Tag: #lettertome

To 20 from 30

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November 8th will be my 30th birthday. It’s a little hard to wrap my head around that number, but I’m so excited for what my 30’s may hold. Hitting this milestone has me looking ahead more than looking back on the past, but I have found myself reflecting on where I was the start of this decade versus where I am now. I had so much fun writing my letter to Lyla on her first birthday and to my pregnant self. I wanted to speak to the 20-year-old version of myself, now that I have a decade more experience under my belt. I don’t tend to hold back, but I got really real in this one. Maybe there will be something here than resonates with you, no matter your age!

Dear Ashton,

Happy birthday! Your 20’s have officially started. SPOILERS AHEAD: This will be the year you have your first, actual, serious boyfriend (Hey, Stephen!), the year you get your first job, the year you learn what a toxic relationship is and begin the slow process of walking away from it, and the year you work at Disney World, which will turn out to play a major role in your life. I’m torn, because I don’t want you to do anything different. I want you to take all the steps that led you to the life you have here at 30. But there’s also so much I’d love to tell you, if you’ll let me.

On boys: Listen to me, pretty girl. If a boy who is worth your time likes you, it won’t be confusing. It will be easy and natural and fun and exciting. He won’t fall head over heels for you, then get bored the second you like him back. He won’t make your head spin with mixed signals, like sitting beside you in every group setting but spending the whole time making fun of you, or writing you letters in private, but acting too cool for you in public, or holding your hand ice skating one weekend and introducing you to his new girlfriend the next. He won’t swear up and down that the two of you are “just friends” but freak out when his girlfriend shows up at the restaurant where you’re eating, or motion for you to be quiet when she calls while you’re hanging out. (Begging the question, if we’re just friends, WHY DOES IT MAT-TER?!) You’re going to waste so much of your precious time trying to figure out which series of flaming hoops will get you those guys and constantly picking yourself apart wondering why you’re never the one anyone wants. I want you to repeat this to yourself and live by it until the right one comes along: I don’t want to CONVINCE someone to love me. You did not have to convince Jesus Christ Himself to love you. You sure don’t have to convince some boy. I don’t want to spoil too much for you, but if you could see the way your baby’s face lights up when the man you end up marrying gets home from work, not another tear would be shed over the boys who didn’t want you.

On body image: I know you don’t realize this because you’ve been so busy criticizing yourself, but you are a ten. There are a million girls in a million gyms trying to get the body you have without lifting a finger, and all you can see is what it doesn’t have enough of. Your skin is radiant (For the love of God, cherish it!), your stomach is flat (!!!!!), and your eyes are your secret weapon. There is nothing wrong with your size or your shape. As the version of you whose entire body responded to pregnancy like a balloon that had juuuuuuuust a little of the air let out, I am begging you to wear crop tops and bikinis as much as you can. And take pictures. Stop worrying that you’re not measuring up, what size you are, and what people think. No one questions someone who’s confident, they just question themselves. You are altogether beautiful, my love. One helpful hint? You have eyebrows. Do something with them.

On anxiety: Speaking of worrying, let’s just go ahead and cut back on that. When I look back at the photos from this year of your life, I see the fun memories and the smiles. I see you surrounded by incredible young women and true friendships. I see cute boys with their arm around you. And I know that you operate under the assumption that those girls are all better friends with each other than they are with you. And that none of those boys like you, they’re just being nice (Hint: boys aren’t nice). You would never say it out loud, but the voice in your head isn’t a big fan of yours. All your life you’ve made your decisions primarily out of fear. Fear of failure, fear of disappointing your parents or a teacher or a bible study leader or any adult for that matter, fear of “doing it wrong.” You’re in Cru with a ton of kids from Nashville and Louisville who are getting together to write songs and you’ve never even told anyone that you sing. Or that you’ve been writing songs in your notebooks since you could write. You think anything outside the very acceptable “get a scholarship-go to college-pick a sensible major-get a good job” model is for kids who are braver than you and whose parents are richer than yours. If there’s anything I could change for you, it would be that. Stop thinking so dang hard about everything. Do the thing you want to do. You are allowed to fail. You’re allowed to try something and not be incredible on the first try. There is no Achievement Police. I could write a whole book on this topic, but I’ll leave you with something I know you’re going to think sounds lame: Just breathe. Trust me. It’s never as complicated as you’re making it.

I think that’s all for now. This is a great year, full of learning about yourself, working through some baggage you’re carrying, spontaneous adventures, and opening yourself up to love and heartbreak. You’re so beautiful, and life is so good right now. Let it be that simple. Your future is a dream come true, I promise.

A Letter To My Pregnant Self

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Dear Ashton,

I know you’re restless. I know you’re so ready to meet the sweet baby in your giant belly…to see her, to hold her, to know her and watch her grow. I know it’s hot. And your ankles have fat rolls. And she’s sitting so low in your pelvis, you’re having chronic nerve pain that some (probably male) jerk has eloquently named “lightning crotch.” And I promise not to go all Trace Adkins on you and tell you you’re gonna miss this. Because you’re not. No one misses those things. But I am asking you to do something crazy. Enjoy it.

Enjoy it because it will never be like this again. Go walk around a store and take as much time as you want. Go get an Icee at the gas station because the whim strikes you. Get in and out of the car a hundred times running pointlessly around town. Nap when you’re tired. Watch a movie. Sit your butt on a couch and watch TV and eat snacks uninterrupted and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CHERISH IT!

You’ve always been such a good student. You’ve read all the books, taken all the classes, asked all the questions, and sought out advice. And sweet pea…none of it will prepare you. Because nothing on this planet can prepare you. You weren’t a mother before, and now you are. A fundamental cosmic shift has taken place. The Lord is doing a new thing. I know you know this intellectually, but I know it experientially, and it cannot be overstated. Don’t worry about being prepared. Walk into that delivery room with open hands and a heart willing to give all of yourself to this child and you will have done everything you need to do. I mean, yeah, build the crib. But don’t get bogged down in some “pre-baby checklist.”

You’re going to wonder if you’ve made a mistake. You’re going to wonder why you wanted this in the first place. You’re going to wonder if you’re cut out to be a mom and know that it’s too late to wonder that. You’re going to sit in the bathroom floor with the fan on to drown out the sound of your baby’s cries, shouting at God that if he controls the whole universe…why can’t he help your baby GO TO SLEEP?!

Your baby’s spit up will defy physics. You will watch as the carpet, the couch, the rocking chair you obsessed over, are all covered with stains you would need a degree in chemistry to get out. Actually, scratch that. Your husband and father both have degrees in chemistry and the stains are still there. You will sit burping her, bleary-eyed in the dead of night, and feel the cups of your bra fill with her vomit. This, despite the fact that you are wearing a tank top, t-shirt, and robe over said bra.

And that bra. While we’re on the subject, it’s your nursing bra. You’re not using it for nursing. You’re using it because you realized it was you or breastfeeding, and only one could win. You made a survival decision for you and your baby both. And now your breasts, the same ones who would not release their milk as your baby screamed a scream so fierce it made you dizzy with nausea, are taunting you by leaking that milk on all your shirts.

You see, dear girl, this mothering thing is not for the weak. So in the moments where you feel weak, remember that you’re not. No one weak could do what you’re about to do. No one weak would go through a 14 step process just to use the bathroom and then walk out and pour love and warmth and comfort over the squirming little creature that tore some very important things on its way into this world. I need you to hear me when I tell you that you CAN do it. You are meant to do it. You are the best person for the job.

And can I tell you something else? It’s not all combat. In fact, when you add it all up together, the hard moments don’t seem to matter much in comparison to the sweet ones. You will hold that baby in the hospital, just a few hours old, and feel more like yourself than you’ve ever felt. You will hold her in the warm yellow glow of her nursery, making silent, awed eye contact with your husband, feeling like if someone were looking in the window at this scene, it would look like something out of 1950’s Disney animation. Yes, your world will burst into Mary Blair-style technicolor when she smiles, when she coos, when she rests her fat little cheek on your shoulder, and when she sleeps peacefully…a teeny tiny burrito in her comparatively giant crib.

Your eyes will fill with tears drawn from a well deep within when she is–all of a sudden–able to do something she couldn’t do before. One day she could only lie flat on her back, and now she can roll! One day she could only scoot, and now she can crawl! And so quickly it will become, “One day they laid her on my chest, and now she’s pushing her walker across the floor, calling me ‘mama.'”

For no cliche has ever been more true than this one: The days are long, but the years are short. There will be long days, to be sure. Days when you pray for a time machine to fast forward past the crying, past the sleepless nights, past the feelings of helplessness you both have. But there will also be days where you are planning her first birthday party, and you actually cannot believe her life can be measured in years now.

So treasure these days, dear heart. Rest as much as you can. The sun is setting on your newlywed days and I want you to soak them up for all they’re worth. You’re about to be broken down and built into something different, so just love who you are right now.

And please, for the love of all, eat something more than a bowl of ramen noodles on the night of September 8th, 2019. Trust me.