Labor of Love

There is a quote by somebody that says, “If motherhood was supposed to be easy it wouldn’t have started with labor!” Well, I now understand that more than ever…

I have three beautifully amazing daughters…seriously, they are beautiful and amazing.

I have said that I have no regrets in my past, more specifically; I do not regret my incarceration. I remain incredibly thankful for being sent to prison because it shaped me into whom I am today and most importantly, because I found my self-worth and strength in God during that time. However, not being there for my children was honestly the hardest part of my time away and it occurs to me now, the hardest part of my coming home.

When I left back in 2006, my children were the ages of eight, six, and 17 months. They are now 17, 14, and 10……HUGE DIFFERENCE!! Not just in ages, but in personalities, habits, character, and in heart as well! (I am, by the way, including myself in these differences.)

Looking at it from a different perspective, I was only in the “mother” role for eight years, the age of my oldest when I was taken into custody. Entertainment was reading bedtime stories, Chuck E Cheeses, roller-skating, and building tents in the living room. The idea of discipline back then was being grounded from toys, a time-out or basically giving a “look” that let my girls knew I meant business.

Then I went from all of that to a maximum state penitentiary. Entertainment...Well, let’s see, card games, gym or yard, and writing “kites.” (Letters to another inmate) Discipline varied from tickets, loss of privileges (grounding- jail style), and segregation, and this time I was on the receiving end of these lovely possibilities. In a nut shell, I went from disputes over toys, where someone always ended up crying, to fights where someone always ended up bleeding.

In eight years, my children grew up without me. Yet, they still are a lot like me…each in their own way. My oldest has my peacemaker side. She wants to take care of things. She cleans and cooks, writes out grocery lists, and holds her feelings in due to wanting to avoid arguments. She is an introvert when it comes to her feelings, especially when she is hurt or angry, but I know what she is doing, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

My middle daughter has the rebellious defender side of me. She does not let anyone hurt people in her family and is especially protective of her sisters and her dad. She has that soft and pretty tom-boy side to her which takes risks, pushes limits, and lives on the edge. She says exactly what she wants to say even if it is inappropriate timing. She also hides her feelings. However, she doesn’t hold them in like her older sister; instead she masks them in sarcasm and humor. I understand these feelings as well, even when she doesn’t want me to.

Then there is my youngest. She is my theatrical, charming, and manipulative (but in a good way) side. She knows how to bat her huge brown eyes to sway you into believing her, she is involved in every activity you can imagine, and she is genuinely the most loving ten-year old I have ever met. She has this huge heart that does not do well with any amount of disappointment towards her. For her, life is even more difficult because of her father being incarcerated as well. He, however, will not get the joy of coming home like I did. I have watched her heart break over and over as her desire for a normal family seems to grow with each passing day and I have experienced my own heartbreak as I am unable to do things as quickly as she may hope. Knowing this, she only breaks down with my aunt and cousin, and wears a brave smile for me. Honestly though, I see her heart and her tears, even during her best performances…after all, they mask my own.

Three little girls, now young women, and a mother who has no idea what to do with children their ages…it is my biggest challenge.

After being home one full year, I believe part of me had this crazy assumption that I would figure everything out by now. In fact, I believed reestablishing my relationships with the three most important people in my life would be the easiest part of transitioning home. I was completely wrong.

I have realized that I do not know how to parent my girls. In fact, I have no clue. I have struggled with this realization over and over as I have tried different avenues in handling situations and events that have taken place in just one year. Nowhere in any of my planning or goal-setting did I consider that their idea of me had changed in the slightest bit. However, it had, and it has hit me that I am the one who has to understand this, not them.

For one year, I was under the impression that it was these three girls who had to understand that I had been in prison and it would take me time to adjust and figure things out. Never once did it cross my mind that they too would have to do the same…and that it honestly would be more difficult for them. They had changed. They were not my little girls any more, especially my two oldest. They had learned to take care of themselves and make decisions without me. They were somewhat forced by my choices to, in many ways, be the adult. My youngest on the other hand, learned to trust two other women as her mom, making these two the place she would turn to let down her shields and shed her tears.

This was one hard pill for me to swallow. After all, I was their mother…the one who gave life to them…

I was also the mother, that deep down in their hearts regardless of why, abandoned them.

It was not me who had to adjust to being a mother again. It was them who had to adjust to having a mother again. I had to be patient with them. I have to listen and actually hear what they say, what they are trying to say, and even what they are not saying.

See, it hit me that I did not know how to parent when I had my first daughter. There was no instruction manual that came with her, no directions either. It was more like, on the job training, where you just kind of figured it all out as you went along. So, parenting them at a later age is not any different. Being a mother is an instinct that really does not have any requirements but to love these precious gifts that were trusted to our care by God Himself, and to take care of them, keeping them safe to the best of our abilities. Our children may disappoint us through their choices and actions; they may let us down and anger us almost as much as they bring us joy, happiness and pride. However, being a mother also means understanding it is not always about your feelings and that sometimes we also hurt our children at times. This means that it is us who has to be patient as we wait for forgiveness from them.

I definitely, somewhere along the line, became confused at the term “labor of love,” believing that this is what a mother does since the time of conception. In my case, my children are doing this for me.

I am big on owning my choices and taking responsibility for my actions. I see now that my one decision was like an atomic bomb in a sense…devastating consequences from the initial impact with years of aftermath to follow. I dropped the bomb in my children’s lives; the clean-up process is now my job.

I do not feel guilty about not being in their lives all these years anymore. That would honestly do nothing but hold all of us back. I do feel gratitude. I am grateful for being given a second chance by each of my daughters in their own unique way. I am grateful for opportunities that challenge each of us as we grow closer and understand one another more. Mostly though, despite all that has changed over the years, I am most grateful that I am still able to see the labor of love that my children make on a daily basis for me and that I am able to understand that no mom is perfect, that we all are learning step by step, day by day, even the ones who haven’t experienced incarceration. Believe it or not, my girls just taught me this recently! That quote was right, motherhood definitely was not meant to be easy…but when I look at my three girls, no matter what….it sure is worth every amount of effort.