a man who won't accept the fact that there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it?”
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

My notes are senseless writings, and we are suffering. I am suffering with you.

I can no longer stay silent. We are all broken, we are all hurting. We aren't weak. We are human.

It's okay,
It's fine to be not fine,
You are loved.

I promise.