The Heart of the Matter - An Essay

{This blog was created a little over a year ago, and this is a post I had intended to write since its conception - first as a motivational tool for myself and then as a triumphant update. But better late than never. I write this so that my children will know that love is imperfectly perfect, and so that other mothers, who struggle as I have, will know that they are not alone.}

When my eldest was six weeks old, I confessed to my mother that I had not yet told him "I love you." "That's silly," she responded. "Just do it." And I gave her a sheepish grin, because I knew, that of course, she was right.

But try as I might, I just could not get the words to come out. Even as I would sing songs with that loving phrase in it, I found myself stopping short, or changing the words to something less exposing. Barney became my nemesis.

Years ago, when I first found out I was pregnant, I hoped beyond hope that it would not be a son. You see, I've been hurt a lot in the past by other people's sons. And to have one of my own frightened me to tears. Lots of tears.

So I made a plan. I could never be hurt emotionally if I never became emotionally vulnerable. I would never expose my weakness. And that weakness was love - the Achilles heel of all humankind that sets us up for disappointment and heartache.

There was only one problem - I had not yet experienced motherhood. And to stop love from entering a mother is like stopping a rhino from charging a fire.
It's instinct.

Nonetheless, the WALL had been built. And it was a thick one with large blocks and strong mortar, encased with barbed wire and a security alarm to boot. I was fortified to the max, ready to withstand any of life's hurling heartaches. But I had not taken into consideration the extraordinary strength of the gentlest touch from the tiniest hands.

Instead of that wall being one of protection, I immediately became imprisoned by it. Every single day was a fight. Every day.

Imagine the aching and yearning...

I would look into those precious, innocent {completely innocent!} little eyes and feel my heart swell. But I could not get past my lips the feelings in my heart. Days, then months, then years - until suddenly there was no longer one pair of innocent eyes longing for my affections, but three! Not a day escaped my notice, that it was yet another day gone for my children, verbally loveless.

I watched parents around me dispense their emotions freely. I watched with envy. How could they assume life so unguarded? Then I would fill with shame. Then dread.

So instead, I resorted to other methods: longer hugs, more kisses, strokes of the hair, and tighter squeezes. I created this blog to hopefully document some of my efforts as future proof for my children. Perhaps they will never hear of my love, but they can still know it. But is that enough for a child? Is it enough for any one? Like Shakespeare says, "They do not love that do not show their love." I absolutely believe that. For what good is saying it without showing it? Actions speak louder than words - so they say.

But the countless tears on my pillow begged to differ. What good is showing it without saying it? The two absolutely go hand in hand. It is a partnership imperative for optimum results, both for the giver and the receiver.

Three years past. One day my son said something that caught me completely off-guard.

"I love you Mommy".

In a single instant, my heart raced and sank simultaneously. I grabbed him for another long embrace, but all I could say was "Thank you." I had dreamt of a moment like this. A moment where every single element would be just right and those three simple, yet daunting, words could escape my lips in perfect bliss.

But I consistently let hundreds of those moments pass me by. Birthdays, Christmases, bed times, story times, play times, nap times, holidays, special days, normal days - all vanished without me seizing them.

Then it happened. Just this Fall, while at work and on the phone with my three-and-a-half-year-old (of all the least poetic places), it just slipped out. "Be good for Daddy. I love you. Bye bye."

I put the receiver down in shock. Then a HUGE smile spread across my face as the weight of that brick wall collapsed and crumbled all around me.

I had thought that saying "I love you" would be confining, and paint a target of weakness on my back. But suddenly, I had never felt so liberated --- and strong! It was a beautiful feeling. And when I got home that evening I repeated my unbridled blunder, and added an embrace to match the size of my heart and smile on my face. For the first time, I was able to give myself fully to my children - the mom they deserve, who loves them in word and deed and every second in between.

Since then, I have made it a point to seize every opportunity I am given, to show and tell my children of the love I have for them. And I revel in every syllable.

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To many, I know this story may seem "silly"- a dramatic episode from one emotionally unbalanced. And while I can agree slightly (else I would not have just written those words) I have to profess that every ounce of silliness was, and is, Real. Being a mother is emotionally unbalanced. We have to play so many parts, be so many things - act happy for our toddler while we're vomiting into the toilet; act angry at the impolite bluntness of our preschooler while laughing hysterically inside; act calm in the grocery store while we're fuming mad at our screaming children in the cart; act sad that it's time to go to bed while we're inwardly lunging for the light switch. It's a miracle we don't all end up with multiple-personality disorder!

So to those of you who believe this essay is "silly" - I commend you for your stability.
But to any of you who struggle with the idiosyncrasies of motherhood, I say hang in there.
You are not alone.