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....