Letter to a Younger Me

When I finally made the decision to stay home with my first child I was overcome with an incredible wave of relief. Every time I had put off securing childcare, all the anxiety haunting me day and night, all the certain uncertainties I felt about being a working mother had all been because of that one unspoken, unrecognized, and wildly unfamiliar desire.

I wanted to stay home with my baby.

Seeing my truth for what it was that snowy January night – owning it and embracing it – freed me from every plan I’d ever laid, wiping clean a slate I hadn’t known needed erasure. My future was wide and white before me, exhilarating and terrifying all knotted together in the pit of my stomach, and then a new question ran screaming through my mind.

What the heck was I going to do now?

I looked at my son snuggled warm in the bouncer and reasoned with myself that we were five years away from kindergarten. Surely, I could handle five years. Ten years, if I had two more children in just the right time, in just the right order and stayed home until the last one started school. To be fair. Ten years, and I could pick my life back up and jump into the career I still loved and wanted, though less than I had before.

It seemed like a good plan, and it was. Good enough to help me do the next right thing. Good enough to start me out on a path – that despite twists and turns and unexpected events – eventually led me here, to today.

I’ve been feeling a bit nostalgic these first weeks of school because those ten years have nearly come and gone. That long ago point I had fixed my eyes on in order to survive the staying home, is over. I’ve blinked, and in the same amount of time that little boy in the bouncer has two brothers, and is starting fourth grade, and has been homeschooled for his entire elementary education.

Our lives are wildly different than I thought they would be when I tried to imagine what ten years would look like on us so long ago. I am wildly different than who I thought I would be.

And I wouldn’t change a thing.

That young momma – for all her cluelessness and hopeful desire to make the best choices for her family – made a lot of wrong choices. But she also made one that turned out really good, and I wish I could step out from this moment into hers to whisper to her my thanks, and a word of encouragement for the road that lay before her…

I see you, little momma, with your head between your hands and the tears streaming down your face. All the wonder in your heart and the questions just the same. I see you.

And I want you to know you’re gonna be ok.

I know you’re feeling lost and confused, like your life is never going to be the same. And it won’t – but in the most wonderful of ways.

This mothering job is hard – REALLY hard. Harder than anything you’ve ever done (I think you get the picture) and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

But it will get better.

There’ll come a day that sneaks up unannounced, when you know more than you don’t about caring for this precious child. When the moments of panic and overwhelm come farther and fewer between. When you don’t feel so mind-numbingly tired every moment of every day. When you raise your head up from your hands long enough to see the miracle of this child in front of you, and laugh with joy for all of God’s goodness – 

Because what felt like the greatest sacrifice has become your greatest reason to give thanks.

This is a long-haul kind of journey, and it WILL surprise you. So train yourself to see with heart-eyes, and listen with heart-ears, to the lessons God will teach you. Hold your plans loosely, and your temper tight – even tighter, your faith, your husband, and your momma-friends who most surely will keep you from drowning in these early waters. Give yourself permission to fail, and then get up and try again in the kind of strength that only comes from God’s amazing grace, and mornings full of new mercy –

To you, for you, dear momma.

Embrace your moments – good ones and tired ones, terrifying ones and sacred ones – because they’re yours, and you only get them once. Find a way to find yourself in all of this rediscovery of new life, and always remember you were a wife first, a wife forever.

If you ever wonder (and I know that you will) this choice you’ve made was exactly the right one for you and this family God’s giving you. So stand tall. Be confident. Make space for other mommas who walk different paths and obey different callings, and walk boldly in the calling God’s given to you.

Because when you do you never, ever, walk alone.

I see you, little momma. Raise your head and dry your eyes. Hold on tight. This is gonna be better than anything you’ve ever dreamed.