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.

"We cannot give our children what we don't have".

"It is clear from the data that we cannot give our children what we don't have. Where we are on our journey of living with our whole hearts is a much stronger indicator of parenting success than anything we can learn from how-to books"- From The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown

 I've been on a journey of self-improvement and self-understanding for quite a while. Inspired, no doubt, by Oprah circa 1995.

In fact, I originally told my grad school roommates (in 2002) that I did not want to live with them because I wanted to 'grow as a person' as only living with random people would allow me to. I decided to live with them after I toured their sick apartment in the Charlestown Navy Yard in Boston. Ironically, I grew more in those two years than I could have ever thought possible. These women are my war-buddies. We survived and thrived together. And I mention this, because they still tease me about that comment 'grow as a person'. I was 22- who says that?!

Anyway, this journey has been long but in the past year I've gotten more serious about it. I've put in work. I've read lots of books and blogs, listened to podcasts, resumed journaling and just tried to dig up and dig out. Rediscover my emotions and intentions. Live fully and love fully. One of my greatest teachers along the way has been Brené Brown and her beautiful books. I just began The Gifts of Imperfection when I came across this quote...

 "We cannot give our children what we don't have".

Those words struck me like a thunderbolt. We want so much for our children. We want them to be confident and strong, to see their worth and try new things. To be kind, compassionate and forgiving. We want them to be brave. We want them to know success and learn from failure. We want them to thrive, to love, to shine.

But-

 "We cannot give our children what we don't have".

We can talk and teach but until we own it, until we live it, until we breathe it. They will not have it.

This lessons pulls my heart strings especially with my daughter. My beautiful girl. My girl who is in the 50%ile for height and 90%ile for weight. My girl, who at her 3 year check-up was told to "focus on healthy behaviors" because of these numbers.

My girl is a beam of light. She has a wicked personality. She's funny, and fresh. She's smart as a whip and sweet as pie. She's a devil and a love. She lights up a room when she walks in. THIS is what I want her to know. Inherently. THIS is what I want her to believe. I want her to know that she is inherently worthy of love and joy because she is light. I want her to walk into a room and shine her light.

I want her to move because it brings her joy and eat because it satisfies her. I want her to "focus on healthy behaviors" not because some antiquated bell curve insists upon it but because she feels better when she does. And who doesn't want to feel better?!

But-

 "We cannot give our children what we don't have".

So, in order for this to happen. I need to see MY light. I need to know that I am inherently worthy of love and joy.

Now. Today. As I AM.

Not 10 pounds from now, not when I've had a "good week" of eating. Not when I've gotten a good review at work. Not when I've finished my to-do list.

Now. Today. As I AM.

My wholehearted journey took on new meaning when I read those words. I realized I wasn't doing this for me, I was doing this for them. For the two thems that I brought into this world. For the thems that I worry and wonder over. For the thems that I love more than I ever thought possible.

I will give them what I have. And what I have is self-love, worthy-ness, a light to shine in this world. What I have is faith and trust and joy.

So pardon me if my Facebook shares and my IG posts seem a little touchy-feely for you. I'm working on a gift for my children...

THE post

I started this blog because I felt I had a story to tell, I mean, we all do- don't we?! And I've been telling stories, sure. But this is THE story. The one I've been struggling to articulate. So you can consider this my SFD (shitty first draft, ala Brené Brown).

My first memory of a "weight related incident" was probably when I was 6 years old. I can remember being in my grandparents living room watching TV. My grandfather sat in his wheelchair, watching too. I believe my uncle and older brother were also in the room. A commercial came on for whatever weight-loss method was popular in 1986 (Weight Watchers, Slim-o-matic, Drink My Shake- whatevs) and my grandfather pointed at the TV and said "Hey maybe we should get that for Laurie". His remark was met by laughter from the other men in the room, maybe I even laughed too.

 I can't remember what my reaction was. I mean the real one. The one on the inside. I do remember leaving the room and going out to the sun porch to be alone. Did I know then? Is that when this story started? When the word "fat" became a character trait.

I'm not sure- but it was probably the beginning of a very long story...

Fast forward to adolescence. Weight was my "thing". I didn't have pimples or frizzy hair. I had weight. So that was the issue du jour. Another one of those piercing memories comes from 6th grade. I was at a friends birthday party and was called "bubble butt" during a game of volleyball. The worst part is, it came from another friend I was very close too.

That reaction I remember- I was broken. As broken as a 12 year old can be. I internalized that pain and upset and once again "fat" became my most prominent character trait. Except now, even my friends thought so...

Fast forward through life. I gained weight and lost it. I joined Weight Watchers and counted points. The Special K Diet and 3 Day Hot Dog Diet. I went to college and drank on the pounds (also ice cream delivery to your dorm and many many late nights of pizza) then I would go home for the summer and lose them again. A never ending battle with the scale and ever complicated relationship with food.

That is, until May of 2014, right after the birth of my second child. I came home from the hospital, tipping the scales at 200lbs. It was May (almost summer- shorts, bathing suit?!? ) and I felt like crap. So I contacted a friend from high school who ran her own fitness and nutrition company. She put me on a clean eating meal plan and it was magic. The magic I'd been waiting for all my life. I learned to meal prep, I learned to cook, I bought a food scale and learned about portion sizes. I brought egg whites and spinach to the beach and brought my own food to parties in Tupperware.

This obsessive control over my food intake was my medicine to deal with raging postpartum depression and difficulties adjusting to life with two kids. I couldn't control my life, or the way my baby didn't sleep or my toddler's neediness- but I could eat chicken, spinach and brown rice all day and be SKINNY!

And that's what happened. I got skinnier and skinnier. I reveled in the comments and compliments. The admiration of other moms trying to loose the baby weight. Finally, Finally- the "fat" was no longer a character trait.

August 2013. At my skinniest, but always 5 pounds away from my goal

But no matter how skinny I got, it was never enough. All I wanted was 5 more pounds or 1 more size down.

When the scale stopped moving, I tried a new approach. I hired coaches from Instagram to figure out my macros so I could do IIFYM. I mean, that's what worked for the #fitspo girls I obsessively followed on social media.  So if it worked for them, it could work for me!?

I would spend the next few months analyzing (protein, carbs, fats) every piece of food that entered my mouth or even my eye sight.

Well, if I eat this muffin, then I can have egg whites and mustard for dinner.

Literally, all day. Obsessive figuring and re-figuring and calculating. And for a girl who ain't so good at math, that blows!

But its what needed to be done to maintain my size 6's.

And that's how life went until I got the phone call.

The phone call came on a Wednesday morning about 5am.  Ironically, when the phone call came- I didn't hear it because I was in the middle of a workout.

The message left by my mom went something like this "Laurie, you need to get someone else to watch the kids today. I'm on my way to the hospital with Dad. Call me".

By the time I had called her back, they had pronounced my Dad dead in the ER. Just like that, on a Wednesday morning. Dead. 66 years old.

I remember much everything about those next few hours and days like you do with most traumatic events.

I remember rushing to my parents' house with my protein shake for breakfast.
I remember promising myself I wasn't going to eat my grief away and get fat again.
I remember sitting in the house, looking at a plate of food brought over by a family friend wondering how would I track my macros for this and scolding a friend who brought over chocolates.

At the time, none of this seemed odd. It was just the way I was used to living. I didn't even tell my "macro coach" at the time my father died because I was afraid he'd change my program and impact my progress.

In the months following my father's death, we learned more about his life than I could have ever anticipated. These new facts, brought to light by paperwork and lawyers and insurance policies, changed our reality.

Here I was, grieving, hurting and facing a difficult view of a man I thought I knew. I didn't know how to deal with it. I had no coping skills for this. So I retreated to the one thing that brought me comfort- food.

During the day, when people were watching, I ate my clean, measured way. But at night or when I was alone, I consoled myself with cookies. I ate them until my mouth was raw and my belly hurt. After all, its easier to be mad at yourself for eating cookies than it is to be mad at your dead father. The pounds started creeping back on. But tomorrow, I'd stop. Tomorrow I'd go back to tracking macros and being skinny. But tomorrow was the same thing...

And then, I read a book. A fiction book by Jennifer Weiner called All Fall Down. It was the story of a suburban mom who numbed the mundane and challenging parts of her life with prescription pills and the lengths she would go to in order to hide this behavior from her husband and family.

As I was reading, I realized there was no difference between me and her. My pills were cookies. But aside from that, it was the same story.

 I had no coping skills to deal with the immense grief, so I ate it out.

 I'm not even so sure I knew I was grieving at the time that's how numb I'd become to feeling my feelings. Controlling my food wasn't working for me this time because life had just shown me how OUT of control I really was in the grand scheme of things.

It had been 4 months since my father died and all I'd been doing was stalling my healing. I wasn't in denial of his death, I was in denial of my grief and my pain.

That "aha" moment came about a year ago. And in this past year, I've been on quite a journey.

It's been a journey of re-discovering myself and renaming my character traits.

Along the way I've had amazing conversation with my best friends. Women I've known for decades who've opened up about their own struggles with weight, and comparison, and self-image.

I've met a women, 10 years my junior, who shares my struggles. My advice and conversations with her are things I wish I could have told myself 10 years ago.

Along the way I've read amazing books like Women, Food and God by Geneen Roth, and It Was Me All Along by Andi Mitchell. Gifts from the universe to help my healing and let me know I'm not alone. Gifts from my Dad.

I've meditated, I've prayed, I've cried, I've grieved. I've become more positive. More accepting and more forgiving. I've counted my blessing daily. I've come to accept that I know my father better in his death than I did in his life. I've stopped obsessing over food and the size of my pants (most days). I've stopped wishing and cleansing and detoxing my way back to that SKINNY version of me.

My journey isn't over. This is life and its a little like an onion. You just keep peeling away at those layers. And you cry because onions do that to you. The closer I get to the core, the more it feels like I'm living life as me- with my whole heart open to the truth and the hurt and the feelings.

The way my Dad would have liked to live too...

August 2015

Soccer, vulnerability, growth mind set and parenting....

I need to start with a little background info.

First, I've been reading Brené Brown's new book Rising Strong and am trying to apply some of her theories (because brilliance!) and this is the result of a little "rumble" as she calls it.

Second, I'm not an athlete. Never have been. In high school, all my friends were athletes but I, I was a singer. 

All my life I've been drawn to doing the things I'm good at. I suppose this is natural- but somehow that turned into a serious issue with failure and good- enough-ness. 

I don't do things I'm not good at because of the shame I associate with failure and not good-enough-ness. This has festered in me for so many years I've actually grown to despise sports. Like, literally. 

Like, I can't even be a fan of sports as I've built up such a negative attitude about them. I'm not good enough to do it so why would I watch? Why would I care? 

This is the story I've been telling myself for many years.

Fast forward to the present. I'm the mom of a 6 year old boy who wants to play sports. 

Ok fine. In the past year we've done karate, t-ball, swimming and today began soccer.

I've sat through games and lessons, half watching,  half covering my eyes for a year.

 But today, today was rough. Today at soccer I had lots of anxiety and shame and worry. 

My boy is the youngest on the team (despite my pleas). He's never played soccer before. He doesn't know what he's doing. 

He doesn't know what he's doing so he's doing nothing! Literally doing nothing on the field.

I felt like I needed to explain all this to the other parents, to the coach, to the mom of the soccer star (because there is always a star). 

What are all these feelings about?!

Why can't I just let him be?!

And as the morning progressed- it became clear.

I was making my good-enough-ness story HIS good-enough-ness story. (Projection, if I recall) 

I was empathizing with his feelings of comparison to the older kids- while he wasn't even concerned with them!

I was making my "I'm not good at sports" his fixed mind set the minute he stepped on that field. 

Sigh. Well that sucks. For him and for me!

There was my boy. Standing on a field. Enjoying himself. Getting some fresh air and exercise. Running after a ball (if he felt like it!) and trying. Trying something new without a care in the world if he was good at it or not!

How brave is he?

And then there was me. Judging and comparing. All those pressures I've put on myself projected onto him.

I know where this came from. I can identify its origin. And I know it did him no good in life, either. 

My revolution: Next week, I will breathe. I will tell myself a different story about my boy's abilities and I'll remember that he may "not be good at this"....yet! Because I know that in 8 weeks when this season is over, he'll have learned lots, laughed lots and made some new friends. He may not be the next Christian Ronaldo, but he's brave. And what's better than that?!

If I want my children to grow up with a different story, then a different story I need to write .