Being home during the panini press that was last year showed me that there’s an anxious version of myself that runs on autopilot whenever doing so feels easier than actively caring for myself. She makes choices that undermine what feels best and most gentle in the name of efficacy and completed to do lists. Last night, she and I were reintroduced as the first day of school had me struggling to choose how much I feel able to prioritize my own wellness over the expectation to perform.
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My body is saying rest. And still… I’m setting unrealistic expectations for myself. And experiencing frustration when things take longer than expected. And adding more plans to the plans. And pushing back on my husband when he encourages me to acknowledge this sabotage.
It is an eery thing. To recognize the ways you are moving counter-intuitively all the while feeling beyond your own control. Because there are things that must get done. And you must be the one to do them.
I was barely in my 20’s the first time I realized that one of my dearest friendships had lost its familiarity. Having spent high school within a clique of girls… the ranks began to fizzle out, and going off to college was slowly shifting my views. Armed with a bunch of feelings I didn’t have the emotional intelligence to express, I just knew that the friendship began to feel more hard landing than safety net.
My older sister, who's hands down one of the greatest mothers I know, told me years ago that she was intentional about not showing annoyance when doing my niece’s hair. Her reasoning was simple: viewing our hair as a burden is a learned behavior she had no interest in passing on.
I've chosen traditions for my family that weren't practiced in the house I spent my teenage years. My parents chose not to participate in yesterday's Kwanzaa activity and feigned ignorance regarding the meaning behind the holiday. While I recognize that the unfamiliar is uncomfortable, it's a source of pride to know my younger siblings are receptive. To know that I'm a peer to some of them, but they're no less willing to let me lead.
I see now, more than ever, what my grandmother sought to do in giving me a holiday rooted in my personal experiences. She was championing the God I only thought I worshipped by exalting Him, and only Him, on Christmas Day. She was also planting roots of heritage and self-celebration by adding Kwanzaa to our holiday roster. She was creating a tradition I could take pride in and affirming that these two holidays didn't have to be mutually exclusive.