I have no less than five C.S. Lewis books on my to-read pile right now: The Great Divorce, The Problem of Pain, The Four Loves, The Screwtape Letters, and there is a revolving cast of other titles that come into fifth place, depending on my mood. For instance, Mere Christianity could use a re-read. Also, I was ambivalent towards Until We Have Faces, which I read for a course in college. But I saved my copy, which means I thought I would come back to it. I wonder if a little maturity would lend a different perspective if I were to give it another try.
The Chaplain has the audio book of The Four Loves. When I noticed it was only two hours long, I knew I needed to listen to it before I tried to read any of Lewis’ other works.
After reading three other Brené Brown books, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to dive in for more. Is there anything she could say that I hadn’t gotten from the other books? There had already been some overlap between them; my reading pile is so high. I wasn’t sure if I had mental space for more.
But I made space for Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. And Brown filled in the missing pieces of the shame puzzle, fleshing everything out into a tough, but satisfying meal.
There were parts of all three of the other Brown books that really resonated with me, but I found this one to be the most valuable and applicable to me overall.
An unexpected benefit was the parenting section.
One evening not too long ago, we did our twice weekly walk at the riverside bike/hike trail. It’s something we’ve been doing for a couple of months now. Our four Littles are used to it, even if they don’t always enjoy every moment. We’ve cobbled together a combination of scooters and strollers, snacks and water bottles, wet wipes and even a first aid kit. It works for us most days.
Even with all the supplies we bring, that there are always a few places on the walk when someone isn’t happy. Everyone has their moments, but usually, it is Six. He doesn’t like any situation where he isn’t in control, and he knows if he slows way down or refuses to continue, we have no choice but to either wait for him or try to cajole him into some alternative – whether it’s walking a little further, going a little faster, riding in a stroller for a bit, or taking a piggyback ride.
This particular time, he was at it again. We were very near the parking area after an especially long walk – we’d gone further down the trail than we ever had before, and all the kids were tired.
Six was fed up with walking and stopped off on the side of the trail and refused to go any further. If we weren’t in sight of the end of the trail, we would be around the next corner. Two bikers loaded down with gear bore down the path, riding side by side. One of them spoke loudly as he approached us where we walked, a hundred feet or so in front of Six on the trail.
Having a self care practice has been one of the best things that has come out of the past year. It hasn’t happened all at once, and it took a while to figure out what it needed to look like. In fact, I’m still figuring it out, and it will probably change with time.
I’m excited that my kids will see me doing this for myself and know that I value myself enough to do it. When kids see their parents doubting their own worth (and one of the symptoms of this is poor self care), won’t they doubt the worth of their parents? And maybe, by extension, themselves?
The struggle is that in a household with so many moving parts, these moments of self care can feel ruined when something doesn’t go right. And then it can feel like it Didn’t Count.
Since the Chaplain has an Audible account, I can listen to lots of audio books I would never choose on my own. It has really broadened my horizons. The Surrender Experiment and The Untethered Soul, both by Michael A. Singer, were no exception.
I knew the Chaplain had found Singer’s books meaningful, and then I heard the Chaplain’s mom had found them meaningful, and I was like, “FINE. I’ll read them.”
The Chaplain and I were talking about this recently, and he told me he thought I wasn’t interested in the type of books he read. (No hard feelings here. He isn’t into historical fiction, either). I told him, I’m still not interested! But my need for the content is greater than my distaste for the genre.
