Quitter Maybe?

Has a child ever called you a quitter?

Did you happen to carry this child for nine months and share the responsibility of tender love and care for years? Before I allow you to transition into full judgement, let me just tell the story. My son, daughter, and I were riding in the car heading to an unknown destination. These trips always started with rambling and chatter and almost always transformed into memorable moments. I gave up trying to prepare myself. My kids are and have always been too unpredictable.

While we talked, one of my favorite songs came on the radio. I told them to pause, literally, turned up the volume, and sang my little heart out. Usually I am greeted with “Mom, please,” but this time they let me have my moment. I allowed myself to get lost in the notes, in the emotion, in the story, and in my mind, I was alone in that car. When the song ended, I turned down the volume and the kids were given permission to resume.

My daughter said, “Mom, you have a beautiful voice.” She paused for a while as if she were in deep thought. Then the atmosphere in the car began to change. My sweet, expressive seven-year-old shifted in her seat and continued. “Why did you give up mom? Why did you give up on your dreams.” Her voice began to raise, and her hands flung in the air as she finished. “I thought Standifer's never quit! Why aren't you singing mom, why aren't you singing? You love to sing; you are a good singer so why did you stop? Why did you quit?”

Her scene ended. What we called her passion subsided, and the only thing that filled the car was uncomfortable silence. I was not angry, I was embarrassed. What her father and I used as encouragement and motivation, Standifer's never quit, was used as an unintentional weapon that exposed my fear, insecurities, and excuses. The only response I could muster was, “I didn't quit. Mommy just took an extended break because there were things that were more important.” I was not satisfied with my response, and I know she was not satisfied with that answer.

That night I could not stop thinking about our car ride. Maybe I was a quitter. Did I really give up on my dreams? I did take an extended break on most things I loved, but did I ever intend to pick them up again? The definition of quit is to discontinue, cease, abandon, avoid. By definition I was a quitter, and even worse, from her perspective, I was a quitter. I understand she had limited understanding and little experience, but she was passionate about it, and it was true. I stopped pursuing most of the things I loved, not just music.

I traded ambition for predictability, I stopped taking risks for comfort, and I allowed fear and responsibility to rob me of the pursuit. The pursuit is continuously working toward a dream or a goal. The dream and the goal may change, there may be small steps, but ceasing to play an active role equals quitting. It was sobering (and depressing) to hear those words, but after I processed the initial shock and embarrassment, it was also encouraging.

I am not the eight-year-old girl who uses a brush as my microphone. I don't spend nights imagining reading my own published book while under the covers with a flashlight. I also stopped practicing acceptance speeches in the mirror a very long time ago. My desires have changed, the dream has changed, and the methods of pursuit have definitely changed. I no longer dream of singing on stages all over the world. I just want to use my voice because it gives me life and makes people smile. I still desire to be a published author, but writing is also enough for me. If one person reads this and it encourages them, I have served my purpose. Medals, plaques, and trophies are wonderful, but there is no greater reward than to see my daughter smile as she watches her mother fully pursue what she loves.

When I started this Mom Dreams process, my 12-year-old daughter came with me to the coffee shop. We sat across one another with our cappuccino and latte, and she looked up from time to time to ask me if I needed anything. When I finished the website, she said, "Let's go celebrate mom, and yes, we went and got coffee." On launch day, she got home from school and could not wait to ask me how everything went. But oh, my heart, when she looked into my eyes and said, "Mom, you are so strong, and I am so proud of you." I saw that 7- year-old -girl who was showing passion for a better reason. In that moment I knew, she did not see a quitter anymore.