Sometimes God Gives You Exactly What You Need

Sometimes God Gives You Exactly What You Need in

Y’all, I wasn’t going to write another blog today.

But you know what? When the feeling hits me, it hits me, and I have to write it right then because I’m old AF and if I wait until tomorrow, there is a very good chance I will have absolutely no idea what I was going to say. My brain has approximately 47 tabs open at all times, and at least 12 of them are frozen.

So here we are.

I’ve been really hurt this past week. Hurt, pissed off, sad, disappointed—whatever you want to call it.

And before anybody comes for me, hear me out: I know I have some codependent tendencies. I know some of this is on me. I know nobody makes me do the things I do.

Because I go overboard for everybody.

My husband. My kids. My friends. My family. Everybody.

And when I say overboard, I mean OVERBOARD.

I am extra AF. I don’t know how to do anything little. I don’t know how to half-ass anything. If I love you, I’m probably going to do entirely too much for you. That’s just how I’ve always been.

I also grew up without a lot. Even when I was married to my first husband and had more than I’d ever had growing up, life was still feast or famine. Sometimes we had plenty, sometimes we had nothing, and let’s just say budgeting was not exactly our spiritual gift.

Mine still isn’t, so apparently some things never change. 😂

But now I’m in a position where I’m able to do more for the people I love. Sometimes I probably do things I SHOULDN’T do, but technically I can do them, so somehow my brain decides that makes it perfectly reasonable.

The problem is, when I really look back at it, a lot of what I do is completely unnecessary.

Nobody asked me to do all of it.

I choose to do it.

And here is where I’ve had to get really uncomfortable with myself.

Sometimes, when I go above and beyond for people and I don’t feel like they reciprocate—even in the smallest way—I get hurt.

And I’m not talking about money.

I don’t need anybody buying me expensive things. It’s the LITTLE things. It’s someone thinking about me. Making an effort. Remembering something that matters to me.

And when that doesn’t happen?

Ohhhhh, honey.

My feelings get hurt. Then I get pissed. Then I get sad. Then eventually my brain goes:

YOU INCONSIDERATE LITTLE MOTHERFUCKERS. I DO EVERYTHING FOR EVERYBODY AND THIS IS WHAT I GET?!

😂😂😂

I’m working on it, y’all.

I have a very sweet friend helping me understand codependency and something she has made me think about is whether sometimes I’m doing all of these things for completely selfless reasons—or whether somewhere underneath it, I’m also expecting people to love me the way I love them.

And those are two very different things.

That brings me to my birthday.

As most of y’all know, I share my birthday with my granddaughter Elliot, which is one of my favorite things in the entire world.

We had just gotten back from Italy in June. Welton and I went with the kids and watched Elliot and Sloane for three days while they did all of their wedding stuff. Obviously, we turned it into a vacation too because I had never been to Italy and I was thrilled to go.

But it was still a lot for us to do, and it cost us a lot of money.

And THAT IS FINE.

Nobody forced me to go. I wanted to help my kids. I wanted to be there. I wanted to make their lives easier.

But then my birthday rolled around.

Crickets.

And when I say crickets, y’all…

I mean FUCKING CRICKETS.

Nobody said, “Hey Mom, since you and Elliot share a birthday, do you want to get her for a couple of hours?”

Nobody said, “Taylor has to travel for work next week and her mom is helping with the girls, so why don’t you come get Elliot before or after?”

Nothing.

And my feelings were hurt.

I still believe I had every right to have hurt feelings. Feelings are feelings. You don’t get to decide whether they’re logical before they show up.

What I had to work on was what I DID with those feelings.

Because my brain immediately went to:

You call me, I jump. You need something, I’m there. I don’t ask questions. I just do it. And on ONE DAY that means something to me—the birthday I share with my granddaughter—you couldn’t think about making that happen for me?

That hurt.

And then I got angry because I felt like somehow I was the asshole for being hurt about it.

After everything happened, I think my son realized how much it had affected me because he texted and told me I could come get Elliot for a couple of hours and bring her back.

And that was nice.

It really was.

But by that point, I was already mad. I was hurt. I wasn’t in the right headspace anymore, so I didn’t go.

For about three days afterward, I was a wreck.

I moped. I was sad. I was pissed off. And mostly I kept trying to figure out how in the hell I was going to stop going above and beyond for everybody because my brain had decided THAT was the answer.

I thought:

Fine. I’ll match everybody’s energy.

You don’t do for me? I won’t do for you.

You don’t make an effort? Neither will I.

Two can play that game.

Except…

That’s childish.

And more importantly, that’s not who I am.

So I had to change the conversation happening in my own head.

I had to realize that not everybody has my heart. Not everybody loves the way I love. Not everybody thinks the way I think.

And maybe the answer isn’t becoming less loving.

Maybe the answer is learning to give because I genuinely WANT to give—not because somewhere in the back of my mind I’m keeping an invisible scoreboard and expecting that same level of love back.

Because that scoreboard will make you miserable.

So I spent most of this week reflecting.

I backed away from everything a little bit. I didn’t call. I didn’t text. I didn’t chase anybody.

I needed space.

Not to punish anybody.

I needed space to figure ME out.

Why do I do so much?

Why does it hurt me so badly when people don’t do the same?

And how can I still be the person I am without constantly setting myself up to have my feelings hurt?

At one point Taylor sent me a text apologizing about my birthday, but part of the message said something along the lines of me not being able to expect to spend every birthday with Elliot.

And y’all…

That sent me into a WHOLE OTHER FUCKING FRENZY. 😂

Because immediately my brain went:

OH REALLY?

So y’all can expect me to take everybody on trips.

You can expect me to be there when you need help with the babies.

You can expect me to rearrange my life when you need something.

You can expect all of these things from me…

But I can’t hope to spend a little time around the ONE DAY A YEAR that my granddaughter and I literally share a birthday?

That pissed me off all over again.

And if I’m being completely transparent, I started resenting Taylor for saying it.

My son hadn’t said it.

And I know my son. He can absolutely be an asshole—he came by that honestly 😂—but that little boy is tenderhearted as hell. He wears his heart on his sleeve and will cry at the drop of a hat.

So in my head, I attached that comment to Taylor.

And then I had another realization:

I cannot resent the mother of my grandchildren.

I can’t.

That isn’t healthy for anybody.

Not for her.

Not for my son.

Not for those babies.

And especially not for me.

So I’ve spent an entire week going back and forth with myself, trying to let it go.

Now let me tell y’all what happened this morning.

At night when Welton and I are watching TV, he makes me put my phone on silent because apparently the constant…

click click click click click click click click…

drives him insane.

Whatever. 😂

The problem is I forget to turn the damn sound back on before I go to bed.

So this morning, I was asleep and I could hear my phone vibrating.

I ignored it.

I was tired.

Then, before I had completely fallen back asleep, I heard the doorbell.

And my first thought was:

It is SUNDAY. Who in the hell is at my house?

Because if you know me, you know damn well I did not invite anybody to my house before 10:30 or 11:00 in the morning.

Welton had just taken the dogs outside, so he went to answer the door.

A second later, I hear him yell my name.

I walked out of my bedroom and into the hallway…

and there was Elliot.

My little girl was running as fast as those tiny legs could carry her, straight down my hallway toward me.

And she threw her arms around me.

Then Taylor walked in behind her carrying little Sloane.

And y’all…

my heart just sank.

In the best possible way.

Every bit of anger I had been carrying.

Every bit of resentment.

Every argument I had replayed in my head.

Every imaginary conversation.

Every “I’m going to match their energy.”

Every bit of it…

gone.

Just like that.

Maybe it was a peace offering.

If it was, I received it.

And I appreciated it more than I can explain.

But I also believe sometimes God knows exactly what your heart needs, even when you’re too stubborn, too hurt, too angry, or too busy trying to prove your point to realize it yourself.

This morning, I needed that little girl running down my hallway.

I needed Taylor to walk through my door carrying Sloane.

I needed to be reminded that these are my people.

They’re not perfect.

I’m sure as hell not perfect.

We are going to hurt each other’s feelings. We’re going to misunderstand each other. We’re going to say the wrong thing. We’re going to expect things from one another that maybe aren’t fair.

That’s family.

And I’m still learning.

I’m learning that loving people doesn’t mean I have to do EVERYTHING for them.

I’m learning that saying no doesn’t mean I love somebody less.

I’m learning that giving something with an expectation attached to it isn’t really giving freely.

And I’m learning that I don’t have to change my heart just because other people don’t always love the exact same way I do.

Maybe I just need to protect it a little better.

And today?

My heart is full again.

One last thing.

I think when you grow up and have children of your own, you start understanding things you never could have understood before.

I carried a lot of resentment toward my mother and my grandmother growing up.

There were things they did that I could not understand.

Things I swore I would never do.

Things I judged them for.

And then I had children.

And then those children grew up.

And now I have adult children with lives, spouses, babies, opinions and boundaries of their own.

And through all the trials and tribulations that come with loving your children when they’re little, loving them when they’re grown, and learning when to hold on and when to let go…

I get it now.

I understand things about my mother and grandmother that I never could have understood at 15, 20, 30, or maybe even 40.

But that?

That is a whole other blog.

Because apparently I have more shit to work through. 😂

And I’m sure y’all will hear about it.

Because if there is one thing we have established around here, it’s that I apparently have no problem telling the entire internet my business.

But for today, I’m good.

Today, my babies showed up at my door.

And sometimes God gives you exactly what you need, exactly when you need it.