Finding My Mother's Day Joy

Five years ago I was six months pregnant with my first child, a daughter. It was my first official Mother's Day. While I was excited for the "new mom" cards, flowers and brunch that initiated me into a new club, I was honestly mostly relieved.

I was relieved because I believed that I finally had a reason to be happy on Mother's Day. My backstory is long, but the point for this post is simple: I didn't have a mother.

Each Mother's Day I would take time to honor and cherish my grandmother. And trust me when I say she was worth all the praise I could give her and then some. But for days leading up to and all during Mother's Day, I felt a void, I felt left out.

For years I let it get to me, even after I had my own children. The "Mom" gifts everywhere, the cards I would never buy, the silly Facebook posts that I would never share. It was just constant reminders that my birth mother chose time and time again to not do the work, put in the time or build a relationship with me. It was a constant reminder that I was not enough for her. I began to quietly hate and resent Mother's Day.

Then in 2014 infinite wisdom came from my 3 1/2 year old daughter, "Mommy, we need LOTS of cards for all our mommies... like Gigi, and Gramma, and Nana, and Auntie, and Auntie Sarah, and Auntie Chelsea, and Mrs. Larimore, and Miss Mary, and ..." The list literally went on for about 5 minutes. And the best part about this list, is several of the women she listed, don't have children, they aren't "mothers." But with all her enthusiasm, her big heart and her ignorance to what society defined as a "mother" she taught me so much.

Mother's Day is about honoring women. It's about honoring the women who make sacrifices, who nurture, who tirelessly provide care, and support. Women who listen to all our dreams, fears, pointless ramblings and often the mundane actions of our day, all without judgment or impatience. Women who challenge us to push past our limits, who cheer us on, who celebrate when we succeed and who hold us when we fail. Women who help us to piece back together broken hearts, and who warn of clouded judgment. Women who simply showed up.

Those are the women that need to be honored on Mother's Day. And for me, I am so grateful that I have a whole team of women who stand beside me. I am also blessed that I have the opportunity to be a "mother" to my children, my nieces and nephews, my students at church, my friends and anyone that I can walk beside and show grace, support and love.

This Mother's Day, I will choose joy. Because truly, being a mother, being a woman, and being a daughter of God is worth honoring and celebrating. So to all women, traditional Mother's and "Mothers," sisters, aunties, cousins, friends and daughters of the one true king, I wish you a Happy Mother's Day. You are worth celebrating.

"Framily"

Six years ago I sat in premarital counseling with Paul and was issued a difficult assignment. 

Create a family tree. 

What??? A family tree? I needed a forest. How did I decide what family to include? Sure, I start with my nuclear family - Mom, Dad, Siblings, Grandparents - that's a good place to start right? Well crap. I don't talk to my mom, between my 3 siblings, we have 3 different moms, I have six grandparents, but I don't know much about 4 of them. Ah my head is already spinning. 

Okay, let's just focus on the "family" that's involved in my everyday life. Not necessarily blood relation, but the people I "do life" with. Okay so that includes my grandparents, they raised me, their friends that have been around the last 40 years and their kids and grand-kids. So now my "tree" was filled with people I lovingly called "aunt" or "cousin." I was good with it, I mean that's who I treated as family, but it still made no sense in tree form. 

This is just the tip of the iceberg. And this is why I failed that assignment. Not only could I not create a family tree, I couldn't define what family was to me or what the criteria for being "family" was. It was all too complicated.

So I didn't. I just didn't label it, I didn't define it and I sure as heck didn't over complicate it. I just continued to "do life" with the people I love. 

"Framily."

This morning my grandmother used the word "Framily." and it really got me thinking. At first I thought it was the perfect way to describe how complicated my family tree was; beyond our traditional family branches, were extended family branches, and then the friends-turned-family branches. 

This is how I will describe it going forward. Framily are the people that may or may not be related to me - but they are relate-able to me. We may not share ancestors or blood type; but we share joys, sorrows and life. It's not about where we come from as much as where we can go together. 

I can draw a family tree today. It would be a beautiful portrait of the people who are involved in my life. The people who support me, encourage me, influence me and love me. These people love my husband and my kids. The same way my grandmother's friends adopted me as "niece" my best friend has adopted my girls as her nieces. It's about love.

"We are all a little weird, and life's a little weird. And when we find someone who's weirdness is compatible with ours, we fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." 

Dr. Seuss

What am I doing this for?

For months I have been desiring to blog more. I have hesitated and procrastinated because of fear. Fear of judgment, criticism, not having anything valuable to say and rejection. These fears are stupid, unfounded but unfortunately they have ruled my brain.

This month I began a 24 day challenge to start writing more, conquer my fears and figure out exactly what it is my hear is desiring to say. I am currently on day nine, and I will just say the first week was rough.

The first few days I was doing great, I was motivated, excited and confident. But then I was faced with the reality of my life. I am busy, I am pulled in multiple directions and quite honestly I have been using so much of my mental energy on school. I just got overwhelmed and tried to put it all on the back burner.

An environment change seemed to be just what I needed though to get back on track. For the last 4 days I have been a sponsor for our middle school youth group at their summer camp. I am here to encourage them, disciple them and support them. (Oh and make sure they are in bed on time lol) What is great about this week beyond the kids, is that I have a lot of free time each day in a beautiful God centered space. Needless to say this has given me a lot of time to reflect and ask God what exactly I am supposed to do with this blog.

So I am sitting and pondering the question, "what am I doing this for?" Why do I feel the desire to write? What am I trying to say? Where do I want this blog to go? How can I impact others and speak God's truths?

I don't have the answers, but I am at least glad to be asking the question. My next step is to evaluate each question and keep moving forward with my writing efforts.

What are some of the areas that fear holds you back? What are the questions or actions that you can use to move forward to conquer your fears?

No risk, no reward

A couple of weeks ago I was gathering books to share with our Financial Peace University class. While going through the bookshelves to pick them all out I became distracted and stuck. I had come across my very first diary. Using my best lock picking skills and a bobby pin I forced open the book and began reading.

The diary started the summer before 4th grade, right before I left for my first summer at camp. The book was filled with scribbled writings, poems, love letters, even some dried roses pressed between pages. It ends at the summer before middle school. (All 7th graders back then kept their journal in a black and white composition notebook of course) Most of the writings were daily accounts of the drama and excitement of my life. I was an active, social, and average preteen. What struck me though, is I had a habit of writing almost everyday.

I began to reflect on my lifelong hobby and my therapeutic use of writing. As long as I can remember I have kept a journal. Writing my thoughts down allows me to organize them and have a better chance at understanding them. But it's always my secret place.

Over the last year, however, I have begun to share my stories and thoughts. I have found that by putting my questions, realizations and personal experiences in a blog that not only am I freeing myself of them but I have been able to touch others with my story. I recently shared my darkest memories and deepest wounds with the world. The relief I felt and the encouragement I received have fueled a desire for me to share more.

So that brings me to this post. A few weeks ago I was challenged by Jon Acuff to join him on an adventure. There were no details, no explanations - just the expectation that it would last 24 days and would be an experience to push me out of my comfort zone and into greatness. I accepted.

Now I know that my personal challenge for the next 24 days, starting tomorrow, is to let go of my fear and start sharing my blog postings more regularly. It's time to be vulnerable, honest, and true to myself. I hope you join me on this journey. Read my blog, provide constructive or positive feedback and be praying for me along the way. I appreciate all the support and encouragement and look forward to this opportunity for growth.

"Hello, My Name Is"

A close and special friend of mine tonight thanked me tonight for being honest with her. Not good friend-I'll tell you the truth as long as it doesn't get too deep- honest, but genuine soul and scar revealing honesty.  About a year ago I began telling my story to my family, and now I am ready to take off the mask for everyone. 

As far back as I can remember I have struggled with my identity. My childhood was messed up. There was neglect, abandonment, verbal abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, insecurity, and self-destructive behaviors. The "damage" was caused by both my parents. Some might speculate that it was my father mostly; he was a drug addict, horrible to my mother and gone most of the time. He made false promises, disappointed me constantly and hurt me deeply. But if I am being brutally honest, it was my mother that left the deepest scars on me.  

For the last 26 years I believed my mother didn't love me, but I was wrong. I have learned over the last two years that my mother is incapable of love. So before I share my experience I want to be very clear about this: I love my mother. I pray for her, I desperately want her to get the help she needs. I pray that God would restore her heart and heal her. Unfortunately until that process begins inside of her we are unable to have a relationship. 

My earliest memories of my mother are from when I was four years old. My father was using heavily and I had a new baby sister. My mother was broken. She was incredibly depressed, lonely and living in her own world.  I have distinct memories of her staring out the window for days. She wouldn't speak, let alone take care of my sister or I. At four years old I began to grow up. I changed diapers, fixed meals and bottles and kept my sister from danger. My grandparents would come get us at times and when we would go to their house I got to be a kid. This began a pattern of my relationship with my mother Doni. Over the years she would pull herself together, then when she would get overwhelmed or her world would fall apart, we would go back to my grandparents. 

Most of my memories from my time with Doni are easy for me to recall and horribly painful to relive. I felt like I was the black cloud in her life. I loved my father, I missed him and that made her angry and sad. I loved my grandparents and missed them, that made her angry and resentful of my relationship with them. But most of all I hated her. I hated that she used me to take care of her and my sister. I hated that she would bring up memories or pick fights with me just to make me upset and as miserable as her. I remember so many times having to hang up the phone with her or leave the room because she would push me to an anxiety attack. Her boyfriends were a nightmare. They were sleazy, scummy and users. They would verbally assault me, taunt and torment me and there were several times that one of them would hit me.  She didn't believe me. She let it happen. 

Becoming a teenager was hard. The good news was I was living full time with my grandparents. I had to go visit on breaks though. She lived in California so it's not like I could go a weekend at a time. Things would always be okay the first week or two but it was inevitable that crap would hit the fan. Every fight we got into was worse than the one before. I was so angry and resentful to her. She felt the same toward me. 

I was confused, hurt and I honestly just didn't understand why she hated me so much and yet she was a completely different person to my sister. I struggled with insecurity, abandonment, co-dependency and self-worth from the age of 14. At 16 I decided that if my own parents couldn't love me, I must not be worth it. I attempted to take my own life. 

I thank God constantly for the blessing of life He gave me. I was not successful in my attempt and after a stomach pump, in-patient therapy and tons of counseling I made the decision to give myself a chance. I worked very hard in therapy. I had to face the ugliness of not just my childhood but of the person I had become. Over the years I used coping and survival skills that were not healthy or representative of the person I actually wanted to be. I used alcohol, sex, manipulation, guilt, money and food to attempt to fill the hole in my heart. I would do anything and everything to gain attention and affection. I would hurt the people closest to me when I suspected they might be on the verge of seeing my ugliness and leaving. I put on a mask.

I wore that mask for so long that I actually began to believe it was who I was. I believed I was a manipulative unlovable person. Then I got to know someone that would change not only my life, but me from the inside out. I gave my heart, in all it's shattered pieces, to God. I asked for forgiveness, redemption and love. God gave those things to me immediately and completely, it just took me some time to actually accept and receive them. I questioned His faithfulness and sincerity. But finally I felt peace. I felt relief. I felt love and I felt whole. My life verse is Romans 8:31 "If God is for us; who can be against us?" For the first time in my life, at 27 years old I fully and completely trusted that not only was I loveable but God created me in His image; His image!!! I was no longer the broken child of my past.

Once I got to know the person that God created me to be I began on letting go of the demons of my past. I am still in therapy today, I still struggle with anxiety and depression. I have reclaimed most of my life and repaired several important relationships. The one relationship I don't feel capable to reclaim is the one with Doni. 

Two years ago I had to set boundaries with Doni because her frequent outbursts and dramatic fights were upsetting and triggering the post traumatic stress responses from my childhood. It wasn't healthy for me to be so overwhelmed and overstimulated while going through therapy and learning how to be a new wife and mother. I asked her for simple boundaries: please don't bring up the past and please don't involve yourself in my other relationship (the ones I hold with my father, sister, grandmother etc) Sadly, she not only refused but had another dramatic meltdown. I remained hopeful that she would calm down and we could someday move forward. I stayed quiet about my "side" of the story. I didn't want to add fuel to the fire and well no one knew about my childhood so how would they understand me now? We didn't speak for two years. I reached out. I sent pictures of Grace, I sent texts, I added her on Facebook. I was trying. I didn't get a single reply.

The final straw was a week before Easter. Doni unexpectedly moved back to Oregon. I was upset at first, mostly because I am pregnant and I really am not in a position for extra stress. But I knew how hard it was on my family that we were not speaking so I reached out again. I offered to go to coffee or counseling, what ever she wanted. She refused me again. It was at that moment that I accepted the fact that my mother does not want to fix things with me. She does not want a relationship with me or my children. It confirmed all my feelings and instincts as a child that she cannot love me enough to give up her resentment and anger. 

I'm sorry that my family is hurt by all of this. I hate that my grandmother and sister are in the middle. But I am also sorry that no one knows how this is hurting me. My childhood was much more difficult than I ever let on, I still have deep secrets and scars. I desperately desire a relationship with my mother. My heart is broken that it is likely I will never have one.

If you've read this far, I have one request. Please keep me and Doni in your prayers. My wounds are still hurting but they are also healing. I am not going to be silent anymore. My name is no longer regret and it's no longer defeat. 

My name is Cassey, I am wife, mother, friend, daughter, sister, cousin, niece, and a child of God. 

What Makes a Mother

2 years, 7 months, and 22 days that I have been a mother. It seems both a lifetime and a quick breath. I have had the privledge of the last two years being the most intense learning experience of my life. So now as we are excitedly expecting our second baby (yay yay yay!!!!) I have begun to reflect what makes a mother.

Becoming a mother was a crash course for me; I'm sure it can be for most women, but I really felt like I was starting with a fractured perspective of what my child would need or expect from me. Here is a snapshot of the "mothers" that have influenced my life.

My own mother. As long as I can remember we were never close. When I was a child there were circumstances in our life that did not allow for a traditional mother-daughter relationship. I was her firstborn and I truly believe that I was wanted and loved. Unfortunately between her and my father our family was riddled with drug abuse, mental illness, dysfunction, and fighting. I know they both loved me and my sister, they were just not in the place or equipped to raise children. This left me with a confusion about what unconditional love was, and a blurred line between supporting family and co-dependency. Due to all the insecurity and instability I grew up extremely confused about what was expected in the mother-daughter relationship. However, I have also learned through my own experience as a mother that we all do the best we can with the tools we have. I am grateful to my mother for the gift of life and that ultimately my mother gave me what I needed in the end, she let me go.

At the age of 4 I started the gradual process of moving in with my grandparents. By 8 years old I was living with them full time.

My grandmother. A majority of my childhood and on into adulthood my grandmother, Judi, has been my primary maternal influence. There was always a clear understanding that she was my grandmother, but over the years and through experience it was impossible to not grow closer and bond as though I am her daughter. She taught me so many things; things about life, love, family, spirituality, values and myself. We bickered and fought - after all she had taken on the full time job of raising me. We struggled at times and we definitely had our times where we could not see eye to eye. In our brightest of days and our darkest hours though she showed me that she would never leave, she would always love me. Even if we don't agree - she would always find a way to support me. We struggled with co-dependency but as I became an adult and matured we were able to redefine our relationship. She is no longer in the position to raise me, but to guide me. We have both put years of work into our relationship and it truly shows. Through my relationship with her I have learned that life takes work, relationships take compassion and love takes patience and passion. Today, and everyday, I am still learning from her and will be forever grateful for the role she plays in my life.

At 11 years old my dad married a woman named Michelle. I didn't want to like her at first but then she taught me how to bake. How can you not fall in love with someone who makes homemade cinnamon rolls?!?!?

My step-mother. When my dad and Michelle married the first time she made it known to me that she was not just my dad's wife - she was my friend. Over the last 16 years her and my dad struggled, divorced, had a child, were apart 6 years, came back together, remarried and are now the happiest and healthiest I have ever seen either one of them. Also over the last 16 years, regardless of her relationship with my dad, Michelle has continued to invest in our relationship. She never let me even think that what was going on with them had anything to do with me and it would not affect the relationship that she and I had. She has always loved me because I am Cassey, not because I am Ron's daughter. She moved away with my brother a few months after he was born. She wrote letters, sent pictures, called and would buy me train tickets anytime I wanted to visit. Because of her efforts and understanding that I was busy/flaky/immature teenager there has not been a gap in the relationship I have with my younger brother - no matter what else was going on in our lives. I will forever be grateful for her patience, flexibility and dedication to our relationship. She herself has had personal struggles over the years. She has disappointed me and let me down. But she has always been honest and forthcoming with me. In working through the hard times, she taught me that mothers will make mistakes, but just like it is my job to take accountability for my actions, a mother should lead by example. She has shown that she respects me, she is invested in me and it's all because I am me. Today, I know how to choose love.

While geo-caching with my friend Paul he decided that we should go to his parents house because his mom had just gotten something funny that he wanted to show me. So at 10 o'clock at night, in her bathrobe I met my mother-in-law.

My mother-in-law. I joke that I married Paul for his mom. Well it's partially true. Susie and I became fast friends. The more I got to know her and witness the relationship she had with Paul I became confident that she was the type of mother I wanted to be. I absolutely love hearing stories from her about raising her children. I can hear in words how she made them her priority, she was intentional in knowing them individually and meeting them on their level. But if you watch her talk about her children you can see in her face how much love, pride, gratitude and excitement she has for them. She will be the first to tell you she made mistakes or had 'terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days.' But she will also be the first to tell you, that you get up and do what needs to be done. I've felt like she extended the same love, support and excitement to me early on. I hope someday to be as excited for my children when they fall in love, I hope to extend the same offer of relationship with their future spouses. Today, she is one of the first people I call with good news or bad. We go shopping, watch our shows, chat and spend time together the way I imagine an adult mother-daughter relationship would do. I am grateful for her friendship, her guidance and her love and support. I consider her to be one of my best friends.

So again for 2 years, 7 months, and 22 days I have been a mother.

Myself. When Grace was born I froze. I was suffering from postpartum depression and post traumatic stress disorder.  I did a really good job at going through the motions of taking care of a baby. Gracie's needs were my top priority - almost to a fault. I knew how to take care of her, but I wasn't sure how to be her mother. I struggled with connecting and bonding with her, I was 25 years old and terrified of a baby. Through counseling, prayer, talking, crying and lots of writing that I realized that I did know how to be a mother. It was taking all my influences and experiences, good and bad, and trusting what I had learned. To be a mother I needed to trust myself. Upon reflecting on the maternal influences from my life I finally knew what I needed to do. So when Grace was 9 months old I went in her room. I promised her that I would be good to her, but that I would make mistakes. I told her we would make the best memories, and have fights. I committed to her that we would always work through our issues and that no matter how we disagreed it would never affect how much I loved or supported her. I explained that our relationship would grow and change throughout our life together, but that we would do it together. I told her to expect that there would be things in her life she can't understand, challenges would be plentiful but so would blessings. I promised her I will be there.

Today, I have kept my promise. She is two and half years old and regularly we are working through things. I'm learning to set boundaries and she is really good at testing them! But we have fun, she is happy, trusting, loving, secure and an absolute joy and delight.

I've finally learned that it is simply our children that makes a mother, it's up to me to be a good one.