Trusting the Process

I just came from my first Board of Directors meeting. Not actually, my first one ever, just the first one where I feel as though I've recently given birth and am now handing over my beautiful, precious, sweet newborn to random strangers walking down the street. Okay, maybe it's not quite that dramatic, but it's a little like that.

I've been gestating this baby for well over a year now and several exciting things have happened in the past month which have allowed my kooky little idea to become a reality. Money has showed up, people have showed up, and this really is going to happen.

I knew that inviting people to serve on the Board of Directors was a crucial first step toward the future success of the organization. I knew that I was reaching my absolute limit as to how much I was able to pull off on my own. But I didn't realize how terrifying it was going to feel to essentially hand over this baby.

It's not like I'm done. I suppose you could say I'll still have frequent visting rights.....shared custody, even. But I have officially released my ability to be a governing body of one. As of tonight, my dictatorship has become a democracy. Which is a wise choice for an organization, right? Who wants Idi Amin, or Hitler running their non-profit?

But I'm not planning mass genocide....I just had this idea. This really great idea, and I can't make it happen alone. Intellectually, I know it's all happening the way it should. Intelligent, creative, enthusiastic folks gathered around my dining table tonight for over 2 hours to discuss the future of the organization. Important decisions were made. Difficult questions were raised and concerns were addressed. It's all good news. Except that I'm scared.

It's a familiar feeling: Scared that if I let go, things may not happen the way I think they should, or thought they would.......horrors!! Could it be that I don't actually know it all? That there may be some ideas that have never even crossed my mind? Wow..........when it comes down to it, I suppose I should be relieved. It's not all about me.

But I'm still scared....and attempting to let go, and trust the process.

Which is why I'm even writing this post tonight, in the first place, when I really should be in bed. This whole giving birth and then giving away my baby metaphor is really just exactly like parenting, for me, in a life without school. Every single day, I am faced with yet another reminder that this household, these children, this life, is just not all about me. Sure, I've got some great ideas, but I often get myself into trouble when I attempt to perform exclusively in the one woman show. There are three other opinions and viewpoints and perspectives which demand my consideration and attention, and quite frankly life is much more peaceful when I keep that in mind.

It's tempting to play the dictator, especially when I'm in a hurry or grouchy or tired. I'm taller, and older and sometimes have a louder voice. But democracy works a whole lot better around here. My kids know this intuitively, because for them, there has never been another way. It's nice to sit on a Board of Directors that can gently (or not so gently) remind me when I forget.

And by the way, all this talk about democracy reminds me....if you haven't already voted, or if you're looking for more information, check out Colleen's post. It rocks. GOBAMA.

It Takes a Village to Heal

It has been snowing here for 5 days. It usually snows enough once or twice a winter for us to build a few snowmen and sled a bit, but it's usually gone in a few days. We got 12 inches last Sunday, and even with the rain yesterday, it's still here. Last year, the snow wasn't much fun for me.

This time last year, I was being prepped for surgery. I slipped and fell on the ice in front of my neighbor's house and broke my wrist. The x-rays revealed a rare type of bone tumor which had weakened the bone and ultimately caused the break, and one year ago today I had that tumor removed, and my left distal radius rebuilt.

I've been thinking a lot about what life was like for me one year ago. I came home from surgery in pretty bad shape. My mom had spent over a week with us before surgery, and completely took over for me. I was in pain and pretty much worthless. I had friends staying with me around the clock for 7 days post-surgery because I was unable to care for myself or for my children. Friends cooked and cleaned for me for weeks afterwards. Heidi was up all night with me one night when I was so sick, I couldn't even make it to the bathroom by myself. My friend Mary even came over one day to help me fill out the mountains of insurance paperwork I just couldn't seem to do on my own. Beth came over and scrubbed my toilets. Maud played with my kids. Khaliqa slept on my floor so I could leave at 4am for the hospital without waking the kids. Gabriella made CDs for me to calm me down and to listen to during surgery. Katie drove my kids everywhere. Jodi flew in from another state to be with me at the hospital. Lucinda spent the night and cared for me, even with a migraine. Ruby brought movies and cherry flavored lip balm. Cara brought my kids their favorite meal. Carrie looked in on me constantly, and countless others showed up in various ways. It was a humbling experience, for sure. I really, really needed help. And I got it.

The thing about it, for me, though, was that I literally had no other choice. I could not do it alone. I had to ask for help. In the past, I had often been the one to help others. I was the one cooking meals or watching my friends' kids. It was much more comfortable being the giver. There were moments, last year, when I was sick and tired of being so needy. My kids were sick of it, as well. I just wanted to be able to be a mom and an adult and take care of myself.

Eventually, of course, my arm healed and I no longer needed to be medicated, and slowly but surely, I got well. In the meantime, I felt so amazing grateful. I felt like the luckiest person in the world, to be surrounded by so many loving and generous people. When I worried that my kids would be scarred for life by my surgery, my worthlessness as a caregiver, and the strange metal contraption sticking out of my arm, my friends reminded me that I was giving them something else instead. I was teaching them what real friendship looks like. That friends show up. Friends do for us, when we can't do for ourselves. Friends cook, clean, care for our children, and sit with us throughout our most intense pain. Friends are there when we need them most. What a gift.