I’m writing this from the chair of a nail salon. There is a sweet lady rubbing hot stones on my legs. I’m surrounded by women of all different ages, cultures, and walks of life. But, as the conversations fly, we discover we all have one thing in common. We are here to rejuvenate, to RESTORE, to breathe life into ourselves. We are loving on the women that exists beneath the stress, the responsibilities, the secrets of our hearts that no one knows but us and the good Lord. I almost didn’t come. I told Sam earlier in the week that I needed to get my nails done for my sister’s wedding. He reminded me of this when he got home from work. And I used every excuse not to take this time: “I can paint them myself [sure, if it’s meant to look like my 2 year old did it].” “I need to buy Griffin new tennis shoes.” “I have laundry to do.”
The truth is, I feel guilty for doing things for me. And for a long time… It scared me to be alone. I mean, I certainly craved it… That sacred time to do womanly things, like have my hair or nails done, or get a massage. I yearned for a few hours to grocery shop without pulling tiny hands back in the cart. I ached to go for a run without having to stop to take care of someone else. But being alone in those moments made me realize that I didn’t know who I was apart from being a mom and a wife. It terrified me that I could be so certain of myself a few years ago. But, with 9 months of pregnancy and the dreamiest little boy youve ever seen, my perception of myself changed drastically. I based my worth and identity SOLELY off of my mommy duties. But there’s more to me than that… And my husband knew it.
Sam has seen me at my best and my worst. He watched me thrive as a young professional with my own hopes and dreams in my career or possible grad school. He saw my spiritual life ebb and flow. And he knew my heart long before most of it housed(s) our little boy. He saw me morph into a woman who would do and be anything for her child… Except for taking care of myself.
He’s why this nail trip happened. He knows me well enough to predict my cycle. I feel guilty for not fulfilling my duties at home and away from Griff. So, I back out of a run or a trip to Kroger alone. He then witnesses me regret not taking that time for myself when I’m covered in food, snot, sweat, and possibly poop. Hence, his response today: “Candace, you know it will make you happy to go.” I knew, but still deferred. He insisted: “It will make me happy to treat you.” He gave me all of the cash in his wallet and told me to get out (nicely).
This place in our relationship and this point in my life have been hard to achieve, like it is for a lot of moms. But communication with God and your husband can make it happen. For a long time Sam didn’t know I struggled. He didn’t know that I needed a moment to breathe, or to enjoy a cup of coffee on the porch. He thought my love for running was another period of that ebb and flow. And he certainly didn’t know that I was neglecting my time with God to make myself feel like I was doing a better job as a mother. One day, I finally broke and the words, “I don’t feel like me anymore,” flowed out. I felt selfish. I felt no bigger than a sweet pea after it came out of my mouth.
But I’m so glad it did. And I’m so grateful for a husband who takes the reigns in helping me have time to be alone and rediscover myself: through prayer, through repurposing furniture, through nail time, through writing. I distinctly remember a conversation with him when I argued that God made me a mom, and whoever I was before didn’t matter. His heart broke. The most effective plea he’s ever spoken to me went something like this: “Candace, YOU matter. To me, to Griffin, and to God. YOU are more than enough. You can’t take care of Griffin if you don’t take care of yourself. Don’t you want Griffin to know how valuable a woman is [how valuable you are] aside from being a mother?”
Ding Ding! The alarm sounded and the lights turned on! Do I want him to only see me as someone who cleans up poop, cooks his meals, does his laundry, and plays with him? No. I’m his mother, but I’m also Sam’s wife. I’m a nurse who takes care of other children, too. I’m an aspiring writer. I am a woman of God. Griffin matters more to me than anything. But, so do those other pieces of me. Every hug, every kiss, every book read or future t-ball game attended matters. But so do I. So does Sam. And SO DOES GOD! I wasn’t doing myself any good by not taking time to recharge. I wasn’t growing as a mom or wife.
It’s moments like today when I can reflect on how truly grateful I am for a husband who listens, who acts on my behalf, and who loves me enough to tell me to get the heck out and treat myself… Or let him treat me as well! A God-centered marriage has brought us to this place of love and understanding. It’s taking one for the team and pushing your wife out of the door even when she doesn’t vocalize just how much she needs it! So Sam, thank you for your love, your encouragement, and your belief in me. Thank you for telling me that I am enough and that ALL PARTS of me matter. And thank you for my new pink nails!
house of stain 