We were meant to live for more

I've always been a bit of a dreamer, someone with big aspirations to change the world and make a difference. For awhile, I thought being a writer would fulfill that dream. In 2011, I found a way to make my passion for helping foster kids come to life by being a volunteer host family through Safe Families. We did that off and on for over a decade, but our family was a bit divided on the push-and-pull that it took on our emotional well-being, so we put that on pause earlier this year. 

Since then, I've felt like there's a big gaping hole in my life. I want to be a part of something bigger. I thought teaching might be it, but the more I think about that, the more I feel like I missed an opportunity to start completely over in my career (and to be honest, I just don't have the extra capacity to pour into 200+ kids on a daily basis right now). 

So, in this season of waiting, I've been keeping an eye open for any opportunity that speaks to my soul, that would allow me to have a passion project while still working in corporate (remote) America paying the bills. It just so happens that the church we attend had a Missions Night a few weeks back, and I started following some of the organizations that partnered with that event. One of which is a ministry that focuses on ways to help foster families, foster kids, and aged-out foster youth. I reached out to the non-profit's organizer on social media, and decided to participate in a Christmas outreach program they had going on, and also messaged them to see if I could get involved in any bigger volunteer ways. Turns out, they are looking for someone to help with some of their marketing and fundraising efforts, so I'm meeting with their board later this week to talk about details.

I am so freaking excited to have this door open. I don't want to take on more than I can chew, but I'm really feeling optimistic about this. I feel like the lyrics of the Switchfoot song below really encompass how I feel. My anxiety and depression don't help when I start to get into this cycle of feeling low, feeling like I don't matter, and that my contributions to this world just aren't big enough. Then I start to think about how I'm raising my kids to be good humans, and I know that means something. And then, something like this happens, and I'm reminded that I do have something to offer. I hope this is the next door opening...I was talking to my husband about starting a nonprofit focusing on helping teenagers in the area and specifically reaching out to foster kids and finding a way to help like I used to with Safe Families, but without bringing kids into our home and adding to the emotional climate of our day-to-day. 

I'm hoping and praying and crossing fingers and toes that this may be the thing I've been praying and waiting for. I'm also committing to a restart on my own well-being, and focused on 30 days of making better choices. I started on 11/25/22 so I'll definitely report back with updates on that over the next few weeks. 

I'm grateful (following Thanksgiving, how fitting!) for grace, for hope, for fresh starts and new beginnings. I'm grateful for a renewed sense of purpose, an appreciation for the things I have in my life, and the ways that I can make an impact at home and maybe even in new ways. I know I was meant to live for much more than those dark days that cover the skies above my head sometimes. 

"We were meant to live for so much more

Have we lost ourselves?
Somewhere we live inside
Somewhere we live inside
We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
Somewhere we live inside

Dreaming about providence
And whether mice or men have second tries

Maybe we've been living with our eyes half open
Maybe we're bent and broken
Broken

We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
Somewhere we live inside
Somewhere we live inside
We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
Somewhere we live inside

We want more than this world's got to offer
We want more than this world's got to offer
We want more than the wars of our fathers
And everything inside screams for second life"

Lyrics by Switchfoot, Meant to Live

Scary new world

 We live in crazy times, my friends. Today, I received an email from my kids' high school principal that there was a "non-credible" threat. A student had started a group chat on social media, asking schoolmates to show up wearing a suit, and help him attack the school, guns blazing. A few things that make today's world a little scarier for not only parents, but for the teenagers walking those halls are social media, mental health struggles, and a sense of entitlement amongst kids and parents that I haven't seen before the pandemic of COVID-19. 

So let me start off by saying that the threat was indeed non-credible, or at least, was by the time the student in question arrived at school today. As I was dropping my kids off early, I saw two sheriff vehicles heading into the school, and I got word shortly thereafter that the student was taken into custody. But, one of the most striking things about this news today was how quickly it spread like wildfire on group chats for parents on social media, as well as through the kids at school (as I received texted screen shots from my daughter). Social media has made kids who are either bullies or broken themselves into giants. They can post whatever they want, and they don't have to look anyone in the eye while they do it. I think social media can be poisonous for some, and I try to make educated decisions about what things my kids have access to, while also knowing I can't protect them from everything, and a little exposure and understanding of the power of social media is good for them. 

Mental health struggles have also exploded since the pandemic. I know personally that mental health, depression, anxiety, self-harm - they've always been there. But the post-pandemic environment has created a sense of unknowing and loss of power (autonomous and otherwise) that no one in my generation ever experienced before. We were a generation raised by baby boomers (some of us being over-protected millenials and the older generation X'ers being left to their own devices to survive on their own by working parents who had other things to worry about like putting food on the table in some cases), and some of us were very sheltered and didn't have a lot of exposure to the evils of the world. We knew about Columbine, but that was a rarity. Maybe the rarity was in the publicizing of the events, but in any case, it was rare. Today, I feel like we hear about a mass shooting every other week. It's absolutely mind-blowing and soul-crushing all at the same time that this is the world we send our kids out into every single day. 

The third and final thing I'm going to comment on as it pertains to this situation is the entitlement. I have four kids that all play sports. They all have chores, they don't get every single thing they ask for on their Christmas list or at the store, or on Amazon. But they are by no means going without either. That being said, I have no problem talking to my kids about budgets and money and how much things cost. I want them to know that their dad and I work hard to provide for them, and to give them the "extras" that other kids don't have. We live in a fairly affluent neighborhood, so many of their friends do not hear no very often and regularly get whatever they want, or go shopping just because they're bored. And thus is born the sense of entitlement amongst the youth of America today. But what happened to their parents? Why are they so entitled as well? I really think COVID did a number on everyone's psyche, and one of the things that really got hit hard was this sense of entitlement - that everyone else should be serving you in their day-to-day actions. I see it everywhere! I see it on the soccer fields, when the kid spinning in circles has a parent who messages the coach to say he needs more playing time. I see it in the classrooms when I volunteer and an 8-year-old is throwing a tantrum and disrupting the rest of the class, and all the teacher can do is ask him to stop or call the office for the 18th time that month. 

It's so sad and it really makes me nervous for what the world will look like when my youngest is an adult. I'm trying to raise four good humans, to instill in them that winning and losing is part of life, that we always try our best, and if we lose and we're sad about it, that's ok. But it's also important to take responsibility when we screw up, to be accountable for our actions, and to show kindness whenever possible. We shouldn't baby our kids to the point that they aren't able to survive in the real world, because it's a scary one out there. We should teach them to appreciate the things they have, but to proceed with caution when it comes to social media, and friendships and relationships. We should teach them to be good people, but to also be realistic when it comes to the people and things they are exposed to every single day. 

It is indeed a scary new world, and parenting in it gets harder with each passing day. They say the hardest thing you'll do as a parent is pour your heart and soul into your kids, and then watch them walk away (or push them out the door depending on who you talk to). It's really a pretty crappy arrangement if you think about it. We spend 18 years putting our blood, sweat, tears, money, resources, time, etc. into these little humans, with the ultimate goal of WANTING them to leave us. Wanting them to be productive members of society and good humans. And some days, all we can do is pray and hope that they make it back to us in one piece. And I'll be grateful every single day they do, even if they drive me crazy along the way. 

Panic in the chemistry lab

I was so excited to start college. My first year was mostly uneventful. I was a good student, I majored in something new each semester (I actually did this for a couple years, to be honest), and I loved the learning environment. I could envision myself doing that for years and years.

Unfortunately, the personal turmoil I was experiencing when I started my sophomore year at a local state college, led to one of my first really intense, identifiable panic attack. One that resulted in me automatically dropping all of my classes, and declaring myself (the high school valedictorian, mind you) a college failure. I remember sitting in a chair in my chemistry lab, and my mind just started spinning. A thousand unintelligible thoughts swirled around, my hands started to sweat, my heart began racing, and I felt like someone was choking me. I had no idea what was going on, I just knew that I had to get out of there.

That evening, my fiancé at the time found me sitting on our tiny apartment couch in a ball, with a blanket swaddled around my entire body. I was just staring at the walls in the dark. A complete mess. I felt like I had no direction, and on top of everything else, I felt like I was legitimately going crazy. I wish mental health awareness was something that we talked about back then, in the early 2000s. It just wasn’t something you would casually bring up, and going to therapy wasn’t for “normal” people. It was a different time. We were all supposed to be capable and able to fix our flaws as quietly as possible.

When I think back to earlier times of stress as a kid or teenager, I think panic and anxiety were always a part of my reality. I just didn’t know how to name them back then. This panic attack caused so much pain, not just to me, but the disappointment and worry from my parents and friends was just overwhelming. I think at that point, I really became unabashedly co-dependent on my fiancé. Regardless of how badly he treated me, how many times he cheated, I would always be there. Because he helped me in that moment of complete despair. He was kind to me. He was reassuring. And no matter what has happened between us in the past two decades, I will always be thankful for the compassion that he showed in my weaker moments, my days where the struggle with my own mental health crippled me.

16 feels like yesterday

 My oldest two kids (twins) turned 16 this past weekend. It got me thinking about a few things, nostalgia definitely takes over here and there as I see things through their eyes and wonder if I was similar when I was 16. I wrote some life advice in each of their birthday cards, and my daughter's was "Don't marry the first boy you fall in love with." Lessons learned, lessons passed down. 

My 16-year-olds actually remind me a lot of myself in different ways. My daughter is worried about how everyone else feels and thinks and wants things to all be ok. My son is impulsive and charismatic and so much like his biological dad sometimes that it's painful to watch. He also has a big heart, and is super competitive and very invested in whatever sport he sets his mind to. Sports are his outlet, and soccer was that for me growing up too. 

Sometimes, I feel so far removed from 16 and other days, I see the twinkle in their eyes or the way they interact with friends, and I'm brought right back to my own 16th year. The year I met the twins' dad, and also met and reconnected with women who are still my closest friends to this day. It's the best of times and the worst of times, and as a mom of teenagers, I want to do everything I can to protect them, while still letting them get hurt and learn lessons to grow their own independence and confidence and belief in themselves as capable human beings. I try to draw the line between parent and friend very clearly, so there aren't any conflicting expectations. But I also love them so hard, and when they hurt, I hurt. 

It was quite a trip standing next to my now 16-year-olds and also standing next to my best friends from when we were 16...all in one day. Lots of feelings, emotional overload for sure. I am someone who absorbs the feelings and emotions of those around me, so days like that can be very exhausting for me. It's like my battery gets drained and I just need a couple of days to recharge. I see that in my daughter too. She's an empath, and she loves deep and feels intensely. It's a skill I'm still working on, to protect myself, my mental health, and my emotions, even from the people I love most sometimes. 

16 is a year when emotions ran deep for me. It's when I met my first love, and I'll always remember the ups and downs and emotional roller coaster from that year. A lot of fond memories, and some painful ones too. I hope my openness with my kids and my love for them will always keep them talking to me, asking questions (even really uncomfortable ones that my 16-year-old son comes up with sometimes), and expecting me to give them the truth, even if it hurts a little bit more than a glossed-over version. 

The journey isn't always easy

 Journey was a name that stuck out to me when I was pregnant with the twins. I wanted to name my daughter Journey from the time I was 18 and heard someone talking about their four girls, all with "J" names that were unique. Journey, Justice, Jordyn and Jagger. I thought those were so cool (and totally appropriate for the punk rocker couple who was talking about their girls and I was just a little 18-year-old eavesdropper. 

I'm slightly obsessed with the arguably inappropriate but also hilarious and inspiring TV series Glee that was on a decade or so ago. There's a quote in there from the glee club advisor, Mr. Schue. He's trying to convince the kids to do a medley of Journey songs, and he says something to the effect of, "Who cares what happens when we get there, when the getting-there has been so much fun." It's not always about the destination, right? It's also about the fun you had, the lessons you learned, the friendships and connections you made along the way. 

I am terrible at waiting. I know there's a season for waiting and a season for doing, and I feel like right now, I'm in the waiting season. Waiting to figure out my next big move in life. Waiting for my kids to be at a place where I don't feel like I need to be available to them 24/7 (does that every really happen though?). Waiting for a sign that my time is now, my thing is this, and my purpose has been identified. I want to do something that matters. I don't want to babysit adults or recruit for new job roles that are just going to be vacant again in a few months. But I also want to be the crazy volleyball and soccer and basketball mom who cheers from the sidelines and is there for every award ceremony and playoff game. So while I feel like I'm on my pause, in this waiting season, I'm also grateful that I get to be there for those big moments that will make a difference in the lives of my own kids. Maybe I don't need to change the world. Maybe I just need to raise four good human beings who will eventually make their own waves in this world. Maybe that's my biggest purpose, my life's goal. 

Have you ever found yourself in a waiting season, with the itch to do something bigger and more meaningful? What pulled you out of the itchiness and set you solid on the ground, waiting and being ok with waiting? A few things I'm finding helpful is to continue to work on me, even in less loud ways. Writing is one way. Reading is another. Considering taking a business class or two. Starting a non-profit that allows for me to play a part in making dreams come true for teenagers in my own community. Letting all of those thoughts and ideas simmer for a bit without taking any big actions. 

It's so hard to wait! It's so hard to be patient and let God have His say in what's going to happen next. I'm a do-er. I'm always ready for the next project, the next ask. My work calendar is a series of meetings and tasks and deadlines. I love checking things off my to-do list. But for now, I'm going to sit back and enjoy the small moments that I may otherwise have missed. The laughs with my youngest when he's doing one of his crazy dance moves. The Uno games with my middle child who is full of big feelings and ideas and just doens't always know how to express them clearly. The laughs and jokes on the way home from picking my teenagers up from school. The stolen hugs and inside jokes that we've all created together or me just one-on-one with my four reasons for existing. Maybe that's the beauty in this journey after all. That we can pivot, and choose different each day. That we can have more than one purpose, and they can be of all different shapes and sizes. 

This journey definitely hasn't been easy. But it has been so beautifully messy and fun along the way. 

Made for More....let's start at the beginning

 I've always said that I'm the glass half-empty girl, the one who is able to see the reality in a situation when everyone else is looking at the silver lining. I don't always appreciate that I'm this way, but I think it's important to have an honest look at life. Some of you may call it pessimism, but I prefer to think of myself as realistic. Several years back, I decided to write a semi-autobiographical novel, basically a long-winded, snarky version of a journal highlighting the significant moments that have shaped who I am. Writing has always been a form of therapy for me, and I think it's important for teenagers and young adults to find their thing - whatever that is, as long as it's not harming themselves or others, I think creative expression is so important as we figure out who we are and who we are meant to be. 

To hold onto hope, and look ahead to a brighter tomorrow, I've had to battle a lot of demons and come to terms with the fact that things are not always as they seem, and there isn't always a light at the end of the tunnel. My oldest kids have a biological father who hasn't seen them in years. He doesn't call, he doesn't text, he doesn't know what classes they take or what sports they play. He doesn't know any of this, and that sucks. But, they have really involved and loving grandparents, and a stepdad that shows up to everything he can and cheers them on, even if those cheers are quieter than others. He wants what is best for them, even if he doesn't always express that clearly. 

The trials and obstacles that I have faced in my own search for happiness have led me here. The pain, the heartache, the joy and the successes - they've all acted as stepstones to this very time in my life. 

So now I'm left wondering, was I made for more? Was I meant to do something bigger, to change the world, to make an impact on the new generation of world leaders and game changers? 

The short answer is, I'm not sure.

The longer answer is, I'm going to try to figure that out, one day at a time, one step at a time, one action or word or move at a time. 

Today is the first action. Writing this blog. Starting this forum. Opening up the conversation about all of us being made for more. How can I inspire hope? How can I embrace opportunities and show grace to the generation of teenagers who has not known a world without technology and cell phones? How can I open doors for those lost little souls who do not know what their next step is and even worse, don't have anyone to help them along the way in that journey of self-discovery? 

I thought for a long time that I was called to be a high school teacher. Now, I'm not so sure. I know my research in college, my area of focus in academics, and my own personal struggles as a teenager with depression and anxiety has led me to have a soft spot for teenagers. But I think there are more than a couple ways to make an impact, and this is my first step toward finding what mine will be.