The Important Truth about 2014

A new year is well on it's way!  I am so excited to be in 2014.  This year I want to laugh more with my boys, get fit by working out, write more consistently, and speak about story telling.  These sound simple enough but, the truth is, when I think about what I have to do to make them happen, I am terrified!  Voices plague me:  You can't write.  No one wants to hear what you have to say.  You're not a warm fuzzy mom.  You are lazy.  You don't have time.  Your body is too far gone.  Your spelling makes you look incompetent.  You aren't fun or entertaining.  Maybe deep down there is something wrong with you. 

The past is really what haunts me.  As a storyteller every time someone finds a mistake in my writing my chest seizes up and a black hole sucks me back in time to my childhood where some teacher is correcting me in front of the whole class and I am once again stupid and incapable.   I remember how my sister was the writer, the funny one, the entertainer, the educator.  As a mother I see all my past shortcomings.  I replay all the things I regret like my own personal horror movie on a repeating tract.

But this is a new year and in 2014 I am going to work hard to remind myself that the past does not dictate my future.  I need to speak the truth to myself.  Here are some of the truths I choose to remember this year.   I do not have to be a “good writer” to be a good storyteller.  I wanted to document my stories for my boys that's why I started this blog.  Every day they are growing older and I find that I am racing against time to share what is in my heart with their hearts before it is too late.   My boys are the reason I tell stories.  They are why I have decided to put my flawed writing into cyber space for any to see.  My boys do not care if my spelling and grammar is less than impeccable, but they will care if they never hear the end of the Justly Story.  So I post for them.  That is the important truth.

The truth is my storytelling gives me connection with my boys.  Even on the worst day if I tuck my boys into bed and tell or read them a story then, at least, the last thing I did with them was something positive.  We  just might even laugh, have a deeper conversation, or come to some reconciliation.  I know this because it has happened before.  I will focus on my strengths as a mother and my boys will know that I love them.  That is the important truth.

The truth is there are others out there like myself who think they can’t tell stories to their children because they are not a writer or a storyteller.  It is my hope they will find that the benefits far out weigh the risks.  Storytelling has, in many ways, saved my relationship with my boys.  It has been a balm of healing, a tie that binds, and a bridge for deeper connection with them.  This year refuse to let voices from the past keep you from enjoying those benefits.  That is the important truth.

If you enjoy reading the stories I write for my boys that is an added blessing to me.  I hope you can see my spelling and grammar errors as my willingness to be vulnerable and share my humanity with you and my children.  I hope it inspires you this year to reach out and tell your own stories to your children.  You might be surprised by the important truth you discover.

Happy Tales!

Kristen

Go. Heal Thyself, Girl!

Go.  Heal Thyself, Girl!

A story of personal healing

Ever since I gave birth to Thing 1 I’ve struggled with slouching.  I figured it was a combination of things;   engorged breasts, that would have won money in a wet t-shirt contest, muscle fatigue from holding a well fed baby, and stomach muscles that had been stretched beyond reason.  Two more babies and nine more years under my belt and I’m still struggling with slouching.  In fact it’s been getting worse.  For at least the last year and a half I’ve been consciously trying to fix the problem.  I check in with myself regularly throughout the day, “Am I slouching?  Yes!  Stop that!” I’ve been working on my core trying to bolster those muscles and give my shoulders a break.  All to no avail.  What is my problem?  I was a dancer for heaven sake.  Dancers don’t slouch!  They have lovely posture (and small breasts, I might add).

Yesterday, I woke up and put on a real new bra.  Not a nursing bra or the bandeau bras I’ve been sporting for the last 9 years because they are comfortable and what’s the use with real bras anyway when every hour your size seems to change.  It took me two hours to get this real bra picked out.  I asked the sales gal where the A cups were.  She said that Victoria’s Secrets doesn’t carry A cups.  Then she added, “And you are definitely not an A cup”.  Uh, yes I am.  In collage I was a 36B and now, well, now I just have pocket flaps.  She smiled and measured me.  I was pretty sure she was trying to boost my ego along with my boobs because she said I measured at a 34C or a 32D.  What!!!!  If I told my three nicely endowed sisters and mother that I was a C or D cup I would never hear the end of it.  Whatever Victoria’s!  Low and behold I walked out of there with three 32D bras that are way more comfortable than my 36Bs ever were!  How was I supposed to know? Victoria’s wasn’t even around when I started wearing bras.

Yesterday I woke up and put on my new 32D bra.  I brushed my teeth.  I checked in with myself, “Am I slouching? No!  Cool.  Maybe all those exercises are finally paying off?”  I moved on.  I check in throughout the day as usual.  Each time my answer was the same, “Am I slouching? No!”  I can’t believe it.  I have never given myself a positive answer to that question and now three in one day.  Unreal! I get ready for bed, put my PJ’s on and brush my teeth.  One last check in, “Am I slouching?  Yes!”  Huh???

When I weaned Thing 3 a couple months ago I actually cried for my sorry droopy little sisters.  Poor things! They worked hard for me and now their usefulness is over.  Done.  Never again will they nourish another human being, of course, my husband has a different opinion.  But I just wanted them to live out the remainder of their deflated little lives in contentment knowing they served faithfully and well.  They were troopers and maybe they even deserve a little purple heart tattooed over the top of them. 

I have discovered, however, that my sisters have will.  They shall not let life pull them down.  My sisters have been lifted and they are singing hallelujah!  These girls have life left in them yet.  They are standing ready to take on the world.  You go girls!  As it turns out my new 32D has miraculously healed me.  My slouch is gone.  Those maybe two pound weights have been slung back into their rightful position and I find myself over compensating, leaning back even, with the change in weight distribution.  As if my whole body is rejoicing with the ease in which I can stand straight now.  I find myself asking, “Was it really that simple?  All I needed was a new well fitted bra?” Amazing!

Here is my plea for all of women kind.  Please, if you slouch, go get your sisters lifted.  No matter how small you think you are give them the support they deserve.   Go.  Heal thyself, girl!