While I have tried to fully embrace my femininity, I wouldn't say I'm very dramatic or emotional. I put significant effort into avoiding my own tears. I detest being considered "girly" in this regard, and I always have. However, I do not mean I don't feel. I do not mean I don't have emotions, strong emotions in fact, or that I don't let them fester inside me. Perhaps my observable emotional Achilles Heel leans more toward the path of anger. Appropriately handling anger is a constant struggle for me, and having children has certainly brought this weakness to light.
So many times people have told me I'm "real", both in my real life and online friendships. Being transparent and authentic is very, very important to me, so this statement has never surprised me. I've sat in Bible Study or other women's gatherings and wondered why people don't feel comfortable sharing - what causes them to be so distrustful? Why won't they bare their souls, as I do? Why can't they share what they struggle with?
Yet, as I was thinking about the text that would accompany these images taken two days ago, I received quite the surprise. The images are of my children with their emotional tears. I set out to write about the surprising perils of raising a girl with all of her emotions, tears, and drama! Instead, I have my own personal and mildly disturbing revelation. I have discovered that I'm much more guarded than I knew... than I realized.... for someone who touts this transparency and authenticity as I do.
I will talk to you (or write) all day long about what I think. But what I feel? The emotions in my heart? The happy emotions, the happy feelings, are free to be shared. But the sad ones? The ones that would involve tears of my own? They are kept hidden. Well guarded. And I don't share them. I don't share them with you, when I write here. I don't share them with my friends. And I don't share them with my husband. They are my own and my own only. I truly didn't realize I did this until now. I've always prided myself in my transparency. I may share pain and sorrow, but only when it is old and shriveled and long gone. Not when it is there, alive and festering, raw and blistering inside my soul.
As I said, I set out to write about all the unexpected drama we have found when raising a little girl. I set out to write how surprised I am at the vehemency, and frequency, of the emotions involved in what seems to be utter ridiculousness. I set out to write about how frustrating I find her dramatic displays of emotion. And rather, I discover, that perhaps allowing her tears to have a public and safe voice, will be a very, very good thing.
He is a mini-me. A perfectionist to the core. And he fears my anger and frustration with him (and I've been way too quick to share them, unfortunately). This led him to lie to me over something silly, that he wouldn't have gotten in trouble for. Instead, he had to endure severe consequences for lying. And I was fortunate to have something I could remove that hurt and hurt badly. I hope this time he remembers.
Then later in the day, I said "No. You may not have chocolate chips for snack today" and received the following in response to that callous remark. This one was my favorite, gut wrenching image from the series.
But I decided I should share the entire series that I shot.
I was sooooo disappointed to see how horribly I missed focus on this one. I would have loved it so much, had it been in focus!