Each morning when I looked in the mirror I thought I came closer and closer to resembling the homely creature depicted in my baby picture, the one howling for her breakfast. When my mother brought me home from the hospital, my grandmother went home to God.
As more siblings joined our household, unconsciously I stepped into the role of “grandmom”, dispensing advice and comfort, chastisement and rebuke.
And the years passed.
I had a family of my own and once again I was in my element–that is until everyone left the nest to build their own. Then I felt as if I was lost–out of the only real job I had known since childhood.
Now I call that phase of life, transition.
Uncomfortable, like the contractions before the final push that brings a child into the world, I didn’t see I was shedding the skin that once identified me and given the freedom to become the rest of my story.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.