Let Me Hide Awhile

I wasn’t going to publish this work as a blog post when I first finished it for two reasons. One, I’m working on a book and I’m trying to save content I feel belongs in the book, and two, it’s probably not a popularly shared viewpoint. But I decided that the book will come when it comes; my words might need to reach someone now. And if it does reach readers that disagree, that just means I have a diverse audience. But understand my words are from my heart speaking for me, so they don’t need to ring true for you. That’s the beauty of free thought. So here goes. 

There’s a fair amount of empowering messages out there for those of us who’d like to fade into the shadows at certain times in our lives. For me, it’s currently: forty, mothering a nine month old with little time to care about my appearance, which has taken its biggest aging and weight gain blow so far in this life. 

Anything from, “you’ve got this mama!” to “you are a goddess, act like one” aimed to bolster our weary, sometimes discouraged spirits can really help bring us up from the dark. But sometimes I’d rather not be built up and told to get out there and shine. Sometimes I need to hunker down in the alleyway of life to collect the parts of myself I need to feel whole. Just let me hide awhile. 

Those booming encouragers would also sometimes have us believe that appearances don’t matter. I beg to differ, and what they might mean is appearances shouldn’t matter, but I prefer honesty above all the well-mannered lip services offered. So let’s be honest- everyone, to some degree, critiques themselves and others. Some may do it with more grace, but we all judge and compare, and we all stand in front of a mirror and wonder where the person we loved dressing up and taking out has gone. 

For myself, I avoid mirrors at certain times in life. I know what I look like, and I don’t care to be reminded so starkly on a daily basis, and certainly not before a morning cup of coffee. Never mind the stress involved when I do start considering my appearance, I have little time or energy to do the primping to improve the me I’m working with at present. The shadows aren’t such a horrible place, and can be a restful reprieve from the expectations of center stage. 

“Get in the picture! Some day that’s all they’ll have of you” is one piece of well-meaning advice laced with a touch of Catholic guilt. “Who cares how you feel! Do it for them!” Sorry folks, this admonition rings hollow and false when matched up with other broad advice in the self-love/self-care category. How can I feel good in my own skin when I don’t have the time for any skincare right now? How do I put myself first if I have to listen to advice that makes me feel secondary and out of place? 

My rebuttal, please let me hide awhile. Not forever, and not all the time, but let me hide awhile. I’ll pop in a picture when I’m feeling good and I’ve had the time to care for myself, and these times do happen. Other times a good friend will take a candid photo from an angle they know will be flattering because they’ve been in my shoes. These are the best kinds of friends. They take my phone and make me the decision maker, or send a photo to me after offering to take it, just for me. 

I’ll still be in life stories, and I’m integral to my loved ones’ memories- if there’s a little gap in the pictures, I know their heart has the memories to fill in, with a much softer lens than any camera. 

This is grace, to let those of us that need it the freedom to shy away from the constant parade of activities, outings, and pictures so many consider necessary to life. For me, life not only has ups and downs, but also degrees of private times where rest in the comfort of “out of view” can be the best form of self-care. If you love me, let me be, let me hide a while, I’ll feel better, and soon the whole me you’ll see. 

Here’s one such picture taken by those dear friends. 
Millie Jean and me berry picking.
Picture by Emily George 💗

Grown Home

There’s a patch of sunflowers towering over what was meant to be my cutting garden this season. I didn’t plant them; they’re volunteers from last year’s scattered heads that I managed to semi-organize into a cluster as seedlings. Unlike all the fancy cut flower plants I babied in our off-grid greenhouse this spring, they survived the May freeze with nary a browned leaf. 

While these towering beauties were not in “the plan” I’m a sucker for thriving, self-planted blooms, and so they crowded out a good portion of the eastern side of my garden. These golden blooms are at peak this week, and my adapted plan to have them blooming as a backdrop for my wedding in six weeks is also looking unlikely. If you drive by the farm, you really won’t get to enjoy them much either, as mature sunflowers face east- and that’s away from the road- towards home. 

The patch is a glorious sight on walks with my daughter. Her outdoor play pavilion sits just east of the garden, so we get a private sunflower wall to enjoy every day. Part of me, the part that likes to show off, was frustrated that from the road my garden is barely seen, blockaded by a wood pile and tall weeds that we leave to cut down on the wafting road dust. It’s hard to do things just for myself  without the urge to show the world- “See! I can do amazing things!” Right now, my amazing things are growing at home, and I have little energy or time to face the western side of the road to show passersby. 

I don’t need to be reminded that I can do great things, or maybe I do- but I do need to be reminded that who I do great things for is more important than wowing anyone from the roadside of my life. I raised a child in the fast lane already, and despite all the juggling of duty, career, and upheaval he’s coming into adulthood a truly remarkable soul, but not without a few scars that I can’t help but feel were inflicted by my way of life. 

I am cautioned not to compare the two lifestyles that my children- sixteen years apart, live. The best advice I was given was, when we know better, we do better, and I try to limit my introspection with that in mind. But I do know that I truly want to grow my home to be a place where I spend the most time, energy, and love. Growing a home is both hard work and a private joy, one that doesn’t need outside approval, because it is fashioned specially for me and my own. 

These two years so far in the farm we have had amazing growth, much of which can only be seen from the inside. While I get wistful looking at other gardens and homes, I am reminded that my home is one that has been grown from bare earth and seeds, much sweat, a little blood- and a few tears. And here and there self-sown flowers pop up and grow without a thought to where and when they’ll bloom, much less how many will see them. They’re grown for the home, as home grows around them.