It was a Thursday afternoon, and I was watching the kids from the balcony where I’d settled into my usual spot. The gymnastics arena, where they participate weekly, was still fairly busy for the midday rotation. It’s attended by both preschool and homeschool kids in their respective classes. The walls are lined with banners for various awards, and the floor is covered in pads and bars and apparatuses and giant block pits. It has the smell of plastic and powder and a few of the mystery scents that come with a well-used, old gym. The view is sprinkled with adorable big and little gymnasts in their leotards and sparkles. It’s an aspiring gymnast’s dream for all the fun moves, routines, and exercises they’ve learned.
I can get a better view from the balcony, and I’d brought a little work to sneak in while I watched, assuming I could get away with it.
Assume, would be the operative word.
As they went through their stretching, I slowly eased out my laptop, ready to conquer all that sat on my never ending list for the afternoon while they enjoyed their class. But as it progressed, I realized I was going to have to do a little bit more than just an affirming glance-up. The boys and Emmy split off into their classes, and began their various stations with their instructors. And they kept looking up and waving furiously whenever I made eye contact. It had been a while since I’d brought them as I’d been bogged down with a project, and Jamin had taken gymnastics duty for quite a few weeks. But mom was back, and they wanted me to watch. My eyes would flit from one group to the next, and then slowly down to my laptop, when I saw her.
Emerson was going through her stations just as she was supposed to, but every time she completed an exercise, I saw her glance up at me and then add a little flourish. An extra special move, if you will.
A dramatic bow. A side tilt with her hand on her hip, wiggling a bit and exploding into giggles as she moved on to the next exercise. A flourish of the hand, shot straight into the air and then thrown down to the side as if it were a part of the routine. Every single time she completed a move, she added this. If she did a backwards flip off the mat, she would stand up, and add a little pose, fluttering her lashes with the flash of a cheesy smile. A leap into the air with her instructor, and she would stop, make sure I was watching, and then add a flourish of the hip, thrown with such passion, that if I’d tried the same move, I might injure myself. All smiles and sparkles in her leotard. The gym was crowded that day but you would think it was just Emerson and me. The spotlight on her, all that mattered was that I was watching. She was hamming it up.
We have this box in our home where we store our memories. Little treasures collected over time, salvaged for us. It’s kept in this crate, because I limit myself, or else I’ll always be that sentimentalist to the core, saving all the things. And while I’m on the topic, thank goodness for the digital age, or else I’m destined to be that mom with crowded unopened boxes of film in envelopes from Kodak, a-la back in the days when we had them developed at Walmart and had three copies of everything.
The other night, I was looking for something in that crate, when I stumbled across my diaries from childhood. I had three of them, ranging from the age of 8, the very age Emerson is now, to about sixteen. Three of these compact little books where I kept sporadic entries with good intentions. They’d been handed to me at some point when my parents cleaned out their extra boxes, and I’d tucked them away for later.
Also, I had a real affinity for purple.
I’d forgotten all about them until that moment, and I sat down to read them, eagerly. I even called Emerson over because I thought it would be so fun to read these entries to her. I was so certain I would find notes about hidden crushes and embarrassing moments. The usual girl stuff. But I was shocked by two things, and I quickly cut off the read-aloud because it honestly was too difficult to complete: 1. How shallow and silly I was, and 2. How quickly my thoughts digressed.
The not-so-loyal diary writer that I was, I probably averaged about ten to twenty entries per year. So the contrast was shocking and quick. Like fast forwarding through childhood. My entries went from simple things about my family and trips, and Easter, to bemoaning moments, like why no boys liked me and mean girls {I’m sure I was part of the drama}. And to be honest, quite a few things I’d completely forgotten about that seemed to bring on a fresh sting all over again. Some events that I really couldn’t believe happened, but they brought back those fresh memories …all over again.
And the most disturbing part? It made me feel downright crummy. I was surprised by that. It was almost as if I were digressing with all those old feelings. I wanted to reach through those pages, back into time, and grasp my face. Shake myself. “Don’t be like that!” I want to scream, “You don’t need a boy to make you feel validated!” and more importantly, “Things will get better. All around. PROMISE!”
But I was most astounded by the person I’m not anymore. And again, more sadness that I couldn’t quite put a finger on, because really… it was kind of silly to let a few childhood diaries with ill-recorded events make me feel bad.
I read a few entries to Jamin with voice inflections for some good drama. “Can you believe that?!” I added at the end.
And when I was finished, he patiently asked the simple question: “Why are you holding on to those?”
So, back to Emerson dancing on the gym floor that day: Looking up at me, fluttering her lashes and flashing that smile, without a care in the world. All that mattered to her, was that she had a captive audience. And that I cared.
I had so many thoughts in that moment. Jamin and I often say that she’s our challenging one. Parenting is so hard. But it’s absolutely amazing, all at the same time. I had tears in my eyes I laughed so hard, this quiet moment in the middle of everyone, just between us. She didn’t care who saw her. She didn’t care who noticed. She was putting on a show of her own, with her own moves. And she was absolutely rocking it.
And then I wondered… when do we lose that flourish? That passion? That absolute abandonment? When do we become so blatantly self-conscious? Such passive rule followers and people pleasers, focused on all our faults and insecurities that we forget who we really are?
Because with each page that I turned in that not-so-happy childhood reunion, I lost a little of myself. When did I go from that carefree 8 year old, to a miserable full-of-angst-and-drama 16 year old? I know that’s actually pretty normal. But some of it, as all childhoods are, was cringe-worthy and painful to recount. Things I’d rather leave in the past. And I couldn’t put a finger on why I was letting it bother me.
I wanted to take that moment with Emerson, adding all her tiny moves, and bottle that little girl up. Hold her close forever. I want her {and her brothers} to know that she truly is perfect, just the way God made her. She’s the way that she is, and will struggle with her own things, because it’s a part of her. But even her weaknesses can strengthen her when she learns to work through them. I want her to know that her sense of humor is absolutely amazing and she’s brilliant and strong headed and those are all good things. She and I, we clash, head on, like two bulls in a china shop on crack, because she’s so much like me but so much more. She’s all the things that I always wanted to be. A girl full of gusto, she has this edge about her that I never did, and I want her to embrace that.
Growing up is hard. Being an adult is harder. But one day, she’ll figure out who she is and what she’s good at and she should never let go.
I’ve spent the last two years, doing a little soul searching of my own. Wrestling with ideals I once accepted, I now challenge. Growing in my struggles, in ways I didn’t think were possible. It hasn’t been pretty. And it hasn’t been easy. I naively thought we were supposed to have it all figured out by now. When I sat on the floor as a child writing in those diaries, I was so eager to see who I would become. And I think it scares me a little that I’m still processing. Still becoming that person.
We’re all haunted by our own ghosts. I’d held onto those diaries for my entire life, hoping to hand them down to my own daughter one day. But I didn’t like what I read about myself, and others there. The story isn’t over. So there was something freeing in that moment, when I took those diaries, and threw them away. Because opening those pages illuminated something for me. While we can’t forget the lessons learned in who we’ve become, we can certainly move on, and leave the past where it belongs. Bad feelings, mistakes, pent up angst. Struggles and damaged feelings and relationships… it was silly, to let it sting all over again. I refuse to be the 80 year old who never wrestled with her demons and learned her lessons, and I’m determined to let go of those insecurities.
And it felt really good, to let it go of the things I didn’t even know I was holding on to.
So, in lieu of the face-smacking metaphor that played out right before my very eyes the other day, as only Emerson can do… hold on to that spring in your step. Hold on to your eight year old self. She’s still there.
Maybe you’re still trying to figure some things out. Maybe you’ve lost yourself along the way, and you wonder what happened to that person. Maybe you wish you had a little more headstrong gusto to live fearlessly with the choices that you make. Keep doing what you’re doing. Keep moving. Keep learning from your challenges and mistakes. Keep growing and evolving as a person. Make those sweet moves that only you can do, part of your own routine. Life is an ever changing, ever growing process… and it can be hard.
Throw those hips. Flash that smile. Put you hand in the air and another on your hip. And rock it.
Add a little flourish, just as you can. You won’t regret it.
Jenny B. says
This is great! I’ve been thinking about similar things as I get started on my digital scrapbook for 2016. For the past few years, I’ve kept a journal — on my computer… no purple diaries here 😉 — and I refer to it as I’m putting my pages together. What I’ve found, though, is that my journaling is usually focused on the frustrating things, and doesn’t typically match up with the photos I took, which mostly document the fun stuff. So, I decided for this year, I’ll keep a calendar instead. I’ll record our daily schedules (hello, basketball practices…) but also add funny things the kids say or special achievements. It won’t have as many details, but I think it will be more fun to look at in a few years. 🙂
ashley @ the handmade home says
So true! We do often use journaling for venting. I like your perspective with it all!
rhonda says
That was beautiful 🙂 Thanks for the encouragement!
Stephanie says
Been following you for awhile, but never felt compelled to reply. I loved this post, with three young girls and lots of responsibilities – I really needed this reminder 🙂 Thank you.
ashley @ the handmade home says
Thanks so much Stephanie!
Rose L. says
I did the same. I was disappointed by the reading of it. So, as you did, I shredded each page and let it go.
Denise says
What a wonderful post! You have summed up my thoughts of the past week so beautifully. This world is a hard place to live, but it is good to have reminders that we don’t have to let it bring us down. I hope you are able to find the encouragement that you have given us, your readers. Thank you for brightening my day!!
ashley @ the handmade home says
Awe thank you Denise.
Annmarie says
I love this so much!! Thank you for sharing your heart!!
Kelly says
This was beautiful. I journaled in my younger years too and like you I happened upon my old diaries recently. When I read the words written by my younger self I couldn’t believe the self-absorption and harsh judgement. Was I really that negative? Did I even love my brother? Could I have been that rebellious in my heart towards my parents? It made me sad and ashamed and I was so glad to get rid of those diaries. I would have been so embarrassed if my children found and read them. But having all those feelings about my former self gives me hope – hope that I’m more open and free with my love and that I’m willing to see the good in others instead of just their irksome traits. What a wonderful reminder that we are all being shaped and molded by something, and hopefully we are following God’s commands to love him and love others.
KariAnne says
Such an awesome post. 🙂
Such an awesome life lesson. 🙂
love your heart.
Jude says
I guess I would sum that up as you live and learn.. if you are luckyI I am still learning and improving at the ripe old age of 48. Thankyou for that post sometimes its great to take a look back and see how far youve come.
KariAnne says
Jude!
You are soooo right! I’m always trying and learning. And now I’m going to do it with a flourish. 🙂
Happy day friend!
karianne
Kristy Jones says
Great post! So inspiring and I was actually encourage to do the same. Thank you very much.
erin @ thh says
Oh, I had a moment very similar to this, a couple of months ago when I cleaned out the closet in my old room at my parents’ house. Years of memories–diaries, sketchbooks, old favorite books I’d be embarrassed to admit I read more than once. I tossed it ALL. It was glorious.
The thing that gets me is that we tell our young people these are the best years of their lives. Those awful, angst-ridden pre-teen and teenage years where we think we know everything but get absolutely NOTHING. Our worlds are so small. Why do we pass that lie onto our kids? “You’d better do x-y-z now before…” “You’d better take advantage of this now before…” How about we tell them the truth, that those are the smallest years of their lives and if they can make it through with their integrity maintained, they have the rest of their days to grow and flourish and mature into truly comprehending what is beautiful, true, and good?
Sorry, little rant there.
I kept my flourish for a long, long time, which I owe in part I believe to my being homeschooled. I just didn’t have a large group of mean girls forcing me into a box every day. My fellow homeschooled friends were busy adding their own mark in the same way I was, and we encouraged one another. It wasn’t until I was an adult and entered the realm of motherhood that I felt that pressure to conform. That’s been a struggle, for sure. Dyeing my hair pink was one way for me to break out of that. I am glad I did that. Flourish, right?
Sorry for the novel. I loved this post for many reasons, not the least of which because we’re about to have our first girl after three boys and I spend most of my time thinking about all the things I want her to know as a fellow female. It’s daunting. I’ll be saving this post to refer back to. 🙂
ashley @ the handmade home says
Erin – thank you so very much for giving me a lot to chew on this morning.
My dad always told me growing up, that these years really don’t matter. It’s one of the things he instilled in me, over and over and over again. It literally got me through high school. And I remember thinking once I got to college and beyond… how right he truly was. I love the way you worded it. “With their integrity maintained.” SO true.
The homeschool thing, we have been on the fence about. We have felt so much frustration trying to work full time with a business from home, and do what we do, it’s just really hard. I’ve been focusing on a lot of negatives as I usually do this time of year. I’ve been focusing on all the wrong things. It’s hard when I don’t feel like anyone really “gets” where we’re coming from on that front. But on the flip side, there are SO MANY PROS to it all. And it’s been in the back of my head all this time – especially when they’re around friends/relatives who are in a different place with education. There is a striking difference. I’ve been seeing it as negative, and it’s just not. Jamin and I just had a long discussion about this and I was shocked to find we’re on the same page with it all. This is not something we will rush back into. It’s not easy. It never has been. Nothing you choose for your child will be. It’s truly year to year. There’s just a lot to consider, a lot I’ve been mulling over, and you hit the nail on the head with that statement. So thank you.
Congratulations on your sweet little girl on the way!
Donna says
Beautifully said.
Alison says
I mean, wow. First of all, you are just such an amazing writer. Honestly, I really enjoy EVERYTHING you write.
Second, this is a really great post and I really needed to read this. I need to remind myself of this daily.
ashley @ the handmade home says
Awe Alison- thank you so much! ?
Rach says
Oh just beautiful.
(Got rid of my journals 10 years ago for these very same reasons and I haven’t regretted it.)