Friday, Friday, Friday. We love our Fridays at Just.Be.Enough. because they’re the day we get to share the voice of someone magnificent. Someone that has a Just.Be.Enough. story that inspires and causes us to nod our heads. This week, it is my pleasure to introduce Galit of These Little Waves. I could probably write an entire post on the skill and grace with which Galit writes, but I won’t. I could write an entire post on how supportive Galit is of other bloggers and writers with her comments and her tweeting, but I won’t. Instead, I leave you with the words of this truly gifted writer sharing her own Just.Be.Enough. story.
The sweet scent of hazelnut welcomes me in. The circular table in the middle of the room is covered with a plastic tablecloth – forest green edged with red apples. The off white walls are kissed with encouraging words and sweet mother-child photos. Everything in this room screams School! And family! And welcome!
Our parent educator is new. Her smile, deeply lipsticked, is wide and her lesson plan, penciled onto a yellow tablet, is what she’s reading as we filter in. We’ve left our children next door in the capable hands of teachers whose tone and presence and being are comforting.
In “The Mommy Room” we circle each other with “Nice to meet yous” and “Excuse mes.” We smile and introduce and find spots to fill. In here we are bare – there is no one in our laps or holding our hands or asking for juice.
This class, like every other early childhood class that I’ve taken for the last seven years, starts with introductions- our name, who we live with, and something interesting.
My mind swirls with thoughts of writing and blogging and posting.
I have my tale, my something interesting, written in my mind. This is where my thoughts start- I see the writing, edit the pencil strokes, prepare my words.
And then, I tune into these other mothers’ stories.
This one has many pets. That one’s daughter was a preemie. These two are neighbors. I still fit here.
Then I hear, “I wrote a book.”
And then, “I work with cancer patients.”
Followed by, “I can lift cars.”
No, that last one isn’t really true.
But the first two are and they silence me. Instead of seeing the wow in these women, I see what I am not.
Oh my, that is humbling to see right there in black and white. But it is, indeed, how I feel.
And I’d like to tell you that when it was my turn I got over myself and spoke freely with truth and transparency and wild abandon. But I’m a terrible liar, so I won’t.
I shared something safe -and unmemorable- about moving to Minnesota from California and still not being used to winters. We all laughed and commiserated and moved on. Not a single piece of my heart was laid bare.
The rest of the class was dedicated to business. We talked syllabuses and snacks and reading materials and at the very end, right before we reunited with our little ones- breathed them in, held them close, better for having had a break- the teacher stood in front of the group. She smoothed her shirt. Her jewelry glistened silver against her slacks and her cheeks flushed bright pink.
What she was about to share was important to her, important to all of us.
“Right now what we know about each other is small and what we have hidden from each other is big. The more that we share, these will flip flop and we will trust each other, really know each other, and really learn about each other- and ourselves.”
And damn if I didn’t feel like she was talking directly to me. I let her words in, allowed them to marinate in my heart. And then, I dared peek around the room.
What I saw in every single pair of eyes that I looked directly into is that they all heard, and felt, these words. I saw it in their uncrossed arms and raised cheeks and eye crinkles, and I knew it was true.
We all have our stories. We just need to tell them, and trust that they will be heard.
Isn’t she inspiring and gifted?