Raising Wildflowers

Reflections on blooming where you are planted

Adam and Aria, 2009. Just before finding out Alako was due July, 2010.

I did not mean to settle down and raise a family so close to the place I was born. In fact, I’ll go so far as to admit that I feel a little envious when people tell me they live far from where they grew up. I know I should be entirely grateful to live where I do, as friends and acquaintances from countless walks of life who chose to settle in this county will remind me. It is undeniably beautiful here. Regardless, I had every intention of escaping my small-town upbringing, leaving it behind like a confusing dream and building something entirely my own. When I finally reached the age that it would have been possible however, I suppose I lacked the courage and inspiration to do it. I trusted my parents when they encouraged me to “live at home for a little bit longer to save money,” because that sounded like the rational choice. But it was not the bold, life-altering, soul-expanding choice I expected myself to make at that time. I am not a religious or particularly spiritual person, but I believe there is some wisdom in all ways humans find to reach the divine, and I somehow find space in my stoicism to trust that our lives have purpose. I knew that every inspiring piece of literature I’d read was telling the truth: You have to create the life you want. But I wasn’t ready to choose just one fantasy destination to focus my entire future on. So, I made one of the silliest mistakes anyone can make with their one wild and precious life: I tried to let my dreams find me. The problem with that is, our goals are entirely insurmountable if we never make them, or if we compartmentalize them into the smallest possible corner of our psyche in favor of easier and “safer” choices, until they all but disappear.

Of course, there is much to be said for taking the safer route, both literally and metaphorically speaking, especially when you have a set destination. But even with a solid plan, it is easy to run into trouble. I was not entirely sure where I was going or what I was searching for at the time, other than adventure and inspiration (what else is there?), but I felt certain I would not find it in the places I had already explored. When my husband Adam and I re-connected after high school and fell in love, we were both unknowingly looking for someone to grow and build a life with that was different than what either of us had experienced growing up. We were not traditional. We moved in together but we didn’t get married. We did not plan on having children and made every effort NOT to for the first six years of our relationship. When we found out, at the age of 25, that we were going to be parents the following summer, we were in shock. I cannot speak for Adam, but I (correctly) assumed that as soon as I became a mother, my life as I knew it would be over. The innumerable roads to wander anywhere and everywhere narrowed down to one. The cultures, ideologies, languages, and environments I longed to explore to re-configure my understanding of the world, sacrificed for the needs of a one solitary, entirely helpless human I would be responsible for shaping, without that valuable perspective and experience. I felt trapped and victimized by my own lack of foresight.

I know that it may sound dramatic, but I knew then what an incredible sacrifice it would be for me to give my child the life they deserved. I did not feel ready to give that much of myself to someone else. I had experienced the incredible gift of a wonderful and safe childhood in which I was the constant recipient of love and support. It may have been slightly alternative to the mainstream, but it was a beautifully stable existence. That is all I have known, and thus all that I would intend to provide for my children. But contrary to that, is my own impulse to live wildly and freely. To shirk the responsibility of interpersonal relationships in favor of vivid and expansive artistic living and inspiration. There are still times when I feel I would rather live alone. And be offensive. And selfish. And aggressive. And inappropriate. And abrasive, overtly sexual, and shocking and all the other things I have to bottle up in order to be respectable woman and mother. For many years it was difficult for me to reconcile the many aspects of myself, at times to the point that I felt like a weed trying to blend in to the what should have been a carefully manicured landscape. Many aspects of motherhood came incredibly easy to me: my first two entirely unmedicated births were five hours, and just under three hours respectively; all three of my babies breastfed for at least two years, my youngest for three; loving and teaching my babies to walk and explore has been an unparalleled joy. But then of course there were the more challenging aspects: lack of sleep; prenatal and postpartum depression; children from ages two to four IN GENERAL. Surprisingly though, the most difficult part of being a mother, was witnessing and learning to cope with the uglier parts of myself.  

But in turning over the rocks that hid the parts of myself that I thought needed to be hidden, I found healing. As our children grew, so we grew not only as parents but as compassionate, and dynamic individuals. I have always joked that patience is virtue I’ve been working on my entire life and motherhood forced me to put it into practice more times a day than I could ever have imagined. And in creating an environment that encourages artistic expression in all forms, and by providing the space and materials my children to do so, I have found numerous ways to continue developing and expressing myself artistically. This in turn allows me to show up more authentically and with more focus than I would be able to if I did not feed this part of my soul. I still respect and relate to the part of myself that was not prepared for this somewhat traditional and archetypical lifestyle, I have learned to embrace my roles and routines rather than trudge through in not-so-quiet desperation.    

The Wofford Family, 2022

Now, nearly twelve years into this project that we call a family, I finally feel that I am becoming the kind of mother I might like to be. I realize that the many, many exhausting days and overwhelming moments were not sacrificed after all, but exchanged. Exchanged for the mesmerizingly beautiful tapestry we are weaving out of life, in raising our children every day. In building a family and a home. In creating nurturing spaces and unforgettably colorful moments that can be re-visited over and over again. I don’t miss the sleepless nights or the feelings of hopelessness, but I do appreciate the lessons the darker times taught me, one of the most valuable being that we are NOT defined by the state of our mental health or by the emotions we are processing. I often think of the Nietzsche quote, “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star,” in regard to my own family, about the chaos in myself that gave birth to three exquisite dancing stars. At this point in my life, I would even go so far as to say that I am happy to live where I do, close to the people I love. There is no way I could do it without them.  Because it really does take a village to raise these three little wildflower seeds who want to dance on the wind just as high and untamed as their mama. And it is glorious to watch them blossom.