Writing means I have to deal with things. Obviously, I haven’t been been writing which means I’m not dealing. I can easily blame it on having a busy life. But let’s be honest. I am a firm believer that we make time for what we really want. We will make it work in the midst of a busy life – and life is always busy it seems. However, in the wee hours of the morning, lying awake in a tent filled with my family and surrounded by woods, life isn’t all that busy. A broken phone means no escape from the thoughts that constantly try to push their way to the surface. I am forced to meditate and relive what I wish I could ignore.
I am very upset with my parents. This isn’t news to them. However, I have also felt guilty for feeling angry. Is it really their fault the way events panned out? Is it okay to blame them? Am I being unfair? And then, in the middle of the night, lying in a tent next to my snoring husband, I realized where the hurt was coming from.
They didn’t fight for me.
My feelings make sense now. I don’t feel guilty anymore. They simply didn’t fight for me, at least, that’s the viewpoint from my chair.
I think fighting for our kids starts young and isn’t supposed to end. I consider myself a young parent and I have much to learn. I hope that I will look back years later and realize all the ways I went wrong when I thought I was doing right. But for now, I believe in fighting for the hearts of my kids. Even the heart of two-year old Denai. Did you know she already is learning to take deep breaths when she is upset? It’s adorable and amazing. And while her lips open and then flower, breathing out deep, I can settle and practice speaking to her heart. This is where the fight begins. I hope it’s a fight I never give up with Denai, Michael or Marie (I have not been dealing with those feelings either, but that’s for a different camping trip I think).
I am blessed every day by a husband who fights for my heart. Even when he’s hurting me, he’s fighting for me. Even when I’m hurting him, he’s fighting for me. I love watching Mr. Sexy take Michael aside and speak to him deeply. Sometimes it’s loud. Sometimes it’s quiet. But there is always a fight for his heart, and my husband is not one to walk away from that.
So, I guess, I still expect my parents to try to fight for me, instead of passively watching events take place. While I’m now a grown woman with my own family, I’m still their little girl. They don’t have to watch me walk away.