Finding Your Way in the Wilderness- Lessons on Creating a Life You Want to Live

Recently, I’ve been making my way back through Brené Brown’s work. A big change in the way I spend my days has invited me back to a place of reflection on how I am and who I want to be in this world.

This week, I re-read Braving the Wilderness. A look at belonging based on a Maya Angelou quote discussing how “belonging” is not to a place or to a people- but to yourself. And when you truly belong to you, that’s when you belong wherever it is you find yourself. Even in the wilderness.

Who are you? What do you believe?

These are big questions.

Simultaneously, I was a guest on a podcast. A local IG- turning to real life friend- Nina McGoff started a podcast called “Making Fit Work” and tapped me to discuss how I make fitness work in my life.

For a podcast junkie like myself, this was such a fun opportunity! 

As the release date of the podcast crept closer, I started to panic a little.

Was I reinforcing diet culture with my comments?

Was I going to make other listeners lean to the obsessive snd compulsive behaviors I had spent so much time healing?

Was I saying too much?

And while I’m sure much of this was a vulnerability hang over, there was something else there too.

During our conversation, Nina and I never spoke of my disordered past with eating and exercise. It just didn’t come up because it’s not my reality anymore.

Instead, we talked about the habits I have created and cultivated that have left me feeling fitter and more fabulous at 41 then I have ever felt (ya know, mostly). And mom-guilt  and giving yourself permission to take time for you. 

We talked about my now. 

As I thought about all this I realized, I finally belong to me in this one, tender piece of life. I have forged a path through the wilderness away from disordered eating, away from obsessive compulsion and comparison, away from sickness and toward healing, away from restriction and toward ease.

I have stood alone in the wilderness building resistance against the constant cry of companies wanting to sell me their shakes and powders and meal plans, learning to say “good for them but not for me” when I hear my friends jumping on a ban wagon “health” trend. I have learned to be silent or walk away from diet conversations that I know will trigger me. I don’t identify with diet culture.

But neither do I identify with the anti- diet rhetoric I clung so tightly to at the beginning of my healing journey. Was I chewing gum because I was suppressing my appetite? No, I just really love gum. Was I eating protein because I am scared of carbs? No, protein satiates me more and feels better to my belly. 

All of this questioning and reflection, this deciding means that sometimes  I am, in fact, standing alone. But what I realized is, I am standing with me. 

I am working on cultivating a life I really like to live. At this moment that includes lots of movement, some exercise, some Crossfit, eating nourishing (and easy!) foods. 

It involves listening to this body of mine and giving her what She needs. Be it rest or chocolate or sweat or protein. Turns out She knows what She needs.

And if I hadn’t made my way out to the wilderness, where it’s quiet, I may not have ever learned to hear Her.

So here I am today, on a podcast, talking about how I wake up at 4:44 am to get my workout in. And I’m good here, because here is a place I’ve uncovered. Here is a place where I belong to me. Here is where I find my joy.

Getting older gets a bad rap, and sure my knees hurt when I run but I know myself and I’m willing to be myself in a way I never was before. 

And that’s pretty good too.

So, my wish for you is to have the courage to wander into the wilderness and find your true belonging.And then talk about it on a podcast :) 

What is mental health anyway?

In order for me to truly understand a concept, a word, an idea- I need to know it fully. In order to apply it, I need repeated exposures and concrete examples. This is how I learn. 

This past spring, I walked into the school counselors office (aka my friend and therapist for whom I don’t have a co-pay) and asked her “What does mental health mean?”. 

For a phrase that’s used so much, in so many ways, it was an illusive concept to me.

We chatted about the word along with related concepts such as social-emotional and self-care and mental illness. But I still wasn’t at a true place of understanding.

Fast forward a few months when said counselor-free therapist- friend recommended I watch Oprah Winfrey’s special “The Me You Can’t See”. 

This is a brilliant series co-hosted by Prince Harry (is that still his title?) about mental health. It made the concept so much more concrete for me so I thought I’d share what I have learned.

I think “mental health” should just be called “health” or better yet “wellness”. But not the kind of wellness you buy from a direct sales company that comes in a tube. 

Wellness- are you well? 

As I look back at my own life, hindsight clearly shows me when I’ve been well and what I’ve not. 

When I became orthorexic, it was about control. I lacked control in my life so as a remedy to that I attempted to assert control over my food. My mind was unwell but it was my body that suffered.

And when I struggled with binge eating disorder, it was in an attempt to numb strong emotions that were causing me so much pain. My mind was unwell but it was my body that suffered. 

For too long I thought my issues were with food not understanding it was about my mental health. 

For me- maybe for all of us-  that mind/ body connection is so strong that any separation seems fictional. 

So all this time, I thought the habits and routines I had in place kept my body healthy but truly they are keeping my mind healthy too.

Consistent exercise, walking, sleep, rest, routines, nourishing foods, solitude and connection.  These are the keys to my health and wellness- mind and body. 

There are others, of course. Gratitude practices, podcasts, writing and singing. Also books, so many books.  It all works in harmony to keep me balanced.

Some would say that all of these things I have learned to do to take care of me would be called “self care”. It’s how I care for myself. It’s how I care for me mind. How I maintain my wellness.

Another big take away from this series is normalizing that every single person struggles with their mental health on some level. None of us are immune whether we recognize it or not. 

Lately I’ve been leaning into the notion that it’s not an on/ off switch. It’s not wellness or illness. It’s a spectrum. A pain scale like they give you in the hospital.

How do you feel today? How are you functioning? On a scale of 1-10. 

And then I guess it’s our job to respond given the data we receive. I guess that’s how wellness is maintained.

I finally get it. I have a deep understanding of “mental health”. I just think we are using too many words to talk about the same thing. Not to mention the stigma associated with it all. 

If I could offer you anything it’s this- watch the Oprah and Harry special and be well. 

When Hope Floats Up

Last time I wrote, in November, I came from a dark place. I thought I had hit rock bottom and was on my way up. Little did I know...

The winter has been hard, much harder than the fall. January was dark and long and cold. I wasn’t sure I would make it through.

But if this last year, living in these COVID times has taught me anything, it is that no matter how often I sink to the bottom or how long I stay there, I can trust my reflexes to push my way back up to the surface to breathe. I am grateful for that reflex.

So now it is February. And I feel...different. Maybe it’s just because we sit on the precipice of a vacation week, or that we are rounding the bend of trimester 2. Maybe it just the increased daylight. But I feel...better. 

I’m almost afraid to say it out loud but a flame needs oxygen  to grow so I will breathe into these words in hopes of growing this spark.

Infection rates are dropping, there are less teachers quarantined or sick, the vaccine is rolling out and we’ve had almost 100 days of practice with the new routines of this school year. While I refuse the “new normal” narrative, I do believe that our practice with this school year is building up our resilience and coping muscles. 

I know for sure that by Thursday night I will be completely exhausted. I know for sure that there is a chance we will be “remote” on just hours notice. I know for sure that the “schedule” I have for my childcare can change in an instant. 

I’ve become certain of the uncertainty.

I also know for sure that reaching out and connecting with colleagues is crucial to my mental health. I know for sure that rest is key. I know for sure that the kids I’m lucky enough to work with will be the best part of my day. I know that showing up is the best thing I can do, for me and for them. 

And perhaps most importantly, I know that I can survive it all. Hard as all fuck as it may be. 

In my darkest days, I flirted with the idea of leaving public education for good. Such bullshit exists in this system, I’m just not sure I can be a part of it anymore. But in the end- I want too much to be part of the solution to leave the problems behind. These issues that have festered under the surface for years are now front and center. 

It’s becoming increasingly evident that the affects of this Pandemic on education is not a 180 day problem to solve. Educators will be dealing with shifting expectations for decades to come. We’ve only just begun...

And while in November that felt like an impossible task, in February that hope floats up and it suddenly it feels like a call to action. An invitation for truth telling. A promise of change. 

Our education system will not go back to “normal” next school year. “Normal” will not exist. We will face a continued evolution. 

And it won’t be because DESE or the Department of Ed or even Dr. Jill mandates it so. 

The change will come because of the teachers, special educators, therapists, counselors, administrators and paraprofessionals in the classrooms, offices and hallways across this country will do what they need to do for the students in front of them. 

We will be the change. We will be the voice. 

Ya know how in March the air outside is still cold but if the sun is warm enough, you feel like you can catch some rays? You roll up your sleeves and pull up your pants legs and let that chapped, dry winter skin enjoy the warmth.

That’s a little bit what this feels like. This budding hope. So even if it’s fleeting, I will enjoy it while it lasts. Trusting the promise of longer, warmer, sunnier days ahead. Trusting that I will push myself up to the top and breathe again. 

The Trap Door

I’m writing a blog post- that’s how you know things are bad...

For a few weeks, I’ve been keeping a secret. I applied and interviewed for an administrator job in another district. After 15 years in the trenches, I was ready to hang up my CCC’s, give away all materials and set sail. I visualized it, I felt the heartache of leaving my students and my colleagues and I had conversations with my husband about what our lives would look like when I took this job. Except, I didn’t get the job....

So I felt all the feelings associated with that news. Rejection, sadness and a bit of relief, too, for not having to make that hard choice. But there was something more under that, a nagging “else”, that I couldn’t quite name. Why did I feel so bad?

And then it hit me, as it usually does when I take the time to listen, this job was my way out. It was my trap door.

School year 20-21 has been a lot and every day, it seems to get more and more complicated.

Let me rewind. This summer as plans for the school year were being made, I was on team Go Back To School. All I wanted was to see kids in person. I am not afraid of COVID, I feel safe with all my PPE, I am not high risk. This is not about fear. 

This is about the weight of teaching in a pandemic. This is about trying to close gaps created by 6 months of no school. This is about juggling an every other day schedule from 6 feet away with masks on. This is about cleaning between groups of children. This is about making sure kids aren’t sharing materials, are washing their hands, are socially distanced. This is about the expectation of fitting 180 days of curriculum into 70 days of school. Fitting 45 day evaluation timelines into Tuesdays and Thursdays. Servicing a growing number of students in need without the time in your schedule or the space in your room. This is about the constant problem solving that takes place every day. This is about wondering how to provide services and education to the growing number of students who are quarantined for weeks on end. This is about the constant criticism and side line commentary from parents and the public in general. 

Nothing has changed with our expectations- of students, of teachers and yet, everything has changed. How can it be that we are expected to do the same job in completely different circumstances? 

And what I realized, just today, approximately 1/3 of the way into the school year, is I am looking for that trap door. A way out. I’m tired and I want to go home. 

Now, please understand, I have every single support in place a person needs. I have friends to talk to, colleagues who lift me up, building administrators who care so much. I have outlets- like my CrossFit, podcasts and books. I sleep at night and I don’t work on the weekends. I use every healthy coping skill in my tool belt. So, if I’m feeling this way- then I imagine that there are legions of educators and support staff and therapists and nurses and even administrators who are looking for a way out too.

So now that my trap door has been cemented shut, now what? Now, it seems, I have no choice but to keep on going.

To continue to show up, every day, and do my job. To eat that elephant, one bite at a time. To look for the good, and laugh with the kids. 

I can’t escape the challenge that is the 20-21 school year, I am in it, now. It’s not how I imagined. The burdens are so, so heavy. But I suppose it’s time to put down the expectations of myself and do my best, whatever that looks like on any given day.

This is hard stuff. If you know an educator, if you love an educator, please know how hard this is. If you’re inclined to pray for doctors and nurses who fight this pandemic, pray for us too. The fight we show up to each day may not be life or death, but boy it feels that way.

To the educators  I love, we will only get through this together. And I’d you’ve found your own trap door- no judgment. I hope you land softly and with grace. 

Thank you for your service.

Be Impeccable with Your Word...or, not...

This is one of the first of Four Agreements written by don Miguel Ruiz based on ancient Toltec wisdom. It's an amazing and simple (yet not) book about how to live a good life. Recently though, I have not been - even a little bit- Impeccable with My Word.

Let's rewind....

I've always had a thing for gossip. It's been a hobby of mine, a vice is probably a more accurate term. I like to communicate and connect and with my sharp tongue, sometimes keeping in the jabs feels like locking a vault with a toothpick.

But still, I recognize this is a very negative habit and I've tried my best to reel in my gossiping.
Now, I preface any comments with "I shouldn't be saying this, but..".
Because that's better?? Probably not, but alas, I am a work in progress.

Last week though, last week, the universe handed me quite a lesson and I was forced to attention.

Last week, a friend sent me an Instagram story by an author we both follow. This woman has been an inspiration to me and her autobiography truly changed me. I mean, I have one of her quotes hanging one the wall of my bedroom...

So this author is someone I respect.

The story was about her husband and it was a little...odd. (But who am I to judge what's odd in the first place!?!) So, I sent my friend a DM in response to the video, making fun of this author's husband.

Except.

I didn't send it to my friend. I sent my jab directly to the author.
And she responded, much to my dismay.

At first, I was mortified. But, laughing, because it was just so ridiculous.

But as the night wore on and I thought about my words and I pictured this woman reading them. I was beside myself.

What had I done? This is a woman who I respect and admire and I basically made fun of her husband to her face!

However, what I realized was, the only reason I felt so bad was because I got CAUGHT gossiping.

I got caught. I was heard. And suddenly I realized how un-Impeccable I was being with my words. So, so many of them. How judgey I was being, not just on social media in this instance, but in my day to day life. Man, that made me feel such shame.

In the click of a button, I became an internet troll. Is that who I want to be?? Not even close.

We teach children to use "positive language", to be kind, to fill people's buckets  and I turn around and forget all that. I don't walk the walk or practice what I preach.

Instead, I engage in low-vibe gossiping for the sake of a laugh.

Uugh, it pains me to even admit it.

I can't undo what's been done. I thought of emailing said author (because obviously now I'm blocked on IG) and apologizing. But she won't unhear my awful comments, so really, what's the point in that.

All I can do is move on and do better.

I can use my words to lift up others and breathe through those moments that trigger Judgey-Laurie to the surface. I can fill buckets and make positive choices.

I can walk the walk and talk the kind talk.

I can be Impeccable with My Word.

So next time you see me, and I say "I shouldn't be gossiping but...." just walk away. Let's make it easier for the both of us!

Down the rabbit hole

So I went down a bit of a rabbit hole this week.

I stumbled across my old journals in a box of keepsakes, and something made me open them.

 And then I proceeded to read them obsessively, in chronological order.

It was like reading a novel that I just couldn't put down, waiting to see what would happen next. Except these chapters were (long-forgotten) memories and the main character was...me!

The journals went as far back as high school and continued on through college, and graduate school. Almost a decade of my life's recorded history.

Many of the entries made me cringe, many more made me laugh. But I learned a few things along the way.

First, I learned that I haven't changed much. As much as I like to think I've become a whole new person; wiser and more self-actualized. What I realized is, at the core, I'm the same person I've always been.  A person who feels first, speaks second, and thinks last. A person with a big heart and an even bigger mouth. And while I'd like to believe I now use this power for good, I know that's not always true.

Another constant are my struggles. The struggles I had then, I still have now. (Food included, my goodness, how many pages did I waste documenting everything I ate and how many times can a person join Weight Watchers!?!?!). Maybe now I handle them better. Maybe now I have more effective strategies and coping mechanisms but my struggles and faults remain a constant.  It reminded me of "A Wrinkle In Time" when one of the Mrs. tells Meg to use her faults and they will help her defeat the IT. Now I can see that these struggles have helped me, and continue to help me. They give me perspective and ground me. They allow me to grow.

My faith has always been a huge part of my life. I was blown away by some of the things I wrote about God when I was younger. It took me a while to recall sneaking out of my apartment on Sunday nights to attend local churches , even after nights of too much booze and too many bad decisions. To me, my faith feels new or at least renewed, but alas, at my core, it's always been there.

Secondly, I felt such gratitude. In those pages were detailed the most "exciting" parts of my life. Adventures and late nights. Dancing until dawn and nights that I'll never remember. Heartbreak and love. Family struggles, bad grades, and difficult decisions about the future. Among those experiences; the good and the bad, were friends. Many of whom I'm blessed to still call friends today. Roommates who dealt with silent-morning Laurie. High School besties who've traveled decades with me. How blessed am I to (continue to) be surrounded by such an amazing group of women...you all know who you are.

And the most important lesson of all is a message to my 20 year old self that this 38 year old version still needs to hear....

It will all be OK

 

 

There was so much angst in those pages. So much worry. What would the future hold? Who would I marry? Would I ever find someone to love me? What I so desperately wanted that girl to know is this....
 

"It will all be OK. As a matter of fact, it will all be so much more than OK. Just go along ,have your fun ,live your life and worry not. The path will reveal itself in time. "

 

I sit here as an almost 40 year old mother of two. And although I've learned to quiet those angsty "what's next?" voices, they are still there. I worry about my kids and their future, I worry about my career. I worry I don't do enough. I worry I play life too small. And yes, I still worry about how much I eat.

 

If this almost 40 year old mother of two learned anything from that 20 year old girl, it is this...
"It will all be OK, just go along and have your fun and live your life. The path will reveal itself in time"

 

Also, stop worrying about how much you eat :)

 





Snow days, trust and progress

As a teacher, I used to hate snow days.

Like, legitimately hate them. Like be so angry about them, I'd storm about all day. Seething. I would even hate that people liked them!

I had plenty of reasons to justify my anger.

"The kids needs the consistency", "I'm loosing my summer", "I had an important meeting today!"

All valid, all true, and all feeding into that sense of injustice.

But the truth under all that anger was my lack of control. I felt best in life when I have a tight grip on what's happening around me. When I'm at the wheel and we're on cruise control. Order, control, routine. That's how I like it.

Today, we had a snow day. Unexpected, as our 1" of predicted snow turned into 5"+.

 I was awake, my morning routine had begun, lunches were made, clothes were set out. I was prepped for the meetings I had today. But instead, its a snow day.

And I realized- I wasn't angry.

I sighed (heavily, I'll admit) and went back to bed. There was no anger, no sense of injustice, no fuming or seething.

Just acceptance.

It may be because our last day is still June 15th, early summer by all accounts.

But I'd like to think it's because of the progress I've made in accepting life and reality as it comes. In being less rigid and more flexible. I'd like to think I've learn to trust, to be and to know it will all be OK.

My need to control in life has lead me down some dark paths; eating disorders, obsessive routines, stress, anxiety, anger, endless striving for perfection and people pleasing.

I used to think that my perfectionism and need to control would lead to me being a better mother, a better wife, a better SLP. If I had everything 'just so' then things would certainly turn out in my favor. Everyone would be happy under my control.

But now I see it only lead me to feel angry and upset, to snap and break when things didn't go my way. I'd even bet my husband would say I'm more pleasant to be around now that I'm a less Type- A. But don't fact check that because #creativelicense.

I can say for certain that my house (and head) is a happier place to live.

 Learning to let go a little has been an incredible relief and allowed me to feel more joy than I ever thought possible when I was white knuckling my way through my days.

Is a snow day a big problem? Nope, not at all. But if we learn to be flexible in the little things, it helps when the big things come along.

Sometimes, it takes a snow day, an unscheduled, unplanned break from life, to see how far you've come.

So today, I'll pat myself on the back for releasing some of that Type A/perfection/control, let my kids watch too much TV, and know that the lunches and the clothes are all ready to go for tomorrow.

Cheers to the journey, to loosening that grip, and to learning to adjust those sails...

Spiralized learning

I believe that life is cyclical. Just like the moon, and the seasons, and the tides. We follow a pattern, a cycle. So are the lessons we might learn here. We might have addressed a topic, a lesson, a wound and done some work there but then the universe says "Well, let's revisit this and see if we can't clean it up a bit more. Go deeper this time" . So we spiral back to that topic, that lesson, that wound.

It's actually a very common curriculum tool in education, as well.

There is quite a lot of background information necessary for this all to make sense.

First let me start off with this...

I'm at the end of a 10 week wellness challenge and every week we chose a mantra. This week I chose this as my mantra: "Love yourself enough to say no". I chose that mantra because its Halloween week and candy is my kryptonite. What I meant was, say no to eating all my children's candy. Little did I know how much this mantra would play out later in the week...

Second, I am a recovering people pleaser. Not the kind of people pleaser who says the things that people want to hear. Actually, I do the opposite of that. I speak so honestly that sometimes I need to apologize for my words or at least clarify their intent.

No, my people pleasing is about doing, about performing, about showing up. As a child, I would get the good grades, and sing the solos and happily receive the recognition I deserved. It was how I knew my place, it was where I found my worth. In performing, in doing. I've written a lot about this topic on this blog. I thought I'd kicked this habit. I thought I'd healed this need to prove my worth to others and to myself.

Thirdly, my whole life, I've felt on the outside. On the outside of a group, looking for the secret  doorway to finally be IN.  Even at 30-something years old, no matter where I go, I'm looking for signs that I actually belong there. That I'm OK being in this place. The longer I live, the more I realize most people feel this way. But no one talks about it, so it may be that we are all looking for the secret doorway  IN that doesn't actually exist.

With all of that said, here is my spiral back...

September and October are always doing months for me. Months of volunteering and organizing, of PTO of church of soccer Saturdays. Getting back into the routine of school and meetings and Open House nights. Arranging schedules and cooking dinners and trying to fit it all in. There were lots of things to show up for. Lots of things to do.

 But, when I show up, I feel validated. I feel good. I feel accomplished.I feel worthy. So I yes'd my way through the months of  September and October and into lots of commitments. And ya know what? I survived! But I was glad to flip the calendar to November. I was happy to see a more restful month appear.

But then, new commitments came up. New requests to show up. And as much as the little voice inside me was screaming NOOOO, the people pleaser/wanting to belonger said 'yes'. Out of guilt, out of shame, out of obligation and fear.

"If I'm not doing the things, then the people won't like me and I'll never be part of that group" the voice in my head said.

"But it's too much" my heart argued. "It's all too much".

And alas, with that straw, the camel's back was broken.

Then came the tears. So many many tears.

When I could finally breathe again and ask myself "what the hell was that all about?". I put all these pieces together. I realized my need to please, my need for external validation, my need to hustle for my worth is still there. That urge is alive and well. I also realized my fear of being marginalized and alone, being outside of the group looking in is still there. I realized that by not listening to the mantra I set for myself earlier this week, I had walked straight into a trap of fear, guilt, and unworthiness. Just because I said 'yes' when I had really meant "no".



I may be biased in my perspective- but I think working in education puts you at increased risk to feel the pressure of doing, of showing up, of volunteering. You don't have office hours. There is no "out of office" reply on your email. The 'do it for the children' call to action is sure to pull at the heartstrings of any caring educator, despite the toll its taking on their own lives. Even Standard III on the MA Educator Evaluation- Community and Parent Engagement-acts as a mandate to show up.

Then there are the 'other' things, the after school meetings, the PTO meetings, the events, the special projects, the committees. All of these causes are worthy of our attention, of our showing up, of our help. So choosing the 'yes's' and the 'no's' can be a tough call.

And now, thanks to social media, you get to watch other teachers, other schools, other districts do things. Create things. Attend things. Show up. Volunteer. Engage. And the mucky waters of the comparison swamp pull you under until the guilt drowns you.

If I want to belong then I will do. For this person, or that group. That's the message, at least that's the one I've been whispering to myself for decades. But the reality of that is impossible. The reality of that leaves you crying endless tears in your office. The reality of constant doing and yes-ing is burn out, is resentment, is permanent medical leave, is living a life that is not your own.

There is only one person to belong to in this life and it is to Yourself  (that capitol Y is on purpose...)

 It is my responsibility to listen to that voice that says "Love yourself to say no" and honor it. To let go of the guilt and breath through the fear. To know that I am enough without doing damn thing to earn the title. And to then chose the things that fill me up, that give me life and to do those, with a resounding and heartfelt 'yes'.

This spiral back to these lessons probably started out as a whisper. But I missed it. It took a 2x4, a big upset reaction and endless tears for me to understand, for me to see.

I am worthy, I am enough and I belong to me.

So if you're reading this and you needed some permission to slow down or say 'no'. Take it from me, it's all good.

“You’re stealing my learning”

Tonight in our after dinner-before before bed-school night shenanigans, my 5 year old was building an alphabet puzzle. She was struggling with the middle of the alphabet so I proceeded to do what I do- I “cued” or prompted her. I began singing the alphabet song with her. And this was her response

I posted it on Instagram because it struck me so. But quickly realized this quote from my 5 year old was taking me to a deeper place requiring more reflection and so I must blog.

So what if I haven't written a blog post in 6 months?!


"You're stealing my learning".

Perhaps it's because it was said in response to such a natural habit of mine. A learned skill even, the cueing, the prompting. It's what I do ALL day with my kiddos at work. Perhaps it was the tone in which the message was delivered. Like she was really PISSED that I wasn't letting her figure this out on her own. Perhaps it's an abundance of worry about new reading "programs" and abysmal MCAS scores.

I'm not quite sure why but this quote struck a nerve. So much so that I had to write about it. Because if I write about it then I can think about it and I can learn from it. It's just how my processing works...

"You're stealing my learning".

My goodness, how many times in a day do I "steal" a child's learning. How many times a day do I accommodate and modify to a point that I am actually depriving that child of the opportunity to grapple, to grow, to learn. How many times do I personally invite a child to follow directions when, in fact, they might learn to do it more independently and faster if I let them fail once in a while.

Working in Special Education is like walking a fine line. Meeting the child where they are while trying desperately to get them to where they "need to be" is a never ending battle.

But what I realized tonight, thanks to my daughter, is that every struggle is an opportunity to learn. Or at least, an invitation to try.

How many times have I fed a child a word they were decoding because we just had to get to answering the questions?  How many times have I taken the pencil and wrote a child's answer because the rest of the class was already finished and my 30 minutes were almost up?

This isn't to say I need to let go and watch my darlings drown in the turbulent waters of grade level curriculum expectations. This isn't to say I don't continue to provide them the accommodations they need to succeed.

But maybe, just maybe, I let their learning be their own instead of a reflection of my support. Maybe I let them grapple, let them miss the direction and watch how they struggle through that and figure out a way to do it differently next time. Maybe I let them....learn.

It's possible I'm being dramatic about the words of a frustrated 5 year old. The thing is, I know myself well enough to know that when you hear what sounds like such a profound message- then, girlfriend, that means you need to listen...

Being human is hard

 

I scrolled by this picture the other day on Instagram and just loved it.

If you're off the 're-creation', 'quantum physics' sort of mindset, then you get this. Otherwise, maybe not...

 

Today is May- well actually tomorrow is May, but since I usually spend most of Sunday preparing for Monday, it might as well be May.

 

May is hard for me. May if full. It's full of to-do's at work. It's full of anxiety about rumors of changes for next school year while trying desperately to finish all work left to do this school year. Also meetings- so many, many meetings.  May is when a full social calendar at home leaves me it's own to-do list there too. May is when my baby girl was born and when my father died. By the time May is over, I usually am too. Done, tired, spent.

 

Today as I peered into May, I realized that in the span of one week I will be celebrating my son's First Communion, my daughter's 5th birthday and my remembering my father's 3rd anniversary of death.

 

"Dear God" I thought (appropriately so as I was in church at the time) "how in the world am I going to handle all of those things in such a short span of time? How ever will I survive that emotional shit storm?".

 

Talk to any mother and they will share the range of emotions that comes with watching your babies grow. It truly defines "bittersweet". There is so much joy and love but also so much heartache and even more 'where did the time go?'.  So birthdays can be tough. Milestones, like First Communion only add to that seeming heartbreak. It's heavy, even when its really a celebration, that's how it feels for the feely type of people- heavy. And then, after that, will come the grief. The grief that arrives as May marches on and we remember my Dad.

 

I wondered how I- how any of us- navigate the range of emotions that comes along with being Human. How do we get up every day, go to work and function when we're carrying around all this stuff? How do we fake a smile and answer "fine" when someone asks how we are doing?

 

We are not fine! We are drowning! We are drowning in a sea of feely emotions! Well, maybe not every day...but sometimes!

 

It is no wonder why some people check out. Why they numb out with wine, or pills, or social media or cookies.

 

Because numb is easier than feeling. Numb is predictable. Emotions are not. As an experienced numb-er, I get that. I lived that. Sealing your heart up behind a border wall is a much safer way to negotiate life.

 

But here's the thing. Life- life is in those emotions. A numb life may be predictable but it's no  life at all.

 

We are here so briefly. We need to soak this shit up. The good, the bad and the ugly. We need to feel it. The good, the bad and the ugly. And we need to live it. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

 

So how will I survive this May? How will I ensure that I don't dive so deep into this sea of emotions that I will float away? Or more realistically, spend the month in a binge of epic proportions...

 

- I will breathe. Sometimes that's enough. A good deep, diaphragmatic (hello voice lessons!) breath

- I will move. Whether it's working out or taking a walk or digging in my garden. Doing helps to process those emotions, to move through them.

- I will talk. Maybe I won't answer "fine" the next time someone asks me how I am. Or maybe I'll write more. Experience tells me that breathing my thoughts into words is therapeutic.

- I will show up. Be present. Live these moments. For these are the moments that I've got.

and most importantly I will remember...

 

 

Like the moon waxes and wanes, and the tide rises and falls. So, too, can I. And be OK.

 

Here's to not only surviving May, but living it.

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.