Over the past few years there have been many occasions I have thought about how I can somewhat understand the feelings of parents who aren't involved in their children's lives.

This is not to say I am a sympathizer of dead beat parents or that I excuse and condone their behavior in any way, shape or form.

But I can certainly relate.

My life changed the moment I gave birth to my two beautiful children. Everything I wanted for myself, evolved into what I wanted for them. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t sacrifice to offer them the best opportunities I could possibly provide.

When my kids were little their dad and I lived paycheck to paycheck. There were many occasions the money didn’t last the two weeks in between. When my son was 18 months old, I took him shopping with me to Ross, because I needed to buy some bras and I couldn’t afford Victoria Secret. I couldn’t even afford Ross items at full price.

I found two somewhat suitable options off of the clearance rack and as I carried them to the check stand, Austin and I wandered by the toy aisle. “Mama Mama!” he exclaimed as he pulled a large box off of the shelf. The box was thin, but wide and long. It contained approximately 20 matchbox cars, and Austin had never seen anything like it. He couldn’t talk, but he pointed to each of the cars with excitement. He and I sat in the aisle for several minutes looking at the cars, until I put the box back onto the shelf. I knew full well it was not within my budget.

We walked away from the toys and continued making our way up to the counter. I had taken my eyes off of Austin for a few moments, and when I turned around he was wobbling up to me dragging that large container of matchbox cars behind him.

I put my bras back on the rack and bought him the cars. To this day, my boobs and I have no regrets. He played with those cars for hours on end, many days until falling asleep on the floor. Those cars were a favorite toy for years to come.

When I divorced their dad, the kids and I lived in Redmond and their dad lived in Renton. Logistically this meant I did most the shuttling to and from the bus stop, school activities and doctors’ appointments. Some days I was so tired when stopped at a red light, I would ask Austin and Ryanne to tell me when the light turned green. I needed to rest my eyes even for the briefest of moments.

Today, the kids and I laugh about this, because it is still a habit for them to tell me “Mom, the light’s green!”

From the moment they were born I was there for every dirty diaper, sleepless night, stomach flu clean up, parent teacher conference, baseball game, piano recital, temper tantrum, school pick up, home run, swim lesson, talent show solo and first day of school. I worked full time and did my best as a single mother to balance it all. None of this was a sacrifice. It was where I wanted to be…every single part of it.

When my 14 year old daughter told me she wanted to move out of my home and move in with her dad, my heart broke into a million pieces. Every rational part of me knew this was not a rejection of me. A fourteen year old child is not rejecting their parent, they are choosing something for themselves. Many days I applauded and respected her ability to advocate for her own needs. I recognized with admiration it was a statement of her strength.

But every emotional and vulnerable part of me felt like this was biggest rejection I had ever suffered. Maybe if I had been a better mother she never would have wanted to leave? After everything I have done…why??

For over a year, I cried every time I dropped her back off at her dads. Every time I said goodbye the wound would rip back open and invite an immense amount of hurt, pain and rejection.

I feel the sting every time a stranger or a new acquaintance asks me where my daughter goes to school. There’s an awkward exchange as I explain she doesn’t live with me. I can see the questions and judgement pass through their eyes, asking the same kind of question I asked myself for months. What kind of mother are you?

The hardest part of not being the primary parent for my daughter, is feeling like I am parenting from the back seat. I feel like I'm not a part of the big decisions in her life. I’m only an observer.

I do my best to involve myself and spend as much time with her as I can. Many miles and hours are spent in my car driving back and forth between Renton, Redmond and Seattle. My weekends and days with her are sacred. But it never feels like enough.

The pain of inadequacy. The pain of dropping off and picking up. The pain of parenting from the sidelines. I imagine there are dead beat parents everywhere who feel this pain, and for many of them they succumb. In order to not feel, they ignore what is a reminder of their hurt.

I would be lying if I said it has never been a temptation to hide under the covers and not face what makes me feel.

I’m not a great mom because I suffer through the pain for the sake of my daughter. I’m not a great mom because I traded a bra and saggy boobs for a set of matchbox cars. I’m no different than many moms and dads out there who make the choices, big and little, every darn day to put their kiddos first.

It’s not always easy. It’s not without suffering. It’s not without sacrifice.

But I believe one day it will be worth it.

I’m certain….it will always be without regret.

It was once mentioned to me some of the pictures I post on Facebook are misunderstood, and not appreciated. The pictures in discussion are less than picture perfect. I’ve written posts and shared photos that are unflattering, silly, whiny, funny, thoughtful, sad, disgusting and joyful.

This is me.

I post pictures of the best moments of my life, but I also try to post moments that are a real representation of who I am. In many ways the feedback regarding my pictures, reminded me of all the reasons I don’t like social media. Facebook and Instagram are mainly forums for presenting the best days of people’s lives. In between those posts are the most disgusting parts of our world. We either see the best or the worst. We feel sad when we see animals mistreated, children neglected, prejudice at play, violence and crime. But it’s also hard not to feel bad about ourselves when everyone is out having fun, yet we are home paying bills and watching reruns of Gilmore Girls in the same clothes we’ve been wearing for three days.

Don’t get me wrong. It would be terrible if people didn’t share the best part of their lives. To see people love life and feel joyful inspires happiness. For me personally, I try to share a little bit of everything, because that is my true life.

Being true is also the reason why I write and share my blog. I write because it is a way for me to process my feelings. I share because I hope there might be someone who connects to my imperfection and vulnerability in a way they can’t connect to the picture-perfect representation posted elsewhere.

Today I feel inspired to write about how I’m feeling in this exact moment, well actually, how I’ve felt for several weeks. Are you ready for it?

Bummed. Sad. Weepy.

I stood at the kitchen counter making my morning coffee and the tears fell down my cheeks. Sometimes I don’t know the source of my tears, today I do.

My son is graduating and it feels NOTHING like how I had imagined it would feel. I believed I would feel 100% celebratory. Why not? My amazing son is accomplishing what we worked hard for all those years. He’s heading off to college! He’s grown up to be an incredible young man who has a special girlfriend and wonderful friends, any of which I would be proud to call my own children. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t do drugs. He hugs me numerous times during the day. He’s thoughtful (albeit absentminded.) He’s a very, very, very good kid with a bright future ahead of him.

I had also imagined my parents being in the stands celebrating their grandson’s monumental milestone. I had imagined dancing a jig together, because we had done it!!

Yes, there is the part of me rejoicing he is moving onto college to experience the best years of his life.

But my heart aches. A chapter is closing and it passed by in a heartbeat. The next chapter is not what I envisioned.

I did not foresee being an empty nester at 41 years old when Austin left for college. I had not planned for my daughter to be living elsewhere. I never stopped to think there would be a day when I would not have children at home to nag, yell, tease, laugh, console and hug goodnight. In no way was I prepared for how it would feel to not have my parents with me in the stands on Austin’s graduation night.

It feels like it’s been one goodbye after another over the last couple years. I’m no longer a daughter and in a few short weeks I will no longer have an active role as a mother, the only important role I've known for the last 18 years.

Yes, I will always be a mom, I know. It will just be different, and I will need to adjust.

This is the other part I struggle with. The pressure to have my own identity, to have my own purpose outside of being an every day mom has become a greater responsibility. What will I do? Who will I become?

I’m saying goodbye to what I’ve known, as well as being forced to reinvent myself all at the same time. It feels sad. It feels scary. I don’t feel ready.

This is my truth.

You will see pictures of me with my son on his graduation day, smiling and celebrating his momentous accomplishment. I will feel incredibly happy and proud! I will exult his past successes and his exciting journey ahead. However, if I only shared these snapshots with you, you wouldn’t know the whole story.

It’s like the bride who walks down the aisle for her wedding day. Everything is picture prefect in that moment and the only things you see are the beauty and the smiles. Most people never see the work and drama that unfolded to make that moment happen.

My heart will be bursting at the seams when I see Austin walk up the aisle to receive his diploma. I cannot wait to hear him call me from college and share all the wonderful things happening in his life.

I guess, this is the true nature of being a mom. The quest to see your children happy will always outweigh any personal heartache. I will gladly say goodbye to my children to see them experience a joyous life. I will choose them over me.. every. single. minute. of. every. damn. day.

At the risk of being real, I will tell you though, there’s a deep ache within my heart.

 ​It has been a tough couple weeks.  While taking my 6am yoga class this morning I let the tears roll down my cheeks.  It felt like a safe place to let go, since no one could really tell a difference between my tears and my sweat.  After class was finished I laid in the room for ten extra minutes and just let myself cry.

Everything feels a little more heartbreaking right now because I can’t call my parents for the support I would have typically sought in the past.
 
If I could call my parents tonight there is so much I would share.  I would tell them about all the wonderful things happening in my life, but I would also let the tears fall as I shared what weighs heavy on my heart.  In return, I would receive validation, comfort, advice and love. 
 
Tonight, amongst other issues, I would talk about my kids.  They know how much I love my kids. God knows how much I love my kids, and my kids know how much I love them.  Tonight, despite how much I love them, they are bumming me out.
 
I could be honest with my parents and they wouldn’t think I was a bad parent.  They would know it is because of the immeasurable amount of love and belief I have in my kids is why I feel the way I do.
 
My two teenagers are unbelievably talented, beautiful and smart.  Yet, with a frustration probably not atypical from many other parents,  at times I see them disregarding their God given gifts and opportunities.  Typical teenage stuff.  Prioritizing friends. Procrastinating or not completing homework because video games or Netflix awaits.  Distracting themselves with phones that vibrate every 20 seconds with new Snapchat updates.  Things they will never remember two weeks from now,  let alone two years from now. 
 
As a parent it is the scariest darn thing to see your children not harnessing the gifts and talents God perfectly created when they were in the womb.  I panic and my heart breaks every time I think of another door slowly start to close.  I want to pull my hair out when I try to understand why they want to do things the hard way.  Why make it tougher than it needs to be?
 
Being a teenager is hard, and parenting is hard.  Really hard.    It’s a struggle sometimes to make sure our kids know how much we love them, even when we discipline.  It’s not easy to make your kids understand how proud you are of them, while continuously encouraging them to be their best.  It’s beyond difficult to help them see the daily decisions they are making today are important.  Really important.

If I were telling my parents all of this over the phone they would probably remind me their job wasn't any easier.
 
Life isn’t always laughter, puppy kisses and yoga.  Sometimes it’s a knockdown battle you have no choice but to keep fighting.   
 
And sometimes when you don’t have parents to call, imagining the conversation you would have can feel a little bittersweet.

I’ve been watching a lot of our old family movies lately.  With each video I’ve watched I’ve been drawn back into history…moments that feel like they happened a lifetime ago and just happened yesterday.

I watch these children in the video who were saying their first words, who were captivated by presents left from Santa and who were excitedly waiting to blow out candles on their birthday cake.  The videos are full of noise, chaos, family and laughter.  Lots of laughter.

I find myself mesmerized watching these moments in time wishing I could go back and experience them all over again.  I feel like I blinked, and the time passed.

I remember when the kids were little I felt anxious for the chaos to settle down. I felt stressed, tired, overworked, short of patience and guilty.  Always feeling guilty.  Guilty because in every moment of my children’s lives I wanted to be better.  Every day was defined by how I could be the best mom possible.  And always feeling guilty because I never felt like I was measuring up to be the mom I wanted to be.   

Every decision was made in what I believed to be in their best interest.  Sometimes I stumbled and sometimes I made mistakes.  Mistakes or not, I tried to parent with good intent and with love…so much love my heart ached at the end of a bad day and overflowed at the end of a good one.

This past Mother’s Day we sat in a circle surrounding our picnic lunch.  We went around the circle and listed two favorite things about our mommies and our favorite memory.  My kids listed their favorite things about me as my ability to take an awkward or difficult situation and make it funny.  They value my sense of humor.  They told me they loved my kind heart and how much I have supported them over the years.

While those words of endearment touched my heart, it was their favorite memories of me that surprised me.  My son’s favorite memory was of a time I had finished my half marathon and ordered a huge delicious bacon cheeseburger I had been coveting for weeks.  Sitting in the backseat of the car, he asked for a bite.  When he handed it back to me he had eaten two thirds of the burger.  Laughingly, he says to me “You were soooo angry!” 

My daughter’s favorite memory was of a time I took her bike riding on the Maple Valley trail.  I had packed the bikes into the car and had envisioned this nice little outing with the kids joyfully riding their bikes and me walking by their side.  Yet, what unfolded was an afternoon of tears and frustration.   I didn’t realize kids aren’t naturally inclined to peddle forward.  Their natural instinct is to pedal backwards and put on the brakes.  I was overweight, out of shape and sweating profusely as I tried to help my daughter ride her bike.  Frustrated I told her if she didn’t start peddling forward I was going to give her bike away.  My daughter was crying and I was disappointed.  I loaded her bike back into the car and called my own mom who set me straight. Big mommy fail.

How could these possibly be my kid’s favorite memories of me??

I have spent my whole life feeling guilty for moments like this.   Memories like the time I threw my daughter’s purple makeup into the garbage as her little blonde curls bobbed behind me while she cried “No mommy!  I’m sorry.  I won’t do it again.”  

Memories of me biting my lower lip so hard it was bruised.  Biting my lip so I didn’t lose my marbles and release the frustration that was contained inside me like a raging beast.  I never felt patient and yet my daughter told me the other day, “You were so patient.”

I was an imperfect mother.  I’ve made my fair share of mistakes.  I didn’t always feel patient and I didn’t always feel wise.  But I always felt love.  So much love for my kids that it overflowed from my heart at the end of the day and made me want to be a better mom when I woke up.

My love tucked them in at night, wrapped them up in a warm embrace and made moments I’ve felt guilty for... into their favorite memories. 

I have beat myself up for years for my imperfect moments in time.  It’s time to let it go.  As mothers we were never given manuals.  We do our best.  We make mistakes and then we try to be better.  If we let love, a little laughter and good intentions continue to guide us…. our kids just might be okay.

From the moment we become parents we dream the lives of our children will be better than the lives we lived.  This is why as parents we drive them to and from a zillion activities, scrimping and saving, putting our lives on hold to further their opportunities.  We lecture them about the ways of life as they roll their eyes in the back seat of the car.  We charter them through their education so they can attend the Ivy League college we never had the opportunity to attend.  This is why we evaluate the performance of our own parents deciding “I can’t wait to do that with my own family” OR “I will never do that to my kids when I’m a parent!”

There are days like yesterday, that remind me what my true vision was for my children.  Days like yesterday when I witness my success as a parent.  Yesterday afternoon my daughter expressed her talent and courage, talent and courage I’ve never had to audition for an advanced choir.  Last evening while visiting a bathroom before his baseball game my son was disgusted by some white smoke left over from the drug use of the previous visitor.  When I take a moment and see my children as grown adults and recognize their small yet large actions, I can appreciate I have raised the kind of children I had always prayed for.

I silently snickered when my son worried about the possibility of failing a drug test from his brief encounter.  And I laughed out loud when he asked me if it was possible to become addicted from second hand drug smoke... But it was in that moment I realized I have raised some pretty remarkable children who were indeed listening to the messages I shared with them while they rolled eyes sitting in the back  seat of the car.

They are courageous and brave.  They are kind and loving.  They are responsible and trustworthy.  They are smart, talented and very, very funny.  They are beautiful human beings who have made me feel successful.

Being a parent is the hardest job we will ever have.  It evokes guilt, shame, worry, pride, angst, disappointment and hope.  By taking a small breath and a moment in time we will see the goal is not to create better lives for our kids than we had, it is to raise good people. 

While my kids may not be interested in receiving a doctorate from Harvard, they are the young adults I had always dreamed they would be.

From the moment I became a mom I prayed for my daughter’s well being.  I prayed for her health and happiness.  I prayed she would feel secure from the abundance of love I gave.  I prayed her opportunities in life would far surpass any of my own.  I prayed she would feel provided for, but never live with a sense of entitlement.    I prayed she would be kind, but strong enough to advocate for her needs.  I prayed she would live a fulfilling life following her dreams and passions.  And I prayed I would be the type of parent who would help carve those paths.

When my daughter was 14 years old she shook my foundation and tested the conviction of my prayers.

Her father and I have been divorced since she was four.  Life for a child living in two different homes has never been easy.  I tried to create an environment for her that was happy with few disadvantages.  I sacrificed and saved to take her and her brother on trips to Disneyland.  I worked hard to juggle life as a single working mom by driving them to soccer practices, piano lessons, drama rehearsals, baseball games, doctor’s appointments and parent teacher conferences. 

When my daughter told me she wanted to move in with her dad, my weakness made it feel like her decision was a rejection of me.  A slap in the face against what I had given and sacrificed all those years.  I was hurt.  I questioned myself as a mother.  Perhaps, if I had been a better mom she never would have wanted to leave. 

When she first approached me with her decision I calmly listened to her reasoning.  I tried to help her outline the pros and cons of living in either household.  I had hoped she would come to same conclusion I had.  The advantages of living with me far outweighed the disadvantages of her moving.  When she eventually chose to live with her dad my heart broke.  It didn't break just once, it broke repeatedly. 

Unbeknownst to her I sat in her room and cried the day I came home and found she had packed up all of her personal belongings.  Silently, I was sad when I saw her with her new group of friends I had never met.   I sobbed for hours after I dropped her off at her dad’s house to begin her first day of high school.  My heart ached when I realized life during her formative years was not going to be what I had envisioned.    I grieved for what I felt I had lost. 

Once my heart spent enough time grieving for what wasn't, it eventually opened up to what could be.   It became a relationship full of laughter, trust, admiration, respect and honesty.   We spend time together every week on mother/daughter dates. I have added hundreds of miles on my car. We send texts with silly Emoji symbols to say I miss you and love you.  When we are together we take selfies with silly faces.  I started watching all of her favorite shows so we can gossip about everything we've seen.  

I finally realized we could create a wonderful relationship with different circumstances.  As a mom, I'm proud to discover she is the daughter I had always dreamed she would be. Passionate.  Talented. Caring.  Independent. Strong.  I just needed to let her express who she was, and let go of what I thought was best.  
As a mom I knew I could have made her stay.  I could have forced her not to leave.  By the grace of God, the prayers I have always had for my child withstood during my personal struggle.

My daughter feels secure in my love for her.  She knows she can move away and my love will never change.  She can advocate for her needs up against a force she has always wanted to please.   She is able to make tough decisions to fulfill her dreams and her passions.  It wasn't because I was a terrible mom she decided to leave.  It was because of the mom I have been she felt empowered to do so.