It’s too early in the school year to be doing this.  To be tying a knot, night after night, hoping to strengthen my line.  Willing myself to lengthen my line, to make myself a better person.  A better teacher.  Friend.  Wife.  Mother.

To push myself to grow, to learn, to excel, to serve.

To not let go.  To not listen to them.  Knot by knot.

Twenty-four days into the vastness of it all.  One hundred fifty-six more to go.  Knot after knot after knot.  Tears.  Smiles.  Laughter.  Success.  Setbacks.  I will myself upward.

The rope strengthens as I work through it, as I twist and turn and weave new fibers in.  The knots unravel, slowly, and I pull harder and harder, determined they will hold.  Determined that I will not be broken.  I will not fall.  I will not get to the end alone.  I will not.  let. go.

 I will not let you down.  I will use all my strength, pull myself up, twist it, squeeze my eyes shut and will myself higher.  I will slide, slowly, my skin burning as I go down and then – SNAP!

I hover, suspended mid-air, forced to decide the next direction.  I move up, sometimes slowly, sometimes strengthened by the boost of another.  Knot after knot, I grip, grasp, groan my way upwards.

I’m almost there.

I can see the end of the rope.

I will hang on.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Have you ever picked up a book, not knowing a thing about it, and then found yourself mesmerized?  Have you found yourself astonished at the writer’s ability to know exactly what you are thinking?  This was my experience with Brene Brown’s latest book, Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead.

Having been a faithful reader of Dr. Brown’s blog, Ordinary Courage, I was familiar with Brene’s straight forward, insightful writing style.  I knew I often connected with her posts, and found myself commenting often.  It wasn’t until I came up for air after blazing through the first two chapters, “Scarcity: Looking Inside the Culture of ‘Never Enough’” and “Debunking the Vulnerabilty Myths” that  I realized how aligned my heart and brain really were with hers.

Brene is not only a prolific writer, researcher and professor at the University of Houston Graduate College of Social work, she is also a wife and mother.  For me, this just added to her genuineness and made her words golden.  Basing her book and research on Roosevelt’s speech ‘The Man in the Arena’ of 1910, she establishes the position that to live “wholeheartedly”, one must “engage in our lives from a place of worthiness.  It means cultivating the courage, compassion and connection to wake up in the morning and think, No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough.  It’s going to bed at night thinking, Yes, I am imperfect and vulnerable and sometimes afraid, but that doesn’t change the truth that I am also brave and worthy of love and belonging.”

Daring Greatly is not a touchy-feely-I’m-going-to-fix-your-poor-pathetic-soul kind of book; in fact, that would go directly against Brene’s beliefs.  She doesn’t assume to have all the answers, but what she does do is ground her theories in hard research and personal life experiences.  That’s what made this book so real for me.

The first chapter on scarcity spoke right to me.  “We all want to be brave,” she states in the introduction.  In my forties, I’ve found this to be oh-so true.  Past the stage of wondering how I could ever be ‘enough’ as a working mom, I realize now that bravery, in many forms, is how I grow as a mom and woman.  Living life with a lens of scarcity, that we are never good enough, perfect enough, successful enough, or safe enough, gives us exactly what we wish for.  Not enough.  Like Brene, these are questions my husband and I have to confront all the time.  How much do we stand up for what’s right, what we believe in, even when no one is watching.  Brene says, “We’re called to ‘dare greatly’ every time we make choices that challenge the social climate of scarcity.”  And that’s how we grow.

Throughout the book, Brene works through the concepts of vulnerability, shame, change, engagement, and wholehearted parenting.  This last chapter, “Daring to Be the Adults We Want Our Children to Be”, brought all her concepts full circle.  Motherhood is my most vulnerable position.  It is much easier to take the easy route of parenting, to not confront what is hard or awkward.  It is much simpler and more pleasant to look past how we wish our children would be, instead of push forward through the muck and towards what they could be.  When I read her chapter, I realized this is my greatest challenge and my place of deepest bravery.  If I want for my children  as Brene does, to ‘live and love with their whole hearts”, then I must be courageous and model this.

At the end of her book, I found my eyes welling with tears as I read her “Wholehearted Parenting Manifesto” and the words, “Above all else, I want you to know that you are loved and lovable…I will not teach or love or show you anything perfectly, but I will let you see me, and I will always hold sacred the gift of seeing you.  Truly, deeply, seeing you.”  I realized that shared experience of motherhood connects us,  that why I get up each day, push myself to grow, learn, and experience things that make me uneasy, is really for this.  For my children to see me, their mother, and learn if I dare to live greatly, they can, too.

This is a paid review for Blog Her Book Club, but the opinions expressed are my own.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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My son is one of those kids who goes fast and furious.  He always has.  He rarely backs down from situations that many kids wouldn’t dream of trying, and usually comes out unscathed.  Maybe we can simply attribute his landing on his feet to good balance, or a dash of common sense – I’m not sure.  This kid has no fear on zip lines over a jungle, flies down a ski racecourse at 60+ mph, and dives off piers into icy cold water.  You’d think nothing would rattle my nerves anymore.

I have to say that I’ve gotten used to his sense of reckless abandon, but never quite used to the fluttering in my gut every time he does something that makes me wrack my brain to figure out where he gets his courage.  It couldn’t possibly be from me.

I was pleased that he spent several hours outside today with a buddy- no daring feats of athletic prowess, just good, old fashioned fun in the dirt.  I couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing, but they seemed busy and happy, and since no loud noises were alarming me through the window, I thought it was harmless.

Then he came rushing in to ask if he could use a tarp he found under the deck.

It should have sent my radar up when he so quickly agreed to put everything back the way he found it.  Wood, bricks, branches gathered from all around the house transformed into a two-boy shelter.  Three hours later they came up for air, bursting through the door covered in dust and sweat, grins as wide as could be.

I remembered those days of ‘Mom, look at me’ as I climbed down the deck stairs and into the backyard. Architecturally sound, they had created the ultimate above ground ‘boy-cave’, complete with a booby trap pit that I immediately tumbled into, spawning giggles all around.  Pride shone on their faces as they described the elaborate construction and their plans for sleeping outside.

That’s when my fear broke through.  Creating the fort was one thing.  Sleeping outside–not so sure.  We’re in bear and coyote country, it is cold, dark, and full of
mosquitoes…the reasons why this was a really bad flitted around my head. My protective instincts immediately said ‘no’, but out of my mouth came, “Let’s ask your dad.” What a wimp I am.

I guess I hoped that a little bit of time would wear the novelty off of their plan, but I was wrong. After dinner, nearly dark, he started in again.  Without much objection from his dad, we relented and they whooped with joy.  Although they were ready to fearlessly dive in without preparation, we bargained with them to at least put down some towels, grab a sleeping bag, and douse their faces with bug repellent.  We insisted on pie tins and wooden spoons for bear protection, and with great ceremony, and a little trickle of teardrops on my part, tucked them in for the night.

I haven’t had many nights spent waiting up for my kids to come home yet; I naively thought it would involve broken curfews and riding in cars with boys.  Tonight, though, I got a taste of it.  Too nervous to sleep, I waited in the silence, sure they would come to their senses and creep back inside.

They didn’t.  No noise whatsoever emanated from their little lean-to, no bears appeared and not a coyote howl broke the quiet.  Everything was silent.

Until about 1:45.  I heard steps on the deck, some shuffling, and shot out of bed to the window.

There they were, barefoot and filthy, looking exhausted, but with all body parts intact.  “We were uncomfortable – and hot,” he mumbled.  I hustled them into the house, and
they clomped upstairs to bed.

I didn’t need to ask questions, didn’t need to say, “I told you so”, because in reality, they told me.  As I settled back into bed, a strange feeling came over me – peacefulness, for sure, that they were safe and sound in the next room.  But also a disappointment in myself for not trusting that everything would be ok.  A frustration that I couldn’t just let them revel in their bravery.  A gratitude that through them, I learned a lesson about trust, and courage, and fear.

Maybe I do have a little of his courage after all.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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