Grit, Redefined
Photo Courtesy | Kailyn Rhinehart
BY KAILYN RHINEHART
I’ve been riding horses since I was eight years old. I’ve been thrown into the air off a horse’s back. I’ve held onto the neck of a thoroughbred as it leapt over a jump. I’ve learned how to angle my body as the being beneath me bends around barrels at breakneck speed. I’ve ridden up steep hills, my thighs clenched to the sides of the horse running wildly under them, no leather between us. The feeling I get on top of a horse is like nothing I’ve experienced on this earth before. Powerful. Steady. If there were ever a word synonymous with that feeling – the feeling from the back of a horse – it would be grit.
These days, the parts of my life requiring the most grit are the mornings I spend tackling the pungent smell coming from my youngest’s diaper. Or answering my oldest’s ever-deepening life questions we’ve sidled around for so long. And while I do consider motherhood in itself a noble role, I can’t say that each day brings the same kind of tenacity as riding horses.
Can I put motherhood and grit in the same category?
I search for the definition of grit one night from the floor of my son's room, waiting for him to fall asleep. I know he needs me near, but the uncomfortable carpet rubs against my elbows, testing my resolve. I know I will be here at least another half hour, waiting him out. I’m exhausted and want nothing more after a long day than to sit alone in silence.
I chuckle to think of what I’m doing as an outward demonstration of the word I’m looking for; lying on the carpet waiting out my toddler. But grit? I’m not so sure. My eyes scan the words on the page as I scroll, mesmerized by this word I can’t seem to shake my interest for.
What does it mean to have grit?
Five characteristics of grit.
An example of grit.
The words bounce off the screen, and all at once, I realize they define the mothers I’ve crossed paths with in this life. The ones in waiting, with patience and strength, who haven’t yet met the baby they long for. The ones in the trenches, cloaked in doubt, still brimming with courage. The ones fighting through the turmoil of daily motherhood, fueled by determination.
Strength of character, courage, and resolve. Character branded by the hottest iron with the stamp of grit.
These are the mothers I know.
The mothers with skin so thick, muscles so strong, and courage so powerful it thunders louder than a thousand horses. The mothers don’t falter when faced with circumstances they never expected. Who turn to face the trials they never hoped to endure and fears they never wished upon their worst enemy. These are the mothers who stand next to the definition of grit and uphold it.
The ones who smile with grace and heal their traumas. The mothers who fight their own battles in order to then confidently stand on the frontlines for their children, capable and secure. These are the ones chiseled into greatness by grit.
***
I watch my daughter’s face light up as I ride past her, glancing at the cornfield to the left of us. Horses dot the pastures, grazing as the air cools before the sun retreats for the evening. My whole body lights up not only doing what makes me feel strongest but doing it alongside her.
Turning to face my daughter across the arena, I watch her watching me. She squares her shoulders on the back of her horse, mirroring mine. I sit up straighter and watch her posture grow shortly after. Tiny action after tiny action, I notice her body doing the same as mine.
I steer the horse I’m riding next to the longest fence line. The corner of my lip begins to curl into a smirk. With a swoop of my reins and a slow angle of my posture, I cue the dark bay horse forward. Despite the fact that it’s been years since my body was on the back of a horse, my muscles remember.
The hooves beneath me thunder across the loose dirt, spraying a cloud of dust behind them. I watch her face marvel at me from across the arena. I choose to savor this memory like the richest dessert for the inevitable chapter where my daughter no longer finds me “cool.” Most of all, I want her to see me – all of me.
Beyond her perception of me riding a horse, I want her to see my strength. I want her to know that with each trial motherhood has sent me, it’s filed away the old and renewed a new sense of purpose. The coarseness has given me smoother edges. The struggles have given me courage.
I pull my horse up next to her, flashing a smile and awaiting her response. “Whoa, you were going fast!” she tells me, eyes wide. “I bet I could do that!” I laugh in admiration of her confidence and pray she never lets it go.
My girl already has grit.
***
My daughter tells me she wants to be a mom when she grows up.
I can’t help but think of the events which will inevitably meet her on her path. How will I protect her if she is faced with loss? How can I comfort her if she experiences things beyond my control or understanding?
Mothers come to be often differently from the next; some with a detailed plan, while others walk into this role haphazardly, unconventionally, or painfully – hearts and souls formed by grit. Mothering with courage through pain, endurance from tiresome days, tenacity slogging through trials we never expected. None enter in or continue through as they expected. The path contains neither an ending nor rest stops. No mother sits down at the table fully prepared, nor are they given a handbook, carefully detailed notes, or a cheat sheet.
Strength of character.
Courage and resolve.
Branded by the hottest flames.
That’s grit; that’s motherhood.
KAILYN RHINEHART is a wife and mama to two wild blond babes, currently living in Missouri. She is an avid list-maker, freelance writer, and consumer of coffee in any form. With a degree in Early Childhood Education and Psychology, she is a kindergarten teacher turned mama-writer. A New Englander at heart, she and her family live wherever the military sends them.