Be a clay pot.
Photo by Billi Cate Photography
I was at a conference a few years ago. I had an eight-month-old at home whom I had recently stopped breastfeeding (not by choice) and was in the beginning stages of what I would later identify as postpartum depression. There you go, the scene is set.
The conference I was attending was one that gives tools and information to parents and professionals working with kids that come from trauma, and the whole first day covered brain development. It was a very information-heavy day (as was the whole conference), but the point that stuck out to me was that by one year old, a baby has taken in all the information they need to form their view of the world. Let me say that again for the people in the back. AFTER BEING ALIVE FOR ONLY TWELVE SHORT MONTHS, A BABY HAS A SENSE OF WHETHER OR NOT THE WORLD IS A SAFE AND NURTURING PLACE BASED SOLELY ON THE EXPERIENCES THAT YOU PROVIDE THEM FROM INSIDE THE WOMB STRAIGHT ON TO THEIR FIRST BIRTHDAY. yikes. I was sure I was screwed. I jokingly-not-jokingly said, “Great. Four months to undo whatever damage I’ve already done to my daughter.”
We went to break, I drank more coffee, and seriously contemplated going home and not coming back. Against my better judgement, my friend and I took our seats and there was a new speaker. She shared stories of finding time with her family, even if it’s just washing the dishes together, to connect and have meaningful conversations with her sons. Then she put up an image of a decorative pot on the screen.
I don’t remember exactly what it looked like, but what she said is absolutely burned in my brain. She gestured to the pot and asked, “What makes this pot valuable? Is it that it’s made out of fine china? The hand-painted embellishments? Its age?” Then she proceeded to emotionally punch me in the gut when she went on to say, “The truth is, it doesn’t matter what this is made out of, how it looks, or how old it is. What makes a pot valuable is the space it creates.” The space it creates. You mean we can be an old gardening pot covered in dirt and we’re as valuable as an ancient artifact in a museum, because we both create space?? You bet your ass we’re as valuable.
As a parent, it’s so easy to worry about the childhood you’re creating, and sometimes to focus on how that childhood looks to those around you. But this is not what affects your kids most or makes them whole. They will grow up to become decent humans because you create space for them. Always create space for what matters. It’s easy to forget in the day-to-day. Hence the tattoo…
It sounds silly, maybe, but this was the moment I knew I really could do parenthood. Not just feed her and keep her out of traffic, but like really do this thing and love her and drop the ball a bunch probably, but always communicate with her and respect her and raise a sincerely good human. Hell, forget parenthood, I’m pretty sure this was the moment that I realized I could even keep going with life as is, because if nothing else, I can be a clay pot.
One day I’ll have a more succinct way to answer people when they ask about my tattoo. But for now, the way I honor it most is by telling the story in all of its fullness, and hopefully in the process remind you:
Clay pot. Be a clay pot.
Special thanks to our friend Russ Hickman and his shop The Quill in Hendersonville, TN for making this tattoo exactly what I was hoping for. It’s a special thing to have such a journey attached to an image in our minds, and then have someone translate that so wholly.
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PS sorry for the watch band in this photo but trust me, it’s better than the tan line alternative.