September 21, 2016
Last night, you curled up next to me in my bed with your latest Golden Sower book, excited to do all the voices, and to introduce me to a character that you can't get enough of.
I was so--so--so tired. I awoke at 4am, only to discover that going back to sleep was not in the cards for me, worked the day at school and then spent the evening shuffling to and from activities.
I kept my eyes open as long as I could. I just kept looking at you and listening to you. Your whole face stood animated, alive, engaged--up until the point when you HAD to turn to garner one more delicious bite of chocolate ice cream. You're so, so, so beautiful. Really. It astounds me. The way that you say, "Wait, mama. This--THIS--is the best part!" and then you tell me about hugging your sister because she got really hot on the playground and how you're worried that Sam just seems to be doing homework all the time and that you'll have pizza tomorrow, so I don't have to worry about making a cold lunch and that you really liked my polka dotted dress today.
So, when I woke up and saw that you were not there and realized that I had fallen asleep during your reading, I felt like a terrible mother. I sheepishly, made my way into your room and apologized to which you retorted, "I was trying to ask you a contextual question and your mouth was open, but your eyes were closed. You took away my voice."
Shit. Shit. Shit.
It was late. You were tired and hurt and I was tired and hurt and so, I didn't get to say this.
If there is one promise, aside from fostering your faith on this earth, I will never, never, never keep you from finding, speaking, and nurturing your voice. You have my word.
There is nothing more important than discovering who you are, what you care about, your lines in the sand, the places that you will show up to and the hills that you will die on.
I know what it feels like to be a young woman who is not recognized for her voice and it is a small, humiliating place to visit. This land of power mongers is not for you.
You, my daughter, will have the support to grow your heart and your lungs and your mindset and your tribe, so that when the time comes to go to war, you will be on the field prepared for victory.
I will never squelch your voice or your dreams or your possibilities.
I am your advocate.
I am also human and tired and stretched and learning and trying.
So, forgive me when I need to refuel. As you'll discover, most women are still trying to nurture their voice and the things that matter to them, well into their lifetimes. And this forty one year old mother is no different.
I love you. I believe in you. And I'd love a second chance at hearing your voice tell the tale tonight. I promise to keep my eyes open.
Love, Mama xo