We Can’t Rewrite Our Chapters

Twice now over the last four weeks, I have ugly cried in my car. 

Moments of reflection come to me, and a wave of emotions rushes through my body, my soul, and my mind. 

Both times wishing I could go back in my girls' childhoods, and do things differently, or start their childhoods as of today. 

I have three daughters, but have been two different mothers. 

The first was a mother that was young, but determined, had grit and knew that for her daughter, she had to figure it out. 

(Spoiler alert, she did.) 

She had little resources, but a village that wrapped around her and her girl. 

She took on multiple jobs. 

She went back to school. 

And they always had a home, and were fed. 

And she was scared. 

She was unsure. 

She made mistakes. 

She missed bedtime. 

She leaned on that village to raise her girl. 

And that is the mother that my oldest grew up with. By no means perfect, but looking back now, exactly who she needed to be in that lifetime for both of them. 

Then came the next version. 

The one that got to do things a little differently, but still had that grit, and was a mover and shaker, showing all her girls that if you wanted something bad enough, and you made that promise to yourself, just how important it was not to break it. 

She climbed all the ladders. 

She hit all the goals. 

She did what she said she was going to do, and some.

And she was tired. 

She was burnt out. 

She was not her best self. 

When she was home, she wasn’t present. 

When she wasn’t home, it was felt. 

Now enters this new mother. 

The one that is more present, and patient. 

The one that is slowing down, and living more deeply. 

The one that is getting to know each of her daughters as the individuals that they are. 

Yes, I have missed things. 

Yes, I met every goal, and have done things I never thought were imaginable for previous versions of myself.  

And, I am really like the version of me that I am becoming. The one in this chapter. 

But looking back now, I have to believe that each daughter was born in the exact chapter that they were meant to be in. 

That I was the exact mother they needed, at that time. 

That this next chapter for me, for us, they get to see it in real time as older versions of themselves. Ones that will remember the transformation. That will remember a version of me that picked them, that picked us. 

That made bold, courageous choices, not knowing how it would turn out, but having all the faith in the world that it was going to be okay. That believed they deserved more, better, and so she went for it. 

For them. 

For us. 

For her. 

In this chapter, I am excited to see what happens, and I thank the previous chapters and versions of myself that got us to where we are today.