The Gift of a Life

I will not claim to have any sort of grand plan cooked up to better myself. I stopped taking resolutions seriously years ago. They never seem to work for me, or anyone in my vicinity. Even the idea of making resolutions just because it is a new calendar year feels like an annual setup. You make goals, put a bunch of energy into them, crash, fail, and spend the rest of the year thinking about how much better your life would be if you just met those goals. And after the year I have had, that we all have, it felt empty and silly to force any sort of lifestyle change just because humans habitually mark time.

The end of last year, and the beginning of this one, has been hard. My mother passed away suddenly and unexpectedly December first. She was a single mom, my best friend and ally in all things. I feel her loss in everything I do. I now face future events she should have been here for-- my wedding, meeting her grandchildren-- without her guidance and support. I can't shake the feeling that I have forgotten to call her. It's always there, in the back of my mind, until something significant happens and I remember that I can't tell her about it.

She was fun and kind and loving. But I wish she had been kinder to herself. I wish she had taken better care of her body and soul. For all she gave to her children and family and friends, she had enough to give; but she always put her wants and needs on the back burner. I know there is no point wishing things had been different, but the reality is that if she had, she would be here. Her body was so worn down from years of illness and stress, and she thought she had time to make the changes she needed. She was stuck, in a sense. She knew what she needed to do but couldn't bring herself to do it. I have often found myself wondering why, even when she was alive. There were so many aspects of her life she had no control over. Why wouldn't she want to solve what she could?

She had so many moments to choose herself, to make those doctors appointments she had been putting off, or to put pen to paper and write a book instead of talking about doing it someday. She could have been so much happier and healthier than she was, if only she had chosen herself more often. Even little things, like saying no to others when she was already stretched too thin, or not expecting herself to be superwoman every single day. She was filled with guilt every holiday about not having a mountain of presents or a six course meal, about her house being a perpetual mess, even though she was significantly disabled and, therefore, unable to operate at a normal level. She was always the first to tell me I needed to relax, or to take care of myself, or to not care what other people thought of me so long as I was happy. So why did she never give these allowances to herself? After years of asking myself these questions, and telling her she needed to be easier on herself with little progress, I gave up on the idea that I could talk her into simply loving herself. And then she died, and I have forever lost my chance to help her be at peace with her own heart and mind.

Between my grief, the pandemic, and the yearly seasonal slump, I have been pretty depressed. I always figure out that I'm depressed by my surroundings before I realize how terrible I feel. I become engulfed in clutter; nothing gets put away, laundry piles up, I run out of clean dishes. Everything is slow, too. My body, my thoughts. I stare at books, the TV, the sink full of dishes, barely processing any of it beyond the idea that it is. So looking around my house, it was easy to see that life had taken its toll on my mental health. Still, I ignored the signs and let each day pass with little acknowledgment that I was hurting. Last week, I tried to get up from my nest on the couch to clean four or five times, each time realizing I had somehow ended up back where I started after pacing hopelessly for a bit.

That same night, my boyfriend came out of his office as he always does. For some reason, seeing him filled me with a sort of guilt. We had not eaten, and it was way past dinnertime. He wasn't asking or judging, or even expecting me to do anything about it, but I felt like I should have been doing better. I realized I had tears streaming down my face as I told him we should probably order food. That was when I realized how deeply depressed I was. I made myself say the words, “I am depressed”. Voicing it seemed to draw me out of myself enough to realize that the fog in my brain and the weight of everything that I had been drowning in was not real. I was not made of sadness. I am flesh and bone, imperfect and, sometimes, unable to be the best version of me.

Once I realized how much of a zombie I was, I started taking vitamin D and, lo and behold, two days later I was able to cook dinner, do some dishes and take a sorely needed bubble bath. I don't feel perfect, far from it, but how I have felt since the new year literally feels like a dream compared to my current mental and emotional capacity. Since I am finally able to process more than menial tasks, I can look at the big picture of my life, and my mother’s. Her life was not a happy or easy one. How many times did she feel buried under the weight of it all? When did she finally give up on trying to dig herself out-- or did she even realize there were years of self doubt and disappointment between her and a peaceful, happy life? When did she stop giving herself breaks, or allowing herself to be human for no other reason than she was flesh and bone, and imperfect?

It may have not changed anything for her, apart from enjoying her life a little more every day. I know that she was regularly depressed, and always waiting for more-- more money, more time, more reason to move forward-- but no amount of those things would have made her realize how little room she gave herself for failure, or even success. It was all or nothing for her, and if she came even a centimeter short, that centimeter was her main focus. She was the only person in her life that expected perfection from herself-- the rest of us just wanted her to find some happiness and peace of mind.

So, as I start the first year of my life without a mom, I think the best course--the only course-- for my new year isn't going to be a diet and exercise, or sticking to a strict budget, or jumping on the newest ways the world has determined is life-changing. I’m going to keep it super simple for the foreseeable future, something achievable, and something I can’t fail; I am going to be kinder to myself.

I’m going to let myself live, knowing that there is no right way. I’m going to stop apologizing for my imperfections, for not being or giving enough, because what is enough? If I sit on the couch all day because my brain chemistry is out of whack, I will not feel guilty about it. I am not going to hold myself to some standard because, at the end of the day, I know even if I managed to do everything ‘right’, I will always find something I could do differently or better. I am going to stop avoiding failure by simply not trying. And if I find that I am simmering in my failures, or feeling that guilt, or expecting to tackle every obstacle that comes my way with the ferocity and determination we see in Hollywood characters when facing life’s curveballs, and dragging myself over hot coals for simply being as I am-- I’m not going to feel guilty about that either. I am going to forgive myself, and be as kind to myself as I would with a struggling friend or family member. And then I will be free to choose myself.

My mother gave me this gift. She did not know she was giving it, and I know she would not have seen it as a gift in life-- only a failure to be a better example for me. And I am going to take that weight away from her. She is not allowed to blame herself, to decide she should have been better, stronger, or more successful. Whether or not she no longer exists as more than a memory, or if she sits behind me in spirit as I write this, I refuse to let her beat herself up over being human. I am going to accept this gift-- the idea that accepting imperfection and struggle as merely a part of life, not something to regret or fix, but moments to choose forgiveness and self love over trying to fix everything overnight.

While I wish she had understood this before the end, her struggles have helped me realize how choosing me, in all of my imperfection, can help heal those imperfections, and the negative connotations that often come with them. I am going to be kind to myself. I am going to love myself, most especially on the days that I feel I have no reason to. And in that way, my mom will be there, guiding me not by example or wise words, but by the very idea that I see herself through her eyes instead of my own. She gave me this gift, and I may not always hold myself to it with a vice grip. I will falter, and fall, and blame myself for not being better, or stronger, or more successful. But I will get back up, and face every day as a new day with new possibilities, more opportunities to love myself and forgive myself for not being perfect.

She instilled this idea in me even while she refused to do it for herself. And she was perfect. Not a perfect mother or friend, not the most selfless person she could have been, nor the strongest. But she taught me the things she had not learned, and led me to places she could not travel. She set me on the path to find myself, to find happiness and peace. To love and forgive myself. To see perfection in all of my imperfection. Her hope for a better future lives on in me, and it is her voice I hear telling me to let go of my expectations of what a good, successful life looks like.

And when I become a mother, I will echo her every day to my children-- but I will do more than say her words; I will live them. I will do it for my beautiful, fantastic mother, and for me. I will love myself unconditionally, as she loved me, and choose myself, like she never did. I won’t sweat the small things, I will nourish my mind and body, and give myself a break instead of judgment or guilt. I will be kinder to myself. It is a simple thing that anyone can do, and it could come to make little difference in the grand scheme of things, but it will make every day lighter, and every moment an opportunity. This gift came at a high cost-- it is one I would gladly exchange for her to have a do-over, to restart her life with this knowledge that I have gained. But there are no returns in life. So I will paper my walls with it, and put her hopes and dreams and wisdom into action, in my own life. In this way, I hope she stays alive in my life-- a lesson I was not forced to learn firsthand, but one that I will take with me as I navigate my way through life’s journeys. That would have made her proud, I know. She was so proud of me. All I can do, to honor her, is give her more reasons to be. And for right now? This is enough. I accept myself. I love myself. I forgive myself. And for now, that is more than enough.