Mom, wife, maid, chef, nurse, counselor.... You name it, we are it. But what about ME? When do I get to be me? When do any of us get to be just us? Whether we are chasing after little ones, putting load of laundry in the wash and cooking dinner, or we are at work during the day to then come home and chase after kids, pick up their toys and still cook dinner. We are consumed with all of these other titles. When do we get to just be us?
I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted today. This topic had been swirling around in my psyche for a few weeks but I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to write about or even how. Then, as I watched the verdict being handed down in the Breonna Taylor case yesterday and it was made very obvious that justice would not prevail, it became crystal clear to me what I wanted to say and express.
One of the major pushbacks LGBTQ people get from heterosexuals is about how their relationships are “unacceptable” “abnormal” and “unnatural”. However. Perhaps it’s time for those of us who are mothers to consider these matters according to the lens of our very own hearts. I’ll call it, the “Mother Lens“. As mothers, we are the only ones on earth who are able to give birth to all of humanity. (How absolutely freaking incredible is that!) Considering this. I declare that perhaps it’s time we look a little deeper about what really are the unacceptable, abnormal, and unnatural matters of a mother’s heart. Especially when it comes to her own LGBTQ children. Because the truth of the matter is. Only we alone would know!
Billy Dee Williams is his name no joke, I still remember when my mother came home from the hospital with his chunky butt June 17th 1989 two days after his birth.
"My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it."
-Clarence Budington Kelland
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.”
If you are not a parent yet, or have just started having a family. When you hear the word grandparent, what comes to mind? I'm not going to enjoy being a grandparent, that'll mean I am old. I used to think the same way, until I had them