Hey You…Gorgeous Lady. I See You.

Hey You.  Gorgeous Lady with the perfectly coiffed hair, in the beautifully cut taupe suit, tailored white shirt and gorgeous nude heels.  I see you.  Standing there outside your fancy car talking on your cell phone, motioning some orders to your blonde haired, uniform clad little girls, sitting in the back seat of your car.

I see you.  I envy you.

You look like you have it all together.  Like you might be important, with a fancy job, a handsome husband and a big house on a lake.  Living a grand…and great life.  I’m just getting here, but you look like you might be leaving.  Perhaps you just completed on time, on schedule, twice yearly dentist appointments for your girls.  Or perhaps you are already getting them their flu shots.   Because you look like you’ve got it all together.  Like you’re never late for anything.

I see you.  I envy you.

Me?  Well I’m arriving, just on time, for my kid’s therapy appointment.  In my dirty Nikes, yoga pants and ratty t-shirt.  In my humid laden, flat hair and minimal make-up.  In my less fancy car.  And with my son, who still has a chipped tooth six months later – because we’ve had other, more concerning issues to tend to.  Like his depression.  And anxiety.  And so on.  Here I am, looking – and feeling –  like I don’t have it all together.

Do you see me?  I bet you don’t envy me.  And I might just hate you a little bit.  Because I wish I had it all together like you.  I wish I could manage getting all of the appointments scheduled and attended to, in a timely manner.  I wish I looked as good as you.  I wish I was an important as you.

So now I sit, next to my son, waiting for his therapy to start.  It seems he’s in a good place today.  He’s telling me about how he got to hold a tarantula at school today and he’s laughing at me as I shiver at the thought.  He’s giggling with joy seeing me squirm.  Ironically, we both have headaches but he chuckles at my silly suggestion that if we headbutt each other, we might just knock the pain out of each of our heads.  He laughs even harder when he hits the back of his head on the wall behind him, pretending to throw a headbutt my way.

We’re laughing uncontrollably and somewhat loudly, at who knows what, when I look up and notice Gorgeous Lady from the parking lot sitting down across from us.  You know, the one that has it all together?

She sits down with a huff.  One of her adorable girls on each side.  They look perfect and demure in every way.  Each holding a gold satin and quilted backpack in their lap.  I notice they’re staring at us, while their mom fumbles in her purse for something.

“C’mon,” Gorgeous Lady says, with a sideways glance at each, “Get out your homework.  Hurry up.”

As I look a little closer, I realize her hair isn’t as perfectly coiffed as I once thought.  She’s not even gorgeous.  She’s pretty, but not super model gorgeous like I thought from across the parking lot.  And it seems like she is rattled.  I also notice that in addition to a backpack for each girl, Gorgeous Lady has three other bags.  One might be her purse.  The others? Not sure.  But none of them look particularly refined or fancy.  In fact, each are open with all kinds of gear sloppily hanging out the sides.  These bags are clearly disorganized.

Hey lady.  I see you.  And guess what.  You and me?  We’re not so different after all.

“Ugh!  Claire,” Gorgeous Lady says with disgust and maybe even contempt, to the younger of the girls, ” You cannot write like this.  The teacher won’t even be able to read your writing!”  She erases her daughter’s work with fervor and hands over the notebook and in a clipped tone says, “Start over.”

I want to judge her.  And if I’m honest.  I do.  Initially, I judge her.  And I think she’s crabby and rude.  Hard on her daughters.  Critical and maybe even unkind.  Too busy with life to appreciate it.  But then I realize, Gorgeous Lady seems beside herself. Laden with stress and barely holding it all together.  And probably just doing the best she can in the moment.

Hey lady.  I see you.  I was you.  I. Used. To. Be. You.  Harried and hustled.  Exhausted and spent.  Weary and worried.  I gave all I could give.  Until I could give no more.  I gave to everyone.  I never said ‘No’.  I was early to rise and late to bed.  I was living life on the edge.  Just trying to make it from one day to the next.  And at times, from one moment to the next.  I made mistakes.  Sometimes I was short with my son.  Not choosing the best words or using the best tone.  I yelled.  I spanked.  I’d forget to lead with love.  I wasn’t perfect.  I’m still not perfect.  I’ll never be perfect.

But…I’m getting better.  I’m leading with love and learning to breathe.  I still don’t have it all together, but I do have it all.  When I look at my son, I know I have it all.  And it might be messy, but it’s never mediocre.

Hey Gorgeous Lady.  It’s going to be okay.  I’m sorry I judged you.  I’m sorry I hated you, for just a little bit.  You and me, we’re just alike under all our tailored suits and yoga pants.  I see you.  You love your girls.  You are doing the best you can.  You are here, aren’t you?  Going to therapy and working on your gorgeous self.

Hey Lady.  I see you.  You’re not perfect…and you don’t have to be.

But you are gorgeous.  Inside and out.