If you haven’t read the first in this series on gaining confidence, find or recommend it here.
I have a working theory about courage, and I’ll share it with you. Keep in mind that I won’t know if this works until the end of my life, when it’s finally time to look back and there is no more moving forward (until, perhaps, there is). So we’ll just have to try this out and see how it goes.
I have had quite a few beautiful people ask me how I find the confidence to do the things I do (mostly regarding painting, singing, writing, and parenting). I used to tell them confidence was the key. But now that I have spent time thinking deeply on the question, I am not so sure it's the answer. In fact, I am quite sure it is not.
First, let me explain what kind of homeschool mom I am.
I hate it.
I love my boys to death (we're supposed to say that no matter what), but I don’t like teaching them. It takes forever and their little hands are so slow and they're so bad at things. I know I’m supposed to think it’s adorable that they suck at reading and writing and basic critical thinking and that they’re really good at making messes and crying for no logical reason. But yeah, no. I’m not a fan.
If You Were Brave
Here, I write a very lofty, albeit short, idea-conglomerate for those who wish they had more courage, more intentionality, more purpose, or all three. If you can make it to the end, good for you. If you can’t, it’s not because I didn’t warn you.
I’m not a very good mom. In fact, most of my friends are better at “momming” than I am. Society defines the concept in ways I don’t match up to. I don’t wear makeup or dresses. I don’t do my hair or nails. I don’t keep an immaculate house. I don’t like shopping or decorating. I’m not a fan of major holidays nor the cheer that comes with them. Play dates are the worst. Sometimes, I don’t even like my kids. But mostly, I don’t like being a “mom.”
Is joy real?
I have a friend who I associate with joy. She is the light in every room. Her voice takes up space, but in a way that is welcome, longed for. I never realize how deeply I miss her until she is near me, and then I feel a budding in my chest. She gives me her joy. At least that’s what it feels like.