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[fourfoldmom]

[fourfoldmom]

[fourfoldmom]

Co-parenting with the same person you’re healing from is not talked about enough!

[fourfoldmom]

every time I hear the speech Georgia gave about taking all the darkness life gave her and ate it so her daughter could have a good life moves me to tears every. single. time.

because as a mama I felt that so hard.

"And I may be wrong, and I may be horrible, and I may be ugly and not worthy of anything. Fine, I'm not worthy of anything. But you are. And it was up to me to make sure you got that. And I did that. Like it or not, I did that."

FELT. THAT.

[fourfoldmom]

I am. 🐇🌿

[fourfoldmom]

The fact that homelessness is controversial tells you everything you need to know about conservatives.

[fourfoldmom]

Guilt&Grace: Mom Guilt and Breaking Generational Curses

The other day as I sat in the recliner finally being able to breath after getting all the kids down for bed, I felt a wave of sadness and regret. The same questions rang in my head,"Could I have been a better mom today?' Could I of yelled less, and played more. Maybe I should've said yes to the mess, just for the memories. Was I too strict and need to be more lax. As these questions swirl in my head like a building tornado I start to question my own traumas. Hoping every day I don't make my children live as I did with generational curses that I try to break free of.

My mother was always a cruel woman. Mainly to us girls, which she had 3 of, but never to my brother. She never hugged us girls, never called us beautiful unless we were dressed to impress guests or strangers. She rarely said,'I love you." to us or checked on our mental health (those days that was still a subject of taboo). My brother was always important, he received the affection us girls lacked all of our lives. Being the only boy earned him an instant ticket to grace and softness. Something my two sisters and I craved but never obtained a fix for. My sisters shared a father and my brother and I shared another. As we got older each set of kids went to go live with their respective fathers never to see or speak again until adulthood. I thought when I moved in with my father at the tender age of 8, it was my chance to finally get some parental affection I only read about in books and seen other girls receive in school. I was sadly mistaken.

The treatment towards me and my brother was night and day at my fathers. My dad being a single father my entire life and no females to go to for advice, made it nearly impossible for him to relate to me as a male, and he never seemed to figure out his role as a "girl dad" either. I had to watch my brother have endless amounts of freedoms and privileges, while I was living a life closed off from a lot of healthy teenage and adolescent experiences. When I first got my menstrual, my dad treated me like I was gross, that it was something more to be hidden than to be celebrated. I couldn't blame him on that one I suppose. Clothes shopping every school year was already terrible, but it was even worse when I began to physically mature. My brother always got more leeway on the clothing he could wear, but I was stuck to graphic tee's and loose jeans so none of my growing curves would be noticeable. Up until my junior year in high school I never owned a real bra or thong, until it came to the point when I was finally able to shop on my own due to getting my first job. Dating was out of the question for me, as I watched my brother snuggle in bed when his girlfriend would come over or go to his friends houses as I was told I had no business being out after dark .Despite my father pushing me away and doting on my brother, I still idolized my father. I wanted to be a "daddies princess" so bad it crushed me when I never got to be. That trauma of never feeling good enough to my parents followed my into adulthood. I was bound and determined to never make someone else feel like I did.

I begged and pleaded into the wind when I had my first child that I would never allow myself to treat my children with such passive and callous behavior. I would do all the hugs, all the affirmations, the constant reminders that my children were important and meaningful in my life. Every new toy or trending item they wanted I would provide, no questions asked. Until the day came that he was here. I was scared to have a boy at first, but his beautiful tan skin, black hair and pout lips made him something out of a baby catalog. Beautiful, small and precious. I vowed to protect him, mentally and physically. When he turned two, I had his little sister, I was so excited, I had a boy and a girl. Now was my chance to make another human being, feel the love and admiration I always seeked! I suffered from postpartum depression after my daughter. Motivation to go the extra mile was practically non-existent, everyday was simply bare minimum survival and necessity. Things went on like that for almost a year until therapy and proper medication came into play. I finally was able to see the goal and sunshine again. As time went on i went on to have two more little girls. My home and heart were filled to the brim. I was really settling into my role as a mother and homemaker happily. Then came the divorce.

My childrens father an I met at 17 and 19. We shared the four children together and went on to get married at our 8 year mark. There were a lot of up's and down's in our marriage, which is typical. It's when it became more harmful than peaceful that it was time to call it quits at our 10 year mark. It effected me more than I anticipated and my mental health once again declined. If I wasn't busy beating myself up over the failure of my marriage, I was beating myself up about being depressed about it and not keeping my promise I made to myself and my children long ago. It was a real pitty party for awhile, until I finally got into therapy again and redid my medication. I was back to feeling A1 again.

I finally was able to keep my promise. I always remind my children of how strong, smart, funny, and beautiful they are. That their part in my life is the most important thing to me. There are days I slip and fall. Maybe I yelled all day and never said I love you. Maybe I forgot to apologize when I knew I was wrong. I could've been more involved, I could've tried a little harder, more effort, more happiness, more memory building, more time spent, more, more, more, more, more. Until I'm sitting in that recliner at the end of the night, massaging my temples replaying the day. Its like the saying goes,"I'll be okay, I just have to be dramatic first." It fits so well. I will call myself every name in the book, beat myself up; me vs me. Then when I'm done, i brush the dust off and look up to seeing one of my babies walking into the living room to give me a goodnight hug and kiss and tell me they love me, which i return the gesture with some might. I may of had a bad go at this day, but the good days out weigh these bad ones. I may be an adult, but I deserve to be graceful with myself. Im allowed to be angry, I'm allowed to be sad, exhausted, overwhelmed, over stimulated. I've cared so much for my children and their happiness and feelings that they've finally reached the age where they can radiate that love and affection freely into others when they see a need. So when I am feeling these things, they treat me the same way I treat them. With kindness, patience, understanding and love. That's how I know I broke the generational curses. They show me everyday that the chains broke with me. The links rusted, withered and flown like dust into the breeze. You don't have to be perfect, you just have to be available. Be open with your emotions, teach your children these feelings are okay, then teach them they are still loved even after. You'll be proven everyday through their actions and reactions that you're doing such an imperfectly perfect job! You've got this mama, don't let the hard days shadow all the beautiful ones to come and pass!

Until next time beebs,

Sage Summers <3