Beautiful Chaos

Photo credit: Tylene Kilgore Photography

Arms tired.

Mind foggy.

Eyes heavy.

I take a deep breath and collapse dramatically on the toy-covered sofa.

After a moment of rest and a nice long blink (… or two…), soaking in the sounds of a busy family winding down for the night, I exhale and open my now blurry eyes. 

… and it looks like chaos.

… but I couldn’t love it more.

If my reaction is unexpected, let me explain. I’m a doctor who specializes in the brain, meaning I spend most all of my working hours literally thinking about thinking and behavior. Add into the mix years of graduate training in clinical and cognitive psychology, on top of already being a glass-half-full optimist (well, at least most of the time), and it’s probably safe to assume I usually have a pair of rose-colored sunglasses within reach and a positive reframe just moments away.

… but that doesn’t mean there aren’t hard moments.

Unexpected early delivery, complications, emergency C-section, foggy newborn days (or nights, or days that turn into nights, or – who am I kidding – it’s all just a blur and everyone’s days and nights are mixed up anyway) – no doubt these are hard things.
… and that’s just in one week.

Those types of hard things – the challenges and obstacles that present when we are oh-so-close to something good (oh so very very good) – they can be so important in shaping our stories and who we are if we stop to reflect on them in hindsight, ideally from a higher vantage point and with well-rested (or at least somewhat refreshed) eyes.

From our newfound perch where we can comfortably gaze back at what has been and the road to now, we can see that those same hard things that once terrified us and felt like tidal waves crashing (all around, at once, when you didn’t even know there was water nearby) are the very things that have bent and curved and wholly reshaped the lens through which we view our lives: clarifying some things, magnifying others, illuminating details that once had gone unnoticed, brightening the dark, and – eventually – taking on a rosy hue. 

From this spot, through our better-than-new lens, we can see that the unexpectedly early and complicated delivery becomes a reminder of your strength – an unforgettable intense origin story for your own little hero. The scar on previously unblemished youthful skin (… I told you this lens was rosy) becomes your battle wound and proof of the fierce mama bear that you are.  The uncertainty of those scary moments becomes an instant reminder of your faith and the treasure that is life. Finally, with time, the fogginess clears and days and nights are once again distinct – comprised of bright days, cozy nights, and comforting routines.

So, when at the end of another long, chaotically beautiful day, I find myself flat on my back, sunken deep into sofa cushions, surrounded by toys, with white noise from the Hatch competing with Cocomelon for my attention, I breathe it all in, and I smile. 

Though my arms may be tired, they have the strength to hold my healthy baby, dancing and snuggling with him while he still fits in my arms.

Though my mind may feel foggy by the time night rolls around, it has also never felt so sharp and clear as it does while I focus on soaking up and locking into memory every single detail of these fleeting gone-too-fast moments.

Though my eyes may be growing heavy and sight beginning to blur under the weight of the day, ready for the rest that comes with sleep, my vision has never been clearer – gazing with wonder at the beauty of each moment, more focused than ever before.

And, as I let my eyes blink longer, turn the volume down, and embrace the comfort of a soft place to land, I dream of baby giggles, story time and snuggles with my sweet little family (and pup!), and the beautiful chaos of this precious life.