I am just like my mother

My mother is amazing! She is generous, creative, industrious, loving, determined and independent. I am thankful that she has raised me to have some of these same traits. When we were young, she always stayed at home with us, when most moms were working. She was my world and I adored her.

Then, around the time I became a teenager, my parents divorced. As many of us know, divorce changes our perspective on everything. And that included my mom. I saw that she was not perfect after all. She made mistakes. Yet, despite these trials, I somehow managed to survive puberty with our relationship intact.

I am still unsure of the day it happened, but I know from experience that most woman reach an age when one fact is unavoidable: they are just like their mother! This is not on purpose. It is probably not even conscience. These are the things you do when no one is around, the decisions you make on a day-to-day basis, how you handle stress, how you treat your children, how you talk to your husband. Yep, all learned from good old mom!

Then you have your own daughter, and it starts from the beginning. She learns from you. You are her role model, and all that you know is what your mom taught you. That is when you turn to Motherhood for Dummies, many self-help books and possibly years of counseling.

Unfortunately, it all comes back to this simple fact. You are just like your mother! Go ahead say it: “I am just like my mom.” Cherish it, embrace it. Take all those good and bad qualities she gave you and build on them. They are the foundation, and each mother is a stepping stone for the next generation.

It’s okay to feel sad

Some days I wake up sad and go to bed sad. It usually starts with something simple that spirals into deep, dark, overwhelming sorrow. This is not the norm for me. I’m not talking about depression or lifelong sadness. I am talking about weepy, emotionally fragile, cry in my coffee, stay in my pajamas all day and feel sorry for myself sadness. Some people would prefer you never to be sad. I am one of those. I HATE to see those I love sad. My husband battled with a heavy heart a few years ago, and it drove me crazy that I could not make him feel better. I took it personally. Sometimes, though, sadness is the only way to feel happiness. If we are truly sad and keep burying those feelings deeper and deeper, we will eventually lose track of them. Yet they will still exist, just waiting to be accidentally discovered at the most inopportune time.

I have found this to be especially true with my children. There are days when one of them will seem out of sorts. They are weepy, sullen and sad. It’s easy to tell them to “get over it,” but that only prolongs the problem. Even though it breaks my heart, I let them be unhappy. We talk about it and, yes, we usually have a good cry. And after a good night’s sleep, they manage to find their joyful spirit again.

So I have realized that, on the days when I am at my lowest, I must embrace my sadness instead of ignoring it. It’s amazing how our cells seem to remember what we try to forget. A smell, a song, a sound or a memory will bring the waves of anguish flooding in. So instead of running up the shoreline, I jump in and get wet. I feel worse for the time being, but once the sadness passes I feel refreshingly lighter.

It’s okay to have a gloomy day of sorrow. So when they come, don’t panic, and warn those around you that you are having a well-deserved “sad day.” Take some time for yourself and face whatever you’re feeling head-on. Cry, wail and weep. Then get a good night’s sleep, and hopefully by the morning you’ll find your joy again.

Embrace the inner dork

Lurking in each of us is a dork. You know—the goofy one who dances poorly in the living room when no one is watching. The one who belts out “Phantom of the Opera” in the shower when no one is listening. The one who trips on their own two feet and then pretends they did it on purpose. For some of us, the dork is unruly and regularly takes possession of our body. For others, the dork lurks in the shadows because he thinks you’re too cool to hang with him.

Since no decent dictionary even defines the word ‘dork,’ I had to go to the urban dictionary. This was my favorite definition: “Someone who has odd interests, and is silly at times.” A dork is also someone who can be themselves and not care what anyone thinks. When I was growing up, being a dork was a bad thing, and believe me, I know, because I was a dork. Other words I may have been called were nerd, geek, loser, lame, wannabe, goober and many more I don’t care to share.

What I didn’t know as a child is that I should have embraced my “gooberness.” The most lovable dorks, the irresistible nerds, are the ones that don’t fight being a geek. These are the ones I adore. They are the quirky, the goofy, who are not embarrassed to embarrass themselves, and too show who they really are. I always hated my dorkiness. By the age of sixteen, I detested my handmade clothes. I despised my pale skin, freckles, bushy hair, my name, which no one could pronounce, let alone spell.

If I could do it again, instead of hiding from the dork I would embrace it. I would allow the silliness, the odd interests, the never-going-to-fit-in-the-mold quality to shine. I would not force it to lurk in the shadows.

So if you’re a closet dork, I urge you to come out! Be odd, be goofy, be silly. Dance with no rhythm, sing with no tune, trip and fall with grace. Love the dork within. Embrace the goober you were meant to be!

Are you an in-the-closet-dork? Or are you proud to be odd? I would love to hear!

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