…where a brave and beautiful bunch gather every week to find out what comes out when we all spend five minutes writing on the same topic and then sharing ‘em over here.
In our home, right now, brave is:
It’s walking with Ms. Kip over to a group of bigger, older, stronger girls as she says with a hand on your shoulder, “Class, this is Zuzu, She’ll be joining us now.” It’s stretching back into the bridge even though you felt like the teachers helping you laughed as they called your name over your collapsing arms right as they lifted your legs up into a handstand. It’s holding it together until you can tell your Dad in the safety of silver car, on the way home from your new intermediate gymnastics class where you were the smallest girl there for the whole two hour period how hard it was. It’s laying your head into the crook of your momma’s arm and repeating the story in weepy tones while begging to not have to go back because it is just too hard for a six year old. It’s listening as your parents retell the story of your first semester in gymnastics 2 years ago when you cried and cried after each class because you had gotten in trouble for talking and fidgeting yet again and how you had insisted you were no good at it back then for weeks at a time until one day you decided by your ownself that it was more important to get to take part in the springtime annual gymnastics show then it was to worry about each individual class up until then. It’s listening as your parents reframe your self-talk from “I’m no good at gymnastics” and “those other girls are better than me”, to “you are good” and “you are so good your teachers said it was time to move up and challenge yourself on a whole new level” and instead of seeing those girls as “better than me” tring to remind yourself that you too will learn what those girls have and those girls are there to show you what you are to are capable of. It’s agreeing to go back and try again over a strawberry yogurt treat because maybe next time your arms will be stronger. It’s standing up seven times after falling down six times. It’s agreeing to try. Always agreeing to try, maybe just that one time more.