WWTD?

I'm sure we've all seen or heard about the bracelets. They say "WWJD?" And, in case you aren't aware (I mustn't assume you are), that stands for "What would Jesus do?"

With all due respect for the Fella so many put so much faith in, I don't. Before you get offended, I'm not anti-religion, or anti-Jesus, or anti-God. What I am though, first and foremost, is someone who was raised without the influence of religion in my life. I'm also a person who's been through a heck of a lot (and sometimes did ask "why me?", presumably to the heavens above), and ultimately someone who would rather put my faith, hopes, beliefs and wishes in things that are tangible to me. Namely, the great outdoors, and people (particularly the ones I can count on). My Mom used to be one of those.

I used to be able to count on her for a lot of things:

To start, a hearty, healthy and creative meal was almost always a given (breakfast included). Even in her 'drinking days' I feel cooking and creating in the kitchen were her escape from the burdens of teaching, being a single parent, the other drudgery that comes with being a homeowner (with property, at that), and the overall isolation all of this forced on her. Cooking gave her an outlet and made her feel like she was doing something good for me, I'm sure (which she was).

I could also count on her to be my sole provider and a consistently hard worker. There were always clean clothes to wear, and a warm bed to climb into (often hers, even though I know she hated it, because I didn't sleep well alone as a child). I was always involved in some kind of extra-curricular activity (Sparks/Brownies/Girl Guides, swimming, dance, horseback riding, leadership activities, etc.) Both having January birthdays, we always went to the theatre in the heart of winter, and enjoyed a lavish night at a hotel. My Gramma always came, and I could always count on them to get into some kind of argument that would always threaten to ruin the experience, but somehow never did. The house was always clean (even if it was cluttered), the gardens were always in bloom, her lips were always painted red, there was always a record playing, and there was always some creative side project on the go (sewing being her absolute favourite). I always had everything I needed (and more). From the outside, and even if you had asked me at the time, everything was hunky dory.

I also always admired her abilities when it came to teaching, and I'm sure that was a large part of why I chose to pursue the vocation. There are two big differences between us with regards to this matter, though. One, I don't have the same financial stress and burden she did as a single parent and sole provider (she had to sacrifice in order to support me, and then up and died and left the fruits of her labours for me to appreciate and enjoy). And two, I'm just straight up not as good at it.

* I should clarify; the actual teaching part I thoroughly believe in my abilities, it's the coping part I struggle with.

I look back now on everything my Mom had to balance and totally get 'the drinking days'. Having inherited her home and the property, I now know the seemingly thankless effort it takes to maintain it all (maybe I should lower my standards of myself?) On top of that, she worked in a field that I personally struggled in on a full-time basis because it doesn't allow for much balance between work time and 'you' time (maybe I should have lowered my standards of myself here, too?) She was also a Mom. All of this - none of which is easy - she did alone. She didn't have a partner in crime, or someone to share the responsibilities (or bills) with. I would have been a drinker in order to cope, too.

Funny how my coping seemed to go out the window as soon as my Mom's mortality blew up in my face. I always seemed to  'cope' just fine, and even blossomed and excelled under pressure. Admittedly, I'm not saying I thrived (even if from the outside it looked like I did). To cope does mean "to struggle or deal, especially on fairly even terms or with some degree of success. To face and deal with responsibilities, problems, or difficulties in a calm or adequate manner" (thank you dictionary.com). And no, I haven't turned to drinking as a coping mechanism in the three years I've been without her (and have never had the urge) thankyouverymuch.

Given the nature of our relationship - being a very co-dependent one (AKA unhealthy) - we were always caught in a needs/wants cycle that was detrimental considering she was the Mom and I was the child. Yes, I always had all the necessities for survival and extra material treats and surprises along the way, but I lacked the one thing I needed (and wanted) more than anything; unconditional love. A quote I love, and know is very true, is that "babies are born with a need to be loved - and never outgrow it". A lifelong mother figure in my life recently lent me a book that will prove to be very helpful in my understanding of my mother's love. This mother figure always said it, but reading about it only solidifies my understanding of the concept; people show love in very different ways. Maybe my Mom didn't give me the verbal and affectionate unconditional love I craved - paired with the fact that she lost her temper easily and shared her distaste and criticisms openly - but she showed me she loved me in a multitude of other ways I can now look back on and appreciate (while also forgiving her for her limitations).

Even at 26 years old, when I would climb into her hospital bed to hold her in her final days, all I wanted was to hear I was worth it, I was good enough, and I was loved. That was the time in our lives that this conversation actually happened, and I will always be grateful for this. Hopefully someday I'll be able to heal and fully get over the fact that it didn't happen (unconditionally or consistently) in the years before. She needed me to be her partner in life (goodbye carefree childhood!) and I wanted her acceptance, affection and love. To top off matters, her struggle with substance abuse and a plethora of mental health struggles (even before she was thrust into 'single parentdom') all added up to a cocktail that was hard to swallow, for both of us.

With this, I've always had anxiety I've had to deal with, paired with being extremely sensitive and insecure. I've been told I need to let the guilt and fear go (easier said than done). Somehow I was always able to keep my head above the water and make choices I could (mostly) have faith in and be proud of. Loved ones have listed reasons why I could have turned out to be a very different person (that I wouldn't be so proud of), but thankfully I turned out ok.

One thing I know is that in moments of crisis, and we all have them, my Mom was almost always a sounding board for me. In a co-dependent relationship this happens, even if it isn't the best or healthiest of scenarios. Sometimes (often?) she gave unwarranted opinions or criticism without me asking for it. Even when I did ask for feedback, she rarely said what I wanted to hear. I used to remark that I didn't know why I even told her things or asked for her opinion or suggestions, but I think deep down I always knew that somewhere in her reasoning was an intention that served me well. Maybe it could have been said a little differently. Maybe more love or explanation could have been provided. But overall, I know that most times she had my best interests at heart.

I constantly find myself grasping for her advice or opinion now that she's gone, and it's very hard to convince myself that a) someone else can help me just as much (if not more). And the biggie? That I'm completely capable of making decisions and getting through struggles all on my own. What a concept! How novel! I was made to believe for so much of my life that I was an inadequate extension of my Mom. She had so much say and control of what I did and how I felt that it's been tough to learn how to live without that influence and power. Rational me knows I'm the most 'free' to do as I please that I've ever been, but emotional me doesn't know how to navigate that reality. Slowly but surely I'm learning.

Thank you, in advance, for your patience.

There were many times (they still happen) that I wish I'd had a sibling to share in all the joys and tribulations of my youth. I have great friends who are now more like family who have been there to support me through it, but nothing would compare to having someone who actually lived it, too. Of course when I imagine having a sibling to go through life with I imagine a partner, a friend, and a confidant. But, in many families where there have been struggles like what I endured, sibling relationships tend to have animosity. Or, the adult children grow up to have issues of anger, guilt, resentment and confusion that cause the relationships to falter. If only people who suffer together could form an army of love and support, as opposed to dysfunctional families always seeming to endure drawn out civil wars. One can dream.

Luckily I have a number of friends I know I can go to, which I promise doesn't happen all that often. I go to them in times of crisis to vent or show the 'real me'; hiding or pretending are not required. These friends offer advice when needed, or listen when that's all I require. They provide a safe place for me to sort through the rubble, where I don't feel I need to explain or apologize. Most importantly, they give me that all important unconditional love I always lacked and craved. That safety in knowing I am loved, no games or expectations attached. They see the sensitivity, insecurity and occasional anxiety as a piece of my puzzle, and never make me feel guilty for any of it. Most importantly, they love me just the way I am - even on bad days - and never ask or tell me to change. If it was an easy fix to simply turn off the sensitivity, insecurity and anxiety, don't you think I would have already? My truest friends have never asked or told me to change, have never made me feel inferior, and have always made it clear that even my faults are loved, because they are a part of who I am.

The other great thing about these friends is that they also say the things - and give the advice - that may be tough to hear. But, coming from a place of acceptance, love and understanding, I always know that it's essential. I don't just l listen, I hear them, and take their words to heart. Like I said before, my Mom's advice was often justified, but said in the tone she used, with the accompanying facial expression or body language, the message of love and concern got lost. At sixteen years old, I shouldn't have been driving her car in a wicked snow storm, just to see a movie on cheap night with a cute boy I barely knew who was two years my elder. If she'd just said, "I love you, and can't stand the thought of something bad happening to you" then the message would have been graciously accepted (I hope). If she'd only said, "Tell you what; ask him if he'll take a snow cheque and offer to go with him next week. Surely it won't be storming then, and if he's willing to wait, he's a good one who deserves my daughter". The alternate, "Because I said so" in an angry "are you stupid?!" tone somehow didn't have the best affect. Enter teen tempter tantrum/sulkfest reaction, and all Hell broke loose.

The very best part about the friends I know I can count on to love me, support me and advise me no matter what? They all (even knowing my history with my Mom) have a deep respect, understanding and love for her. Some never even had the chance to meet her or know her well, but they have forgiven her the same way I have. Even amidst the struggles she and I shared, some of these friends knew that she inevitably was two people. The difficult part of her personality was a part of her whole, and had to be accepted, even if it couldn't be understood.

KM, JM, LW, RD, LC, AB, NC, JR - when I feel overwhelmed or alone, you are the ones I think of. When emotions take over, and I reach for the phone, your numbers are the ones I call (or text). When I cry, you are the people who come to mind (and heart). Thank you - forever and ever - with love to the moon and back for loving my Mom and I through the years, and through the good and the bad. Thank you for always reminding me of my worth, and the fact that my existence matters and is important. I will forever be in debt to you all.

Thank you to my many other friends that do the same (I've told you or thanked you at some point I know), who have come into my life since the more turbulent years. If there was a contest for the number of genuinely good, true, wonderful friends someone could have, I would win hands down. I have been blessed to have so many thoughtful, giving and kind people in my life, that I often think; if only this army of love I've acquired could rule the world, it would be a much healthier and happier place.

My biggest hope is that in times of crisis, my friends and loved ones feel I am a safe place to go to, too.

It must be remembered that 'crisis' is a very relative thing. What may be a hiccup to one could be earth shattering to another. One person may struggle with their reality one day, and then cope (or even thrive) perfectly well the next. Sleep and hunger can affect our abilities to 'deal' as much as the way we were raised (and loved) throughout our childhood, can. One must never pass judgement or share a critical opinion of what someone deems as crisis, because until you've walked a millimetre in someone's shoes, or magically implanted yourself into their bodies to physically feel what pain, confusion, anger, or anxiety means to them, then you just don't know. If you love and respect someone, accept their struggles, big or small, because they need you to. Give advice out of care and support - even the tough kind - but say it with words of love and with an energy of concern, and the person on the receiving end will know your intentions are good. Another most favourite quote? "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

We don't get to decide what crisis is for someone else any more than we can decide it's time to be forgiven if we've done something taken as offensive. Excuse my tangent, but if someone has been hurt by you, whether you meant to or not, you don't get to decide it's time to move on. You don't get to say, "Well I never meant it that way", and magically remove the hurt feelings, if that's how it was interpreted. You don't get to argue that it's in the past, and life's too short. If someone matters to you, you should explain, apologize, prove yourself, and if all else fails? Beg for their forgiveness. It's not easy - as I've done it - but it's worth it (if the relationship is).

To conclude, I'll give you a snapshot of what crisis is for me right now. None of my struggles are derailing, and they don't threaten to consume me or change me inevitably (I don't think). They're just hiccups that add up, that I'm sifting and sorting through as I go.

Firstly, I love my husband with a deep respect and appreciation I find hard to explain. He's my best friend, and has committed to me despite everything aforementioned. But, he's a man. He's a good one (no, he's a great one) who is sensitive, thoughtful, funny, smart, successful, handsome, kind, and my favourite part is that I can take him anywhere and he's loved. But, I've never lived with a man (the newborn to two years old years don't count). So, I'm learning how to navigate what this means. Most men think and act differently than most women, and having grown up in a home with a Mom who fiercely expected things to be a certain way, who hadn't had patience for living with men, I'm learning. I learned to want things a certain way from example, and now I'm working on learning how to be more patient and less particular. I'm doing my best, and we talk openly about it, and I hope that through the years my patience and appreciation will grow and evolve (with his support and empathy, of course).

I am also learning what marriage is. I know that I can't use dictionary.com to give me a definition of what a good one is and then follow it. I also can't buy a rule book that lays out the ins and outs in plain language. No amount of self help can make marriage an easy process. It's an evolution where two very different people, raised in dissimilar ways, nurture respect (and dare I say tolerance) of each other. The most important part being that they always come back to the love that brought them together in the first place, and remember to always be kind of one another.

I am not perfect. I am far from it, and will never try or claim to be, but overall I try to be a good person, and I know the hubby does, too. I would say I have more skeletons in my closet and shadows that creep out of corners than he does, but being aware of the fact that I never had a committed relationship as an example really helps me to understand my struggles. It wasn't my Mom's fault that she wasn't able to remain in a marital relationship, but it means that I never witnessed a couple disagreeing, arguing and forgiving. Or supporting, leaning on, and depending. I never saw compromise, taking turns, or sharing space. I never saw a man take care of a woman, so it can be hard to relinquish control and allow myself to be loved and looked after 'just because'. In short, I'm learning, and I only hope that the learning my husband takes from this process of mine betters him the way I know this marriage will better me. I've told him point blank that I need to keep working on the 'marriage' and 'living with a man' bit before we dive into parenting. Hopefully he can remain patient with me, as the whole motherhood part of the puzzle could be considered a crisis for me right now, too.

And we won't even get into my career crisis. That one can be another post altogether.

In short, I'm sure at least once a day I go to the WWTD? place. I sometimes panic and shut down because it's hard to imagine even making choices without her input (and even judgement). Slowly, but surely, I'm learning to cope (and maybe someday thrive) without her say, opinion and expertise.

Instead of "What would Trudy Do?" I'm getting to a place where I can more easily say, "What is my heart telling me to do?"

Because my heart, and its opinion, is good enough.