I have been coming to Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital since my kids were babies. They are 11 and 12 now, with Michael steadily heading toward 13, and tell me why I am JUST discovering some of the resources they have here? They have laundry areas on several floors. There’s a resource area for families. There are places to get snacks and other things we may need during a hospital stay. They have activities for the kids, and this time they even brought a gaming system to the room so Michael and I could play together.
And I’m sitting here thinking, what in the world?
Do you know how many times I have been in this hospital overwhelmed, frustrated, tired, hungry, worried about clothes, worried about keeping the other child occupied, worried about the child who is sick, and just trying to make it through the stay? All this stuff has been here? For YEARS? Nobody thought to hand me the Vanderbilt survival manual?
Of course, when I really thought about it, it made sense. Most of the time when I come here, I’m not exactly arriving ready for a tour. I’m coming because one of my children is sick. My brain is on doctors, pain levels, medications, labs, food, where everybody is going to sleep, what the other child needs, and whether I remembered to bring enough underwear because half the time we weren’t planning to stay in the first place. I have been in survival mode. And survival mode doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for exploring. But sitting here thinking about all these things that have apparently been available to us for years without me realizing it made me laugh, because it tracks with something else that has been happening lately.
I am almost 45 years old, and I am just discovering how awesome I am.
Seriously. I’ve been me this ENTIRE time. Apparently, It Was Already There. The laundry rooms didn’t suddenly appear because I discovered them. The family resources weren’t created this week because Thea finally figured out they existed. Vanderbilt wasn’t sitting around waiting for me to catch up before they rolled out the good stuff. It was already there. I just didn’t know how to access it. And that hit me differently because I think there are parts of myself I’ve been treating the exact same way. For a long time, I questioned whether I was talented enough, pretty enough, smart enough, strong enough, interesting enough, capable enough, or just plain enough. Meanwhile, I have been writing books, creating art, raising children, surviving things I didn’t think I could survive, helping other people, making people laugh, starting businesses, serving my community, learning, screwing things up, trying again, praying, crying, getting back up and creating something else.
And somehow I could look at all of that and still ask, But am I really good at anything? Ma’am. At some point we have to review the evidence. The things I’m beginning to appreciate about myself didn’t suddenly show up because I’m finally noticing them. My creativity wasn’t installed last year. My sense of humor didn’t arrive in an Amazon package. My compassion isn’t new. Neither is my ability to take something painful and somehow find meaning—or at least a good story—in it.
Those things were already there. I just didn’t always recognize them as something valuable.
Maybe I Was Too Busy Surviving to Meet Myself
That realization gave me a little more compassion for the younger versions of me. When you’ve spent a lot of your life trying to get through whatever is directly in front of you, you don’t necessarily have the luxury of standing around admiring your own qualities. You’re trying to make it. Just like coming to the hospital, I wasn’t thinking, What wonderful resources might be available to enhance my Vanderbilt experience? Girl, my CHILD is sick. Who is thinking about a laundry room?
Life has felt like that at different times too. I needed Mom Thea, so Mom Thea showed up. I needed the woman who could figure something out with almost no money, so she came to work. I needed the part of me that could pray when I didn’t understand what God was doing, and somehow she kept showing up too. I needed the funny one because sometimes laughing was the only thing keeping me from completely losing it.
Then there is Artist Thea, Writer Thea, Businesswoman Thea, Friend Thea, Sister Thea, and all these other versions of me that have been doing their jobs for years. I just don’t think I ever stopped long enough to properly meet all of them.
And Apparently These Features Came Standard
That’s what cracks me up now. I keep discovering things about myself like somebody forgot to give me the owner’s manual. Creativity? Oh, apparently that came standard. Humor? Factory installed. Compassion? Definitely included. Resilience? Honey, that feature has been stress-tested. Repeatedly. Faith? Also stress-tested. (lol) The ability to start over? Apparently unlimited use. And there are other parts of myself I’m discovering too—my femininity, sensuality, confidence, what I actually enjoy, what I don’t enjoy, what I want, what I need, what I deserve, and what I’m no longer willing to convince myself is good enough.
Some of those discoveries have me looking at myself like, Girl, where have YOU been? But the answer is: I’ve been right here. Maybe becoming isn’t always about creating a completely different version of ourselves. Maybe sometimes becoming is finally recognizing, developing, and using what God already put there.
Almost 45 and Still Finding Rooms
I could beat myself up about the fact that I’m almost 45 and just figuring some of this out. There are definitely things I wish I had understood about myself at 25, 30, or even 40. But what would that accomplish besides giving me one more reason to be mean to myself? I’d rather be curious. Because if I can spend more than a decade coming to the same hospital and suddenly discover, Wait, y’all have LAUNDRY?! then there is a pretty good chance there are still things about myself I haven’t discovered either. There may be abilities I haven’t fully used, dreams I haven’t taken seriously enough, boundaries I haven’t learned to hold, joy I haven’t allowed myself to experience, and parts of myself that I have spent so much time criticizing that I never stopped to ask what they might actually be good for. There may be entire rooms in me I haven’t opened yet. And that doesn’t make me behind. It means there’s more to discover. For so much of my life, I’ve asked some version of, What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I get this together? Why am I not further along? Why can’t I be more like this person or that person? I’m beginning to think I have exhausted that line of questioning. Maybe the question for this season is simply:
What else is in here?
Because apparently I’ve been walking around inside this woman for almost 45 years without fully realizing what she came equipped with. And based on what I’ve discovered so far?
I think I better finish the tour.