Our language is not very descriptive sometimes. You can know someone, as in you have heard their name before and could pick them out of a crowd. Or you can KNOW someone, as in you’ve held their hair while they’re sick and delivered a speech at their wedding that had even distant cousins in tears. You can also know a concept by definition and understand it, but not know it in your heart or your gut. This is my relationship with the concept of “enough.”
I love this concept. It’s beyond simple and every time I “get it,” a wave of relief flows over me. You are enough. What you do is enough. What you have is enough. Who you are is enough. It doesn’t mean you have to stop striving or setting goals, but it does mean that if you stopped, you would still be worthy of love and happiness. For me, I practice gratitude, yet I still find myself worrying that it’s not enough and I’m not enough. Especially when it comes to my daughter.
Everyone wants the best for their children. That’s as universal as needing oxygen. What “the best” is differs for every family and even every child. I know that too. My struggle is trusting myself that I know what that is for my child. I also worry that by standing still and accepting the life I’m giving her, that I’m not doing EVERYTHING I can. I know (head know, not heart know) that a lot of my doubt comes from comparison, “the thief of joy,” as Teddy Roosevelt aptly defined.
Raising a child in an apartment in the city does not feel like the traditional setup. I get sucked into comparison when all the images out there of families at home are kids on the porch, custom painted nurseries, and a garage full of toys. Even in my neighborhood, families don’t seem to stay long in an apartment once the babies get big or another one comes along. I can go down a shame spiral in a split second just seeing an ad for a swing set or pool that we’d never be able to have here. The grass isn’t necessarily greener, there’s just more square footage of it, a dog running in it, and I can leave a water table on it overnight.