I walk out the door dripping with sweat, exhaustion and defeat. I haven’t been to a fitness class in awhile because of life and illness and today it feels like I’m back at square one. As I walk towards my car the woman beside me says, “Don’t worry, we’ll get there.”
She is smiling and radiating grace and perseverance. I glance her way knowing my face must be showing the emotions I thought were tucked away in my head, only visible to me. I’m sure now that she can see my defeat and my exhaustion. I’m sure she can see my eyes as they fill with tears as I look up at her and say, “You’re right. We will get there. Thank you for that reminder.”
And as I hop in my car, I’m not sure where “there” is, but I am confident this woman is right. What she doesn’t know is that this is so much more than a difficult fitness class. This is the combination of right now and also the fact that I seem to be in some kind of season of rejection and failed attempts at success.
I’m in a tough season. One with big ideas, huge dreams and things I’m reaching so desperately for it feels like I’m about to fall to the pits. And the hardest part about this season is that I don’t have my mother here to remind me that “no” is just another way of saying “next opportunity”. That rejection is not a synonym for failure. That my worth is not held in the “yes”’s or the “no”’s, that it’s not held in the moments where someone was chosen instead of me, and it’s certainly not held in the people who don’t see my value and my heart.
My mom always had a way of making me feel like something better was coming. She had a way of reminding me that my plan wasn’t always THE plan. She had a way of holding hope for me, even when I couldn’t hold it for myself. She had a way of wrapping my heart in comfort and my soul in resiliency. She had a way of making me believe in myself and my dreams, even when things weren’t working out and especially when things felt impossible.
Just like the sweet lady today, she had a way of reminding me “we’ll get there”, that I’d “get there”…even when it felt unachievable.
She had a way of making me feel like my purpose and meaning weren’t tied to the things and people that didn’t work out. That I might just be ‘in waiting’ for the thing I’m meant for and the right opportunity. She made me feel special and loved, even when it felt like the world was screaming otherwise.
Mothers are such beautiful gifts. They’re a delicate mixture of comfort, inspiration, leadership, truth-tellers, guides, hope and determination.
They’re the “We’ll get there”.
They’re the “You’re smart and beautiful and incredible.”
They’re the “You’ve got this. I believe in you.”
They’re the “I love you, always. No matter what.”
They’re the “Hard times won’t last forever.”
They’re the rainbow in the storm.
The person that feels like home.
The comfort needed to get through a season of doubt, rejection or failure.
So, if you find yourself in a season of defeat. If you find yourself staring at missed opportunities, endless rejections, and goals that seem out of reach, to then also find yourself missing the one person that you’d run to in these circumstances, I say:
We’ll get there, friend. Even if we don’t know where “there” is, and especially if we don’t know what “there” looks like. You’re beautiful and smart and incredible and this trying time won’t last forever. If an opportunity didn’t work out, there is one that will, I promise. Just like my mother used to promise me, and she was never wrong, even when it took awhile to come to fruition.
Keep going. Keep dreaming. Keep believing in yourself. And remember, “no” is just another way of saying “next opportunity”. Rejection is not a synonym for failure. And your worth is not held in the “yes”’s or the “no”’s, it’s not held in the moments where someone was chosen instead of you, and it’s certainly not held in the people who don’t see your greatness and your heart.
We’ll get there, friend.
We will get there.
A thirty-something wife, mother and educator who has Indiana roots and a passionate spirit. Chelsea is a sappy romantic, coffee junkie, book collector, and person who wears her heart on her sleeve. She’s sarcastic, full of jokes, full of tears, and enjoys writing most when life gets messy or complicated. In 2017, Chelsea's mother passed away. Through her grief journey, she decided to take her mother’s advice and share her writing with the world. One day she gained the courage to honor her mother's wishes and write. It turned out to be one of the best decisions she's ever made.