The small replies that told me connection had not disappeared entirely. The quiet evidence that even after rupture, love still had somewhere to land.
I called them hope.
I still believe that.
But repair has layers.
Sometimes repair is a tiny “ok”.
Sometimes it is an apology.
And sometimes, before an apology can become honest, we have to learn the difference between taking responsibility and disappearing.
Which, honestly, is deeply inconvenient, because disappearing has historically been one of my more efficient skill sets >__<
Not healthy.
But efficient.
For a long time, apology felt less like accountability and more like an emergency evacuation.
I am sorry. Please do not leave. I am sorry. Please stop being angry. I am sorry. I will become whatever version of me makes this moment end.
Trauma can teach us to confuse apology with safety.
It can teach us that the fastest way back into connection is to absorb the entire rupture — to become the mistake, the hurt, and the solution all at once.
So we apologize quickly.
Beautifully, even.
We explain ourselves with trembling precision. We search the other person’s face for evidence that the danger has passed. We offer context, remorse, reassurance, and sometimes far more of ourselves than the moment asked us to give.
Some of us do not arrive with an apology.
We arrive with a full floral arrangement.
A tasteful one, obviously. 💐
Every flower carefully selected to prove that we are good, sorry, harmless, lovable, self-aware, emotionally evolved, and safe to keep.
A very humble bouquet.
But an apology is not a bouquet.
It is not a performance of pain.
It is not a public relations campaign for our own goodness.
It is not self-erasure dressed as maturity.
And it is not the promise that I will never inconvenience another nervous system again.
Which is unfortunate, because that would be a very tempting contract to sign.
A real apology is quieter.
It says:
I see what happened.
I care about the impact.
I understand what belonged to me.
I want to become safer.
No bouquet required.
🕯️
I am learning that accountability can contain an “and.”
I am sorry, and I am still here.
You are allowed to be angry, and I do not have to abandon myself to survive your anger.
The “and” is where truth becomes large enough to hold more than one person at a time.
That sounds simple when I write it.
Alas, it does not always feel simple inside my body.
Recently, during a hard moment with my daughter, I felt the familiar pull to do too much.
To explain too quickly.
To soften every edge.
To make the discomfort disappear before either of us had understood what happened.
I wanted to repair immediately, but beneath that urgency was something less noble and more human:
I wanted relief.
I wanted the room to stop feeling difficult.
I wanted reassurance that I was still a “good mother” before I had fully listened to the child in front of me.
That is humbling to admit.
Rude, even.
But true.
So instead, I tried one sentence:
“You are allowed to be mad and I love you; we will talk whenwe are both in our calm bodies.”
It was not yet an apology.
It was not the full repair.
It was aboundary, a reassurance, and a pause.
It was me refusing to choose between connection and steadiness.
Later, when I could speak without trying to escape the feeling in the room, I apologized for what was mine.
Not for having a limit.
Not for needing time.
Not for being human.
But, for my tone.
For the way my overwhelm had entered the room before my words did.
For the part of the moment I could genuinely repair.
That distinction still feels new to me.
I can apologize for how I spoke and keep the boundary I was trying to communicate.
I can regret my impact and remain curious about what overwhelmed me.
I can say, “I was wrong,” without saying, “I am wrong.”
This is not an argument for partial accountability.
It is an argument for honest accountability.
The kind that changes behavior because it is rooted in truth, not panic.
The kind that asks:
What happened inside me?
What did the other person experience?
What belongs to me now?
Because if we aren’t careful, an apology can become another way to rush past rupture….and straight into the theatrics.
We say sorry. Everyone exhales.
The emotional smoke alarm quiets down. Whew.
And….then we rebuild the same moment again because no one stayed long enough to understand what made it possible.
Sometimes, the apology is the sentence.
Sometimes, I wonder if the deeper apology is what happens afterward.
The pause.
The changed pattern.
The willingness to notice sooner.
The refusal to make another person carry the full weight of what we have not yet learned how to hold.
But changed behavior cannot grow from self-hatred forever.
Eventually, shame becomes too small a room for transformation.
And, I have spent enough time trying to renovate that room.
🤍
I am still learning how to apologize without disappearing.
How to let another person have their hurt without making their hurt the final definition of “me”.
How to say:
I see what happened. I care about the impact. I will repair what is mine. And I am still here.
That last sentence may be the hardest one.
I am still here.
Not hiding inside shame.
Not arranging an emotional bouquet large enough to earn my way back into love.
Not promising to become so careful, useful, or good that no one will ever feel pain near me again.
Just here.
Human.
Accountable.
Loved.
Learning.
For much of my life, I thought repair meant restoring everything to the way it was before the rupture.
Now I wonder whether real repair sometimes creates something entirely new.
A little more truth.
A little more room.
A relationship capable of staying present after something hard has happened.
Maybe that is why the tiny oks mattered so much.
They were not evidence that nothing had happened.
They were evidence that something could happen and connection could remain.
That rupture did not always have to become abandonment.
That love could be disappointed and still stay.
That accountability did not require annihilation.
And perhaps, after a lifetime of preparing for what might go wrong, that is how the nervous system first begins to consider another possibility:
What if something goes right?
What if love stays?
What if repair is not only the end of rupture, but the beginning of our capacity to receive?
One sentence.
No grand performance.
No bouquets.
Just enough room for hope to enter without being chased away.
On repair, motherhood, and the words we did not erase.
My daughter wrote “I don’t like Mama” on our weekly planner.
Then, a little later, I wrote:
“And I love you.”
By the end of the day, underneath my repair words, she had added the smallest possible offering:
ok.
Not a grand apology.
Not a cinematic hug with swelling music and one tasteful tear.
Not one of those soft-focus parenting moments where everyone wears linen and speaks in nervous-system-approved whispers.
Just dry-erase marker.
A hard day.
A rupture that did not become the ending.
And two tiny letters that felt like hope.
Because here is what I am learning: repair does not always look beautiful while it is happening.
Sometimes repair looks like a child writing the thing she feels before she knows how to say it gently.
Sometimes repair looks like a mother feeling the sting of those words and choosing not to make the child responsible for that sting.
Sometimes repair looks like writing back:
“You are so cute.”
“I’m sorry today felt so big.”
“And I still love you”
And sometimes, after all of that, repair looks like a tiny ok written underneath your words.
The tiny oks are hope because they prove something quietly revolutionary:
Rupture happened, and love still had somewhere to land.
For a long time, I thought good mothering meant preventing rupture.
If my child was upset with me, I had failed.
If I reacted, I was becoming everything I feared.
If repair was not immediate, eloquent, complete, and preferably witnessed by a small panel of experts confirming I had not ruined my child forever, it probably did not count.
But motherhood is teaching me something much less glamorous and much more holy:
Repair is not the absence of rupture.
Repair is what happens when rupture is allowed to be real, but not allowed to write the whole story.
Repair, I am learning, is not asking my child to reassure me.
It is showing her that I can stay present without making her feelings dangerous.
If my first post was about “The Girl With the List”, this one might be about what happens when List Girl has to mother.
“The Girl With the List” likes preparation. She likes structure. She likes the fantasy that if she can plan enough, anticipate enough, understand enough, and make the correct emotional spreadsheet, then no one will get hurt.
She is not bad.
She is trying to love through planning.
But motherhood does not always honor the list.
Children have feelings on their own timeline.
Repair does not arrive color-coded.
And some of the most important moments in a relationship cannot be controlled into safety.
They can only be met.
The list can stay.
But it cannot mother for me.
My daughter does not live with me year-round. She comes to visit in the summers, and that time is deeply precious to me. It is also a transition.
Each summer is a kind of re-entry: a new rhythm, a beloved disruption of routine, a closeness I ache for and still have to adjust to.
For someone with a very active inner world — a whole inner cast ready to offer commentary at any given moment — it can take my nervous system a beat to catch up.
Not because she is too much.
Because she matters so much.
Love raises the stakes.
And sometimes my nervous system is still catching up to what my heart already knows.
We did not erase her words.
We did not write over them.
We did not pretend “I don’t like Mama” had not been written.
We also did not let those words become the final sentence.
We let them exist.
We let them breathe.
And then, underneath them, around them, beside them, we made room for something else too:
Love.
Apology.
Connection.
A tiny ok.
I think that is what feels so different to me.
So much pain gets passed down through erasure:
That did not happen.
You are too sensitive.
You are fine.
And so much pain also gets passed down through writing over someone else’s experience:
Here is what you should feel.
Here is why your hurt is inconvenient.
Here is why my shame matters more than your truth.
But this time, we did something else.
We left the words on the board.
We let the feeling have a place.
And then we practiced coming back.
This is also complicated for me because I have spent years working with children. I have been a teacher, a nanny and a counselor. With other children, I can often access patience and curiosity more easily. I can observe. I can regulate. I can remember that behavior is communication.
But with my own daughter, more of “me” enters the room.
Not less skill.
More history.
More longing.
More fear.
More grief.
More hope.
More old wounds whispering, “Don’t mess this up,” while holding a clipboard and several pieces of unsolicited evidence.
Mothering is not harder because I know less.
Mothering is harder because more of me shows up.
And that is the part I am learning how to meet: the part of me that panics when my daughter is upset, thinks one hard moment means I have ruined everything, and forgets children do not need perfect parents.
They need parents who can come back.
So this week, I am trying to let the tiny oks count — to let repair be evidence that a hard moment is not the whole story.
Because there is proof all around me, if I look toward the light, that love finds us even after mistakes.
A child can write “I don’t like Mama” and still love her.
A mother can feel hurt and still stay soft enough to repair.
A rupture can happen, and the relationship can survive it.
A tiny ok can become a doorway.
Maybe healing does not always arrive loudly.
Maybe it does not look like a breakthrough.
Maybe sometimes healing is just two small letters written underneath an apology.
Maybe sometimes it is both of us saying, in the smallest handwriting possible:
I know I’ve been posting a lot about the “highlights” of my journey. However, I don’t want to promote toxic positivity; in reality, my journey really has been a roller coaster ride; ever since I found out that I had PCOS, which naturally perpetuated insulin resistance, my world and body have made a complete 180.
Or that’s what I’d ideally like to think.
I have made some serious changes to my diet and exercise. The amount of discipline I’ve dedicated to restoring my health has been somewhat of a shock to me. Honestly, at the beginning of April, I wondered if I’d ever be able to stick with a routine.
Don’t get me wrong. I AM proud of myself.
But, today is just not one of those days I feel that way.
Have you ever cued into your body’s messages and realized that something feels off–like you’re off-centered, or off-balance?
Yet, for the life of it, you cannot seem to pinpoint the concrete event that triggered that feeling in the first place.
Today, I’ve been experiencing unsettling sensations in my body. I can feel, intuitively, that something has triggered me; however, I can’t seem to place my thumb on what that trigger was. These icky sensations have started to manifest themselves physiologically as well.
I feel like I got hit by a train today. That’s especially strange since yesterday was a rest day; my body “should” be feeling rejuvenated but it doesn’t. I’ve felt more fatigued today than I have in the last 30 days. So much so that I had to call out of work as I was barely able to wake up.
WHAT IS GOING ON WITH ME!?
It’s so strange because if I witness my mind, I can catch myself wandering towards self-sabotage. An odd feeling; I encourage everyone to try it. It’s like having an out-of-body experience. You start having thoughts like:
Whoa! “Maham” really wants to act on the urge to self sabotage. “Maham” is feeling really upset. “Maham is wanting to act out.”…
Speaking of acting out, I ate all the carbs I could today.
Even though, I knew they would make me feel horrible. And they did.
My body literally sent them right back up, and out. And you know what I did afterwards?
EAT MORE CARBS.
WTF
So with that knowledge, most would find it reasonable to go on a run, take a good pilates class, or engage in some HIIT; most would move towards the direction of improving their present situation.
But not me.
I have continued lying in bed, in and out of sleep, literally paralyzed with this insidious feeling of unease.
And it’s not because I have no one to share these painful feelings with. It’s more of an inability to ACTUALLY get myself to a place where I feel courageous enough to be seen & heard.
It feels like crazymaking when you can acknowledge the support system around you, and STILL not utilize it.
This “off” feeling is undoubtedly affecting my relationship with Ayrah– which honestly leads tomy feeling even more worthless.
I swear, children are so intuitive; nothing gets past them. I’ve seen it happen with infants, toddlers, elementary school children and even our middle schoolers. Similarly, I can try and put on my best facade for Ayrah, but she can read right through the BS to my true energy.
The million dollar question…
WHY has some part of me become hellbent on destroying the progress I’ve made?
I…don’t know.
that is the most authentic answer I can give to all of you and myself right now.
I don’t know about yall, but not “knowing” makes me feel even more nervous. Uncertainty and I still are building a relationship. On my best days, I’m able to tolerate it. That’s it though.
There has been no embracing it with open arms or making it an ally 🚫
and then I get so HARD on myself….!
I “should” know right? I “should” be able to pick myself up out of this one random overcast day, right?
I should–especially because I have a Masters in this “mind stuff”. I’ve been taught the stuff to say, the interventions to use, given the worksheets to utilize and skills to practice….
If I was trained & entrusted with helping others walk through their uncertainty & triggers, shouldn’t i just be able do it for myself???
……
But I can’t.
THAT is the confounding paradox.
Something is wrong. I don’t know what it is. But, I feel it with such a powerful intuition! For my yogis, and reiki companions, I feel a palpable blockage in my throat and heart chakras. It’s like there’s a disruption between what my heart is feeling and my ability to communicate it to my environment 🌏
It feels like there is a frog in my throat. Like each time I attempt to speak up, the “cat gets my tongue” and I’m left a blubbering mess.
I feel similar to what Hansel & Gretel might’ve felt–I’m trying to find my way to a specific, concrete destination while not knowing where/what it is.
It’s interesting becauseI can tell my body is trying to communicate with me. I find the unsettling somatic sensations analogous to the bread-crumbs that Hansel and Gretel dropped on their path. They are clues that are meant to lead me back home. These visit sensations are trying, relentlessly, to communicate with me. They are constantly alerting me of the deviation from our natural emotional homeostasis.
I don’t know about you, but I often find myself starting to let shame slip through the doors during times like this. It’s hard not to.
The inner critic takes center stage and starts declaring these statements that sound ludicrous, that are ludicrous, and yet somehow…they still affect me.
“Omg! You ate a mini can of Pringles today…all your progress is ruined.! You’re a failure. Save yourself the dissapointment of keeping up with a healthy diet or workout routine, because we both know you’re going to fail. Do you want to feel that worthless again? So stop while youre ahead.”
When I type it out, it sounds crazy; I know it does.
What’s even crazier is that when it’s not typed out–and instead, fired directly from my brain to my body, without enough time for reflection, I actually start to BELIEVE the unreasonable monologue.
I know that a lot of people who have experienced trauma go through similar experiences. Trauma tends to fragment our thoughts, emotions and sensations in an attempt to protect us from overwhelming pain. The final part of trauma recovery involves the integration of these “compartments” and I can’t honestly say that I have completed full reintegration. Sure, there are times when I feel more integrated than others. however, at times like this…I feel at a loss
.
Many trauma researchers have theorized that painful emotions during a traumatic event usually get stored in the body as tension and pain. If not treated, these may lead to the onset of physical diseases.
Consequently, it makes perfect sense that the body could experience discomfort long before the mind can subconsciously pull out, and identify the focalized trigger or cascade of events that caused the unsettling sensations in the first place.
If you haven’t already, I highly recommend my friends undergoing trauma recovery to pick this book up. It is a life changer!
Sigh– since I’m at a loss, I’m going to throw it out to you guys!
What do you do if/when you feel this way?
I am trying to practice self-compassion but I feel so much shame—especially in the motherhood arena.
I get Ayrah only during the holidays so I put this extra pressure on myself to ENJOY and spend every single moment with her. It’s unrealistic.
and when I’m unable to do so, I feel like I’m a horrible mother. i feel like a failure. I feel like I’m inflicting these massive, irreversible wounds of abandonment or trauma in my child. But I KNOW that children are resilient. I KNOW that you don’t have to be the perfect parent; you just have to be ENOUGH. But KNOWING those things is not enough to stop the distorted thoughts from morphing into deep shame.
“Look at you…”, my mind snarls, “you go teach other parents’ kids all day long–you give them your best, only to come home to your child completely depleted, drained, and grumpy. She gets to have ethe worst of you. Great job, Maham.”
“And oh yeah, let’s not forget that you don’t even get for the whole year. She’ll be gone by the end of the summer, probably thanking God that she doesn’t have to be around a wreck of a mother.”
Thoughts like these create that dreaded negative feedback loop, where my belief of failing keeps me from being authentic and present with my child. When I’m not transparent with Ayrah, she can sense it and I know she can sense it. That just results in my confirming the “belief” that I’m a “failure”. And round and round we go…
till it bleeds into every and ANY interaction I have with my wonderful, magnificent daughter.
For now, I’m going to ride this wave out, let the emotions move through me, deliver their messages and move OUT of me. I want to keep you all updated as it helps me stay accountable.
In the meantime, I’d really appreciate any advice, ideas or suggestions about how you’ve managed to stay “relatively” sane through these ” emotional ruts”. And if you don’t have any, it would mean so much to me if you could practice enough vulnerability and share similar struggles that you may have had. Brene Brown, renowned author and sociologist, states that the most POWERFUL words we can communicate to one another during a time of pain or shame are “Me too”. I believe this is because it helps normalize the icky feelings we all may feel from time to time. For me, it lets me know that I’m not crazy or alone in feeling these ways at times. I hope its okay to KNOW what to do yet still not quite have mustered the motivation to actually implement it.
Would ❤️ to hear from you,
Till tomorrow—here is to hoping I don’t eat the entire Costco box of all the Pringles containers by the AM 😉
Ah! I missed a few days of the gratitude practice. But it’s okay! Missing these days has reminded me to rediscover the value in imperfection! Simultaneously, however, I am grateful for the ability to pick up right where I left off. All in all, missing two days was a very humbling experience. It reminded me that I am imperfect. It’s quite easy to get caught up in the trap of “perfection” and feel like we must upkeep routines to-a-tee; we metamorphose into dictators making sure we are relentless in abiding to the routines we create. Consequently, disruptions to our plans, and the inability to carry them out perfectly is a very sobering reminder; perfection is a trait that is unattainable in the human state. This means that I will mess up. I will fall short; I will not be able to be 100%. This is okay, and is in perfect alignment with the nature of how I was created. It is this very imperfection within me that creates the necessary space for God to enter. It is this “falling short” that encourages me to fall back on Him. It is my limited scope that encourages me to search for something Greater. So, I am grateful for the elucidation of my own imperfection.
Today, I’m grateful for the words of author, Matt Fitzgerald. In his book, “How Bad Do You Want It?”, he describes the relationship between endurance, mind and body. Through studying the literature, he found that it is not actual muscle fatigue that slows down athletes or causes them to quit in an event; it is actually the mind. The breakdown of motivation occurs in the brain, not muscle. The experience of fatigue/burn-out does not come about as a result of pushing the body to limits of exhaustion. In fact, extensive testing has demonstrated that athletes who claim fatigue can almost always do more at the muscular level. So why did they stop?
Because of the self-imposed limitations their minds created.
“Science has only recently recognized that endurance performance is fundamentally psychological. When we say someone has ‘endured something’, what do we mean? we mean that the person has gone through a challenging experience. . It’s the experience, not the biological fatigue that must be endured. Endurance athletes by definition endure. They endure long hours of training, deprivations that come with a monastic lifestyle, and all manners of aches and pains. But what endurance athletes must endure ABOVE ALL is not actual effort, but perception of effort. This is the phrase that scientists now use to refer to what athletes normally describe as how hard exercise feels in a given moment. And it represents the central concept of the psychobiological model of endurance performance. It was perceived effort that causes the endurance athlete to slow down and even quit. The most important truth you can know as an endurance at athlete is this: one cannot improve as an endurance athlete except by changing one’s relationship with perception of effort. Perceived effort is essentially the body’s resistance to the mind’s will. The fitter an athlete becomes, the less resistance the body puts up Even something as seemingly physical as training conforms to this principle.”
Matt Fitzgerald, “How Bad Do You Want It?”
I’m particularly thankful for this excerpt. I really admired and resonated with his description of an endurance athlete. Endurance athletes are people who endure difficult things. If running, or working out during pregnancy was easy, then everyone would be doing it. There are certainly challenges in the path, for all of us. However, we can choose to become our version of endurance athletes, in whatever challenges we are facing. We can choose to face, bear, and cope with any change with grace and dignity. It was because of Fitzgerald’s description of an endurance athlete, combined with the discovery that the mind’s perception of effort is different than the actual exhaustion, that led me to muster up the courage to run outside again.To be completely raw, running outside has been a tough experience for me; it is the one area in which I am starting to see the glaring effects of pregnancy. Prior to me falling pregnant, running on concrete or asphalt felt relatively effortless; I was carrying less weight, and my muscles and body were able to handle the physiolgoical pressures quite effectively. Now, I easily get winded, feel tired, and am undeniably slower in my pace. As a result, running outside doesn’t “feel” as good as it used to; this causes me to shy away from the passion.
Today, however, I told myself that just because my brain doesn’t perceive it “as feeling good” doesn’t mean that the experience is not actually just as good for me. Just because my brain readily perceives and accepts the “I can’t do it!” mentality doesn’t mean I actually won’t be able to do it. And so…just like that, I put on my running shoes and RAN outdoors. Every time self-limiting thoughts would arise in my run, I gently returned to the words of Matt Fitzgerald. “I’m not actually exhausted or fatigued at the muscular level,” I repeated to myself, “my mind’s perception of effort is skewed; In reality, I can keep going for much longer.” And I did.
In no way am I saying that the run today was glorious and fatigue-free. I felt winded; I felt tired; my muscles felt sore; I was slower. Running outside while I’m 6.5 months pregnant is certainly not as much of a breeze as it were pre-pregnancy. But you know what? I was able to do it! I was able to get out there and prove just what Fitzgerald was talking about. So many times, I would get a leg cramp or random ache and register it as: “exhaustion approaching—need to stop.” But really, as I kept running past that feeling, the perception of feeling it necessary to stop faltered away. I was able to keep going, proving that true exhaustion was far away. My protective mind was simply trying to convince me that I was exhausted in an attempt to conserve energy.
You guys, I’m so thankful that my brain is not always right. And above that, I’m grateful that you and I can choose to be endurance athletes in our own lives. Whether it be in sports or life challenges, we can choose to have the mindset and resilience of an endurance champion! I’m blessed that I have so many experiences in my memory bank that attest to the fact that I can endure really trying challenges–that I can endure. I can do ALL things through Him who gives me strength. My mental limits are not my actual limits. Thank God for that!
02/25/2016
Today, I am so grateful for the encouragement and support I’ve been receiving from strangers for my fitness endeavors during pregnancy.
Really, never underestimate the value of a kind gesture. Sometimes, when I’m running outside and wearing a “baby on board” or “this girl is going to be a mommy” shirt, I’ll get random honks of encouragement; the people passing me by on the running trail will give me thumbs up signs and beaming smiles! Of course, this just results in me beaming a pearly right back! I’m truly grateful for these uplifting gestures; There’s also been people at the gym who have actually come up to me and vocalized how proud they are of my discipline and physical work ethic during pregnancy. It really is little things like that that leave my day a little more brighter! I’m immensely grateful for the support, but above that, I’m grateful for the ability to keep physically active during my pregnancy! I realize that it is a blessing and a gift that is not granted to all. Being able to move our bodies is a gift even outside of pregnancy! There’s many people who can’t walk to the mailbox to get their mail, much less go for a walk or run because of debilitating health issues.
On another note, I think I finally targeted why I’ve been feeling slightly under the weather for a few days! I’m thankful for this realization, because it allows me the opportunity to take action. My stomach has been very sensitive recently, and I think it is because of the spices and tomoato-based curries in Indian cuisine. When I’m living with my husband, I don’t eat too much Indian food but since visiting my family, I have definitely been consuming more spices! I think these spices, alongside the tomato-based curries are the culprit. So starting tomorrow, I think I’m going to return to basic, bland(ier) foods like alkaline fruits, egg whites, vegetables and complex carbs. I’m hopeful that this shift will allow my upset stomach to settle down! We’ll see! *Check Back: IT DID HELP!*
Me after eating the delicious, but spicy home-made curries
You know what I’m really grateful for? Recently, I feel like I’ve had this shift in attitude when it comes to doing demanding tasks. If there’s an undesirable task that I simply don’t feel like doing, I realize that I can still do it. My ability to conduct the task is irrelevant on my feelings towards it! I’ve realized that a cooperative mind is beneficial but NOT necessary in doing tough things! The mind is simply ONE part of the mind-body-spirit trifecta. The body and spirit don’t really care if the mind is motivated, the results are the same with or without its endless chatter. Sure, when it’s bursting with supportive, positive, and encouraging energy, it certainly makes the task feel easier. But the raw completion of the task is not entirely dependent on it. THANK GOD! Recently, when my brain puts up resistance to certain tasks, I’ve been repeating the following phrase: “sweet mind, it would be nice for you to show up, but it’s not required.” Then, I’ll do the task anyway! And you know what? So far, it’s gotten done 100% of the times, with or without the mental motivation. I’m truly grateful for this little pearl of knowledge; I know I will be able to utilize it endlessly in the future!
I’m also really thankful for being able to see little baby daughter today. I had an ultrasound done (perks of having a radiologist as a dad!) Oh,and seeing her was marvelous. She was beautiful. My sweet girl with her long legs, hiccups and her silly antics. Do you want to know something funny? The ultrasound tech asked if I wanted any pictures of her, and the only picture I requested was of her ankles and legs. Do you know why? For the last few ultrasounds, we have always found her slightly crossed at the ankles while the rest of her legs remain slightly open. Faraz, my husband, always holds his legs that way!!! It makes me giggle when I see her like that persistently! Like father, like daughter.
Legs outstretched, and feet crossed at ankles just like her daddy.
My sweet baby girl is so beautiful to me; I love her so much already. Her expressive little kicks, and delicious little movements make my heart so full. I love that she makes her existence known. This quote by Paul Eluard really captures how I feel about my lovely daughter. Every time I see her or feel her subtly kick, I remember this.
Translation: “I hear your voice in all of the world’s noise.”
And mommy will always be listening for you, my love.
02/26/2016
I woke up in quite a vulnerable mood today. Again, vulnerability is not necessarily a “bad” emotion. It’s just that I feel highly connected today; I feel as if I’m intricately in tune to the frequencies within me and around me. I do have to say, however, there is an undeniable tinge of sadness to the emotion of vulnerability. It’s not even so much grief, or lethargy, but more sensitivity—an ability to hurt with the world. I’m highly feely today. There is an undeniable softness that accompanies vulnerability; it has to. It would be impossible to have a iron-clad interior and simultaneously be able to connect with others. So, I’m thankful for this vulnerability. It reminds me of our very fragile human condition; it reminds me of the inherent vulnerability of our very existence. We are always in the process of letting go, and losing certain aspects of our lives. As we grow, we consistently shed layers of ourselves to accumulate new and improved versions of ourselves. We continue to this process till we eventually come to pass. There is a tinge of sadness to this inevitability, right?
Today, I’m actually really grateful for something good that happened yesterday night. The reason I am talking about it today is because the good vibes created from that experience are seeping into today (aA). Everytime I return home, my sister and I will have a pampering session. We grab our favorite bath balms from Lush, fill up the tub with soothing hot water, put on our swim suits, and just lay on each end of the tub, and talk about everything in between life and death. Today, we put the intergalactic bath balm in the water and watched in wonder, like little kids, as it burst into a peacock-colored glittery frenzy in the water! Ah. It was pure joy.
As we sat in our glittering goddess bath tub, we laughed till our stomachs hurt— about how random teas from Starbucks remind us of the smell of our cats! We discussed the things that we are afraid of losing in life, and how we are coping with the changes that are coming along. We added to our collection of cat memes, discussed the most ridiculous child raising strategies, listened to our favorite songs, (with our own renditions of it of course) MERSALICIOUS lol. but most of all—we thanked each other as we arrived to the same familiar conclusion. Once more, we come to the humbling realization that we are so blessed in our sisterhood bond. There are so many sisters who don’t get along—who have their relationships tinged with the bitterness of jealousy, competition and comparison. But aA, by God’s grace, we were spared from that trial. No matter how long it has been since I’ve seen her, every time we get together, we end up acknowledging how special our bond is, in so many words. I know that it is the one thing that we both want to withstand the test of time. Alhamdullilah for the best sister. She is my best friend!
Today, I also want to discuss something that I feel is a delicately subtle blessing bestowed upon all of us—the blessing of choice.
I am so grateful for it. Regardless of whatever happens to us, we can choose how we react to it. Today, I was talking with two people about a similar catastrophe that befell them; their attitudes about their lives, the event, and its lingering effects couldn’t be more starkly different! One person was very lethargic, and looked upon her life with a jaded bitter regret. The other, however, seemed to have discovered greater meaning to her life through the suffering; she found purpose to it. She looked back upon it as a life lesson, a necessary stepping stone, claiming that the experience has made her into the wholehearted, happy-go-lucky person that she is today.
I know we always hear things like this. But, it really floored me to watch the effects transpire right before me! As I watched the two women discuss their lives, I sat there, jarred. They went through the same essential experience, but their recollections couldn’t be more polar opposite. I’m truly thankful for this experience. It gently reminded me of our inherent, basic human liberty—the gift of choice.
02/27/2016
😦 Sigh 😦
Today was…trying. This probably isn’t going to start off as an expected entry from a gratitude journal, but if you bear with me, I promise I’ll get around to the silver lining. There have been a lot of changes in my life recently; my husband and I are in the middle of a move; we have a daughter on the way; there’s been changes in my career path, my visiting back and forth between family and living with my husband; let’s not forget the plethora of changes pregnancy brings about. My body is changing; my ability to do/not do certain things is changing; my hormones are fluctuating. Everything seems to be at the whims of change.
I think the reality of these compounded changes really hit me today. I’m not even going to lie, I think I had a borderline anxiety attack. You know, certain things are never going to be the same again. Having a baby means that the thought “me and Faraz” will rarely cross my mind again. It will always always be my daughter, me and my husband. Things that have semed so effortless, like going to the gym, or going on late night grocery runs are going to have to undergo some creative adjustments; I mean, let’s be real…there’s only so much “spontaneity” you can have in your life, when you have to plan 15 minutes in advance to strap in a carseat, dress your tot for the temperature outside, and pack a bag for their unanticipated accidents.
Another thing that has been scaring me about being a mother is the essence of this experience; on a level, my daughter is going to be my replacement generation. And though she was a thoroughly planned, and long anticipated child, that truth is just scary to think about. Her coming highlights the fact we are no longer going to be the “kids” anymore. This realization really highlights the fact that we are aging, and that time seems to be flying away. I have an inkling that once she’s born, time is going to speed up even more. She will grow up right before my eyes, and before I know it, we’ll be planning for another baby, and then boom! I’m the soccer mom and Faraz is a little league coach. I wish there was a way to hit the pause button, and just process everything for a second.
The fact that we are moving into a bigger place in March is also layering on the change. You guys, we’re letting go of the apartment that we’ve had since the beginning of our marriage. That was mine and faraz’s first residence together. The place is full of remnants and memories of our earliest years; it was the place that witnessed the evolution of us fighting relentlessly with each other to fighting relentlessly to be with each other. There are countless memories at every nook and turn. To think that I won’t be able to walk back into a place I’ve called home for nearly half a decade blows my mind.
All in all, these changes are certainly inciting some fear in my restless spirit. I’m grateful, however, that there is always a flipside to the frightening aspects of the process; the other side of fear is excitement. This move, and the arrival of the baby characterizes an exciting, new times in my life. Yes, it will no longer be just me and Faraz, but perhaps, having another being to think about will be fulfilling and leave me wholehearted. I am so grateful for having five beautiful years of just me and my husband. I think that time gave us the opportunity to thoroughly get to know one another, not just as partners, but as people. We became acquainted with each other’s hopes and dreams, fears and aspirations; now, I find us in a place, where we foster a deep appreciation for the other person’s individual presence, not just their role as a partner.
It is also exciting to consider that we’re getting a bigger place that puts us in a better location to get to school/work more easily. I’m looking forward to building new memories there. I think, in retrospect, I’ll appreciate the move at this time, because it will mark the arrival of my daughter. Faraz & I created beautiful memories in the apartment together…just the two of us., However, this new place will become the canvas for painting new memories with the three of us…our daughter!
Our daughter’s room in the new place
Times of change make me really grateful that “home” is a feeling and not a place. We can let go of the material things and still have the sensation of home. I’m utterly grateful that the sensation of belonging arises from the people, experiences and interactions we have in our life. “Home” is being embraced into my husband’s loving arms after a hard day. “Home” is seeing my cat’s fluffy orange tail twitch with excitement when he sees me. “Home” is the feeling I get when I dance around to “I like to move it, move it” with all the creatures of the house. “Home” is sprawling out on the ground, writing in diaries, with the aroma of vanilla-smelling candles filling up the room. Home is NOT a place. It is a feeling. And I’m so grateful that I am taking all the elements that help infuse that life and meaning into my world with me. My husband, my cats, and our memories will be left untouched.
Though I understand (and certainly feel) that change is scary, I’m really grateful that the changes we are undergoing are not ones that are catastrophic or traumatic. They are not changes brought upon by a natural disaster, an onset of a sudden illness, or the destruction of a dream. They take on the category of transitional changes, as opposed to catastrophic changes. This makes me so utterly grateful. I’m so happy we are all safe and sound; we are in good health, and that we are gifted with the BLESSING of a new addition to the family. These transitions are beautiful, necessary and normal in the process of life. I’m also very thankful that I get to hold onto my anchor, my husband, (and him, me) throughout these transitory changes. It’s like carrying around my blanket of stability, familiarity, and safety with me; the soothing effect of knowing that he will be there, and that my family and his family will be there is a truly comforting and cooling breeze over my restless heart.
Lastly, I am shockingly thankful for panic, and overwhelming anxiety. I know that while they are affecting me, I feel crippled, frozen and like I’m stuck and suffocating. But…if I practice adequate courage, and allow these feelings to move within me, they create space for acceptance and serenity. Despite the variability in stimuli that may trigger a fearful response, there is an undeniable predictability in accepting and letting these feelings move through us; once we do, we feel lighter, better, and more hopeful—even if our situations haven’t changed much. I’m grateful for this ability to regulate internal homeostasis; I’m grateful that I can choose to have my peace, regardless of what circumstance befalls me.
02/28/2016
I’m so grateful for loving parents. They could tell I had a rough day yesterday, and they’ve done everything in their power to make me feel better. And you know what? They’ve succeeded. Thank God for people that care about me so deeply—the people that know that when I push them away, all I’m really wanting is to see if they care enough to push back.
I’m grateful for the familiar sun rising, beautifully marking the opportunity for a new beginning. With the rise of the sun, I realize that yesterday is now gone and that today is an absolutely new day. I can make of it as I will. It was really symbolic because I awoke with the sun shining on my face, letting me know that lightness had returned; I am once more restored to a world full of endless possibilities.
This really makes me realize the mercy of God. You may think of Him as Jesus, Buddha, nature, the universal laws, or whatever higher power you believe in. (I just happen to call him “Allah”). I’m really thankful for His mercy. The fact that today, I am feeling so much better than I was yesterday really highlights the fact that suffering is not uninterrupted. The course of one day, or even one hour does not accurately predict the course of the next day or the next hour. Things can turn up; there is always some element of “good” even in the worst days. For example, everything could be going array in a day but simply entering a store, being welcomed by a gust of cool air-conditioned air on a scalding hot day is something miniscule and “good”. day It makes it to where there is an undeniable interruption in the “badness” of events. I’m so thankful for this. Suffering never comes to us in an UNINTERRUPTED, continuous manner. Whether it be a colorful bird flying by, the sun shining on cold toes, a smile from a stranger, a convenient vacant parking space, or a warm bed to sleep in—there is always a “feel-good” interruption. I interpret the presence of these little miracles as extensions of mercy from God.
I’m also really thankful for the body’s ability to adapt. Today, I went into the gym and every part of me felt so sore from my strength training workout from Friday. They say that oftentimes, a cardiovascular workout is just what you need to get sore muscles feeling better. As I got on the elliptical, no part of me wanted to move; however, as the workout progressed, my muscles began to feel better! I think the improved circulation helped move along the accumulated lactic acid, my legs started to feel less sore. I’m really grateful for this and for the human body’s ability to adapt. I know I often gripe about change, but in small moments like this, I realize how utterly grateful I am that things don’t remain the same. I’m truly grateful for change. Without it, we would become stagnant, dry, and brittle; at its essence, we would be dead. And I don’t want to be dead while I’m alive. For as long as I live, I want to exude vivacious life energy.
I know we always hear things like this. But, it really floored me to watch the effects transpire right before me! As I watched the two women discuss their lives, I sat there, jarred. They went through the same essential experience, but their recollections couldn’t be more polar opposite. I’m truly thankful for this experience. It gently reminded me of our inherent, basic human liberty—the gift of choice.
abidmaham 