Making Your Loudest Voice Calmer & Your Truest Voice Stronger

voiceless 1“Feeling my way through the darkness
Guided by a beating heart
I can’t tell where the journey will end
But I know where to start.” – Avicii

On most Saturdays you can find our family exploring our new city. We moved here ten months ago, but it still feels new and excitingly uncharted. At a downtown museum on a recent Saturday, we watched a four-minute film that my younger daughter called the “moments of happiness” movie. At different points in the video, I noticed each of my daughters peering down the isle to look at me. I knew what they were looking for—they were looking for tears.

Within the first twenty seconds of the film, I felt my eyes well up. Watching ordinary people doing brave things … watching the joyful homecomings of service men and women … watching siblings work together for a common goal … watching families celebrate together and mourn together—these heart-stirring situations caused my tears to flow. I unabashedly let them run down my face.

“It doesn’t take much to make mom cry,” my older daughter said taking my hand as our family exited the theater. I felt my chest tighten wondering where this was going.

“Yeah,” my younger daughter agreed. “Whenever Mom sees someone else cry, she cries too.”

I was so relieved. This is who I am now: The woman who cries with others … the woman who cries with happiness.

It hasn’t always been that way.

There was a time when there were lots of tears—not a quiet cry of despair, but more of an out of control, high-pitched, tearful eruption. There was a two-year period of my life when I was a pressure cooker just waiting to blow. The troubling mantra that repeatedly ran through my mind was: “It’s just too much … it’s all just too much.” A great deal of the “too much” was self imposed—unachievable standards, relentless distractions, and an overabundance of commitments. But at the time, I didn’t realize the choices I was making were causing this constant feeling of overwhelm. I only knew that carrying the weight of too much caused me to scream and cry when I got upset—as if screaming and crying were the only way to be heard.

But that type of communication was always met with a look of shock, fear, and sorrow from the people I loved the most. In fact, when I was screaming and crying, they didn’t hear a word I said.

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The Important Thing About Yelling

the important thing about yelling #handsfreemama
I cherish the notes I receive from my children—whether they are scribbled with a Sharpie on a yellow sticky note or written in perfect penmanship on lined paper. But the Mother’s Day poem I recently received from my 9-year-old daughter was especially meaningful. In fact, the first line of the poem caused my breath to catch as warm tears slid down my face.

“The important thing about my mom is … she’s always there for me, even when I get in trouble.”

You see, it hasn’t always been this way.

In the midst of my highly distracted life, I started a new practice that was quite different from the way I behaved up until that point. I became a yeller. It wasn’t often, but it was extreme—like an overloaded balloon that suddenly pops and makes everyone in earshot startle with fear.

So what was it about my then 3-year-old and 6-year-old children that caused me to lose it? Was it how she insisted on running off to get three more beaded necklaces and her favorite pink sunglasses when we were already late? Was it that she tried to pour her own cereal and dumped the entire box on the kitchen counter? Was it that she dropped and shattered my special glass angel on the hardwood floor after being told not to touch it? Was it that she fought sleep like a prizefighter when I needed peace and quiet the most? Was it that the two of them fought over ridiculous things like who would be first out of the car or who got the biggest dip of ice cream?

Yes, it was those things—normal mishaps and typical kid issues and attitudes that irritated me to the point of losing control.

That is not an easy sentence to write. Nor is this an easy time in my life to relive because truth be told, I hated myself in those moments. What had become of me that I needed to scream at two precious little people who I loved more than life?

Let me tell you what had become of me.

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