Dear Mom,

I’m not entirely sure what day it is today. Feels like the last weeks have all morphed into one giant day like a dung beetle’s ball of poop. And yes, I just compared my life to the fecal matter of an insect I know way too much about.

Our days lately have been full of extreme emotions. The highs and the lows and all the moments in between have jumbled my brain. And as time passes, it becomes more challenging to remember which event happened on which day and which meltdown coincided with which activity. Though I wonder if any of that actually matters. It feels insignificant to ponder why or how or when some innocuous moment happened. These moments simply exist in time. Exist within my mound of rolled up memories.

The more I think about it, I’m realizing that the lows and the highs are two sides of the same coin. And one side doesn’t need to weigh more than the other. I don’t need to look at one as more prominent. They can have perfect balance in my mind. But for some reason I naturally separate them. I often zoom in on the worst moments first.

My weeks usually begin with people asking me how my weekend was, and I almost always start with the lows. For example, the epic meltdown that seems to be an inevitable part of every weekend. I begin there because it’s the moment that sticks out in my brain. When I close my eyes and think about this past weekend, I remember the intense feeling in my body caused by a child screaming in the middle of Barnes and Noble. I am transported into the bargain section. My heart pounds. My skin heats up. Every inch of me is tense. The embarrassment. The shame. The despair. I immediately return to that moment in time when I was so lost as a parent. When I had no idea how this nightmare was going to end. No idea if it ever would end. Asking myself how on earth we’d get down three escalators. How we’d then get this child, while being actively kicked by said child, back to the parking garage. How we’d avoid getting arrested for child abuse at the sight of a kid screaming for help. I walked away from that eruption feeling like a total failure. Feeling like something bigger was wrong with my child. Feeling like we as a family are doomed.

But now, with some distance, I can pull my mind out of that hole and remind myself of what led up to that moment. The exhausted child who woke up grumpy. The long lunch at a sit-down restaurant followed by ice cream that took my kid to a place where there was no longer space for reason. And the more I tell this story, the more I am reminded that this is normal. Annoying, frustrating, embarrassing, maddening, and overwhelming. But also, normal.

Let me zoom out more from that stressful incident. I am a camera on a crane being lifted up. Getting a crisp aerial view of my own life. And that meltdown seems so small. So insignificant. That intense, blood pressure raising moment is a tiny, miniscule point in my life. It’s simply one of many experiences all rolled up into one giant heap.

And when I avert my gaze from that event, I see all around it are moments of beauty. Moments of joy. Moments that will be cherished forever.

Let me zoom out even further. To see the entire last week while floating above. Like a montage of my own life quickly passing by, which to be honest sounds migraine inducing especially considering the whiplash caused by the May weather in Los Angeles.

Last Wednesday, I took Scotland to a concert that was perfect in every way. We met knew friends, who we will be going out with again this week. We danced. We laughed. We cheered. We met the singers after. Got hugs and pictures and signed merch. We went to bed with smiles on our faces and stamps on our wrists.

Friday, I went to a mom’s night with a group of moms I barely know. I met new people. I had riveting conversations. I enjoyed my time so much I stayed out way later than planned.

Saturday, before the meltdown, we had a wonderful lunch with friends. We took our time trying a popular restaurant and experimenting with new foods.

Sunday, we went to our friend’s house for a Memorial Day pool party. We swam, ate great food, listened to the best music, caught up with friends, and met new people. We arrived around 12:45pm and didn’t get home until 10pm because all four of us were having such a good time we kept finding excuses to stay.

Monday, we watched movies and relaxed together as a family after a short dip in the pool. We ignored chores, snacked on bread and pastries, and shared a wonderful salmon dinner.

My life is so full.

The highs and the lows truly are two sides of the same coin. The shitty moments are just rolled up into the good times. And I find if I spend too much time, or anytime really, harping on the bad moments I deny myself the opportunity to relish in the best moments. I nearly forget the best moments even happened.

When I was asked this week about my weekend, I told the story of the meltdown, but it felt different. It felt like just one small aspect of my time.

Perhaps I’m growing a bit. I’m beginning to allow those lows to just be part of the overall memories and not outshine the good. And maybe I’m finally believing that these awful, heart pounding moments are so incredibly normal. That they may feel terrible while happening, but they aren’t a reflection of who I am or who my kids are or what our relationships will always be. These shitty moments are simply part of the overall package that is life. And if I forget that, all I need to do is zoom out to see my giant, heaping, rolled up pile of memories. The good, the bad, and the in between.

I love you, Mom.

Love,

Rachel