Lessons from a year in blogging

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trust and balance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so the voice re-appeared.

 

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

"You're going to ruin all your progress"

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

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

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

I reflected instead of freaking out.

I trusted instead of worrying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am trusting my body and listening to her. 

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

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

And damn it feels good. 

A reflection of you

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

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

He is a reflection of you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We're all allowed histrionics sometimes!

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

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

Such. Juicy. Stuff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The reconciliation of my faith

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not about religion and church.

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

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

I needed to reconcile my faith. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mass is on Sundays but church is everyday, everywhere.

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

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

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

Write your own story

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

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

A hurt I'm trying to heal.

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

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

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

We all choose our own adventure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grief and lessons and gifts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Investing in you

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

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

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

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

What if?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why don't we deserve the same?

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

And wouldn't that be so much nicer.

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

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

  Oh yeah, and screw the guilt!