On Carnations and Community
In honor of Valentine’s Day this week I am admittedly recycling a blog-post I wrote two and a half years ago, and the words I wrote then have become even truer since then.
We were created for community.
But before I get that there are some important things you should know about me.
I really don’t like carnations.
I used to strongly dislike Valentine’s day.
There are logical reasons for both of these things I promise or adolescent reasons at least.
When I was in Middle School I was painfully shy and didn't have very many close friends at school. Most of my friends were at church and we had changed churches and I thought my life was over. True story.
Every year on Valentine’s Day some adults (who I’d still like to have words with) thought it was a good idea to raise money for something (at least I hope it had a purpose!) to have students buy carnations for their boyfriends, girlfriends, friends. The carnations would be delivered during the day while in class and delivery students would come into class and bring them.
Every year in Middle School I dreaded this day because I knew I was never going to get a carnation. I'd sit in class and when the deliveries would come to the door my face would get warm and I'd get a lump in my throat because I hoped that just once I'd get one.
This grand hatred of carnations and Valentine's Day took dark and ugly turns like wearing black for most of them in High School in College (please still be friends with me knowing this ok?) and that's another story for another day, but as I've dwelled on this I realized something about those pitiful carnations, I never bought one for anyone else.
That my friends, is the secret to community, going first.
Showing up, extending your hand, taking the first step even when you feel like an embarrassed middle schooler.
I've been overwhelmingly blessed with deep, good friendships in my life. I have a longest-best friend I've known since Kindergarten and friends from that church I dreaded going to in Middle School that are like sisters to me. I have college friends that I met at a tailgate that I still have a group text with and message them daily.
I know what being known and seen and loved and poured into looks like, but it wasn't until after I became a Mama that I realized how hard you had to work for it.
Becoming a mama was one of the loneliest seasons in my life I've ever experienced. I know a lot of women feel this way for a lot of reasons, and for me, it was wrapped and intertwined in that B mom-guilt. I felt like I spent too much time away for my baby as it was, that I couldn't take extra time away from her. On top of that I was a working mama and every single other mama I was close to was staying home. They would get together during the day and I couldn't and didn't want to give up nights or weekends.
I didn't go to community events I used to be involved with, community group at our church, or anything that would take me away from my baby for any more hours than my workweek. I felt like when I was in social situations I was invisible and hot all the time because I was so anxious about how to handle a baby and make conversation and not burst into tears because I was so overwhelmed and tired.
When my first darlin was about 5 months old a friend that I didn't know very well said she wanted to start a Friday morning group. We'd come together and have breakfast read a book and discuss it and connect. She was looking for fellowship in a new season and invited 4 other women besides me to come. One of them was one of my best friends (I have a lot of best friends, Joe says I use the word loosely, I disagree) in the world (who would also turn out to be my midwife for my second darlin), one was a friend I knew that had just moved back to New Orleans, one was a mutual friend I'd met a few times but didn't really know and the sixth person I didn't know at all.
I remember sitting around the table that first Friday thinking how tired I was, and how I didn't want to read another book, and how I didn't know how this would work or if it would last. But it did. Every Friday I'd get up and use that precious time away from my daughter before work to go and be with these women.
At first, honestly, it felt forced, or like too much effort.
I wasn't really reading the book but would go and be part of the discussion because I craved adult connection. Friday after Friday we'd sit in a booth at a doughnut shop sharing love and life, the painful things, the beautiful things, and we laughed a whole lot. Somewhere a long the way these ladies became part of my fabric, this time became my lifeline to the outside world. I was always in a better head space on Fridays after being with them. Even on those days where I was physically there, but not mentally because of sheer exhaustion or a running to-do list in my head.
In that booth, we had mini wedding showers and baby showers and celebrations of new jobs and graduations. We talked through navigating being a newly wed and being a new mom, our faith, our career choices, and what doughnut flavor was our favorite. Over time and transitions we said goodbye to three friends who moved away and each time someone moved we knew just how special this time and season was and is.
Oh, and we are still meeting! Even two and a half years later after I wrote this post originally, we are still meeting. Every Friday morning that we’re available we gather together for breakfast. We've added a new friend and approximately more junior members than I can now count since that first Friday 4 years ago.
We've changed restaurants due to dietary restrictions and a lot of the time we are talking over taking care of our sweet babes, so it always looks different, but we continue to choose each other.
When I tell people that I go every Friday morning most seem surprised. Every Friday? Yep. I could never do that/I don't have time for that. You could, and you should! I never realized the impact that the choice to go to breakfast would have on my life. It wasn't just the choice to go to breakfast, it was the choice to let down my guard, and be okay with feeling uncomfortable and to walk along-side friends in the mess of figuring out who I was again.
It was the choice to let go of a lot of things to experience true community.
These past few years have been filled with hard things for all of us, but we continue to choose to show up, to sit in the mess, to process with each other, to pray, to encourage, to point each other to Jesus, to love each other when we ourselves feel unlovable. I had experienced this beautiful side of friendship before, but I'm realizing that what made this season so unique is that I had to keep choosing to show up.
I also had to realize that there is little room for comparison, judgment, the appearance of having it all, or dignity some days when you are so raw, vulnerable, and real and may or may not be sitting at a table in the middle of a doughnut place sobbing or with spit-up in your hair.
This sweet community has given me so much courage in my other adult friendships. In 2015 I joined a wellness community and at first, I watched from the sidelines, and as I realized what a precious group of people this was I jumped in and have never looked back. Just the same as that booth, I kept showing up, and extending a hand, a metaphorical carnation if you will, and the love and flowers ridiculously prettier than carnations came back in return.
The women I've met through that community I know will be lifelong friends as we walk together cultivating wellness, walking towards freedom, and learning and growing. I have grown more personally and professionally in the past two years as a result of this community than I have in my whole adult career.
I also have a friend who I asked if she would be a mentor to me who has poured time and wisdom into me simply because I had the courage to ask. We talk through the hard things and she encourages me to question things I don't understand and points me towards health and wholeness.
I hope it comes across really clear that I'm not writing any of this to boast. I am writing this because I spent a lot of time in my adult life after college wondering what was wrong with me, or why I wasn't invited to things, and the truth is I'd do that all over again knowing the sweetness on the other side. I learned that it all starts with just showing up, asking, participating.
These communities in my life are the richest part of it, and all this goodness came by showing up, by asking to be a part of it, by letting people in. And let me add that I've been a lot to be around the past few years, the question "How are you? No really, how are you?" for the most part has had a sad answer, but they keep asking, even when I fear that they won't. They keep showing up too and showering me with more love than I ever deserve.
I still wish I could go back to Middle School Lauren and buy her a carnation, but something tells me that taking that pain away would have made her appreciate the gorgeous antique hydrangeas 20 years later a whole lot less.
