Grit—four letters, but powerful…and quite complex.  I’m a word person.  I love words that hold deeper meanings.  That have layers.  The definition of grit is courage or resolve.  To have strength of character.  Initially when I learned this word I thought that it meant to be “tough” or “strong”, and when I think of it like that it sounds pretty simple. However, as I’ve worked to develop grit and to possess more of it, I’ve realized that it is far more simplex that just being tough or strong.  Grit isn’t something you innately have in you.  It’s something you develop.  It’s something you work for.

I will be forever grateful to the adoption process for helping me become a “grittier” person (not sure if that’s a thing, but I like the sound of it).  The last few weeks have been trying, and let me note, in many areas of my life, not just adoption.  When I say trying, I mean just that.  Not necessarily awful (although there has been one or two pretty yucky events), but just trying.  And when you combine multiple trying events and experiences, it really forces you to rely on your grit or develop it, whether you like it or not. 

Grit is that stick-to-it-ness in moments when it would be easier to give up.  It’s doing something even though it’s hard because you know that responsibility and impact of giving up impacts far more people than just yourself. 

Grit is speaking up even though your voice shakes and your cheeks turn red because silence is apathy.

Grit is sometimes showing your emotions.  It’s letting the tears freely flow down your face because you’re human, and it’s okay to show it.

Grit is waiting in faith even when there is no true end in sight.

Grit is remaining constant and unwavering amidst the inconsistencies.

Grit is not being worn down but rather polished.

I want to be a woman with grit and grace not just in how it impacts my journey to adopt, but in all aspects of my life.  But damn, sometimes it is so hard, but I still know it is beyond worth it.  See, an oyster won’t develop a beautiful pearl without a little grit.  

~Chelsea

It has been bitterly cold and pretty windy here in the Midwest.  So what do you do on a Saturday night?  You brew a delicious batch of strawberry milkshake IPA, start a fire, and blast some amazing music (Mumford and Sons, Bret Dennen, Punch Brothers, Horseshoes and Hand Grenades, Prince, among so many others).  

We’ve learned how to wait.  See we are currently farther into the adoption process than we ever have been. We aren’t ready to officially tell the public what that means, but please do know, that there is no certainty in anything other than how we choose to wait and controlling the things we can control.   

This morning as Eli and I were cleaning the house (let’s face it, it was mainly Eli and I was mainly offering emotional support), we were talking about how fortunate we are to have grown and learned so much throughout this journey to build our family.  We often get the, “It must be so hard to wait.” And although we appreciate the sentiment, it has been an absolute pleasure.  Now don’t get me wrong.  It doesn’t mean we don’t get frustrated or that it isn’t hard, but it’s produced a certain “grit” in us, and I really believe we’ve chosen to make the most out of it.  

We’ve taken this time to read, discuss, engage, and learn about things that will not only deeply impact our family, but impacts humanity in general. It has changed my life, and I will be forever grateful to have the “veil” that society and I have placed over my eyes removed.  

We’ve also taken the time to just be in love with one another.  When no one else has understood this journey, we’ve had each other.  There is no better medicine for me than adventures, laughter, and wandering with Eli.  This has looked like dance sessions in the kitchen, a trip of a lifetime to London and Paris, trying new breweries and restaurants, and just loving our life together.  No one could love him like I do, and there is no one else that I would rather go through this journey or this life with.  

So we will continue to wait…at a crossroads we’ve never been at before.  We’ll dance a little in the kitchen, brew a little beer, read our next book on white fragility, and move when we need to.  

~Chelsea

It’s the beginning of February and even with having 3 snow/cold days last week, I’m beginning to feel drained in my job.  Work has been really difficult lately and more draining than usual—changes throughout the building, teaching adolescent students, continuous paper work, all while meeting everyone’s needs, and might I add that it’s still the dead of winter.

See, I’ve always prided myself on my level of commitment as a teacher. I’ve loved the feeling of being needed—by my school, by my fellow staff members, but most importantly by my students. I can remember many nights planning by the light of my computer an amazing lesson I was so excited to share. I’ve spent countless hours coming up with ways to make my classroom a “safe” space for my students (tonight it involved a Costco run to stock up my very own classroom “store”).  I’ve written small notes, sent positive emails, and spent long hours after school to support both current and former students.  I was destined, made to be a teacher.  

I know I’ve stated many times in previous posts just how much our adoption journey has taught me.  But it never ceases to amaze me how much these amazing lessons have filtered into every aspect of my life.  I’ve learned how to be a better partner, how to check my privilege, how to educate myself on issues and topics that not only will make me a better parent, but a better person in general.  I’ve learned how to remain steadfast.  I’ve developed a little bit of grit and work daily on being a woman with grit and grace. I’ve widened the lens through which I view the world.

And I’ve learned:

My job, my career, is a part of my life, but it is NOT my life.

This has been eye opening for me.  I’m a person who feels things deeply.  As Eli says, my best attribute is my emotional intelligence (I don’t know about all that).  However, I know what it does mean is that when I’m happy and feel successful, I feel it to my very core.  And when I’m stressed and feeling drained I feel it to my very core.  See I’m used to trying to make things happen.  To control the situation.  To fix things.  But a lot of things in life are out of our control—the weather, new administrative changes in a work place, how people react around us, or how long or short adopting children may take. 

What I do know that I control is my response to these outside forces. I can control my reaction, and I control how something makes me feel.  I love being a teacher.  I love feeling needed by my school, by my co-workers, and most importantly by my students.  I choose to focus on those things and to allow that to be a part of my life…because I’ve learned to not let them become my life.  In this adoption journey I’ve learned to prioritize just how much I let things encroach on my life. Such as:

 Being strong in my marriage, so that I can remain steadfast for building my family. 

Being knowledgeable and educated so that I can be an advocate, for not only my future children, but for many people where privilege may not always be afforded.

Being a woman who wakes up every day who tries to exhibit grit and grace (some days are better than others).

And I’m still working on it, but doing the very best that I can as a teacher within my job while not allowing it to be my life.

The dictionary definition of identity is the distinguishing character or personality of an individual. Isn’t that amazing? We can allow many things to become a part of our identity, but they don’t have to be our identity. The simplex thing is our identity is what we choose to make it.

~Chelsea