The Numbing of Netflix

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I know better than to start watching a TV series. I can’t stop until it’s done and well…. some of them have a lot of seasons with a lot of episodes and that takes up a lot of hours.

103 to be exact (ish).

Did you get that? I watched 103 hours of nonsense over the last month.

A series I got so into, that when something happened to one of the main characters, I cried for hours and felt depressed for days.

But I couldn’t stop watching. It was like a drug.

When I felt stressed, I’d watch. When I was tired, I‘d watch. When life got hard, I’d watch. When anxiety took over, I’d watch.

It was the answer to everything, because as long as I was watching, I wasn’t feeling, not real life anyway.

In my brief moments of self-awareness, great ideas would pass by, only to be snuffed out with the longing to ‘turn off’ with Netflix. Netflix won every time.

I could easily see this becoming a pattern, series after series.

Why aim higher and strive for that next promotion, when you can avoid those desires with Netflix? Why follow through with a plan to meet with someone, when you could just stay home with Netflix? Why get uncomfortable listening to the voice of passion and ideas, when the comfort of Netflix is right there?

Why feel through life at all when you can just numb with Netflix?

This is the second time in my life that I have watched a series and knowing my personality and my weakness, it will be a long time before I do it again.

Life is short friends. Really short. I doubt that anyone ever gets to the end and says, ‘man I wish I would have watched more shows.’

That voice, those dreams, those ideas – they are real. Act on them. Live a full life of passion and adventure.

That, you’ll regret if you don’t.

Until next time,
Eva

 

 

 

 

 

The Guilt of Motherhood

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It all starts with one word.

Mama.

Long before it is even spoken by those little lips, already while being knit together, whether in womb or heart.

A piece of you. A part of you. Growing. Shaping to roam and change the world.

Without you.

First comes the joy and excitement, which if we’re honest, is followed by extreme terror and doubt.

You become responsible for this being that prances around with your heart like it’ll never stop beating and can endure all things.

When in reality, after week one, it starts dragging never to fully catch up again.

Sleep is but a vague memory. Clean floors. Dirty dishes. Laundry piles. Dusting – who still does that anyway? It never ends.

Yet, very few of us hold only the prestigious mama title. One that really is enough to consume every ounce of sanity and energy one human is capable of producing.

So we push through day after day as a full-time mama, in a full-time career, as a full-time cleaner, as a never ending cook and a 24-7 first responder…. I haven’t even touched on comparisons and the dos and don’ts that attempt to choke us at every turn.

These little people are everywhere and they need us every minute of the day, even after they start pretending they don’t.

Mamas we will never be done. We are in this forever. All of us.

Feeling alone? Exhausted? Like you’re the only one that just fed their kids Kraft Dinner three days in a row? Like it’s only your child that throws a tantrum in the check out line every. single. time. And the famous words I HATE YOU…. you must be the only parent to have ever heard that.

Because all the other mamas feed their children only organic food with 80% vegetables, 10% protein and 10% carbs. All the other mamas know how to hold their temper, even behind closed doors. They get promotions at work and their homes are spotless. Their children are in ballet, gymnastics, soccer and well every fricking thing under the sun. Oh and their husbands? Well, they are clearly living happily ever after.

Insanity right? How do we keep it together?

We don’t. Each of us marching to the beat of a different drum in the same band. Alone.

Mamas we need each other. We need to do this together.

We need to be able to extend and share our bruised, dragging hearts in all aspects of motherhood. On the street, in the market, at the park and in our homes.

Together with so much grace, love and respect for each other that all those moments of guilt, fear and doubt are replaced and filled with assurance, support and love. Oh so much love.

Because despite all of it, at the end of the day, we love our little beings so much, that we wouldn’t change it for anything.

And there is only one way we can remain sane on this crazy adventure of motherhood…..

Together. Hand in hand. Heart to heart.

You with me mama?

 

Until next time,
Eva

 

 

Photo credit – DanaWall Photography

Plenty of Tea and Hands To Hold

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It’s a bit like turning the heat up on a pot of frogs. Which, come to think of it, is a silly idea really.

You can be in that state of mind only for so long. Push you way past any limits you ever dared to think you had and then some.

In time the water will get so hot, that even though you have trained your mind to a mental state of resistance, your body will eventually tap out.

When that tap out happens, may the strength of your mind be enough to land you in the shade with plenty of tea and hands to hold.

We like to think it’s smooth sailing after the landing, if only that were the case.

The reality of the situation will only come to be as the breeze blows over you and your wounds get attended to.

Not just some quick miracle healing. No, that would shell shock the system and dismiss the beauty in forming and shaping of each scar individually.

As your hands get held and your wounds begin to seal, the taste of the tea becomes sweet, and you begin to acknowledge the shade not just as a dark cloud keeping you from the sun, but as a protection from more heat.

In that place, people may come and people may go, some bringing salve and others tearing the band-aid off carelessly. Revealing those never ending scars.

In time, that will matter less.

As the feelings start to return, so will your strength. Emotional, mental and physical.

Enough so, that you may come to a place of recognizing that many of those scars won’t be going anywhere for years to come. But you are able to look at them no longer as to what happened in that pot, but as to what happened under that tree.

And oh the beauty of you sitting under that tree, grasping the hands of so many hot pot frogs to follow.

There you will let your ever faded scars shine bright on the ever gaping wounds of those in your presence.

How sweet the tea will be!

Until next time,
Eva

The Voices

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I remember a time when there was only one. It was peaceful.

Then there were two and a constant battle.

The one dreams big and believes in all things, the other slowly chews it up and spits it out. Scattered everywhere. As if to say, try that again and see what I will make of it.

People used to tell me about it and I lacked even the slightest bit of sympathy. You just block it out, pray it out, knock it out. Whatever you need to do, deal with it.

I actually probably never believed it to be real. Because, the world was my oyster and no one could stop me.

Maybe because it was absent for so long, it now feels the need to work over time, make up for lost time you know.

It took me awhile to recognize it when it first came around. It sort of just sneaks in all sly like, as if it’s always been there. It becomes apparent only after it dominates every decision you make and you actually no longer hear the other.

It thrives as the unknown, the unnamed.

We’ve met now though. Face to face. The way I like to be with everything occupying space in my presence. On a first name basis.

I call it the voice of lies.

I greet it, acknowledge it, sit with it for a bit, then I go full blown battle on it.

With the voice of truth.

Because the voice of truth enables us to be bold and beautiful. Even a little bit crazy. It comes in joy, sincerity, peace and hope.

Hope in big dreams, hope in beautiful growth. Hope to be one hundred percent you!

Because being our beautiful whole self is the most courageous thing we’ll ever do, and it really only has room for one voice.

The voice of truth.

 

Until next time,

Eva

 

The day my daughter said the F word

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We were hanging out on the living room floor, pretty chill I thought. She was trying to put a toy together and apparently it wasn’t going well.

Bleep.

Said those little soft lips.

I perked up a bit, but to be honest I wasn’t really surprised to hear her say it. I had said it in front of her, well, once or twice or more….

She looked at me and waited for a reaction.

And like any good Christian parent, I said, ‘Please don’t ever say that at school.’ Yup! The worst, I know.

She was still eyeing me, not sure what else to expect.

I sat there for a solid minute or two in silence, wondering what other genius things I could come up with. Recognizing that I was 100% to blame for that bleep.

But too, realizing that I personally wasn’t really scarred by that word or the fact that it came out of the mouth of my 5 year old. Clearly feeling the pressure of having raised a heathen, who God only knows, has the softest heart and loves Him so much.

At that moment though, I concluded that yes, we have other words in our vocabulary that almost always get our point across, but there was something bigger here.

I have never heard her little lips talk bad about someone. Ever.

My heart. The day that happens.

She loves people. Sees the best in everyone.

So instead of giving her the general, ‘don’t swear because it’s a sin and you’ll go to hell’ talk (hey, that’s all I was ever told); I dug a little deeper and said, ‘more important than not using that word at school, is that you don’t ever use it towards someone or against someone. When we speak to or about someone we use only gentle and kind words.’

To which I got a, ‘ya, cuz saying bad things about someone makes them feel sad.’

She gets it.

More important than waving a red flag when we hear someone bleep, is to raise a million red flags when we hear someone being torn down or talked about.

It goes beyond the ‘did you hear stories.’

We tend to write other people’s stories. We stretch them and shape them far from what they actually really are. Lame sauce. We should really just live our own stories to their fullest potential.

I may be off my rocker, but to be honest with you, I’m a lot more passionate about raising a generation that occasionally bleeps and cares deeply for each other, than raising a generation that never bleeps and tears each other down.

If all else fails, we could always teach them to live by this simple rule, ‘if you can’t say it to their face, don’t say it behind their back.’

Perhaps, seeing how children model after us in our behaviour (and apparently word usage), we could live, leading by example.

New Years resolution 2017 maybe?!

Until next time, always with love!
Eva

 

P.S. Yes, ideally they would neither bleep or tear each other down, but lets just start somewhere and work towards perfection?! 😉