Letter to my Daughter

Once again, my 15 year old daughter has been called a bitch by a grown woman. Once prior, her friend's mom used that describing word almost in place of her proper name. Now again....a new sad soul shared it aloud while she was cheerleading. That word seems more a reflection of the speakers own insecurities and sadness than an accurate portrayal. In this world, it so often seems that the strong, confident woman is seen to echo that word. Approaching said woman took every ounce of God-strength to retract the momma-bear claws and calm the pounding heart. Speaking very intently, instead, with guidance and hopeful correction. I seriously doubt my words will change the soul of said woman, but the more important lesson was found side-by-side back at home with my daughter.

Darling....this won't be the last time you will hear that word fired at you. The object is to not let it settle into your bones. You are not that word. You instead, are a confident woman...not afraid to speak up towards injustice. You are instead lovely to the core. You have been placed in this world for large and lofty purposes. You will be disappointed at times by your circumstances, your family, your friends...but don't absorb that disappointment...don't become a cynic. Learn from it and keep your head held high. Those with great strength carry great responsibility. I know you carry enough strength for any task because you tap into a deep and ever-present source. There are many sad souls in this world and I've learned far too well that they don't like smiley-happy-confident women... all the more reason to be smiley-happy-confident! Know that I loved you before you breathed air and will forever be amazed and proud of your poise, wisdom, strength...the exact things sad souls call the B-word. So, embrace your B's and know you must be doing something worthy of such praise!

 

No Coincidences

Anxious about taking a long weekend with the ladies... arriving in-laws and a missed baseball tournament, but the heaviest concern was whether I'd be a wet rag. Still not on my A-game, wondering if I've been enlisted to an entirely different game...would I contribute to the fun, would I have weepy moments, am I still enjoyable to be around? Two tenured friends and two newbies...one of which is currently midway thru her journey with Cancer. Would conversation stir memories still too fresh?

No coincidence that I was surrounded by exactly the kind of women I needed to refresh my soul. I should have known better than to be anxious for anything at all. Settling in, sweet aggreeance all around...not wanting to upset the other. Our conversation deep, supportive, and broad. No one took center stage, no tantrums. Sharing heart stories by the pool, then at home, then at the beach...a simple change of scenery then more chats.

The high point was a pool side exchange that became an incredible therapy session. Five women with heartbreaking stories made me realize:

1. There are some amazingly strong women in the world...we coined them 'beautiful mules'. They carry the load when others cannot.
2. We all have a story....something that defines us and how we see the world forever after.
3. The sharing of stories offered sustenance...the heady realization that we are not alone.
4. The difference between being a victim and a victor is not letting the story become an excuse.

Rejuvenated and ready to embrace the in-laws, our return trip home offered another sweet reminder... no coincidence my randomly selected seat partner was a newly retired 17-year breast cancer survivor.