File Under Self-Esteem

I’ve only written one letter to a rock star in my life. Okay, so it was an e-mail . And she’s not exactly an über famous rock star. But it was a letter nonetheless, and she was important to a younger and star struck me.

What was super cool was this person unexpectedly wrote back. Go figure. There are gracious rock stars after all! She was appreciative and kind as she thanked me for my adoring note. The kicker came when she told me that she was going to keep my message in a special file she kept for bad days and planned to read it occasionally to remind her future self of the things she’s done right.

I need a file like this. Actually, I already have one, but it contains notes about my professional career as a teacher. I’m pleased to say it’s filled with sweet and heartfelt thanks for my commitment and compassion as a teacher, and I’ve peeked inside this file several times throughout my career for a little boost here and there. Students really are awesome.

But I think I need a new file, one regarding my life now as I tirelessly work in a profession that has been so rudely ill defined for me. As a stay-at-home mom (of a one year old, mind you), I hear many thank yous from my exuberantly appreciative husband, my supportive family and close friends. But I have to admit that I really crave a thank you from my more direct audience – Stella.

No matter how hard I wish, it’s not going to happen any time soon. Seeing as Stella is currently harnessing all her linguistic energy on the words “happy” and “helmet,” I suspect it will be a bit longer before she lays into an I-love-you-so-much-I-can’t-imagine-my-life-without-you monologue.

This whole need for a new file stems from a recent crummy day yesterday. My self-esteem plummeted for whatever reason, and I ended up feeling whooped and beaten. I put on the happiest face I could muster without being psychotically insincere, but it was a tough one. Fortunately, toddlers don’t really let you wallow in your own mud. So I was able to march through the motions of a normally happy and peaceful evening with the peanut.

As I was rocking Stella goodnight, I started feeling low again. I let go of my need to be calm and collected in front of her and let the unappreciated smallness creep in. And that’s when I had a totally cheesy movie scene moment that totally rocked my world. I simply looked down at Stella in my arms by the light of her obnoxious LED nightlight. She was glowing an eerily spectacular blue tone – skin perfect, lashes lush, lips cherubic – and that’s when I got my thank you.

See, I told you it was cheesy. But just looking at Stella slowly drifting to sleep in that soft blue glow and watching her drowsily wedge her frayed blanky up her left nostril was a thank you in and of itself. Because in that moment I saw her feel safe, warm and loved. And I knew that she knew it as well. Her obvious comfort in that moment demonstrated her gratitude.

I won’t lie. I can’t wait for handmade cards waiting for me by the tea kettle as I start gathering breakfasts. And I grow giddy thinking of all the ways Stella will tell us she’s happy as she grows. But this wordless exchange was good for now. And realizing I need to make the already substantial catalogue of thank yous in my life more readily available actually contributes to a little boost in the self-esteem department.