A Community of Women
The Grateful Matriarch Community is a vibrant network of mothers, daughters, sisters, and grandmothers from all over to build each other up, cheer each other on, and help each other grow in gratitude every single day.
About this Matriarch
For my whole life I felt like there were two versions of me. Both versions were changing and growing willfully and often painfully, but very few people saw both sides of me.
Over the years my outside appearance and persona has moved from good catholic teenager to wayward, over-indulging 20-something to recovering career-oriented, workaholic 30-something, to wife and mother 40-something. The outside fit into boxes for people and that was completely acceptable to me. Boxes were comfortable places with boundaries for me, but more importantly for you. Almost like, “Okay. This is where you stop seeing me.” It felt safe and suffocating at the same time.
Over the years the insides of me have been a welcome place for self-sabotage and self-destruction. From a deep-seated place of self-doubt and insecurities, I believed other people’s interpretation of my feelings over my own inner voice, and looked to others for advice which was easier than forging my own opinions. This left me empty. Drugs and alcohol filled that space . . . until it didn’t anymore. Getting clean was my rebirth or so I thought. The approval-seeking behavior and validation continued even if it wasn’t as evident to those around me. In my early 40s I woke up from a life I was sleepwalking through. I was in position for life, but not present. I was going through all the motions, but not present. I wasn’t sure if it was depression, postpartum, loneliness, discontent, or suicidal, but life in my 40s felt unfulfilling.
I literally felt like I was watching the precious things in my life pass me by. I had resumed working 8 weeks after a stressful c-section that was marked by complications before the birth of my son. Like a good race horse, I put blinders on and focused my the track ahead. Robotically, I worked, pumped, cooked, cleaned, and cried a lot. I prayed constantly. I prayed for help. I prayed for strength. I prayed for gratitude.
Over the years the outside appearance and persona has moved from good catholic teenager to wayward, over-indulging 20-something addict to recovering career-oriented, workaholic 30-something, to wife and mother 40-something. The outside fit into boxes for people and that was completely acceptable to me. Boxes were comfortable places with boundaries for me, but more importantly for you. Almost like, “Okay. This is where you stop seeing me.” It felt safe and suffocating at the same time. Over the years the insides of me have been a welcome place for self-sabotage and self-destruction. From a deep-seated place of self-doubt and insecurities, I believed other people’s interpretation of my feelings over my own inner voice, and looked to others for advice which was easier than forging my own opinions. This left me empty. Drugs and alcohol filled that space . . . until it didn’t anymore. Getting clean was my rebirth or so I thought. The approval-seeking behavior and validation continued even if it wasn’t as evident to those around me. In my early 40s I felt like I woke up from a life I was sleepwalking through. I was in position for life, but not present. I was going through all the motions, but not present. I wasn’t sure if it was depression, postpartum, loneliness, discontent, or suicidal, but life in my 40s felt unfulfilling.At that point I had a 4 year daughter and a 2 year old son, a loving husband, and a faithful Chow Chow named, Chubba. We owned a nice house we could afford. We both drove decent vehicles, and I was consistent in my recovery.I focused the source of my discontent on my corporate retail sales job. At that point, I had been at for nearly 10 years. I was the primary bread winner in our family, working nearly 70 hours a week with no escape plan. I literally felt like I was watching the precious things in my life pass me by. I had resumed working 8 weeks after a stressful c-section that was marked by complications before the birth of my son. Like a good race horse, I put blinders on and focused my the track ahead. Robotically, I worked, pumped, cooked, cleaned, and cried a lot. I prayed constantly. I prayed for help. I prayed for strength. I prayed for gratitude.
Leap and the net shall appear.
Four years ago I started a website, The Recovery Mom. I posted a few blogs. a friend shared it to Facebook, a co-worker read it, I was overcome with fear, and I shut it down.
What if people read it and laughed?
What if no one read it?
I was not yet comfortable with who I was becoming, but I became that woman anyway without my own permission. Life is funny like that. Becoming a wife and mother began the shift to self-awareness. I discovered inside of me a place meant for me to speak my truth regardless of what that sounded like to you. I also discovered that my outside was merging with my inside.
The beauty of my relationship with my husband was showing through everything I did. People were reaching out to me to discuss relationships because they saw how I conducted myself in mine. The transparency of my relationship with my children was giving other mothers hope. I had gotten to a place where what you see is what you get.
Sometimes graceful, grateful and winning the day. Other days in need of a shower, screaming at my children, and falling to pieces with the weight of the world. I no longer hide either version of myself.
The truth of my life is this: In my house, I am the matriarch. I am the one who everyone comes to for everything. You name it, I am in the middle of it. Caregiver. Truth teller. Wound healer. Household manager. It is that simple, and yet so much larger than that.
A matriarch is powerful and leads by example. People look to a matriarch for wisdom, unconditional love, commitment, and strength. Strength of character, loyalty to her commitments, and open communication.
My definition of myself is as fluid as the waves on the Jersey shore. I can write it and then re-write it later, not taking a bit of the truth away from either version.
This is me.
Grateful Matriarch.