So God Made a Mother Collection ➔

The other day I counted how many times I said “sorry.” I was sorry I didn’t catch the door for the person behind me. Sorry I sweat so much at the gym that I smelled like I got a good workout. Sorry I almost bumped someone with my shopping cart as we both turned blind corners.

I feel as women we’ve almost been programmed to say sorry at any inconvenience we encounter, even if it’s not our fault. What if we apologize so much to others that we begin to think that we are sorry? That me juggling a toddler and shopping cart at once was no excuse for not bending over backwards to hold the door. I have felt at times that my mere existence in a certain situation was an inconvenience, and that’s not acceptable.

Now, there are many things I should apologize for. Like when I lazily left water on my parents’ wooden floors and they warped or the time I berated my mother because she annoyed me. Those are unacceptable things I’ve done and they deserve an honest and heartfelt apology. 

Then there are sometimes I’ve been made to feel like I should repent and I know there is no reason for it. I meditated on this subject and found a few things for which I should never apologize. It is not my intention to hurt anyone or cause a controversy, but rather leave real apologies for when they should be made.

So here I go.

I’m not sorry for being proud of my body. It’s not about weight or figure – that all fluctuates. I love the way my body looks with extra curves in a tight dress after indulging over the holidays just as much as I love the way my legs are cut when I wear shorts after a week heavy in strength exercise. Whether my thighs touch or not, I’m proud of their shape. They run, hike, and bike and are stronger some days than others. I love my bum whether there is more tone or more junk, and I try every day to love my stomach even more so because it grew and then shrunk. I won’t apologize for dressing a way in which I feel most comfortable, whether I’m feeling sexy or more modest (hey – modest can be sexy, too), and I’ll always dress to please myself.

I’m not sorry for leaving home. Let’s be clear here, I hate that I can’t see my grandmothers and parents on a regular basis, but living thousands of miles from home has taught me more than I ever imagined. It’s allowed me to feel normal when I often felt like the black sheep growing up. It has allowed for experiences I never would have had before, and it’s given me a whole new level of independence. I’m sorry when the distance hurts my family, but I think they see my happiness and that it’s been a beautiful thing for me.

I’m not sorry for my parenting choices. From breastfeeding a two year-old to not wanting visitors for the first six weeks after my child’s birth, I make the best choices I can for our family. I will never apologize for speaking gently to my child when he’s having a meltdown at Target nor will I feel bad for the times I allow him to choose whether he wants to hug someone or not. I hate that I’ve felt the need to apologize for any of these choices, but I’m glad I haven’t. 

I’m not sorry for my lack of religion. There is no denying that religion can be a force for good or sadly evil, and over the years I’ve experimented and studied and found that it’s just not for me, and that’s OK. For so many of my family members and some friends it’s been a beautiful journey and I’m so grateful they’ve had it through love and loss. All religions are mystifying to me and I love studying them and even taking little bits of wisdom from here or there, but as a whole, it just doesn’t work for me. For years I’ve felt the need to apologize for that but there is no need. I have morals and values and make mistakes like everyone else. There is no reason to pity me or feel the need to save me, I’m really alright. I’m grateful for prayers and hope my sending positivity and light make you feel loved also. 

I’m not sorry for my activism. Many conversations I have revolve around these topics and on any given day you can find a cause I support on my Facebook wall. I believe in human rights, civil rights, and equality. It’s something that our family revolves around and it’s very important to me – much like a religion. Sometimes I understand why someone wouldn’t agree with things for which I advocate, but oftentimes I can’t wrap my head around it. I’m not an offensive person and believe in free-will and free-thought, which also means I will not feel sorry for my engagement in social justice issues.

I’m going to stop repenting for the things that I feel are necessary because of how someone else may perceive them and start saving my apologies for when they are needed. This may seem combative, but it is anything but. So I’m going to start saving “sorry”; not out of disrespect for others, but respect for myself. 

The next time you feel the need to apologize, stop and ask if it is necessary or if you are caught in auto pilot. 

Brittany Cole

Not your average Southern Belle, Brittany is a native of Georgia living in South Florida. She attended Auburn University (WAR EAGLE!) where she received her Bachelors in Political Science and has a Masters in International Relations from The University of Oklahoma. Brittany has many passions in life, in addition to being a wife and mom. She loves all kitchen-based activities, traveling, being outdoors, reading, yoga, and dancing. When you cannot otherwise find her, check the local farmers market – she’s the one buying obscene amounts of kale and turnips. Britt lives every day by the Maya Angelou quote, “Do the best until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better”. Her mission in life is to raise a family of compassionate and empathetic humans while doing the best she can to make the world a more tolerant, beautiful place.

I Thought Our Friendship Would Be Unbreakable

In: Friendship, Journal, Relationships
Two friends selfie

The message notification pinged on my phone. A woman, once one of my best friends, was reaching out to me via Facebook. Her message simply read, “Wanted to catch up and see how life was treating you!”  I had very conflicting feelings. It seemed with that one single message, a flood of memories surfaced. Some held some great moments and laughter. Other memories held disappointment and hurt of a friendship that simply had run its course. Out of morbid curiosity, I clicked on her profile page to see how the years had been treating her. She was divorced and still...

Keep Reading

The First 10 Years: How Two Broken People Kept Their Marriage from Breaking

In: Journal, Marriage, Relationships
The First Ten Years: How Two Broken People Kept Their Marriage from Breaking www.herviewfromhome.com

We met online in October of 2005, by way of a spam email ad I was THIS CLOSE to marking as trash. Meet Single Christians! My cheese alert siren sounded loudly, but for some reason, I unchecked the delete box and clicked through to the site. We met face-to-face that Thanksgiving. As I awaited your arrival in my mother’s kitchen, my dad whispered to my little brother, “Hide your valuables. Stacy has some guy she met online coming for Thanksgiving dinner.” We embraced for the first time in my parents’ driveway. I was wearing my black cashmere sweater with the...

Keep Reading

To The Mother Who Is Overwhelmed

In: Inspiration, Motherhood
Tired woman with coffee sitting at table

I have this one head. It is a normal sized head. It didn’t get bigger because I had children. Just like I didn’t grow an extra arm with the birth of each child. I mean, while that would be nice, it’s just not the case. We keep our one self. And the children we add on each add on to our weight in this life. And the head didn’t grow more heads because we become a wife to someone. Or a boss to someone. We carry the weight of motherhood. The decisions we must make each day—fight the shorts battle...

Keep Reading

You’re a Little Less Baby Today Than Yesterday

In: Journal, Motherhood
Toddler sleeping in mother's arms

Tiny sparkles are nestled in the wispy hair falling across her brow, shaken free of the princess costume she pulled over her head this morning. She’s swathed in pink: a satiny pink dress-up bodice, a fluffy, pink, slightly-less-glittery-than-it-was-two-hours-ago tulle skirt, a worn, soft pink baby blanket. She’s slowed long enough to crawl into my lap, blinking heavy eyelids. She’s a little less baby today than she was only yesterday.  Soon, she’ll be too big, too busy for my arms.  But today, I’m rocking a princess. The early years will be filled with exploration and adventure. She’ll climb atop counters and...

Keep Reading

Dear Husband, I Loved You First

In: Marriage, Motherhood, Relationships
Man and woman kissing in love

Dear husband, I loved you first. But often, you get the last of me. I remember you picking me up for our first date. I spent a whole hour getting ready for you. Making sure every hair was in place and my make-up was perfect. When you see me now at the end of the day, the make-up that is left on my face is smeared. My hair is more than likely in a ponytail or some rat’s nest on the top of my head. And my outfit, 100% has someone’s bodily fluids smeared somewhere. But there were days when...

Keep Reading

Stop Being a Butthole Wife

In: Grief, Journal, Marriage, Relationships
Man and woman sit on the end of a dock with arms around each other

Stop being a butthole wife. No, I’m serious. End it.  Let’s start with the laundry angst. I get it, the guy can’t find the hamper. It’s maddening. It’s insanity. Why, why, must he leave piles of clothes scattered, the same way that the toddler does, right? I mean, grow up and help out around here, man. There is no laundry fairy. What if that pile of laundry is a gift in disguise from a God you can’t (yet) see? Don’t roll your eyes, hear me out on this one. I was a butthole wife. Until my husband died. The day...

Keep Reading

I Can’t Be Everyone’s Chick-fil-A Sauce

In: Friendship, Journal, Living, Relationships
woman smiling in the sun

A couple of friends and I went and grabbed lunch at Chick-fil-A a couple of weeks ago. It was delightful. We spent roughly $20 apiece, and our kids ran in and out of the play area barefoot and stinky and begged us for ice cream, to which we responded, “Not until you finish your nuggets,” to which they responded with a whine, and then ran off again like a bolt of crazy energy. One friend had to climb into the play tubes a few times to save her 22-month-old, but it was still worth every penny. Every. Single. One. Even...

Keep Reading

Love Notes From My Mother in Heaven

In: Faith, Grief, Journal, Living
Woman smelling bunch of flowers

Twelve years have passed since my mother exclaimed, “I’ve died and gone to Heaven!” as she leaned back in her big donut-shaped tube and splashed her toes, enjoying the serenity of the river.  Twelve years since I stood on the shore of that same river, 45 minutes later, watching to see if the hopeful EMT would be able to revive my mother as she floated toward his outstretched hands. Twelve years ago, I stood alone in my bedroom, weak and trembling, as I opened my mother’s Bible and all the little keepsakes she’d stowed inside tumbled to the floor.  It...

Keep Reading

Sometimes Friendships End, No Matter How Hard You Try

In: Friendship, Journal, Relationships
Sad woman alone without a friend

I tried. We say these words for two reasons. One: for our own justification that we made an effort to complete a task; and two: to admit that we fell short of that task. I wrote those words in an e-mail tonight to a friend I had for nearly 25 years after not speaking to her for eight months. It was the third e-mail I’ve sent over the past few weeks to try to reconcile with a woman who was more of a sister to me at some points than my own biological sister was. It’s sad when we drift...

Keep Reading

Goodbye to the House That Built Me

In: Grown Children, Journal, Living, Relationships
Ranch style home as seen from the curb

In the winter of 1985, while I was halfway done growing in my mom’s belly, my parents moved into a little brown 3 bedroom/1.5 bath that was halfway between the school and the prison in which my dad worked as a corrections officer. I would be the first baby they brought home to their new house, joining my older sister. I’d take my first steps across the brown shag carpet that the previous owner had installed. The back bedroom was mine, and mom plastered Smurf-themed wallpaper on the accent wall to try to get me to sleep in there every...

Keep Reading

 5 Secrets to Connect with Your Kids

FREE EMAIL BONUS

Proven techniques to build REAL connections