Those of you who listen to NPR are probably familiar with "This I Believe" - a segment which features people from all walks of life describing their beliefs.
Katie Harris, a young, talented, aspiring female with a crazy runner for a father, wrote this in loving memory to her mother. In our Motorola Run Club, I have worked with Paul Harris numerous times and as a proud friend of a family who has continued to show strength and courage through devastating times, I wanted to share this very inspiring NPR segment that his daughter wrote.
It is worth every moment you spend reading it.
**********************************************************************************************************
Enough
On some days, when I feel inadequate, I write on my wrist in small letters, “enough,” reminding myself that I need not be any different than who I am in that exact moment. On other days, I get lost in the “to-do’s,” and “should-be’s,” forgetting entirely that I am an imperfect being. I compare myself to others, trying to measure up to deeply ingrained societal expectations. In this thought, I dismiss the unconditional love and acceptance others have for me. Upon examination, I realize that these thoughts are rooted in distortion- the distortion that I must meet certain benchmarks to prove my worthiness. Unconditional love is not based on inconsequential standards. My sister, who scrambles out of the door to class in the morning, wearing her hair in a messy bun; who comes home late at night looking only for something to fill her exhausted body, bent between family and education, is enough. My father, who works countless hours to provide a home for his family, ensuring that they have a quality of life that was better than his, is enough. My mother, who raised two girls into adulthood, teaching lessons of compassion and self expression rather than societal expectations; who traded the bottle for support groups after realizing that her disease had landed her in a place she did not want to be; who rode motorcycles for the thrill and studied flowers everyday; who felt that her mental illness disqualified her from being the mother, the wife, the friend that others saw her as, was enough. I didn’t fully comprehend this concept until one day, when I rushed home to find my sister’s eyes flooded with tears, and a policeman telling me that my mother took her life. In that moment, I only wanted to hug her and tell her how much she meant to me. When I look back, I realize that every single one of her efforts were enough. From waking up in the morning with heavy eyelids, sitting silently through meals and celebrations, to lifting only one finger because she had not enough energy for two, she was enough. Love connected her to a world without standards. The illusion that my mother’s efforts were inadequate stole her from my life. Now, I crave her simple presence. I crave the way that her motherly hugs engulfed me with love. I crave her patience in the way that she willingly listened to my troubles. Though depression took the first person I ever knew, I gained an appreciation for the value of all individuals, including myself. I understand that each and every person navigates the world to the best of their abilities, and I need not compare their lives to another. A book that my sister has read to me several times states, “When a rose and a lotus are held side by side, is one more beautiful than the other?” Each person possesses individual and unique beauty that connects them to the surrounding universe. In this statement, I remember that there is no one to compare myself to. I have learned to accept the struggles, pain and happiness as a part of life.
On some days, when I feel inadequate, I write on my wrist in small letters, “enough,” reminding myself that I need not be any different than who I am in that exact moment. On other days, I get lost in the “to-do’s,” and “should-be’s,” forgetting entirely that I am an imperfect being. I compare myself to others, trying to measure up to deeply ingrained societal expectations. In this thought, I dismiss the unconditional love and acceptance others have for me. Upon examination, I realize that these thoughts are rooted in distortion- the distortion that I must meet certain benchmarks to prove my worthiness. Unconditional love is not based on inconsequential standards. My sister, who scrambles out of the door to class in the morning, wearing her hair in a messy bun; who comes home late at night looking only for something to fill her exhausted body, bent between family and education, is enough. My father, who works countless hours to provide a home for his family, ensuring that they have a quality of life that was better than his, is enough. My mother, who raised two girls into adulthood, teaching lessons of compassion and self expression rather than societal expectations; who traded the bottle for support groups after realizing that her disease had landed her in a place she did not want to be; who rode motorcycles for the thrill and studied flowers everyday; who felt that her mental illness disqualified her from being the mother, the wife, the friend that others saw her as, was enough. I didn’t fully comprehend this concept until one day, when I rushed home to find my sister’s eyes flooded with tears, and a policeman telling me that my mother took her life. In that moment, I only wanted to hug her and tell her how much she meant to me. When I look back, I realize that every single one of her efforts were enough. From waking up in the morning with heavy eyelids, sitting silently through meals and celebrations, to lifting only one finger because she had not enough energy for two, she was enough. Love connected her to a world without standards. The illusion that my mother’s efforts were inadequate stole her from my life. Now, I crave her simple presence. I crave the way that her motherly hugs engulfed me with love. I crave her patience in the way that she willingly listened to my troubles. Though depression took the first person I ever knew, I gained an appreciation for the value of all individuals, including myself. I understand that each and every person navigates the world to the best of their abilities, and I need not compare their lives to another. A book that my sister has read to me several times states, “When a rose and a lotus are held side by side, is one more beautiful than the other?” Each person possesses individual and unique beauty that connects them to the surrounding universe. In this statement, I remember that there is no one to compare myself to. I have learned to accept the struggles, pain and happiness as a part of life.
******************************************************************************************************************
As a personal advocate of depression awareness, mental health awareness, domestic abuse awareness and love to all; this is something very much worth sharing. Knowing you are ENOUGH. Running is my therapy and out there on the roads, its just me or just me pushing Cael for his run and there is no judge and there is no race, no one to compare myself to. Just trying to do better that the previous day. This passage was so motivational it needed to be shared with the world.
Thank you Katie & Paul.
