On Shame

Anna Claire:

You're 3 now, which means you have no shame. Really. None. And I'm so glad. But you are experiencing the first pangs of guilt. You haven't expressed it really, but I can tell. It's a pouty look here, a hanging head there, and a retreat into your room when you're admonished. 

Only Sunday night, you hit me. On purpose. It went a little like this:

It was bed time and Anna Claire, you wanted your bear.  What you really wanted was to sleep, but you didn't know that, I guess. But you thought you wanted your bear, the brown and blue one. Only when I brought the brown and blue one you raged and fought just kept screaming, "That's not right! That's not right!" 

"Anna Claire, I'm not crazy. This is brown and blue and you only have one brown and blue bear."

"I want the old one! Not the new one!" You bellowed and furrowed your brow.

I sighed. "Anna, I love you. Here's your bear. Goodnight." And I bent down,  kissed you on your scrunched forehead and as I got up to walk away you slapped me. Hard. It made a sound and left a mark across my arm. Stunned, I stammered, "A-anna, you hit me." 

You couldn't believe it. It's as if you flipped your lid (as Sam likes to say) and you lost control of your extremities. You didn't look sorry, but your eyes looked to your chin and you sighed. 

"Anna, what do we do with the mad that we feel?" It's a question I stole from good old Mr. Rogers. 

You didn't look up and you didn't answer. 

So, I asked again. 

And you replied as in rote and in a monotone voice,  "We take a deep breath and we talk about it."

I breathed a deep mommy breath. The kind that comes at the end of a hard day when you just don't want to mommy one more minute. I wanted to tell you to say you were sorry and end the whole thing.

But we'd spent four uninterrupted days together and I realized you were as tired of me as I was just plain tired. And telling a 3 year old to say sorry is just as moot as telling her to say thank you and pretend it is real gratitude. To you, being made to say sorry is like telling you those words just fix it all. And it doesn't. So, I refrained. Instead, I  just said this:

"Anna. You hit mommy. And you want your bear. And I need more help finding your bear. So, tell me what your bear looks like."

"My bear is old. And it has darker blue. And it is scrunchy. And it is big, see?" And you held up your hands to show me exactly what size the right bear was. 

"Okay. I can find that bear." 

So, I went into the playroom and dug through the stuffed animal tub and found your old, dark blue and brown bear that was bigger than the last bear, the wrong bear. 

And I brought it to you. Only you didn't smile. You said "Thank you." You snuggled your right bear and threw the other bear on the floor. 

"Goodnight. I love you." I turned off the light and began walking out the door.

"Mommy?" You whispered.

"Yes, Ann?"

"I'm sorry I am mean." You wouldn't look at me.

"Ann. You're not mean. You made a sad choice. And thank you for saying sorry. It makes my heart happy." I came and gave you a huge hug. 

And we said our goodnights and you went to sleep. 

Ann, there is a difference between being mean and doing something mean. It's the difference between shame and guilt. 

Shame says "I'm wrong." Guilt says "I feel terrible about something I did." And I'm no expert, but Brene Brown is. In  I Thought It Was Just Me: Women Reclaiming Power and Courage in a Culture of Shame, she explains “Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.” 


You weren't and you aren't mean, Anna. You just did something unkind, which just makes you human. And I refused then and refuse now to let you begin telling yourself that you are anything less than good. 

Shame is the lie we tell ourselves. That lie that says "I cannot grow. I cannot decide differently. This is just who I am." When we choose to be any less than our potential, we live in a state of shame. And we allow shame to choose our paths for us. 
Your guilt made you feel regret. And even at 3 you attempted to spare yourself the obligation of saying "I was wrong and I'm sorry." 

Because it's a whole heck of a lot easier to just  say "This is who I am" than to say "This is not who I am and I can do better." The latter obligates use to choose change the next time. It obligates us to at least remember our past indecencies and make that choice to do what is right. Even if we don't choose it, we're obligated to relive our iniquities. Shame tells us to own the trait. This leaves no room for growth, no room for change. 

Since it happens at 3 and 13 and 30 and so on, I know it is going to happen to you and to me again and again. 

So, here's my hope for you - May you always wrestle with your guilt. Allow it to challenge you. Allow it to show you ways to love better, to live more in harmony with others and within yourself. 

And anytime that shame sneaks in, may you find a way to reach down deep and find your voice. The one that says "I am good." The one that tells you "This is not who I am." 

And may you have the courage to change. 

On Lying

Samuel:

Yesterday, you asked me a really important question. You said, "Mom, I should always tell the truth, right?"

And I knew you were about to give me skinny on the truth campaign at your school. First, they taught you about manners, then about bullying, and now they were tackling honesty. Which is a lovely pursuit. I'm glad you're hearing these messages at school. And I wanted to talk to you about tact and subtlety and opinion. I even thought about delving into the whole "what is truth?" existential conversation, but you're six, so I spared you (or more likely, myself) the confusion.

Instead, I did what Jesus did (a rarity for me). I told a story. And it sounded a bit like this:

Once upon a time, there was a boy and he loved his mother very much (transparent, much?). His mother was very pregnant with an adorable little sister just waiting to meet her smart big brother.

Now, this very smart little boy had a very smart daddy, who also loved the boy's mother and little sister so much. The sweet family made plans to go to a really lovely party.

Now, the father and little boy were dressed in the very nicest party clothes and they were waiting for the mother to come out of the room, ready to go.

Only the mother wasn't coming out. So the father went into the bedroom and asked the mother what was taking so long. The mother was crying. Her belly was so big and her clothes were all so small, the only party dress the mother had looked more like a circus tent. So the mother asked what all expectant mothers eventually ask.  She stared her teary eyes in the mirror past her huge belly and asked the father, "Do I look fat in this?"

I didn't finish this obviously true story. Instead, Sam, I asked you, "What should the father say?"

"I don't think he should call the mom fat." You're a smart boy.

"Well, isn't she fat, though?" I questioned.
"Yeah, but she has a baby." You responded.
"So do you think the father lied?" I pushed a bit further.
"Yeah, probably."
"And is lying wrong?" I was really pressing you at this point.

You sighed and looked sideways at me.
Then you said something I can't forget.

"If the father thinks she is fat, he should say so. But the father doesn't think she is fat, he thinks she is carrying a big baby in her belly. And maybe the baby is fat."


We laughed and didn't talk about it anymore.

In The Adventures of Tom Sawyer Tom tells what the Judge calls a Noble Lie. He saves his love from a lashing from the teacher at school and takes the lashing himself. It's the best part of this book, I think. By the way, if you're an adult and you're reading this and you HAVE NOT read this book, shame on us both. Stop what you're doing and read it. Right now. Go.

But back to my point: I like this. I like the idea of telling a lie so magnanimous and brave it brings out the best in everyone who hears it. A noble lie tells all children they can be anything they want to be when they grow up. A noble lie tells a loved one everything will be alright, even in the face of death. A noble lie tells the pregnant mother she does not look fat - she's never looked better.

Here's the thing - some lies are really just lies at the time. They will be true. The children who grow up nurtured and in healthy environments and choose professions that actualize them - fuel their strengths and creativity, they can be anything they eventually want to be (which is usually something totally within their set of skills). When a loved one dies, things aren't ever the same and they are really terrible for a while, but life has a way of making everything alright, even when all seems lost. And pregnant is beautiful. It is radiant. And, yes, it is fat. But the kind of fat that makes a human being. And that kind of fat is just the best kind.

A lie to protect your own ego, a lie to endanger or threaten someone else (or their virtue), or a lie lending strength to a greater evil - those are the kind you shouldn't tell. Not just because they hurt others but because they steal small parts of yourself. The parts that are hard to get back - your sense of integrity, your moral compass, your ability to see beyond your own needs. And those kinds of lies lean into larger, more destructive kinds - they grow a monstrous life of deception and isolation.

I wanted to tell you all this then and I hope I do tell you all of this as you grow - through my words, through my actions, even through my failures. And I'm telling you now, because this, my dear, is the truth.

On Waiting

Sammy and Annie:


So, yesterday I began my Friday ritual of preparing meals for the upcoming week. Since you guys and that daddy of yours are all carb addicts, I make about two loaves of bread a week. And this week, I planned on having two nights of bun-donned meals, turkey joes and black bean burgers, so I needed about ten cups of wheat flour. And ten cups is a lot. I figured I had enough, but I ran about 2 cups short.

And I know this sounds like the makings of a math problem, but I promise, it isn't. I left for the store around 1:00, thinking I'd have plenty of time to come on back to the house and finish before picking you, Sam, up from school at 3.

Only traffic in Baton Rouge on a Friday afternoon is an absolute nightmare, and I knew we needed to take a used battery back to Auto Zone for a 10% rebate. And I also knew I needed to go to the UPS to get ripped off for some shipping (it's a 58% mark up - don't do it. I had to, but if you've ever got a choice, opt for the Postal Service. It's slow and the lines are insane, but you don't feel like you're getting ripped off, and that's worth the time, I think).

So, I left my half-finished dough on the counter and took off. And instead of coming home when I had about an hour until carpool, I decided to take a run.

And I forgot about the dough.

My run was glorious, my grocery shopping was effortless, and with my $16 rebate in pocket and packages shipped, I headed my sweaty self to the elementary school and brought my Sammy home.

And when we opened the door, the smell of yeast wafting in the air, we found this....

In case you're wondering,  why yes, there is more on the floor.

So, laughing, I picked up the would-be bread and buns off the floor and counter, added the necessary flour and YES, in case you're wondering, made my weekly carb quota with the whole darn mess.


You ate it, you lived, and you smiled, so don't freak out.

It's funny, though, because it really made me think - this expanded dough rose out of control because it sat, unnoticed and unkept for way too long. Don't get me wrong: letting things wait can be really important in life. But other things - other things just can't wait.

So, I thought I'd give you a short list of the things I've learned can wait and the ones that just can't.


THESE THINGS CAN WAIT:

• SEX. Oh, come on, you knew this was coming. I'm your mother, for God's sake. I'm not going to tell you that sex can wait because of diseases and unplanned pregnancy and all the other slew of reasons people will tell you. I'm not even going to mention the emotional pain and toil and complication that happens once you have sex with somebody - anybody. I'm going to tell you the plain truth. Sex can wait because it's a mess. And likely, you won't be any good at it for the first few years anyway. You'll be clumsy and not at all comfortable with your own body and you need someone there with you who you can count on. Someone who won't laugh at you too much or take you too seriously. Someone who you can stick with and practice with. Because Lord knows you won't get any better switching up teammates. Wait on sex because you're going to wish you hadn't shown your bare ass to someone who will later pretend not to know you on the street. 
• DRIVING. I know, I know. This one seems like a real mom thing to say, too. But the truth is, driving sucks. Paying for gas sucks, traffic sucks, it's all a real pain. And you think you're going to have more freedom behind a wheel and at first it really feels that way, but you'll find pushing those pedals means you've got a whole new world of rules to follow. And Sam, once you can drive you'll act as family chauffeur, so don't think for a moment you'll be hitting the road alone. Better to wait. Trust me, there's a real freedom and richness and honesty you get from riding your bike around instead. You can pretend to be a kid in a world that seems to always try to push you into adulthood. 
• CHOOSING A CAREER: Sam, your teacher asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up. And do you know what you said? You said you wanted to be happy. You said you wanted a family. You said you wanted to be a dad (also something that should wait). And I was so grateful she accepted your response. If you choose college, they'll ask you to declare a major. And everyone you meet on campus will ask you first your name and then your major. Please don't feel pressured to answer straightaway. Because whatever you choose at 18 years old is probably not what you'll do when you're 50. And making a life-long decision isn't something anyone should trust an 18 year old to do. Ever. So when they ask you (and they will), feel confident and proud to tell them you don't know. Or lie. Because telling a great story about wanting to save whales as a marine biologist might just be fun. Or a great pickup line. 
• HOME OWNERSHIP. I know this is a real fast-forward, but mortgages are a real drag. Rent for a while. I know it isn't the most financially profitable thing to do, and a lot of smooth talking investors are going to say you're throwing money down a drain, but once you own a home, you're solely responsible for every brick and every wire. And you have to sign a lot of paperwork promising a lot of people you'll pay for something for the next 30 years. And who in the world knows what the next 30 years holds? 

THINGS THAT CAN'T WAIT: 

• ORAL HYGIENE. If you're in bed at night with fuzzy teeth and a lingering sense of guilt, get up and brush. You won't regret the two whole minutes you spent preventing cavities. Seriously, who wants to be 25 and told she has a cavity (I may or may not be speaking from experience, here.). 
• SAYING I LOVE YOU. This may surprise you. When you're young, you may find yourself overcome by intense emotions. If you love someone, tell them. Don't hold back. And if they don't love you back, fine. If you scare them, who cares. Life is too short not to speak your truth. I tell you I love you everyday because I know you and I may not have tomorrow. I knew I loved your Dad when we were 18 years old. And I knew I wanted to marry him. And I told him and it worked out. I'm just saying, it can happen. Don't let fear keep you from honesty. 
• BEING THERE FOR SOMEONE. You'll have times in life when you'll have to decide between giving your time to others and keeping it for yourself. And it's really okay and necessary to choose self-care. But sometimes, we do things for people because they need. You'll have these times, these chances, to show love. Please take them. When you've got that deep, gut-nagging draw to call someone you haven't spoken to in ages, call them. When you know one of your neighbors lost his job, don't just pray for or avoid him, invite him to dinner. Don't wait to love people who need love. I don't imagine you'll ever regret it. 
• HUGS. Hugs can't wait. Give them often and freely. Studies prove people who are avid huggers live longer, happier lives. Go on, be a hugger. Even the non-touchy feely types will hug you back...most of the time. 

Kids, I'm no genius. To prove it, I just used spell check because I can't even spell the word genius. Nailed it that time, though. I'm not brilliant. But I love you. And you have to do these things, because I'm the mom. Sure, I'm the mom who feeds you bread made from dough off the floor, but I'm the mom. And I said so.