I don’t make enemies, it’s just I’m not afraid to speak my mind, which can sometimes mean people don’t like what I am saying. –Alan Sugar
Am I the only one who’s so doggone tired of people not saying what they mean and not not meaning what they say? Just spit it out already. I’m not a mealy mouthed woman, obviously. If I have a questions, I’ll ask. If I don’t like something I’ll let you know and if I disagree I’ll explain why.
I don’t understand this whole cat and mouse game of words. It’s a contemptuous game of word play in all honesty. If you’re upset about what someone said or did and passive aggressively handle it or indirectly address it how can you expect the other party to ever know? Let me be the first to tell you that, that method of communication is for the birds. You’ve gotta take the bull by the horns and say what you’ve got to say; and mean what you say.
If you’re upset, take some time to sort out your thoughts. Take the emotion out of it so that you’re not making rash decisions based on emotions. (Ladies, we do this a lot).
Make sure you’re not making a mountain out of a molehill.
Keep your word.
Be honest, not ugly. There is a difference.
Remember in being honest, not everyone will like what you have to say.
It’s okay if you have a difference of opinion. Being agreeable doesn’t make you more likeable. You’re feelings matter too. You don’t have to hide the way you feel to appease anyone. Speaking up isn’t always easy but it’s always best.
–Hiding how you really feel and trying to make everyone happy doesn’t make you nice, it just makes you a liar. –Jenny O’Connell, The Book of Luke
It was an exceptionally busy week for me. I had a great time at work and had some very interesting conversations. This week got me thinking about the silent thoughts we have as wives and mothers, and perhaps women in general. I wanted to bring attention to women, depression, and marriage ruts that are so easily fallen into. I wondered if we are all silent wives. I wondered if we all fall silent.
While our children sleep peacefully we fall asleep praying for them. Silently begging and pleading for them to always be well, thanking God for every last second with them. While our husband’s or partners are at work we manage to maintain a job, home, kids and everything else that comes our way. We silently ignore our own needs to ensure that everyone else’s are met and satisfied first.
While our parents find activities to occupy their retired time, we silently weep and take in the bittersweet beauty of watching someone we thought was invincible get older and celebrate the great moments we’ve had with them.
While people mistake our kindness for weakness and sacrifices for stupidity, we lay awake at night silently hoping that everything we’ve done is right and worth it.
While some of us wander through life completely oblivious to the battles and sacrifices we make, taking life in stride. We stand silently enduring the struggles of depression, carrying with us the secrets of our partners indiscretions, the burdens we feel of not being able to communicate the weight on our shoulders.
We, the silent women bear the weight of smiling to make it through another day without letting anyone know what we’re really feeling. We, the silent women maintain our composure while our other halves work ridiculously long hours because keeping up with the Joneses has taken over our lives. We don’t mention the pressures of staying fit and looking well for our other half while they take for granted the effort and time it takes to shave our legs, wax our unmentionable parts, manage a home, take care of children, work and muster the energy to be intimate.
We cry quietly on the inside waiting for someone who knows us well to recognize the fact that we’re exhausted, That we can’t make excuses for an absent spouse anymore.
We silently endure in our relationships what others would call abuse or negligence of a spouse in order to fulfill our promises to our children and other halves and avoid anything or anyone that may rock the boat we’re on.
We quietly accept to take on even more responsibilities as our children join more and more sports and activities; as our spouses request more of our support so that they can further their education or take that promotion.
We smile and downplay the severity of our emotional distress so that it appears to just have been a rough day although if you leave us alone we weep on our way to work as an outlet for the stress we feel.
We quietly carry on with the strength of a 550 horse powered vehicle, quietly but with much ferocity, humming through the streets not ever letting anyone know what’s really under the hood.
We, the silent stand humbly awaiting a moment as rare as a Sasquatch sighting, for someone to ask us ‘is there anything I can do for you?’
To all of the silent women out there, please know that I pray for you all on a nightly basis. I pray for you to speak up, to know that is okay for you to ask for help, I pray for strength and courage for you, I pray that you make yourself a priority. I pray for you ladies. I pray that you take a moment for yourself and that when you do, you can rest at ease knowing that I’ve heard some of your silent cries, that some of you have come to me to let go, and I’m happy to listen and continue to pray for you.
Have you ever felt like a rebel without a cause? I’m talking, “I am woman hear me roar” rebellious. More and more I’m finding myself to be more rebellious the older I get. I’m not sure what’s happening here. I’m finding that I’m challenging things that have been placed in front of me, questioning authority, pushing myself a little harder and not backing down for the sake of argument anymore. I suppose it isn’t rebellion so much as growing up. Although, most of the time it feels as though I’m rebelling. Maybe, finding my voice; is a better choice of words. I’m sure many would argue that, that has never been a problem for me. I will agree that there was a point in my life where I had no filter on my mouth. There was no censoring of what I was feeling. I’m not sure why that stopped. Some would say that I matured, some that motherhood changed me. Maybe it was a little of both. I remember at one point feeling that there was no use in stating what I felt because it fell on deaf ears. Now, I feel like I should say it, whatever it is, for my own sanity; for the sake of not bottling things up, for the reason that I don’t want to return to feeling that what I say falls on deaf ears. I’m not afraid of arguing anymore. I’m not afraid to fight anymore.
I think of my grandmother a lot when I think about how my life is changing, about how I’m changing. I think about her wild spirit and how my grandfather always tried to tame her, to tame it. Is this what happens with age? With maturity? We end up reverting back to the freest version of ourselves? I should hope so. Prayer of an Anonymous Abbess:
Lord, thou knowest better than myself that I am growing older and will soon be old. Keep me from becoming too talkative, and especially from the unfortunate habit of thinking that I must say something on every subject and at every opportunity.
Release me from the idea that I must straighten out other peoples’ affairs. With my immense treasure of experience and wisdom, it seems a pity not to let everybody partake of it. But thou knowest, Lord, that in the end I will need a few friends.
Keep me from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point.
Grant me the patience to listen to the complaints of others; help me to endure them with charity. But seal my lips on my own aches and pains — they increase with the increasing years and my inclination to recount them is also increasing.
I will not ask thee for improved memory, only for a little more humility and less self-assurance when my own memory doesn’t agree with that of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be wrong.
Keep me reasonably gentle. I do not have the ambition to become a saint — it is so hard to live with some of them — but a harsh old person is one of the devil’s masterpieces.
Make me sympathetic without being sentimental, helpful but not bossy. Let me discover merits where I had not expected them, and talents in people whom I had not thought to possess any. And, Lord, give me the grace to tell them so.
Kids are the best. Being a mom to a teenager and a toddler can only be described as the perfect combination of wanting to snuggle and understanding why some animals eat their young. Balance. Life is all about balance right?
We recently took my Mom in law and family to Fredericksburg, Tx. They’d never been and we decided to go at the spur of the moment.
The family members without kids enjoyed wine and beer tastings, I got to visit all of the children’s boutiques and could only window shop from 30 feet away for fear that my toddler had suddenly developed the ability to cut glass with her fingernails and melt fudge with the same eyes she uses to try to burn holes into me.
So we swung by the candy shop because it’s frowned upon to always be the bad cop and outside they had a life sized M&M and a bench with lollipops attached with cut outs for your face. I said to my oldest “let’s take your picture!” She ran over and put her face in the hole. Then my little one ran towards the bench and climbed up to sit in it. I said to her “Pumpkin, why don’t you put your face in the hole too?”
Apparently the one time she decided to listen I wasn’t specific enough. I got some flack from people on Facebook for this. Just some good old fashioned fun and teasing. I was thrilled she’d even followed through with my request that I didn’t care which way she was facing. But I did get quite the tickle out of this. She’s quite the smart ass.
It was a fun trip, my two Texas tornadoes. One testing her wind strength and the other doing all the damage possible whether her winds are strong or not. Two completely separate storms that come together to reign my powers of motherhood in and make me laugh at the fact that they have my snarky personality. I’m fighting my own reflection.
“When God Created Mothers”
When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of “overtime” when the angel appeared and said. “You’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one.”
And God said, “Have you read the specs on this order?” She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts…all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands.”
The angel shook her head slowly and said. “Six pairs of hands…. no way.”
“It’s not the hands that are causing me problems,” God remarked, “it’s the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have.”
“That’s on the standard model?” asked the angel.
God nodded. “One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, ‘What are you kids doing in there?’ when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn’t but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. ‘I understand and I love you’ without so much as uttering a word.
“God,” said the angel touching his sleeve gently, “Get some rest tomorrow….”
“I can’t,” said God, “I’m so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick…can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger…and can get a nine year old to stand under a shower.”
The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. “It’s too soft,” she sighed.
“But tough!” said God excitedly. “You can imagine what this mother can do or endure.”
“Can it think?”
“Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise,” said the Creator.
Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek. “There’s a leak,”she pronounced. “I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model.”
“It’s not a leak,” said the Lord, “It’s a tear.”
” What’s it for? ”
“It’s for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride.”