Sometimes I feel I’m in the grips of utter failure as a mom. Social media and Pinterest feed my comparative nature. Most times, I feel like I’m walking across a valley on my knees, in an eternal state of seeking forgiveness for not being enough.
Maybe I’m failing as…
An adoptive mom, barely remembering to reach out to my son’s birth mom and send her photos or notes of loving gratitude that would make her day.
Why can’t I be more proactive?
A birth mom, wondering if I’m doing enough to form a permanent bond with my birth daughter.
Why can’t I be more available?
A re-adoptive mom, feeling like I could’ve done more homework to make a better choice for my birth daughter, or had the courage to be a single parent.
Why can’t I be more responsible?
A bio mom to my boys, cringing at my harsh tone and direct manner, assuming they think I’m favoring my adopted kids to them.
What can’t I be more fair and gentle in spirit?
A mom who has un unnamed child in heaven, wondering if he/she can ever forgive me.
Why can’t I give myself grace?
I’m seeped in guilt and shame, feelings that now seem as comfortable and familiar as my favorite blanket. A blanket that I’m afraid to remove, lest I become prideful.
Part of me wants to climb out of the valley and reach some peak of perfection. Perhaps the view at the top is incredible. Perhaps I’ll escape the depths of regret and despair. I’ll finally know freedom.
But then again, perhaps the top is awfully lonely. What fun is reaching a peak if I have no one to share it with? Perhaps the peak isn’t the place for me at all.
So, I’ll stay here in the valley. Because that’s where humanity lives. That’s where I’ll shed my blanket…and you shed yours…and we’ll wrestle together with our fears and perceived failures. We’ll share our doubts and joys, our uncertainties and successes, our questions and discoveries. We won’t ever be lonely here in the valleys called LIFE. We’ll walk alongside one another.
We will say with conviction, “You’re not alone in this. I’m here, too.”