Authenticity

My Look in the Mirror and Why It Matters

/ A. Ward, LPC / Leave a comment

There’s a reason why you’re doing this, why you made this commitment- again- why you refuse to be bucked off, circling around your old rival, why you just won’t quit.

I want to be the best version of me. I want to have energy and the health to go with it. Live a long and healthy life doing the things I love, comfortable in my own skin. Hiking, kayaking, paddle boarding, traveling with ease, easing the ache in my joints, doing the things in reality that I envision for myself in my mind.

I want to like what I see when I look in the mirror, I don’t want to cringe when I see pictures of myself, or hide behind my kids that are too quickly growing taller than me.

I want my clothes to fit, and then be too big, then my smaller ones to fit, then get too big as well. I want to wear my pre-kid clothes myself instead of passing them on to my tween, and I want her to see me do it.

I don’t want to be the fat mom. I want to be healthy and limber and lean. As I struggle to find my people in this town where I still feel alone, I don’t want to wonder in the back of my mind if my size is the reason I don’t fit. Whether it be the friend group, the promotion, or the invitation to be included. I don’t identify as fat in my brain- pictures usually come as a shock, shockingly. The me in my head is sexy and strong and carries herself with confidence. She doesn’t align with what’s in the mirror. That’s not the me inside.

I want my outside to match my inside. In counseling we talk a lot about congruence. About all the pieces aligning in the whole. I’m growing, I’m building, I’m becoming. I want my pieces to match.

Good things are coming, it’s true, but good things are also already here. Business aspirations unfolding before my eyes, walking into bigger rooms with bigger stages, the fragmented pieces of my dreams coming together in congruence, the bigger picture starting to make sense and actually look possible, even while I’m still figuring out the details.

And there are details- details that I haven’t figured out as I take step after step of blind faith, daring to dream and speak and pray the big things into existence.

But in every dream, in every detail. I am healthy, full of life, and vigor, and energy. Comfortable in my own skin and these clothes that I wear, in the pictures they take and the hands that I shake, and the example I set for my daughter as well as for those in my sphere of influence.

On a girls’ trip this summer, I stood next to my sisters in a tasting room on a too hot July day. The youngest (and hardest to impress) was making fast friends with the bar man. She introduced our crew in turn. “The stylist, massage therapist, the spiritual healer, the stay at home mom, and business owner,” she finished as she turned to me with a look of respect I won’t forget. “She and her husband are counselors and she speaks and leads and owns her own practice.” My heart heard that.

Last week my daughter drew a portrait of me. At first I was hurt because she drew me at a desk, working. I asked her if she felt like I was always working and is that how she saw me. “No!” She exclaimed. “This is you writing the books you’re going to write and running your own business. You’re a boss lady.” She remembers the dreams she hears me speak, and speaks them back to me when I forget.

She’s watching. My sisters are watching. So are my clients, and so many more. It’s easy to forget that others see me, and that more than I realize are paying attention. People are always watching, for better or for worse, and the influence and mark I leave matters. I want to set the best example I know how to set. In all things. And I want to be healthy enough to keep up, to thrive, to shine.

I want the outside to match the inside. My outer self to be in congruence with my inner self. I want to prove to myself that I can do it. That I am not my own rival at all- she is me, and I love her. I want to lead and blaze a trail- for my daughter and all who follow. And I want to do it healthy, proud of the path that I carve, and of the figure I cut while I do it.

February 23

/ A. Ward, LPC / Leave a comment

On this day…. after months of research and testing and anguishing over decisions to be made, I held my hands wide in the biggest surrender of my life, standing by weak-kneed as a lauded young surgeon cut into my husband’s brain. Mercy flowed like a river on that day, down this mountain we’d only begun to climb.

The road that followed left it’s scars- some on heads and some on hearts, but today he is driving, seizure-free, and the proud owner of his own private practice.

When I hold my hands high on Sunday morning- in prayer, or surrender, or praise- my fingers sometimes find their way to the curve of the back of his head. And like braille, I read the reminder that miracles still happen and hope blooms even here.

The Friends That Stay

/ A. Ward, LPC / Leave a comment

 At a recent conference I honed my craft and spent precious time with friends both old and new. Some I hadn’t seen in twenty years, but in the breath of “Hello,” time collapsed. It is one of life’s great blessings to have friends like that. You know the ones? The ones where it doesn’t matter that twenty years have come and gone, and picking up right where we left off is as natural as the laugh lines that now crease our faces.

We spoke of everything and nothing. Children born, life lived, friends we missed, victories won, and lessons learned. 

We laughed til we cried, talking into the wee hours of the morning as we rushed to fill the gap of years in the span of days, yet lingered over conversations poured out like wine that time might move more slowly. 

There is a sacredness here. In the celebrated and mundane. In sharing a meal and breaking bread- whether at the trendy hotel bistro between sessions or around a campfire in the Canadian Wilds when all we had was time. It shows up when we commit ourselves to community, to living up close and in the real. Somewhere in the sweating and the swearing and the striving and the praying and working towards a common goal, a gift emerges. 

Come as you are, let down your hair, pull up a chair, and stay awhile, only friendship is being served. Through reminiscence, new adventures, clinical and philosophical discussions, loud card games, and late night talks, we unfold our lives in turn. There is no hiding here. And no need for it either. They earned the right to speak truth into my life long ago, and that doesn’t fade with time. 

“We collect people,” one of them said, speaking of her own life, and where it’s taken her. This humble statement whispered, both simple and profound, catches me off guard. Collecting people, I can’t help but think, what’s more beautiful than that? As we go through this life don’t we all, if we’re wise, find a few souls to pull close and pour into? And in so emptying ourselves, are filled in return, a blessing pressed down, running over.