I’m Not Your Mother

I’m not your mother.

And you wouldn’t want me to be.

Because if you think I expect a lot from you, imagine what I expect from my own flesh and blood. Imagine what I expect from myself.

I know there are people out there who think that expectations are the root of unhappiness. That if we would only stop expecting, we would save ourselves from being disappointed.

Great. The “Aim Low and Reach Your Goals” School of Thought.

I’m not matriculating there.

See, I have this crazy idea that I could be more than I am. That I can lift more, go faster, go harder, be smarter, and most likely be a hell of a lot more kinder than I am. And I’m not going to stop just because I’m afraid of disappointment. I won’t tap out. I won’t quit the WOD before the buzzer. I won’t drop the bar. You’re going to have to pry it out of my cold, dead fingers. Because I am relentless and I won’t ever give up as long as I am drawing breath on this earth.

And I suspect you’re the same way. That’s why you’re here.

So don’t listen to the bull**** and aim low. Aim for the top of the PR board. Aim for the best you’ve ever done. Aim for the everlovin’ stars.

And if you miss? It’s okay. Remember, you can cry. Just don’t be a baby. Because I’m not your mother.

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