navigating without a compass.

zoe is three. and three can be hard for me sometimes. you always hear -- "the terrible twos" so at two i was just kind of waiting. and thinking, what about this is terrible? of course there were meltdowns and tantrums and difficult moments, but i certainly wouldn't classify it as terrible. my mom would tell me how she thought three was so much worse than two, but for some reason i thought that maybe i'd just get lucky. i survived the twos, and i thought i just must have an angel of a child. and i do... but. wow. you all know i love my girl. i don't need to make myself feel less guilty by talking about all the amazing things about her. because i do see them, i really do. but we all have bad days. and today was one.

it goes from the simplicity of no and redirecting and living in this moment-to-moment world, to having in depth conversations about why and why not and how and justifications and manipulations... and when the hell did my toddler become a teenager? when did she start selectively listening to what she felt like responding to and go from being an angel one second to completely losing it like she just slipped into the seventh circle of hell? what just happened?

and i'm not saying two is easy. i'm not trying to downplay how difficult it is to be the sleep deprived mom of an infant. or the ever-vigilant mom of an 18 month old who you have to keep from accidentally killing themselves every 14 seconds. it's all hard, it all has it's challenges. and i know i'm only just getting started. i'm just in a new one, that's all. one that i guess i wasn't ready for. (are we ever ready?) a stage i feel like i'm navigating through with a dim flashlight, in a dark cave, with lots of potholes. and some cracks in the ceiling where this beautiful golden light pours through and i feel so alive and balanced and connected and awestruck. and they are the most beautiful moments ever. but i mean, i will be walking along - some days having that "i got this" feeling, other days i feel like the most clueless, fumbling mom to walk the earth. and i try to remember the ebb and flow, right? and i try to breathe.

i'm forever both grateful and annoyed at the fact that motherhood makes you question yourself constantly. the persistent inner dialogue -- am i doing this right? am i doing it good enough? what am i doing wrong? why is my kid being mean right now? i'm really not a mean person. i don't talk to her like that; why is she being so mean to her baby dolls? why'd she just yell at her friend with that growling voice? how'd she even make that sound? what can i do to make it better? how can i be better?

and i try to surrender to the path of motherhood that is in front of me, and remember that sometimes i can't see the light pouring through the ceiling but that it will again. and on the dark days that i've stumbled and fell and scraped my knee and cried and felt overwhelmed and lost and scared... all i can do is pick myself up and put one foot in front of the other. i do know that some days are better than others. and that all pain is temporary. it's a phase.... i am both comforted by that and simultaneously think -- damn, why is it that right when i get acquainted to one phase, the tablecloth gets ripped out from under me, and it's an entirely new deal to navigate with no warning. i get it (or do i?) pain is our teacher, knocking on the proverbial door and asking us to see the light pouring in -- in our minds -- when maybe it's not actually happening in our physical world.

we have to create it. and some days it's so hard to see. and it's hard to get comfortable in a place where not much feels constant, other than change. i guess we have to create the constant in our minds, in our hearts. our safe place to go that is changeless. to be able to access it on a dime is the tricky part. when i can recognize that i'm losing control, that i'm allowing whatever energy is testing me, or us, to take over -- is when i get frustrated. i feel like i should be able to see that every time, and that i'm the adult in the situation, right? i should be able to stay calm and know all of these things. but some days i just don't. some weeks i just don't.

i'm working on being okay with that. with forgiving myself for the fact that i don't always have it, i don't always do my best (that's the hardest for me), and i don't always know what the best thing to do is. i'm working on surrendering to the fact that i am not the perfect mom, and i make mistakes, and when i feel judged maybe it's because i'm judging myself. and all i can do is be honest, and open, and accept myself for all of me. even the part that feels lost and scared in the motherhood cave.

sometimes i just need to trust the path a little more -- get back up when i fall. take a deep breath when i lose my way. let myself recharge. (try again to) start anew in new moments. seek to see love when i am scared. because the sun does always come up. and the light will always pour through the cracks, even when you can't see around that corner. i may not know anything for sure, but i know that. i just need to remember to trust it. trust myself. and forgive myself for all the things that i could have done differently, or better, or with more patience, or more wisdom. because i'm learning, and i'm not perfect. and because -- all we can ever really do is just not be so hard on ourselves. try to be kinder to ourselves and give ourselves a little more love.

so if this found any one of you in a similar frame of mind, i give you a really warm smile and a big, long hug. a cup of tea and a comfy couch and a cozy blanket. and maybe some tissues. you are not alone on this wild and beautiful and challenging and ever-changing journey. and neither am i, so thank you.