Mom where are all the cardinal birds?

You mean the red birds?

Yeah, the ones with the sharp heads.

And as if the mere suggestion was all it took, I’ve seen three of them in my yard today for the first time this year.

No better toy for two young boys than a giant cardboard box.

They were taking turns getting under the box and hopping around like a turtle with bunny feet.  My heart swelled with pride at their ability to share.  They even managed get under the overturned box at the same time to play together.

Small Fry: Hey I’ll get under there too and you be the front lights and I’ll be the back lights (suddenly they were no longer a turbit but rather some sort of vehicle I’m guessing).

Medium Fry: Sure get under.

Small Fry: Okay let’s go.

(One poorly executed lurch forward.  Laughter erupts.  Out pop two boys.)

Small Fry: (grabbing his face) Ow!  My nose!

(Medium Fry continues laughing)

Small Fry: (standing up and looking down at the floor)  Oooh!  Stickers!!

Attention spans are so over-rated.

I know my MOM loves me.  Of course, SHE does, but she’s my mom and she’s supposed to love her child.

That’s the excuse I used forever to beat myself up.

I convinced myself–and attempted to convince the world–for more than half of my life that I had it all together.  I was strong.  I was unphased.  I was smart.  I could do it all without fear.  The larger events happening around me?  That’s just life.  Why cry over spilled milk?

But I could only wear that smile and bright red dress for so long before they became too restrictive and heavy and eventually impossible to put on every morning.

It turns out that being adopted, having my father just leave one day, gaining a new step-father (and distraction for my mother), having a sister who was battling addiction and failed loves did affect me no matter how much I wanted to pretend they didn’t.

The effect?  I became convinced that I deserved this all.  Clearly I wasn’t enough.  I mean I was the common denominator.  I wasn’t ever enough to make people stay–to keep them from leaving me.  Yep, this was just life.  Some people live in golden sunshine and others don’t.  I was one of the “others.”  Identifying it almost felt like a relief.  Now that I understood the ways of the world I could move forward with the knowledge that this was the way life was going to be.  Make some adjustments to your expectations girl and hope to have to opportunity warm up in the reflected glow of the ones you know who are on the golden path.

That got me through the next few years.

Then some really big shit happened:  Marriage, the arrival of a child with 48 hours notice, the loss of a tremendously important loved one, pregnancy and birth.

I discovered real, true love.

Real love.  True love.  It wasn’t waning.  It wasn’t perfect.  But, it endured.

And slowly, over time, I’ve been discovering that my mom didn’t just love me because it was her job.  I didn’t have to keep spinning for the happiness of others to be worthy of their love.  There might even be a chance that I could love myself.  Not too much right away–let’s not get ahead of ourselves–but a little bit here and there just to see how it feels.

The unconditional love of my children* has been one of the best lessons on this path, but so too have the words of fellow bloggers and authors like Brene Brown who remind me I do deserve love–most importantly from myself TODAY.

Brene is celebrating a week of worthiness on her blog to commemorate the release of her DVD The Hustle of Worthiness.  I have a copy of the DVD to give away.  Please leave a comment below–maybe share a tip on how you discovered your worthiness–to be entered to win.  The winner will be chosen at random on Monday.

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*Two of my three children are still rather young.  There is some divine power that builds up the tank of the love you get from your children when they’re young to leave you with enough reserves to survive their teen years.

Words race through my head.  Oh to let them spill out here on the page would lift such a weight from my shoulders.

But I have a teenager.

I would never share his stories in the first place, that isn’t my place, but what we are struggling with is my story too.

Today I asked for help.

I realized that there was no more I could do to solve the situation by myself–it was time to call in reinforcements.  Years of living with an addict sibling and years pretending depression didn’t exist actually paid off.

Asking for help doesn’t signify failure it signifies sanity (or at least a moment of clarity).

Nothing changes immediately, but the simple act of admitting you can’t do it alone (or even within your own family) certainly lightens the load enough to take a few more steps.

No one is in danger here.  The world will continue to spin. Raising children though?

Tough work sometimes.  Tough work.