Tag Archives: Love

A Blank Page Full of Possibility

18 Wednesday Feb 2026

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It had been two years since I stepped foot in my home, and now here I was, breaking and entering. According to our divorce settlement, I wasn’t supposed to be there until August 1st (two days later), but he was gone now, and I had a key. With the confidence of a criminal, and the excitement of a little girl, I walked up to the threshold, turned the knob, and opened that door to the rest of my life.

Bare walls were stained with dirt and varnish from where old photos used to hang. Empty holes decorated the walls and dust bunnies hugged edges of the floor. I pretended to not notice the items strategically left behind to trigger me, but I was comforted by the sounds I made as I walked across the old floor. All its little cracks and flaws were exactly as I remembered them.

California sun beamed through the skylights, hitting the chandelier that hung in the great room. Rainbows danced across the walls and onto my hand, reflecting its crystals. The room felt spacious and generous, yet barren, like a white sheet of paper, begging for me to reclaim her once again.

I walked through the kitchen and out into the garage. An ordinary space for most homes, but not mine. I waded through trash bags, old toys, and family memories, to get to a small space under the stairs that doubled as my sacred meditation space years prior. Unrecognizable now, as it was filled with paint and construction materials, but thankfully, that space was mine. A symbol of solitude. For many years it was my quiet corner of the house, where I found peace and reprieve from the things I could not change.

I made my way upstairs and walked straight past the master bedroom into my closet to find another space that I held dear. Just a small table where I suited up each morning to get ready and face the world. The lights had been torn down, but my mirror remained. Corporate America “me.” Engaged mother “me.” Happy wife “me.” I strive to show up for all three every day. Some days I get it right, but at least now, the mirror won’t lie back at me.

It’s funny, ten years ago I wrote about a mirror and said, “I’m determined to remain in the space where masks are no longer necessary because I have enough courage to be myself — because an imperfect truth is greater than any false perfection I could portray.” It was the last thing I wrote before I went silent. Maybe because I’d told a truth I wasn’t brave enough to live — or because I subconsciously knew what was coming. Maybe both.

My 18-year old daughter’s walk through the house was different from mine. Tilley reclaimed her space, but her connection to it carried a lot more pain. The not-so-hidden messages brought tears to her eyes.

It’s been six months since we moved in. We have celebrated a lot as I began a beautiful, new life with my husband, Clinton. A rehearsal dinner to host our family and friends, the memorable wedding that followed. Birthday parties, Thanksgiving, and Christmas went by faster than I have ever remembered.

But the sands of time are quickly slipping away and taking my sweet Tilley with them. Six months ago, we moved in, but only six more until she leaves for college. It feels like yesterday when she was just a little girl running around the house. I do my best to surrender to the smallest moments with her. Whether it’s curating a short video of us eating our favorite treats from the grocery store or sushi dinner with her, Clinton, and me, I collect memories like postcards from a trip I’m not ready to end.

Last week after school, she walked in the door and collapsed on me while I laid on the couch. Head on my chest. Asleep in minutes. I didn’t move for two hours; afraid that if I did, the moment would break — and she’d be eighteen again instead of four.

So much has changed since I wrote down my thoughts ten years ago. I have since put away the masks and let go of the people who couldn’t stand by me. More importantly, my kids found their wings. I gave them freedom and wheels — literally cars and bikes — and the opportunity to find their own voice. Even though their childhood home was gone, we rebuilt that foundation from something new. Tilley found faith in God and a church to call her own.

And although it’s my original, childhood faith, Tilley was not raised with Christianity. For most of her life, she experienced a mom who meditated on the living room floor, attended silent retreats, and sang words she didn’t understand in Tibetan temples. She burned incense, held her hands in mudras, and recited mantras while saving bugs from the busy sidewalk. But now in her teenage years, she attends Catholic school, participates in a life group, goes to church on Saturday & Sunday, and holds my hand before dinner to pray.

So much of my life was spent looking backward — the marriage, the masks, the woman who used to perform. But standing in this house with new paint on the walls and old cracks in the floors, I’ve learned that the past and the future live under the same roof. They’re neighbors sharing walls, making noise, learning to coexist. The old house didn’t disappear when we redecorated. And the little girl who used to fall asleep on my chest is still inside the woman who’s about to drive away.

I spent two years fighting to get my house back. I’ve painted the walls and reclaimed my rooms. I built a life with Clinton inside these halls. And now I watch time pull my daughter toward the door and realize the foundation was never the house. It was the courage to be real inside it. To remove the masks. To stop pretending. I see that same courage in Tilley now — finding her own voice, building her life exactly the way she wants it. And I think — I hope — she learned some of that from watching her mother be brave enough to start over.

I went silent for ten years. Not because I had nothing to say — but because I let other people’s versions of me be louder than my own. But this bare, imperfect, reclaimed house gave me back my blank page. And for the first time in a decade, I’m not afraid to write on it. Because an imperfect truth is still greater than any false perfection I could portray.

Tilley has seen both sides. The masks and what lives underneath them. The performance and the freedom that comes when it ends. She has held incense in one hand and a Bible in the other. She has lived inside the lie and watched her mother fight her way back to the truth. She is ready. She has been prepared — not by perfection, but by all of it. And like this house — barren, imperfect, and honest — she is a blank page full of possibility. When she walks out that door in August, she won’t be leaving home. She’ll be carrying it with her.

3 Things I’d Teach My Younger Self

28 Saturday Mar 2015

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I walk past it every day and pretend to ignore it, deny that it’s there. But it waves at me from the corner of my eye and reminds me of my neglect. My poor, overgrown, unloved garden is just a small plot in my backyard, but it represents so much more. While I’d like to think that I’m good at many things, gardening is just not one of them. It requires too much time and attention on a regular basis and I’m really not that consistent.

Last weekend I mustered up enough courage to get back out there and make room for the flowers my kids picked out a few days before. Although I struggle to keep up with it, I really enjoy gardening. The small acts of planting and digging my hands in the earth bring me joy and I love looking out the windows to see it bloom with color again.

This is WhoA few weeks ago, while rummaging through papers in my kid’s backpacks, I came across a homework assignment of Tilley’s that read – “This is who I am and that’s all I want to be.” At 7 years old, if she has even a glimmer of this idea in her mind, she is on the right track. That is leaps and bounds ahead of me at that age. In fact, who am I kidding, I resist this idea now!

As a child, I struggled with my self-image. My inflated sense of self frequently collapsed in the face of criticism. I had many friendships, but they varied over time, and their intensity would ebb and flow. As I got older, and my relationships matured, I felt more stability and longevity within them. But a subtlety remained – an underlying insecurity that I could not shake. Nothing I did was ever quite good enough and no matter how much praise I received from family and friends, I was never satisfied. There was a yearning inside of me that drove me to achieve more and more.

As a mother, it’s so easy to fill our children up with praise. When I watch Tilley play the piano or witness Mason’s athleticism, my mind fills up with ideas of their future success. I can see their achievements, as if I’m thinking with the end in mind. I’m at the Olympics watching Mason compete or I’m listening to Tilley’s exceptional performance. I pump them up with these ideas of greatness because I want them to see the world of possibility that exists if they want to work hard and achieve it.

PicMothers tend to their children just like a garden, watering seeds for their growth, thinking of new ways to help them sprout in the future. We pull old weeds to beautify their minds, allowing their colorful flowers to grow. We fertilize them with confidence so they thrive and grow stronger. We cultivate seeds of determination, harvest the goals for the future and make them become a reality. Like every mother who came before me, we praise our children’s progress so they will begin to have strong beliefs in themselves.

For 15 years, my sister and I performed in the local theater in various capacities. My mom supported us from backstage waiting for our next costume change, while my dad prepped the mics in the sound booth. Hundreds of people, including many extended family and friends came to watch our performances, and when it was over and we took our final bows, there were spotlights, applause and standing ovations. I remember the smiles, hugs and words of affirmation.

IMG_7009Everyone that performed on that stage poured their blood, sweat and tears into those shows and our reflection of a job well done made it all worth it in the end. I loved performing in front of an audience as it made me come alive with energy. When the curtain came down, it didn’t matter if we had made mistakes that night; the audience’s praise was our final judgment. Their comments and reviews summarized and validated our experience. I cared deeply about what everyone had to say. It made me feel more confident in my performance.

As I got older I began to filter the feedback. There was something deep within me that felt the praise wasn’t real, so I turned to the critics instead. The constructive criticism seemed to be more balanced and insightful. I would continue to search for the truth in everyone around me, as if the version I experienced wasn’t the real one. Like a sickness, I was dependent on their feedback, addicted to their praise, but I didn’t trust what they said.

IMG_7006This desire for applause would become the theme of my twenties. There was a yearning inside of me that drove me towards accomplishment, as if I needed validation and proof of my worthiness. I turned to therapy, self-help books, even hypnosis to work through what I felt were obvious fundamental inadequacies. But this inadequacy was a mystery to me. Something was missing, but I couldn’t even put my finger on it. I was on a mission to cure something that I couldn’t even describe.

This yearning inside of me to become someone different, something more, was the root of my problem. What did I need to prove? Who was I trying to prove it to? In my search for the source of truth, the solution to all of my problems, the missing piece was… ME.

IMG_7016I empowered everyone else and disregarded myself. I let others plant thoughts, but never became the gardener of my own mind. Looking back now, I wish I could talk to my younger self and comfort her. First, I would tell her that the garden is her responsibility. A self-sufficient gardener need not look outside oneself for validation and praise. Secondly, I would show her how to grow her own flowers and teach her how to take care of them.  She would satisfy her needs and know that external sources are not sustainable. Finally, I would help her find love and acceptance within herself and to trust her own source of truth.  Her guiding light, and the only praise that can gratify her, is the one that she believes within.

Being content with who you are doesn’t mean that the garden stops growing or that we stop tending to it. It will change and grow and learn new things every day. But “a flower doesn’t compete with the flower next to it, it just blooms.” It’s not attached to becoming anything or anyone, as it has always been itself… a flower. It will never become more or less a flower. No matter what my children achieve, they are special to me and they don’t need to prove anything to receive my love and appreciation. I just want them to be happy and express their individuality. I hope they find their calling, their passion, and something that makes them feel alive.

My thriving and colorful “garden” within, the one that I neglected for so long, is the greatest source of my happiness. A spiritual awakening, a rewarding pursuit and I’m satisfied with the fruits of my labor. A delicate balance that requires daily care and attention, it needs enough water, so it doesn’t dry out and get depressed, but not too much, or it gets puffed up and full of itself. I work hard to keep it alive but it’s not a chore when it’s done with love. I am not yearning to make my garden something else, something more. I just allow it become the fullest expression of itself.  An imperfect gardener, that’s who I am, and that’s all that I want to be.

The Perfect Example of Love

16 Monday Feb 2015

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images46 years ago this Valentine’s Day, a bright-eyed 22-year old man proposed to his 19-year old girlfriend. It had only been five months, but they were young and in love, and she happily said yes. Eight weeks later, they were married on a Tuesday at the local Methodist church. It was the beginning of a beautiful love affair, what would soon become the greatest love story I’ve ever known.

1521249_10152154321334602_1444298455_nI’ve witnessed this marriage between my parents for over 36 years, and to this day I’ve never seen them argue. It’s the perfect balance between two people; so similar in their approach to life, yet different in personality and demeanor. My father, a creature of habit and routine, enjoys his scheduled lifestyle of leisure, while my mother’s unpredictable and lively nature keeps you guessing. They were ideally suited for parenthood as the harmony between them infused their children’s lives.

FullSizeRenderA stream of confidence that never wavered, they provided a solid foundation of support during the emotional roller-coaster ride of my childhood. They were the calm beneath my teenage storm, a warm shelter and soft place to land. They always put their children’s needs before their own.

Now as a mother and parent of three strong-willed children, I think of their example as I react to the ups and downs of daily life. I feel their strength when I’m at my best and their forgiveness in my downfalls.  I remember their kindness before responding to a tantrum, and I still ask them for advice on a regular basis.

FullSizeRenderHere in the throes of motherhood, I have many opportunities to practice patience. Like most moms, I am constantly being challenged by my kid’s outbursts and behavior. I get easily frustrated with Evelyn’s shouts of defiance in her attempt to gain independence, and while I’m open and receiving of Mason’s wisdom and energy, I’m fearful, even angry, when he blindly follows his friends. Already a mother, yet still the student, I try to respond with kindness, but fall victim to my fear instead.

It has been widely quoted that “making the decision to have a child is to forever decide to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” I find it both exciting and terrifying to have such little control over these beings that carry my heart in their hand. For one day soon they’ll be making their own decisions and charter a new path. They’ll sail off into the world, taking my heart with them, but I’ll do my best to support their decisions, as my parents did for me.

IMG_5914A few weeks ago, Tilley and Mason brought home a heritage assignment, the most dreaded, yet cherished, school project for an adoptive mom. Although we talk about Mason’s heritage on a regular basis, this assignment facilitates a deeper discussion, providing a great opportunity to explore his feelings and any questions he may have. On the morning of his presentation, my heart leapt from my chest as he courageously presented to his classroom. He spoke proudly of his country, his heritage, and the details of his adoption.

As part of the assignment, we were asked to choose eight significant life events to outline the story of his life. Of course, I wanted to use his birth as the event that began his timeline, but we were asked to provide more specific details on what happened that day. Nervously, I dove into the discussion, wondering how he would respond.

On October 4th, 2007, in the capital city of Hanoi, Vietnam, Mason’s birth mother, doctor and nurses welcomed him into the world; a beautiful day when he and his mother spent precious hours together. This woman, who I may never have the privilege to meet, made my son’s life possible and for that I owe her a great debt. As he wrote down the details, he looked at me with his wise, insightful eyes and said, “I bet she misses me.” Those five words split my heart into a million pieces, evoking feelings of love and deep sorrow. I responded, “of course she does.”

On that day she made the decision to have her heart walk outside her body in the most selfless way; she offered her son another path, a different life than the one she could provide. The love she has for her son is the most unconditional love I know of; a divine, selfless love that pours everything out, yet expects nothing in return. Even if there is sorrow, only the purest love remains. Like finding the most beautiful flower, but not picking it because you want it to live.

Mason’s birth mom may never get to experience the joy that I feel when his smile lights up a room and she may never bear witness to his compassionate heart. Although their lives took separate paths, the connection between their souls will never be lost. Instead, they are on a journey to find each other within, to achieve inner peace and solitude, even amidst the physical loss.

I’ve been told that a broken heart physically hurts because light is breaking in allowing the heart to expand. In these broken moments we can either repress the pain by closing off our heart in fear, or we can give ourselves some time to grieve, the catalyst to healing and growth.

IMG_2220Behind every one of my children’s tantrums is an opportunity for my heart to expand or contract. When I was a child I acted out, but my parents showed me compassion. That love is part of me; the living and breathing example that shows me which way to go. But when my defiant children stand before me and anger is all I can taste, I can think of a woman in Vietnam, whose heart is standing before me. I can sit with my fear, feel my heart-break, and experience a level of love like I have never known before; pure, unconditional love with no expectation or attachment to the outcome. I can just let go, and when I do, I will find her there.

“You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have…”

03 Monday Feb 2014

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PhoWe welcomed the Lunar New Year this week in true Vietnamese style! We had Pho for dinner and many other traditional foods that I picked up at the Asian market on my lunch break. With every passing year, the Shaw family is embracing the Vietnamese culture to ensure that Mason’s childhood is reminiscent of his country and their traditions.

Personally, I welcomed the New Year with open arms. Every astrological blog post and website I came across talks about the shifting energy in the universe and the power of the Supermoon and New Year. I don’t know a lot about that stuff, but I could certainly feel its energy. To say that 2013 was a difficult year for me would be an understatement. It was a year of painful transition in many areas of my life.

The New Year signifies a new start. It is the beginning of a new mindset. With that said, it is evident that with any new beginning, you also have awareness of what you leave behind. An ending is bittersweet, in that you welcome what is to come, but it is not without some degree of mourning what you leave behind.

Mason sweeping out the bad energy of the old year

Mason sweeping out the bad energy of the old year

That invisible line in the sand somehow differentiates the old from the new, but it allows us to move forward with a clean slate. As we all do, I hope this year brings our family health, happiness and prosperity. Simply put, to retain happiness and love in our lives and refrain from feelings of unhappiness and fear. There is nothing original with this wish. It is a universal idea with the beginning of any new year.

However, as I reflect on my aversion of all that’s “bad” and my welcoming of all that’s “good”, I stumbled on an idea that stayed with me for a while. It’s not a new concept, but one that makes a lot of sense considering the significance of this passing of this year.

Just as we come to know “light” with its opposite, “darkness”, how can we ever really understand anything without experiencing the opposing emotion? Said differently, the overwhelming love you have for your child is met with overwhelming pain when he gets hurt. The broken heart you experience, only after you know what it is like to truly love someone. There is polarity in everything.

NYEIf we really want to welcome “good” things in our lives, then we must experience the pain and heartache that comes along with it. The opposing feelings are just two sides of the same coin. You can’t have one without the other. In other words, the idea of having only good things in our lives is impossible. We must have both.

I think our resistance to this idea is the reason we suffer so much. We think that life should be full of good news. We have unrealistic expectations and the degree to which we suffer is the degree to which we resist this fact.  Maybe if we just could embrace this truth, that life should be really messy, then maybe we could handle it when bad stuff “randomly” pops up in our lives.

If we want to have love in our lives, then we must accept that it will bring us pain; a lot of pain. If we want to have a good career, then we also have to accept that there will be suffering (eg: pressure, fear, humiliation, etc…). If we want to have money, then we should accept that it will take time and energy away from other things that we love.

If I knew before adopting Mason how much it would hurt to go through that process, would I have chosen to not adopt at all? If I knew how much it would hurt to watch loved ones leave my life or pass away, would I have chosen, instead, to not have them in my lives at all? Of course not! I would choose it all, over and over again, if it meant that I was to experience love. Nothing comes to us without a price. Sometimes these things are subtle, but they are there.

So as we welcome the New Year, I think we need to remember that there is a purpose with every good thing and with every challenge we experience. Rather than rejecting those “bad” things that come, we need to reflect on why they are there and what opposing emotions brought them to us (eg: love). If we just walk around being indifferent and neutral to everyone and everything in our lives, would that be a life worth living? No, I think most of us would choose the life that is full of love and compassion, full of energy and emotion, even if that means that we will experience pain.

I know I will.

“The shortest interval between two points is the awareness that they are not two.” ~ Eric Micha’el Leventhal