What fills you

Recently, I've found myself saying "yes" to more opportunities presented to me. This is different for me because I'm more of a "no, thanks" person. I like my quiet and my routine, I like my space and my schedule. So "no thanks" keeps me in that comfortable, safe space where I have lots of room to breathe.

These "yes's" have, at times, come after a nagging thoughts "You really should try this"..."This will be fun". So perhaps its just me listening to my intuition more closely.

But with these "yes's" comes a bit of "yes" regret. The feeling in your belly when you look at your calendar and see all those yes's laid out. The voice inside that says "You really need to learn to say No!". But wait, I just learned how to say yes!

Last weekend, I had "yes'd" my way into two separate commitments. For a working mom who only has her weekends, the thought of giving up both days was bumming me out. But I went, I showed up, I followed through with my "yes".

Ya know what happened?

I felt GREAT! I had so much fun at both events. I met great people, saw great people and had great conversations. Rather than feeling drained and stressed from my "yes's". They filled me up!

So I think that's the key.

Choose the things in life that fill you up, that make you feel good. Not cookie and wine good, but real full in your heart good.

I had an afterschool Staff meeting this week which was based on professional development. Usually, these things are a drainer, an energy suck. However this week I was able to sit with other Speech-Language Pathologists and talk strategies, and talk visuals, and talk progress and stress and frustration and talk that little light bulb moment the kids' have that makes it all worth it. I walked away with that spark reignited. I walked away filled up.

This looks different for all of us. Maybe you are filled up watching your kid's play sports, or selling your product. Maybe it's time at the gym or time with your running shoes. Maybe you run a club or coach a sport. Maybe reading a book fills you up or presenting at a conference.

I think part of our journey in this life is to find our fillers- the good ones- and do them. I think if we all took more time to do the things that fill us up, we'd live in a different world.

So maybe my experiment with "yes" has little to do with the actual word and more to do with knowing myself well enough to know what fills me up.

Find your thing and do it. Fill the world with those good vibes and start a revolution.

This weekend is filled with "yes's" from PTO events, to chaperoning field trips, to hosting parties. Hopefully by Halloween, I'll be too heart-full to binge on candy!

Embracing the dark side

Last week was rough. 

There were hormones, which never really help make anything easier, dwindling summer patience, a bug problem, and an interaction which left me feeling less than positive, to say the least, to do lists galore together with the anxiety of impeding transitions. 

Yup, last week was rough.

When you write a blog entitled "Choose the Light Side" and you focus so much time and attention to your mindset and outlook on life, your faith and spirituality- you have certain expectations of yourself. 

Like you'll shit glitter, or something. 

But some days (weeks, moments) aren't like that.

Sometimes you react, or become negative or overwhelmed or let your emotions speak where they've been quiet for so long. 

And sometimes after that happens, I feel bad. "Fuck" says the spiritual gangster inside me "I should know better". "Where is my zen?!".

Even my husband has a tendency to remind me to "Choose the light side, Laurie" when I'm on a tangent about this or that.

But ya know what, I don't shit glitter and rainbows. Sometimes, the light dims. Sometimes, the shadows creap up on me. 

And ya know what, I decided that's OK. It's more than OK, in fact, it's human. It's real. And it's necessary.

That negativity, that dark side, those shadows need room to breathe. You need to process that shit and let it run its course. You need to scream or run or yogi or vent that shit out until you feel clearer. Until you can see the light again. 

This week, my priest quoted a friend of his who said "There is no darkness, only the absence of light." 

I liked that. Felt more acceptable to think there are no dark parts of you, just ones you haven't lit up yet. Ones to "work on", I suppose. To acknowledge, to see, to inquire about.

Inquiry has been a powerful tool for me in the process of emabracing the dark side. 

When feelings surface or I have a big reaction to something or even when I find myself reaching for the cookies- I have learned to stop and ask myself "What is this really about?", "Where did these feelings come from and do they even belong to you?". Because I know enough to know now, it's never really about the cookies.

Don't get me wrong, sometimes the cookies still win, or I go bat shit crazy on my kids. I mean, it's not a perfect system- it's a practice!

This inquiry practice and learning to sit with my feelings- negative and positive- has given me so much insight into the stories and beliefs I carry around. It's helped me see my bruises and work to heal those. 

But most importantly, it's enouraged me to love and accept all the parts of me. The light side and the dark side. The jealous and the grateful. The angry and the joyful. 

I may not shit glitter and rainbows but I make a hell of a lemonade out of those lemons.  

It's just a body...

It's just a body. 

Those are four words I couldn't have imaged uttering several years ago. 

I had become so consumed with what my body looked like and how much it weighed and who thought what about it. Consumed. Obsessed. Compulsive. Just 

a body wasn't a thing, it was everything!

And now, when I see images or read articles about body image and even body positivity, I can't help but think- it's just a body...

My mindset around this has come so full circle it's almost shocking to me at times. 

When I am at Crossfit in the middle of a WOD, I'm not distracted by thoughts of "Man, my ass must be jiggling during these box jumps" or "Wow, she must think I'm a cow". Usually I'm distracted by thoughts of "I wonder if I'll die during this workout" but that a story for another day!

When I'm playing with my kids at the beach, I'm not thinking "Ooh, that skinny lady in the bikini must be looking at my cellulite".

When I walk into a room, I'm not scanning to see if anyone is fatter than me. 

Because, after all, it's just a body.

And thank goodness we are so much more than that.

We are our minds and our sense of humor. We are our smile and our radiance. We are our analytical minds and our creativity. We are our hearts and our love. Our gratitude and our laughter. We are our heaviness and our tears. We are a constellation of light.

And yes, all that goodness (Godness) is wrapped in a body. 

My body can run and jump rope without pain. It can lift heavy shit and carry my children.

Maybe yours can dance or swim. Maybe it can walk or maybe it can't.

Maybe yours can help make music or art. Maybe it can inspire others with its strength or flexibility. 

Maybe your body can create and sustain life and maybe it can't. 

It's a body and it's yours but don't get caught up in the limitations of it. It's a body and it's yours, but don't get frustrated at the sight of it. It's a body and it's yours, so appreciate the existence of it. 

Treat it well and give it love.

 But do not fret, after all, it's just a body. 

Lessons from a year in blogging

Facebook's On This Day feature kindly reminded me this morning that it was 1 year ago when I published my first blog post.

Because last summer was so eventful- selling a house, buying a house, moving- I've been playing the "a year ago today game" quite a bit recently. All while being very grateful that all that upheaval is behind us. This, however, was an "anniversary" I've been looking forward to!

One year ago, I started writing and sharing and here's what I've learned so far....

* It's freaking cathartic!!!!
Taking these stories and ideas and words out of my head and sending them out to the universe allows more space in my head for other things. Like joy, and peace, and even a little quiet. My head has always been a busy place but writing allows me to let go of some of that busy.

* The fear and anxiety of sharing doesn't go away.
Every single time I press publish, I immediately regret it. I immediately want to delete the post and forget I ever wrote it. It takes a lot of courage to hit publish, to send out your thoughts, to own your ideas. The tricky part is not giving into that impulse and instead riding out the fear, which by the way, has proven to be 100% unnecessary.

* Our stories are our own.
 Our interpretation and understanding of our stories belong to only us. People in your life may see things differently and not agree with your perspective. And that's OK, because that's THEIR story. I used to require lots of outside validation from the people around me. Always looking for the A or the likes and comments and compliments. And now I realize, selfishly, I'm good - all on my own. I don't write for the kudos from others but instead because I have a story to share and that's enough. I'm enough.

* Your words and ideas will ALWAYS resonate with someone.
Each and every time I post of blog, I get a text or an email or a comment from someone near or far that reads something like this "I needed to read this today". So as much as I no longer look for outside affirmation, knowing my words can help others keeps me writing, keeps me sharing, keeps me pressing publish. We are all far more alike than we are different.

*I am a writer.
I've always been hesitant to use a verb form of a noun. For example, I may run, but I would never call myself a runner. There is too much ownership there. Too much responsibility to the cause. Adding that -er morpheme changes the weight of the word for me. But this year, I've taken ownership of the -er. I am a lot of things- a mother, a teacher, an organizer and event planner, a crossfitter, a singer and yes, I am even a writer. It feels good to take ownership, to name your strengths and passions and to live that. But I'm still not a runner!

I'm so grateful that you all have come on this journey with me over this year! That you've taken the time to read my blog and send comments and messages. It truly means the world.

Trust and balance

Around New Years, people on IG were posting about #onelittleword - A campaign to choose a word that would represent 2016. I played along and chose this...

Trust. Not something that comes easily to me. I'm the kind of person whose inclination is to spend much time in my head. My head is the questioner, the doubter, the voice of fear and negativity. 

I wanted a quieter voice, to spend less time in my head and more time in my heart, in my gut. To trust that my life was unfolding just as it should be and to know that the voice that said otherwise was just being a jerk.

Fast forward to this week. It's my summer vacation and this year, things look different. I'm not working-at all, and instead spending the days with my kids. 

I'm not setting my alarm to wake up at 5:00 AM to work out because most days I'll make a plan to work out when I feel like it. 

I'm not necessarily waking up and journaling every morning. Or meditating every morning.  I'm not meal prepping and planning my dinners or making my lunches in mason jars. 

Lots of my routines and rituals that I cling to so fiercely have fallen by the wayside in the past few weeks. 

For a type A personality such as myself, this is alarming! 

And so the voice re-appeared.

 

"What are you doing with your time?" "You're not being productive enough"

"You're going to ruin all your progress"

"You will not be balanced without your routines and rituals"

"You're going to regress and start binging    if you're not careful"

So I listed to the voice and I heard her but I thought instead of reacting. 

I reflected instead of freaking out.

I trusted instead of worrying.

And what I decided was that my choices now are OK. I've come far enough in my journey, in my healing, to incorporate balance, to trust. 

My meditative practices aren't on a yoga mat in my basement but instead are a moment of gratitude at the beach. In a silent "thank you" I breathe in when I see my kids (actually) playing and getting along. When I wake up to another beautiful, blue sky. 

I'm reading more and reflecting more throughout the day so it's ok if it doesn't get done first thing in the morning. 

And if I'm not hungry, I don't NEED to eat that egg white omlet first thing in the morning. I can trust my body will tell me when it's hungry and I will respond appropriately. 

This from a girl who ate religiously according to meal plan doctrine, even when she quit meal plans!

My routines and rituals are so important to me. But yin and yang, ebb and flow, black and white mix to gray. Balance. 

This "go with the flow" feels amazing. I'm thrilled that I can find the motivation to show up for a WOD after a day at the beach. Or have the balls to go to a boxing boot camp that I haven't attended in years. I'm even more psyched to trust the days when walking the dog is enough exercise for me. And when I am listening to my hunger cues instead of eating according to the clock. 

I am trusting my body and listening to her. 

And even more importantly, on the days when the sky is falling, when my CNN alerts are full of hate and guns and tragedy. I can trust. I can trust that we will figure all this out. That we will do better. That love will prevail.

In January I picked a word. And in July, I'm living that word a little bit more. 

And damn it feels good. 

A reflection of you

"Thank you for sharing you son with us, he is a joy! He is a reflection of you, know that..."

Those words came from a Thank-You note I received that week. Those words broke me open. They took my breath away.

He is a reflection of you

I often say being a parent is like being forced to look in a mirror. You watch a little version of you act, say, be a little version of you. You watch the tantrums and the emotional outbursts, the love of music and lack of athletic ability.

And you chuckle "just like her mom"! Genetics are a strong force.

Sometimes looking in that mirror is difficult. You know your struggles and you wish your child a different path. If you are shy, you want them to be outgoing. If you are fat, you wish them to be thin.

But sometimes, we need to look in that mirror and see the beauty. See the good. Admire what's there. Sometimes, we need to look at our children and acknowledge them for the gifts they are.

This little message from the Universe in the form of a Thank You note is quite fitting with my newest read, "The Awakened Family: A Revolution in Parenting" by Shefali Tsabary PhD. This book is knocking my socks off! So much so that I've been underlining and highlighting like a 4th grader. 

Dr. Shefali has so many thought provoking points in this book, but my favorite so far is the theory that we are triggered by our children when they do/say/behave in a way that points to a lack in ourselves. She holds that our triggers are due to unresolved issues of our past or our own childhood and not at all the fault of our children. 

This hit home for me in the area of "emotional outbursts". When I was a kid and had "big, upset reactions", which to be honest, was quite a bit, my father would say "Enough with the histrionics, Laurie". I learned that big, upset reactions were not welcome. That I was to be even-tempered. Even though this was not what was being modeled for me. 

Today, when one of my children has a "big, upset reaction" it's a total trigger for me! My reaction is to yell and send them to their room, which only makes things worse. Thanks to some help from a counselor friend, we've been working on other strategies to help with these situations. 

Strategies to diffuse instead of enflame. Strategies to name a process the feelings to allow them to disapate. 

We're all allowed histrionics sometimes!

Dr. Shefali also discusses a 'clash of time zones'. Because the culture of parenting is obsessed with our children reaching goals and creating a "happy" future for themselves, parents micromanage their children's lives based on these future goals. The clash occurs because the child is in the now, the today, the present. And parents are in the 10-20 years from now making judgments about their children's future success based on the actions of a 7 year old. Parents are living and operating from a place of fear that their child won't be enough, or do enough. No wonder we are screaming at them all the time!

"If we don't whip them into shape now, they will be failures in life and that will be a reflection on me"

Such. Juicy. Stuff.

I'm only half way through and it's already brought me so many "aha" moments. 

And yet, it took that note from a teacher to really drive it home. 

Whether we mean to be or not, we are hard on our kids. We expect them to toe the line and follow directions and be emotionally stable and never in a bad mood or upset. And yet, is that how WE behave?!

My husband will tell you no, that's for sure!

My "working on" this summer is to see my kids as they are. To meet them where they are. And to love them for who they are.  

It's what I want from the people in my life, so why wouldn't I give that to my most special loves. My creations. My reflections. 

Why wouldn't I let that reflection show me the beauty, the good, the strengths they bring? 

The reconciliation of my faith

I grew up in a household where we went to church. Every Sunday. No matter what. Church and God and Religion were a huge part of my upbringing. 

To be honest, I was always into it. I loved the music and the traditions and the pomp and circumstance. I became an altar server and eventually found my way to the choir. 

Even when I left home for college and graduate school, I would find my way to a local church on Sundays (evenings, when the hangover from the weekend's shenanigans had disapated). It was important to me and I found myself craving the solace, the peace, the sameness I found in that hour.

Still, there were things (many things) about church and religion that didn't sit well with me, especially as my liberal instincts grew. 

I felt myself slipping away. Showing up at mass because it was where I could sing regularly and because it made my mother happy but not taking much from that time.

During that time, I still considered myself "spiritual" but was ready to leave the religion, the church behind.

When I had kids, something changed. Something inside of me longed to feel connected again to something bigger. And in the past few years, that need has only increased.

I've read many books and listened to countless podcasts. About angles and intentions and spirit. About creating our reality and living in the now. About being present and feeling that connection with something bigger. About sitting in the silence and Knowing. About raising your vibration and connecting to your true path.

Not about religion and church.

These things resonated so strongly with me, I wondered how this correlated to my religious beliefs.

 I needed to make sense of it, to make it fit. 

I needed to reconcile my faith. 

So this is how I see it. Faith. I have a strong faith in a power, a divinity that created us and is of us and in us. I believe we all have access to the power of love which creates and connects. 

I believe that Jesus Christ was a model of our divine, human potential. 

I believe that church can be a building- but it is more important for it to be an action.

I believe that God is everywhere, omnipresent, because he resides in all of us. He is the Light and so are we. 

For the first time, I have been able to accept and to make peace with just how strong my faith is and just how much I rely on it.

In the past, that felt weak to me. It felt childish. 

But now, I see that it might be the bravest part of me. 

I still attend mass (almost) every Sunday, no matter what. I still sing and my son is an altar server. These days, I take much more than I leave. I listen to the words with different ears and hear the things I need to hear. 

But I also find church on a run, or in the sunrise, or on a walk. I find church in a conversation with a friend or in a goose bump moment. I find church in the Light shining from my children.

Mass is on Sundays but church is everyday, everywhere.

We are taught that much like politics and money- one should not discuss religion. But my reconciliation has only happened because I chose to talk about it, to think about it, to live it openly. 

I can't help but wonder what the world we live in would look like if we all connected more often on this subject. If we shared our thoughts and beliefs the way we share our grievances and pain.

 I can't help but think it would help us all to reconcile, to understand, to accept, to open our hearts and minds and do us all some good.

Write your own story

This came up on my Instagram account this week and right away, I knew I had to share it and add a little reflection.  

 I've been struggling lately with this. With this letting people who make different choices than I do, make those choices. Sometimes, when I hear an opinion or philosophy that's different than mine, I get, like, offended. My feathers, they get ruffled. This doesn't happen with everything but seems particularly feather-ruffling when it's a topic I'm passionate about or I have some experience with.

A hurt I'm trying to heal.

It's sort of like when you have a bruise and you touch it and it hurts and then you keep touching it over and over again to see if it still hurts. It's sort of like that. 

I realized this week, it's about making my story, their story. Because an event or experience impacted me a certain way, I assume it will have the same impact on everyone. And ya know what? That simply can't be true.

My story is my story. And your story is your story. There may be some similarities. The main characters may share a similar struggle or problem, but the resolution can be different from all of us.

We all choose our own adventure.

One of the biggest ways I see this impacting me daily is with discussions/posts/ads for various dieting methods. Even the word "diet" makes me shudder.

You see, I am still healing from my restrict/binge/clean eating obsessed/ self-diagnosed ED-NOS. And while I've made lots of progress in normalizing my relationship with food and my loving my body and treating it well, the posts and ads about 21-30-60 day fixes/cleanses/meal plans still make me want to scream.

Like the bruise that I keep on touching to see if it still hurts.

I know I'm projecting my story and experiences onto this. I know I'm making my (long, long, long) story about weight loss and food issues be everyone's story.

But every time I read something about the newest "thing". I want to scream

"STOP- THIS IS NOT A DIET-THIS IS YOUR LIFE"

I want the shakes, and plastic purple containers and pills,'slim down for summer' , 'get your body beach ready' and before/after pictures to just GO AWAY!!!

Did you hear me? I was yelling, throwing a temper tantrum really.

Because if I can't be around all that stuff without relapsing into a dark and obsessive place than clearly no one else can, right? Well, probably wrong. Probably some people can handle food restriction without a binge. Probably some people can turn a meal plan into moderation.

But I couldn't, I can't. I don't want too. I'm too busy over here healing. Living my life and not obsessing over my next meal or the macros in my lunch. I'm over here working out to be strong, not to be skinnier. I'm over here doing me. Healing me. Loving me.

That's my story. That's my adventure.

And you? You can be over there with your meal replacement shakes and your 21-30-60 day cleanses and that's Ok. 

That's your story. That's your adventure.

Just let's make a deal, ok? Let's make a deal that this 'diet' is still your life. That you are still living and breathing and appreciating your body NOW, TODAY- for what it can do and for what it does. Every body deserves that, beach ready or not...

As long as we're both living, both choosing our adventures. It's all good.

But please, stop waving your plastic, purple containers in my face. You're blocking my view.

Grief and lessons and gifts

If you look up the definition of the word grief- you will see that it means "deep sorrow". Frankly, I hate the word.

I'm not sure if it's the harsh 'gr' blend in the beginning or the way when you say it too much, it starts to sound weird, made up. Or if it just reminds me of Charlie Brown. 

The word grieving is better. Grieving is an act, a verb, an action. And yet, the process of grieving is comprised mostly of in-action.

There are many analogies describing grief. Trying to paint a picture of this complex process of 'deep sorrow'. To me-grieving is like being covered with a heavy, weighted blanket. Or stuck in a choking, thick fog. You are seemingly able to breathe, to move, to live under these conditions- only, everything seems so heavy, so difficult. Every breath you take is suffocated by the fog, but only you can feel that. You live your day to day life under this heavy blanket but only you can feel how weighted down life is. Your breaths are shallow for fear of choking and your eyes are clouded through the fog.

Though I've lost many loved ones, I never understood grieving until my father passed. Likely because I choose so often to eat my feelings rather than feel them. His death gave me cause to stop and understand what was happening. What this grieving process was. To honor it and to breath through the fog. 

Despite the challenges, the tears and numbness, the anger and hurt. This grief allowed me to learn many lessons, there were gifts in this grief. Here are just a few:

1- Perspective. Probably the biggest lesson of grief is perspective. You may be having a bad day, a bad morning, a bad moment- but nothing is worse than that day you got the phone call or the test results or when the police showed up at your door. The moment when the bottom fell out. I can close my eyes and remember exactly how it felt to hear my mother say that my father had died. I'll never forget the moments following as I frantically called my husband and rushed to her house. THAT was a bad day...  Perspective makes it almost a crime to make a big problem out of a little one. Makes it a sin to sweat the small stuff. That sort of perspective changes the way you look at your life and this world.

2- Empathy. I'm not talking about greeting card empathy. I'm talking about punch you in the gut and knock the wind out of you empathy. The PTSD kind. The kind that brings you to your knees beside a friend or acquaintance or stranger and whispers "I've been through this and it sucks and I'm here for you". The kind that leaves you sobbing at a wake. The kind that knows it doesn't matter what you do or say when someone is hurting from loss, as long as you do or say something. As long as you show up. Prior to my father's death, I didn't know. I didn't realize how important that showing up is to those in pain, in hurt, to those grieving. The people in my life who showed up for me are the ones who pulled me through when the fog was so thick. One step at a time, they helped me find my way.

3- The finite-ness of time. Today. Now. It's all we've been promised and it's all we've got. This lesson is a difficult one especially for someone who loves plans and dreams of the future as much as I do. But its helped me realize that today we can start. Today we can do- something, anything- for today is all we have. I recently overheard a stressed-out, overwhelmed  mother say "I just want today to be over" and it was all I could do not to reply "but what if today was the last one you had?". Would you wish it away? Would we make mountains out of small problems? Would we complain about the size of our thighs or our husband's socks on the floor? Or would we just take it all in. Would we just open our hearts and say the things we've been wanting to say? If today was the last chance you had, what would you do with it?

4- Gratitude. It seems odd that my greatest lessons on gratitude would come from death, but alas, they have. Directly related to learning how precious all our moments are comes appreciating them- the moments. The tiny, magical things that happen every day. It may be when your child smiles at you, or when a student you've been working with makes a breakthrough and the light bulb goes on. It may be something funny or something mundane, like your mother finishing a load of laundry for you while at your house. But it is in seeing this moments, acknowledging them and appreciating them- that is where joy lives. The kind of joy that gives you goose bumps and makes you tear up. The kind of joy that allows you to whisper a "thank you" to the universe. A deep sense of gratitude for the moments. As a long time student of Oprah, I've kept a gratitude journal for years. But these days, my entries look much different. I look deeper to find the good things and I take a moment to remember them, to sit with them.

5- Faith. This is a big one. Perhaps the biggest. The greatest gift that grief has given me is faith. Faith that he's still here. Faith that despite his body being gone, his soul continues to linger. He shows up in his powder blue Mercury Grand Marquis driving slowly in front of us during a snow storm. He shows up when the grandkids mention their "Papa" seemingly out of the blue, or when a Roy Orbison song comes on the radio. This faith has been my savior. It has pulled me out from under that heavy blanket and allowed me to breathe again. The kind of breath that fills your lungs, opens your heart and heals you.

As we approach the second anniversary of my father's passing. It's hard not to look back to see the grieving as you'd see the sunset in the rear view mirror of a car. It was just last year when I realized how heavily that blanket weighed on me, how that thick fog suffocated my joy.

So with the encouragement of a friend, I stepped out of the fog. I allowed the grief to pass through me and I took that blanket off.

I began to reconnect, with myself, with my family, with my husband. I became present. For while my father's heart had stopped beating- mine has not. And while his voice was silenced- mine is not. The light inside me started to glow a bit brighter.  I could laugh without feeling guilty and watch my children, feeling only joy.  Instead of grieving,  I was healing.

The 'deep sorrow' of my father's death will always rest in my bones but now, I can breathe. And more importantly, I can see the lessons and appreciate the gifts that came with that.

It's been a journey but I'm lucky to have learned a bit along the way.

Investing in you

"Mom guilt" is a serious affliction that is pervasive in our lives and in our culture. It's why mom's (parents- to be fair) ignore their own needs in the face of their children's needs. Its why you'll use a sick day when your child is sick, but force yourself to show up at work when you are ill. It's why we'll spend megabucks on a fancy Easter dress for our daughters and forget that we have nothing to wear.

We give, we prioritize, we sacrifice. It's part of being a parent.

But, what if? What if we put our name back on the to-do list? What if we decided it was OK to invest a bit in ourselves instead of only investing in our kids. What if we decided that we ourselves were worth the time, money, resources we so freely give to them?

What if we decided to stop feeling guilty for all of it, too?

What if?

I think what would happen is that we'd have a generation of happier moms. I think we'd all but put an end to "Mommy wars" and significantly decrease the "mom guilt". I think a society of empowered, balanced women would do a world of good for our universe. I think there would be less "hole filling" and binging on Netflix, or ice cream, or wine, or even prescription drugs and Target trips.

Imagine if we stopped telling the story that to be a "good mother" means you sacrifice yourself in the process.

Imagine, if instead, the story was more about ways to KEEP yourself in the process.

To nourish and invest in the parts of you that bring joy and light and balance.

To allow yourself a few bucks to update your wardrobe, or get a pedicure every two weeks, or join a gym, or take music lessons, or drive the car you really wanted.

I'm not talking about living beyond our means and incurring ridciulous amounts of debt, I'm talking about putting ourselves on the list.

I'm talking about realizing it's OK to invest in yourselves just as you do for karate or gymnastics or Little League or Lacrosse (lessons, equipment, uniforms, fundraisers, etc etc etc). Because the truth is we do it for them without even blinking an eye. We do it for them without question or pause.

Why don't we deserve the same?

When we give and give and give of ourselves,we end up with an empty cup. We end up bitter and angry and feeling like we need fill ourselves up again. But usually, with the wrong kind of stuff.

Keeping ourselves on the list and filling up that cup on a regular basis will help to ensure that our cup never runs dry.

 

I'm obsessed with the gas gauge in my car. It may be because I ran out of gas in a friend's car as a teenager. Even 20 years later, I rarely let my tank go under 1/4 full. In fact, I usually fill up on Sunday's even when I don't "need" it. My husband thinks I'm nuts.

But maybe my gas tank approach would be an excellent way to approach the rest of our lives. If we remember to regularly fill ourselves up, whether we "need" it or not, it may prevent us from being stuck on the side of the road waiting for a rescue.

It may prevent us from screaming at our husbands, or children, or co-workers, or strangers on the internet because our tank is full- or at least 1/2 full.

It may make us more likely to extend kindness and compassion instead of anger and hostility.

And wouldn't that be so much nicer.

So, I encourage you moms- put yourselves back on the list. Sign up for that spin class, or book a facial. Go buy a fabulous new dress or those expensive shoes. Or just go for a walk, alone, and  take some deep breaths. Call a friend and arrange a play-date for YOU!

Fill your tank, invest in you. Don't wait until your broken down on the side of the road. Instead, start today and make it a habit. 

  Oh yeah, and screw the guilt!

What is a "comfort zone" anyway?!

This quote is one I've read often. 

To be honest, I never got it. I never quite understood the "comfort zone" thing. What the hell is a comfort zone and how do I get out of it?!

Recently, life has schooled me on just that. 

First, I joined a local Crossfit gym. In reality, my husband forced me into a local Crossfit gym. He did so in my best interest. It was more like a permission slip to do something for myself. 

The past few weeks of intro classes and my first WOD's have outlined my comfort zone fairly well.

My comfort zone is waking up and exercising alone in my basement at 5AM. My comfort zone is doing my thang without disrupting the flow of family time. My comfort zone included me, my DVD player and some weights.

Outside my comfort zone turned out to be everything that Crossfit is. Other people,  after school- when I was already tired from my day, coaches critiquing and workouts that left me feeling less than "fit". 

Every step into that Crossfit box was a war with my inner critic ("the voice" I call her) telling me I don't belong there, I'm too fat, I'm a mom and just need to go home to my kids who need me- who do I think I am, anyway?!) 

Luckily, I know her voice well enough by now to know that I could tell her to go f-off. 

Luckily, I've done enough work to know that walking through the anxiety and discomfort will be worth it and the feelings will pass. 

And this is how I realized just where my comfort zone was. And this is how I realized that stepping outside of it can leave me feeling like a bad ass. 

My comfort zone is my routine. My comfort zone are the things I do daily and weekly- part of my schedule- that keep the boat anchored safetly in the harbour. My comfort zone means not making too many waves and keeping all the balls up in the air.

And as much as I love my routine and sameness. This foray into the "outside" has left me with a more clear understanding of why reaching beyond that comfort zone can be so beneficial to personal growth and development. Why it adds more "life" to the one you've been living.

I sing at church and have done so for the past, oh probably, 20 years. It's what remains of the "music" in my life and helps that musical side of me breathe.

About a year ago I heard an amazing version of " Hallelujah" from Kelly Mooney. I sent it over to my pastor who immediately said "Let's do it!". Fast forward to this week, being an Easter song we decided that Easter mass would be the time to make it happen. I rehearsed and prepared. But even as I did so, I doubted.

This song was such a departure from the traditional hymns done at mass- what would people think?! Is it too much?! The voice in my head told me, in fact, it was and maybe I should just stick to the traditional Easter hymn I always sang. But I proceeded. 

I sang, right outside of my comfort zone and it was so warmly received by the same people I was sure I'd offend that it took my breath away. 

It was magic and a little bit of an Easter miracle. 

 Magic happens when you stretch yourself and reach outside of the routine to do something more or different than you normally do. Magic happens when you trust in yourself enough and stop listening to "the voice".

Pure magic. 

Is magic happening at Crossfit? 

Well, I'm learning to support and encourage others and to let them see me sweat (literally and figuratively)- dropping that expectation and pretense of perfectionism. 

I'm learning to listen to coaches and not take their support as an assault on my "not good-enough-ness".

 And most importantly, I'm learning to see my own strength. 

So yeah, a little bit of magic. A little bit of everything I've been "saying" for the past year, thinking and writing about, has now turned to "doing" to "action". A little more living.  

Eleanor Roosevelt it famous for saying "Do something everyday that scares you". Maybe that something is walking into a new gym and letting your husband plan dinner. Maybe it's giving up control or letting your opinion be known. 

That scary thing, whatever it may be to you, is outside of your comfort zone.

Reach for it, I promise, it will be worth it!

When the bottom falls out

If there's one thing certain about life, it's the uncertainty. One day, you'll be floating  through life with seeming ease and the next thing you know, the bottom falls out from under you.

Maybe you loose your job, or get sick, or discover some awful reality, maybe someone in your life whose been hanging on by a thread decides it's too much. Maybe a file cabinet in the middle of the highway kills a family member (that's a real story from last week).

No matter what it is, when these things happen in our world, it feels like the bottom falls out. The solid ground you were standing on just a minute ago has suddenly disappeared. 

You find yourself unsure, scared, angry, incredulous. 

Just a minute ago everything was fine. How could this happen?! What did I do to deserve this?

It's like a punch in the gut, the wind is knocked out of you and without solid ground beneath your feet- you fall. 

The scary thing about all this uncertainty is not knowing when that other shoe is going to drop. Not knowing when the tests will show a malignancy or when the phone call will come. 

Not knowing is the hard part.

Here's one thing we do know- the other shoe will always drop. One day, whether tomorrow or 10 years from now, you'll get that phone call or those test results or see a file cabinet in the middle of the highway.

 Bad things happen- they just do.

So the way I see it is we either wait in fearful anticipation of our bad news or know that whatever happens, we will survive. 

Even the worst of the worst. Even the death of a parent or child. Even watching someone you love suffer or continue to cause themselves pain. Even the thing you are most scared of- you will survive.

I'm not saying it won't be awful, I'm not promising that your heart won't be broken and ripped out. There will be disappointment and pain. But you will survive.

People have survived war and the holocaust. They survived the suffering and loss of parents and children. They have survived unimaginable personal tragedy.

You survive. You change. You see the world differently. But your survive. 

When you're bottom falls out, people show up. Gifts, and lessons and miracles show up. Safety nets to break your fall. They show up. You don't fall alone. 

This week my bottom fell out. My immediate reaction was anger- "How dare this fucks up my zen?!?" "I was doing so well, now what?!?". Then I remembered, life isn't promised to be sunshine and rainbows. No one ever said that.

So I cried and yelled, I screamed and sobbed in the Market Basket parking lot. I prayed out loud to my angels, begging really, for help for guidance for peace.

And then I did something new- I reached out, I opened up.

I sent some texts and made some phone calls. I talked and I listened. I felt the emotions- all of them. I opened up and my safety nets appeared- and for that I allowed myself to feel gratitude.

Then I wrote down the problem on a piece of paper, put it in my "God box" and let it go. 

I don't know how this story will end. I'm not even convinced it will have an ending. The shoes may just keep falling.

But here's what I know- my safety nets are there. My faith in God's grace and compassion help me believe that there will always be something to soften the fall.

This beautiful window (courtesy of Almost Fancy Designs- find her on Facebook!) has been hanging in my house for about a month now. This week I've been reading it a lot...

Here's hoping we all find our strength, our comfort and our light. 

The funny thing about nostalgia

Nostalgia is defined as a sentimental longing or wistful feeling for the past.

And it's a funny thing that nostalgia.

Recently I took a drive by our "old" house. The first house hubby and I purchased together, where we brought home our babies. 

The house I hated and couldn't wait to sell. 

But as I drove by (in a slow, creepy-like manner) I felt a distinct tug on my heart. A nostalgia for this house we used to call home. 

I didn't remember the tiny living room, or the holes in the backyard. I didn't remember the noise from the highway and constant sirens. I just remembered the "homey-ness" of that house. 

 

You're memories of childhood don't include when your brother smacked you with a hockey stick but endless summer days spent in the pool.

Memories of high school are full of laughter and friends and performances, not hormones and angst and always feeling out of place.

It's almost as if nostalgia takes your memories and paints over them with watercolor. So the edges are less defined but the beauty remains. It all looks a little softer when taking the long view.
 

Those not so sunny memories are still there, of course, but when nostalgia hits, they take a back seat to the good stuff. 

In my circle, there is understandably lots of nostalgia around our "pre-children days". When sleep was a familiar concept and we were free as the wind!  When a solo trip to Target feels wasn't the only vacation we enjoyed.

And yet, when you talk to mothers of grown children they say that THIS, NOW- with messy houses and messy diapers- this what they are nostalgic about!

Even now, we stare at the "time hop" photos on Facebook.  Our hearts melt over baby pictures and we wax poetic about our growing-too-quickly children- nostalgia.

In a few short years, we have forgotten the sleepless nights, raging post-partum hormones and bleeding nipples. Nostalgia.

But in the next breath, complain about the mess of toys or the fact that our daughter will be 4 and is still shitting in a pull-up.

Nostalgia tells me we'll laugh at that in no time and probably tell the stories about her potty training tragedies at her high school graduation party.

I have a friend who frequently uses the hashtag "these are the good old days"  to tag pictures and I find it so fitting and so true. 

These are the good old days. At least they will be once that nostalgia hits!
 

So what if, today, we took a look around and soak it in a bit. Let the beauty of today, now- marinate in our hearts. 

The funny thing about nostalgia is you mostly just remember the good stuff, anyway. So why don't we look for all that good stuff today. Before its just a wistful feeling for days gone by.

 

 

The Things I Have Now

Twice this school year I've been 100% ready for a career change- for at least a few hours. I've even gone so far as to vet this idea to friends and family and check out my licensure prospects on the DESE website. 

Upon mentioning this to a collegue- who happens to be 10 years my junior- amidst a conversation about career paths and prospects her reply to me was this "Laurie, everything you have is everything I want". 

That statement gave me pause. Pause enough to remember and realize that I, too, once wished and worked and prayed for all that I have now.

I spent countless years and hours and tens of thousands of dollars to become what I am.

And on top of that, I've worked and learned for the past 12 years to hone my craft and continue to learn every single  day. 

So why now, why this year am I so eager to move on? So restless? 

Perhaps it's too much personal development. Too many books and podcasts about designing your future.

Maybe I truly have "Life ADD" as my husband told me so many years ago. 

Possible that I'm still not sure what I want to be when I grow up.

Maybe it's feeling overwhelmed so often by paperwork and to do's, by meetings and needs despite my passion for my work.

Or the cold and dark of winter and the lack of vitamin D is bringing me down. 

I don't know where my unrest is coming from but this is what I learned today.

This is the life I prayed for. This is the life I worked for. This is the career I encourage others to persue for the many rewards and benefits that come along with it (Summer's off and early retirement, anyone?!). These are the letters I sign with pride after my name. 

And if a career change is in my future, then it will come; just like this one did. And I will trust my path without worry, or fear knowing prayers are answered and life will guide me where I need to be. 

And so it is....

Filling the hole

Most recently, I've begun to realize that ideas and pearls of wisdom seem to present themselves in themes.

And if I'm being honest- most often, these "themes" are exactly the things I need to be hearing and working on.

These themes come from podcasts I listen to, or books I'm reading or even an article on Facebook. But the connections are undeniable.

Enter- the hole.

As I started to examine and try to understand my tendency to binge eat, I first described it as "trying to fill the hole". I wasn't sure what the hole was, at first, but that's what it felt like. Digging and digging- except that it didn't really work. That hole was never full no matter how many cookies I ate.

Then, last week I re-read an article about addiction from Huffington Post last year. I loved this article and shared it with many people who were affected by addiction.

http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/the-real-cause-of-addicti_b_6506936.html

This article proposes that it's connection (or lack their of) that reinforces drug addiction. Humans have an innate need to feel connected and in the absence of a human connection will find anything to connect to- even if it's a needle. 

They are filling their "hole" with drugs. And anyone can open a newspaper and read of the devastating consequences of this desire to fill. 

Today I listened to a podcast from Ruth Soukup of Living Well, Spending Less and I heard the same message but this time- with shopping . We shop, for ourselves and our children, not because we need things but because we're trying to fill that hole. 

This struck a chord with me because not 24 hours ago I had a "Target binge". Ya know, when you go to Target for one thing and come out $150 dollars later. There are countless memes about this floating around the Internet, so I know I'm in good company!

I was filling the "hole" with stuff. Stuff that made me so happy while carrying it in my little red basket, but not so happy when I saw the damage! 

At this point in our lives, it's not about being able to "afford" a $150 Target binge, it's about the stark realization that it didn't fill the hole. 

Just like the cookies.

And the booze.

And the heroin.

And the mind-numbing social media browsing.

In fact, I would argue that nothing fills that hole.

Nothing fills that hole because there is no hole. 

When I first started recognizing and working to remediate my binge eating- I would use the mantra "this isn't going to fill the hole, Laurie" and that helped me. It allowed me to pause and examine what what really going on.

Recently, after much work, my mantra has changed to "There is no hole to fill, Laurie, you are already whole."

This mindset shift has been almost a relief. A relief in knowing that I am whole and enough. It has been a gift.

But clearly not magic as evidenced by my Target binge!

However, as soon as I heard that podcast this morning- I made the connection in the disconnection. 

I recognized my spending behavior as "hole filling". But I know from experience, there are no amount of Target trips that will fill that hole.

I need to pause and examine the "why" of my spending.

I need to do the things that make me feel whole. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not endorsing life as an eclesiastic monk. But for me, knowing I'm whole is much more fulfilling than trying to fill that hole. 

I can still shop and eat cookies and drink-  but do so mindfully. Do so because it enhances my life rather than just in an attempt at filling it.

 Do so because it brings me joy. 

My "aha" moment this morning pointed out that though I've done some work, more is left to be done. There is still a disconnection in my life because I'm still perceiving the "hole" and not the whole. 

The only remedy for this is connection. To  family, to friends, to humanity, to God. The only remedy is to reach out and look up. To make an effort to connect and to see the connections that are all around me.

So the universe has handed me my next to-do list, better get to work!

A tribute to Neely

This past week, we said goodbye to our 7 year old boxer, Neely. This is for my boy...

Growing up, we had pets. We had cats and a few hamsters (none of whom I liked very much) but that was the extent of it. I was not raised as a "dog person". To me, dogs were dirty, a little smelly and left their fur everywhere. I didn't get it.

Fast forward to 2008. Hubby, who was my fiancé at the time, introduced me to Boxer puppies. We started looking at pictures and websites and breeders and I fell in love. Those faces and wiggly bums- the cuteness was enough to melt my cold, non-dog lover heart.

So in May of 2008, we got ourselves a boxer pup. We drove to Maine and brought Neely home. Hubby didn't grow up with dogs, either, so neither of us had any idea what we were doing.

Neely, although cute- so adorably cute, wasn't easy to train (read: he was naughty). There were "walks" around the park when he refused to walk. There were eaten pillows and even eaten couches. There was doggy day care and puppy Kindergarten. There were holes dug to no where, ruining any chance of nice grass.  At some point, we stopped trying to have a well-behaved dog and just loved the one we had.

Our Neely.

Eventually, walks around the park got easier (as long as no other dog was walking by) and the accidents in the house were no longer . We stopped putting pillows on the couch and just covered up the holes in the grass.

The biggest change in Neely's life came when he became a big brother. When our 6 year old was born, we didn't know what to expect. How would Neely react? He was the center of our universe and soon to be displaced by a baby. We brought home the baby blankets so he could get used to D's smell and let him explore the nursery.

What we didn't know was that Neely would love that little baby boy. Neely would be gentle (mostly) and inquisitive. He'd alert us if D were crying and lay near his crib. He was the best big brother, our Neely. Even when the most attention I could muster was just to let him outside in the morning. Even when I resented his presence and needs due to postpartum hormones and the overwhelming stress of being a new mom. Neely was there, understanding and kind. Patient. He waited out my anxiety, knowing I'd be able to love both my babies again.

Then came our girl. Things were different between Neely and his sister even from day one. There was a special bond there. Maybe it was because Neely was older and more mellow, who knows. He became her playmate, her guardian, her dog. 

Both our children counted "puppa" among their first words. Eventually having to learn his actual name was Neely.

Our house was full, our cup runneth over, our family complete. Two kids and a dog.

We found out Neely was sick this past summer. Lymphoma. That news was difficult to digest given his young age and the fact that we just bought a new house with a beautiful backyard and a fence- just for him.

Every prognosis gave him 4-6 weeks. But not for our boy. Our boy wanted to explore his new home. Our boy wanted to leave his mark on our new backyard. Our boy still needed to run.

For many months, there weren't many symptoms. He was his usual energetic, Boxer wiggly self. I wondered if they'd misdiagnosed him. Then he started to decline. My boy, he wasn't himself.

No longer did he rush to greet us as we walked in the door. No longer did he run and play in his big backyard.

Our boy was hurting.

Loosing our first fur baby has been truly heart-breaking. I still pause at the bottom of the stairs in the morning to hear him breathing, I still look to see if his water bowl is full. I still expect him to go running to the door when someone comes in. 

The kids struggle to understand and I struggle to explain. "This is the second person whose died in our family" remarked my six year old- too young to understand so well what loss is. 

"This is why I can't have a dog" many people have said. I get that, I understand that mindset.  But, when I look at all he gave us in his short life- all the love, the laughter and the joy- I can't help but think he deserves these tears.

 This struggle is worth the reward of his life. Of his presence in our lives. The loss we feel today is equivalent to the love we had for him.

There is a void, an emptiness in our home and in our hearts.

There will be other dogs for the Dionisios,  of that I am sure. There will even be other Boxers. But there will never be another Neely.

Rest easy, my pup, you were the first dog I ever loved and your Boxer paws left a mark on my heart. 🐾❤️

New Year, New You? No need...

New year, new you. How many times have you read or heard those words over the past few weeks?

I'm calling bullshit and re-framing this concept: New Year, More You!

The thing is- whether you're into the spiritual shit or not. Your mere existence in this world is a miracle. You were created in perfect imperfection to be, just as you are, either by a divine force or scientific egg-sperm cell multiplying thing (choose your own story).

 So the world doesn't need a different you, it needs the you that you were meant to be. The you-est you you've got, the authentic you.

Who is the real you? What does that mean?

 

I don't know. That's your job to figure out. 

But here is what I've learned about me- I am most authenticly me when I am living in line with my intentions. When I am treating my body and my mind and my spirit with the respect and love it deserves. When I am nourishing my whole self. When I am taking time out to do the things that make my heart sing. When I'm trusting rather than worrying, when I choose gratitude over disappointment and silencing that negative voice in my head. When I forgive myself and others. When I let people be who they will be instead of being angry about who they are not. When the cracks in those walls I've built around my heart widen so that light shines through. When I am acknowledging and reflecting the light that shines from others. 

You may think a "new you" sounds better. Maybe a "new you" can be more positive or thinner or more organized or less anxious.

But how many of us are actually succeed in this "new you" endevour? 

Most of us get so overwhelmed with the concept, we give up after a few weeks. 

Why?

 Because a "new you" isn't the way. 

Instead, dust off the old you, let that light shine through and be MORE of the you that you are here to be. 

Because the real you, the light in you, is NOT negative, would NOT treat your body or mind or spirit poorly would NOT be anxious or judgmental or angry. 

The light in you would not say "build a wall and keep THEM out" because there is no them, there is only us.

Some of us have strayed so far from that light. Sometimes we build a wall inside ourselves to keep that light out. It's a coping strategy, it's fear. It's fear that keeps us binging on cookies, and blaming others. It's fear that keeps us addicted to drugs or shopping. It's fear that keeps us looking for the "new you". 

But it's love and light that will heal that fear. Yours. 

Just as the sun in always shining above the darkest skies, so is our light always shining behind the thickest walls.

Crack open that shit and let your light shine. 

Let your light shine- be more you- and see the light in others. It may be dim, it may be hiding behind some thick-ass clouds, but it's there. 

Be MORE you! Do not look outward for the answers. For the change. Look inward, because it's all there. The answers, the peace, the light and the love.

Be still and know. You are so good that the world doesn't need a "new you" it just needs MORE of your good stuff ❤️

Leaving you with a few of my favorite quotes courtesy of Pinterest and Instagram to help prove my point 😉