here’s the thing: there’s nothing i’m more fearful of then becoming a mom.
…but there’s nothing i want more.
i’ve had people speak against this fear. my first year of teaching, the principal looked me in the eye and said, “i cannot wait to see you as a mom. your heart…you are just going to be incredible.”
he walked out of the room before i could really say anything in response, and it’s probably a good thing. it wasn’t necessarily the time or place to fill him in on the very thing i worry incessantly about. me? really? will my heart ever be ready enough…whole enough…for motherhood?
in so many ways, i’m still so broken. i know this. i feel it. i’m still learning how to give voice to the little girl inside – even though she struggles so often to find words. my whole life, i’ve allowed my heart’s eyes to open and see those hurting. i’ve had an automatic empathy with deep brokenness. probably because i sensed it in myself but wasn’t willing to look. heal my heart and make it clean, open up my eyes to the things unseen means something completely different when it’s your heart going through the cleansing process of the Refiner’s fire. your eyes see something altogether beautiful and grotesque when they turn inward on the hidden wounds that left unchecked, turn into slums of the heart.
this is when you know only He can bind your wounds. this is when you realize this High Priest who knows our weakness and experienced rejection on the deepest level is not ignorant of the harsh reality we live. and sitting here, heart quieting down to a dull roar, i understand He waits for me to catch His eye.
let me help you. let me hold you through this. I know this pain – I know the haunting.
and this help He’s so willing to give washes over me and even though the pain still rages, and even though my weakness shines, i walk forward bearing His strength as He takes my heart and holds it gingerly against His chest.
and i know there are some out there who, after having one or two or ten kids, will laugh at my processing. you’re never ready for kids, honey, they’re probably thinking. and i get this. honestly.
i remember moments growing up where i felt mothered. a family friend driving through a raging storm late at night to meet me at work after hearing i didn’t make the cheerleading squad at college. standing outside, the air fresh with rain, i remember feeling loved and fought for: you remember something, elora – you’re something special. this may not have worked out, but God’s got something for you. i know it.
or the mentor who asked me in a gentle voice if i was a people-pleaser and gave me the freedom to disappoint.
or the friend who asked questions until i knew she knew i wasn’t okay…and then she asked some more until the truth spilled out – broken and chaotic yet ending with hope of restoration.
or the team teacher who let me cry on her shoulder my first year of teaching and reminded me of why i got into the profession. she looked me in the eyes and spoke away the lies and told me of His heart for me – of how He had me at this place, this moment, for such a time as this.
every single memory dealing with counteracting the lies with Truth. every single memory including words dripping with His love.
so i owe it to my future daughter to deal with those demons. to stare at the darkness and shine the Light in the cracks – even though it may hurt. whether this means writing out my resentments for step four in recovery or tearing up about two hundred more kleenexes while sitting in my counselor’s office, then so be it.
because only when i’m able to recognize and fight the lies inside will i be able to fight the lies spoken to others – including my daughter.
this doesn’t mean i feel like i have to be perfect before having a daughter. one of my prayers is that my daughter knows i trust the Maker’s hand enough to allow a continual breaking and remolding throughout my life – even after she gets here. i want her to see me leaning into grace. i want her to know the importance of getting dirty – of sitting and dwelling in the pain long enough to feel His hand smooth the edges. i want her to learn how to not cringe from discomfort. i want her to see me fully alive – embracing the beauty and the chaos and being willing to share my story completely and without fear.