It’s Not About You.

It’s Not About You.

You don’t need them.

You do just fine on your own.

Just stop giving energy to it.

Just do it yourself.

Don’t ever ask again.

These are all statements my brain has said during my life when I have felt rejected, denied, unwanted or controlled.

When I have allowed myself to be vulnerable in some way and it didn’t turn out the way I hoped.

My parents joke that I was independent from the day I left my Mom’s body. At age 5, my Mother would walk beside me on the mile and a half  trek from our house to the door of my kindergarten class of the laboratory school I attended. After a few weeks of this, the story goes….I turned to my Mom and declared I no longer needed her to walk with me. I could handle it alone and her services, while appreciated, weren’t necessary any longer. 

In a chapter where everyone’s needs seemed to be large and looming, I wonder if I just decided as the youngest that I wouldn’t NEED? My job became to help not hinder and the story I told myself was that I didn’t need anyone but myself. 

As I grew older, there were definite times I needed to ask for help, and it was often met with the awareness that if I accepted help, the cost was high. As a teen, I remember feeling that a need meant handing over control. It was a power struggle and often the need was used as a way to get me to do what they wanted. 

I moved out well before I graduated high school, and by that time my family was a shell of what it started as. My departure was largely based in not having to rely on anyone but myself. Removing the power struggle of need. I was done with having to ask anyone else for anything in my mind.

Need = Vulnerability = Rejection or Sacrifice of Self.

This is how patterns are built. 

My sub-conscious decided that the cost of vulnerability was not one I was willing to pay.

As with most patterns, this one was challenged when I became a parent of teenagers. 

When my kids were little, they were attached to me like velcro. They followed me everywhere and I loved each minute of it. I came to expect them right behind me, butting up against me when I paused for even a moment. I relished their interest in the details of my day and when it came time for kindergarten, I was the Mom who felt not quite ready to give them up for several hours to someone else. 

As the years passed, they began to individuate and create their own lives, separate from their Mama. As they approached their teen years, even my offers of lunch or dinner at their favorite restaurant were sometimes denied in favor of time with a friend. The first time this happened, I remember my feelings being deeply hurt. I was surprised and I felt rejected. I took it personally and started to lay guilt in their laps. 

I had created a story in my head about how they would respond when I asked. I expected they would say yes, even be excited about the restaurant and grateful I invited them. 

I had allowed myself to need from them and when the rejection came, I felt vulnerable and hurt….even angry. I noticed the exact same mental messages that used to come up for me with my family of origin and friends. 

I’ll just stop asking.

They should be happy they have a Mom willing to take them!

I clearly need to take a step back.

Maybe they just need to spend a little less time with friends.

Rejection turned into pain, which turned into anger, that turned into a power play.

That’s what I would do…..never ask again, AND not allow them to be with their friends as often.

Clearly not viable solutions.

These solutions came from a place called “defending brain”. When we form a narrative in our brain about what we think will happen or what we think the other person will say, we set ourselves up for disappointment. 

Our brain starts to focus on things like body language and tone from our kids. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me young lady”  or “I don’t think I like your tone.”

We begin to support a new narrative of how disrespectful or entitled they are.

However, when we are able to be open to their experiences, we have access to a different part of our brains…the caregiving part.

Making room for our teens as separate people from us with their own interests, their own plans, and their own paths is the only way to allow ourselves to be vulnerable and feel safe doing it. 

In parenting, so often, our own stories of rejection or vulnerability are triggered by our kids without their knowledge. 

So we pause.

We breathe.

We double check that narrative we have created against our rational mind.

We allow our brains to step outside the “defending brain” and to turn on the “caregiving brain”. 

The caregiving brain is more reasonable and doesn’t take things quite as personally. It allows for a story where our teens experience matters and nothing is final. It steps outside of that hurt little girl who swore she would never be vulnerable again, and it puts on parenting pants. 

In my parenting pants I accept the “no” and make plans with someone else. 

In my parenting pants I ask if there might be a better time when she would like to go.

In my parenting pants I know that I must fill my own cup and not rely on my teens approval.

In my parenting pants I am not so easily rejected and hurt.

How can we show up for our teens if we haven’t healed the parts of us that can be easily triggered?

It isn’t our teens job to know the map of our heart.

It isn’t our teens job to fill our cup.

It isn’t our teens job to heal the parts of us that still feel like that little girl.

It isn’t our teens job to navigate our triggers from old story.

It is our job to allow our teens to individuate in a healthy way.

It is our job to do the work to heal ourselves so we don’t pass down these patterns.

It is our job to step out of power and into our parenting pants.

It is our job to coach not control.

In order to do this successfully, we raise our awareness around our own patterns, behaviors and vulnerabilities. It isn’t easy and yet it is vital to raising an adult with healthy coping skills and patterns we can be proud of. 

I want to raise whole, healthy humans. I want them to feel safe to individuate from me and know that I will be there when they need me, no matter what. I want to act as a pillar of strength for them during these years where they need to connect for a moment to remind them of who they are and then off into the world again they go. 

I want them to do it without guilt, without wondering if I’m okay and without carrying the burden of my old stories. 

Gap Year or Growth Year?

Gap Year or Growth Year?

A gap year.
A gap year.
A gap year.

Why do we call it a gap year?

A gap in between what….exactly? Is it just a gap of time? A gap that marks the space between child and adult? A gap in which he is supposed to find his path?

Did you know your path at age 18?

Why do we keep walking in the same direction?
Why aren’t there more people pausing to recenter?
Why do we keep doing the same things our parent’s did and expecting different results?
Why don’t we step out of the line?

A gap year has an underlying expectation that comes with it.
I hear….a year before he starts college.
The reality of this year though, may not end in college.

Why not build in this year for our kids and call it…..a growth year?
Growth in the direction FOR them.
Whatever that direction may be.
A pause to create their path without society and the education system having their hand in it.
A moment where they aren’t inundated with “shoulds” and “musts”.
A space where who they were born to be, is exactly who they are allowed to be.

Changing our words so he doesn’t feel so stuck between two things he never chose.

He is a boy…….walking towards becoming a man.
He is a boy…….learning about himself and what lights his fire.
He is a boy…….pausing long enough to tap into his inner knowing.

My little boy, came into this world with a tender heart, a fierce sense of humor and empathy for days. His hugs became legendary and his love for his family and friends was deep, open and accepting.

The world told him that boys “should” be tough and not show too much emotion.
The world told him that boys “should” be athletic and strong.
The world told him that boys are seen as predators not caregivers.
The world told him that boys “should” care about popularity and do what it takes to fit in.
The world told him that boys “should” head to college, and stay out of trouble.
The world told him there is one way to be a man.

The world presented one box for him.
One box.

I saw him step into the box a few times as he grew…..but he never once closed the door.
Always careful to leave it propped open in case he needed to burst out.

And he did.

Sometime around freshman year I watched him burst.
But it wasn’t a loud burst as I expected. It was more of a silent implosion.

He grew more quiet. Kept to himself more. More time in front of a screen and less time with the world.

So many of our boys won’t suffer loudly…..they will suffer silently and it’s up to us to notice and dive in for them.

I did my best to dive in, and when I got down to him…..he was surly and prickly and not the boy I knew.

His tenderness had taken too many hits and I couldn’t find it anymore.
His empathy struggling to breathe.
His eyes…..had dulled and his shoulders were in this perpetual defensive posture.

His body was stiff when I hugged and I could feel that it had taken this particular form to guard itself in any more “shoulds” from the world.

I could no longer reach the little boy.
That little boy had tried to contort himself into that box he was given and when he couldn’t, he hardened.

Hardening for our boys can look like so many things….rebelling, using drugs and alcohol, lying, failing in school, and so much more.

But it can also just look like silence. Dulled eyes. The absence of the light he was born with. Isolating more. Engaging less.

When they do this, we have a choice.

We can respond to WHAT they are at that moment, or we can dive in and ignore the prickles and the resistance.

If we respond to what they are at that moment, we risk them diving deeper and becoming out of reach.

If we dive in after them, we have a chance…..a chance to let them know that who they are right now is exactly who they are supposed to be at this moment.

If we dive in after them, we have a chance…..to help them return to their inner knowing and step onto the path that THEY create.

If we dive in after them, we have a chance…..to help them become a man the world actually needs, instead of a carbon copy of the rest.

If we dive in after them, we have a chance……to reignite their light and destroy the silly box society has created.

Diving in isn’t easy.

It means ignoring the messages from society and celebrating our child as they are.
It means listening to our boy and following his lead.
It means hearing what he isn’t speaking as well as the spoken words.
It means interrupting his silence with love.

It means interrupting his silence with love.

Love takes many forms and in my house it’s an action word.

Currently our love looks like diving in each day.
It looks like helping him with a job search.
It means hearing what he might be interested in studying…if he went to college… but resisting the urge to do all the research for him, thereby inducing a desired outcome.
It means creating opportunities to connect and enjoy each other as “adults”.
It sounds like more accepting and less “shoulding”.
It feels like more hugs and more conversations about where he stands on world issues, resisting the urge to be right.

Since school ended, I can see a light again.
I can feel a softening.
I can see him becoming.
I can almost hear his inner knowing starting to speak again.

He is poking his head out to see if the box is still there……and he is slowly realizing that he will have to decide what the box means….what it meant….if it was ever even real.

We have given him the very best graduation gift we could think of…..the gift of time.

Time to become.
Exactly who he is to become.

Our arms wrapped loosely around him, allowing him to move freely and in his direction.
Our minds open to whatever that direction brings.
Our hearts rooted in his reconnection to Self.
Our bodies in perpetual dive position, always coming in after him when needed.

His silence often interrupted by our love.
Our love, adjusting daily to meet the needs of a boy, just trying to become a man.

Call it what you want….this year of a pause.
We call it the raising of a man.
His reconnection to a boy that society pushed too hard in one direction.
The space to rediscover his center away from the box of extremes.

We call it a growth year. 
Sometimes we pause for growth.

It doesn’t mean you’re behind or struggling….it means you’re growing.

To allow that to happen, sometimes it just means creating a space with no intended path.

That’s where we are my sweet boy man.
We are just being right now.
You can breathe.
You can learn about you.
You can experience, and strive, and research and pay attention….in this moment.

You have been gifted this time to BE so that you may then find your passion to DO.

Middle School Memo

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I sat in carline watching the middle schoolers pour out of the building……I noticed.

I noticed slumped shoulders on the girls trying to hide their changing bodies.

I noticed the queen bees standing together.

I noticed the wannabes, on the outside.

I noticed boys eager for attention, yet unaware of who they are.

I noticed boys challenging each other using the old macho rules.

I noticed that even the boys feigning confidence had a look of not so sure.

Caught between child and young adult. Stuck in an awkward phase that they have no control over. Betrayed by their growing bodies and active thoughts.

I noticed.

I remembered.

I remembered how hard it was to be in this stage.

I remembered how confusing the messages of conformity can be.

I remembered how important my friends were and my need for acceptance.

I suddenly felt sad.

I began to cry….right there in carline as I waited for my own middle schooler to emerge.

Oh sweet ones…I know this is hard, and I promise it is temporary.

Oh my babies….I know I shouldn’t call you that, yet you still have a bit of it left.

Oh my heart…where has the time gone, and why oh why can’t I get it back?

I paused….am I creating a completely safe space away from all of this judgment she faces daily?Am I a space where she doesn’t need to conform to gain my acceptance? How can I best ensure that in our home….who she is becoming is exactly who she was intended to be. 

I can hold her loosely.

Yes, yes, I know…..we want to hang on tight to what WE think they “should” be.

We want to help them conform so that our fears of acceptance for them subside. We want to project onto them our own insecurities in middle school, so they have foresight.

Yet, if I can manage to hold her loosely….she will have the space to become.

If I can hold her loosely, she won’t have a blueprint to follow, creating the “not enough” effect.

If I can hold her loosely, she will grow in the direction the universe intended.

For she is not mine…..she belongs to the world, and while I want to protect her and shield her from the hard lessons….I would only get in the way.

I am here for guidance. I am here to escort her on this journey….but only for a moment.

Only a small window of her life is spent in my arms, in my home.

I am here to remind her of who she is at her core and help her return to that when in doubt.

I am here to let her fail, so that she can become aware of her strength and resilience.

I am here to remember what it was truly like at her age, so that I can love her through it.

I am here to squeeze her tight, and then open my arms.

Open my arms so that she doesn’t feel confined by my need.

My longing for the past. My vision of her as a baby. She is no longer a baby. She is emerging.

Evolving.

Becoming.

My awareness of my own fears, joys, needs, and core beliefs are imperative now.

Yes.

This is where it begins my friends.

We are preparing for the big leagues….because the problems get more involved.

The fears….are fueled.

The struggle with control is real as they begin to need us less.

If we, can remember what it felt like….what it really felt like, we are more apt to SEE our children for who they are today instead of who we remember them to be.

We are more capable of introducing ourselves to today’s version of our middle schooler and more open to tomorrow’s version.

We have the ability to either confirm that they are absolutely okay just as they are….or that their peers are right, and they need to take THIS path, in THIS way, to be enough.

I want to be the voice of enough.

I want to be a safe space to grow.

I want to be her hearts home base.

I want my needs to whisper so that her needs can be heard.

I want for her to look back and be the main character in her story, without my journey creating any shadow in her journey.

I will her hold her loosely with my mind, while my heart squeezes her with all I have.

You Are So Much More Than You Aren’t.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You aren’t working hard.

You aren’t paying attention.

You aren’t allowed to sit here.

You aren’t trying.

You aren’t listening.

You aren’t my type.

You aren’t a good student.

In how many ways are our teenagers being told what they aren’t?

How often do we tell them what they are?

Teenage boys, chili, peanut butter sandwiches, and conversation. No place I would rather be, then sitting around my dining room table holding court with my son and his friends. We talk politics, religion, girls, school and of course, food. These boys have been sitting around a table with us since they were eight years old. Sometimes I thought they lived with us, and I grumbled as they ate meal after meal with us. And sometimes I welcomed the thought of hearing boys laugh, fart and fight for days on end. Always I have felt grateful that we were the house.

What I heard over the past weekend, felt familiar.

I remember one of the hardest parts of being a teenager is feeling like everyone focuses on what you aren’t. Kids at school are ruthless in what you aren’t. Coaches can focus on what you aren’t.

If you aren’t checking the boxes at school the “aren’ts” are overwhelming.

They’re coming from every side, then many teens go home to them as well.

Yes, I understand the If’s and Then’s.

If you do what you are supposed to, then, you wouldn’t have to hear the aren’ts.

Quick….who do you admire that always did what they were supposed to?

Did you always do what you were supposed to? Yeah, me either.

I really like me. I work hard. I seek knowledge on an ongoing basis. I don’t believe all my opinions and I’m funny damnit.

So….it’s safe to assume that my son and his friends are gonna be okay if they don’t always do everything they are supposed to….at all times.

So, I give grace, guide them in the right direction, and I challenge them to find their ARE.

I want to hear less of what they aren’t and more of what they are.

I long for them to absorb all of their are’s.

I know they will cling to their are’s when their heart is breaking.

When they lose a job.

When they are told no over and over.

When they face tragedy.

When they face a challenge.

When they face uncertainty.

When they face life.

If, when our teenagers come home to our arms, we add our voice to the masses chanting what they aren’t…..they will stop coming home.

Mistakes don’t equal a final destination of aren’t.

Mistakes pave a path to find what you are.

Your are doesn’t go away.

It doesn’t get smaller because others don’t see it.

It doesn’t disappear in the absence of belief.

Your are stays with you.

You aren’t a mathematician, and you are a writer.

You aren’t a social butterfly, and you are a true friend.

You aren’t a great student, and you are extremely talented in other ways.

You aren’t an athlete, and you are gifted with computers.

You aren’t the most popular, and you are well liked.

Two things can exist in the same space, if we add an and instead of a but.

A but infers that the are is less than the aren’t.

An and concedes that one is not better than the other.

No matter what message society sends them…..their are’s will always be bigger than their aren’ts if they are told often enough.

If they are reminded by those they trust.

If they are met with acceptance and love.

If you choose to be mindful of their are’s, they will stop paying attention to the aren’ts.

Oh my boys, I will always remember your are’s.

You can always come home to be reminded of them.

In this space…..you ARE.

In this home…..we ARE.

When the voices of society ring loud in your ears….my voice will be ready for your arrival.

The System

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The system.

It invites us.

It envelopes us.

It ingests us.

It spits us back up…..us, the questioners.

The critical thinkers.

It convinces us when we are young that WE are broken.

It convinces us that we are trouble makers if we don’t walk the line it has created for us.

It convinces us that we are wrong and it is right.

It convinces us that we won’t make it.

This is expected.

This is how the system grooms children.

This is how they get us to fall in line.

This is how they make their jobs easier.

As parent’s we often forget what it was like before they convinced us to stop questioning.

We often buy into the fear they are serving up.

We preach the same nonsense and hold the same lines.

We see questions as disrespectful and being out of the norm as threatening.

And we know…..in our hearts, we recognize those questions and we honor those toes on the line.

For many of us, we see ourselves in that stubborn resolve and it scares the hell out of us.

The others….well, they gave up long ago.

So we do everything we can to convince our kids to stay on the right side of the line.

We know this isn’t true.

We know C students rule the world.

We know the people who dare to ask questions, are the people who can’t be fooled.

My fifteen year old son is a questioner.

He will not check your box.

He will not step inside.

His Father and I have encouraged this since the day he could speak.

We encouraged negotiation of rules.

Compromise of limits.

A conversation…..never “because I said so”.

Now that he is in high school, I joke that this has “come back to bite us”.

I regularly receive e-mails from teachers.

Phone calls with assistant principals.

Conversations with the school.

I am told “he is never a behavior problem”.

I am told “guys like him tend to do great after high school”.

I am told “ we know all these rules can be hard on our critical thinkers”.

I am told “his emotional intelligence is off the charts”.

If we know this, then why I ask, are we lowering our schools to the lowest common denominator instead of expecting more?

Instead of encouraging critical thinking, we demand you walk the line.

Instead of applauding the banter, we deem it disrespectful.

Instead of rewarding the process, we shut it down.

Why?

Because critical thinking threatens our way of life.

It threatens the system.

It threatens rules for rules sake.

If you won’t respect rules for rules sake……you are a threat.

In today’s world we talk a lot about “lazy parenting”.

What about lazy teaching?

Lazy administration?

Lazy schools?

Is this what we want?

Adults who can’t and won’t think for themselves?

Adults who are happy with status quo?

Adults who won’t ask why?

Do we want a herd of sheep that will just put one foot in front of the other and walk in a straight line so no one has to explain themselves and no one has to answer?

We have a chance for better than that.

We have an opportunity for a whole generation of people who refuse to check the box.

We have a bright future of adults who grew up with information and won’t settle for less.

What will we provide them?

How will we guide them?

Can we rise to this challenge?

Not if we continue status quo.

Not if we single out the questioners.

Not if we demand conformity.

Not if we reward box checking.

In taking a deep dive with this subject, I realized that the majority of the people I admire….struggled with conformity in some way.

They ask questions.

They have a story that includes failure and mistakes.

They are not box checkers.

They are some of the most successful, happy people I have the pleasure of knowing.

Yet when we see it in children, it may show up as lower grades.

It may appear as ambivalence.

We may see them “opt out” of the system in some way.

When a critical thinker is faced with rules for rules sake……they may stop trying until they can have a voice in the system.

This is where we, the adult questioners, can be a valuable asset to them.

Where they see a wall, we can find the peep hole.

Where they feel shut down, we can guide them to a way in.

Where they experience resistance, we can help them push creatively.

Where they feel helpless, we can shine a light on their power.

Resilience.

Resourcefulness.

Courage.

Tenacity.

These are some of the attributes of your questioner.

Your kid, that the system struggles with.

Your kid, that received a C (or lower) on their report card.

Your kid, that you thought stopped caring about school.

Don’t believe the hype Mom and Dad.

Join their team.

Encourage the questions.

Show them the hole in the reasoning.

Remind them who they are and why they are here.

The questioners will change our world.

The box checkers…..well they can have their comfort in predictability.

They can have their rules for rules sake.

For me and mine…..we will rise.

We will fight.

We will question.

If They Only Knew.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Are you waiting to be found out?

Waiting for the other shoe to drop?

Waiting to be judged for something in your old story?

I’ve mentioned before, I do an awful lot of thinking about thinking. Recently, I have had this “waiting to be found out” feeling.

My practice is when I have a strong feeling, bring it in close and be curious of the root. So I began……

I am a Psychotherapist who knows anxiety on an intimate level.

I struggled with anxiety for as long as I can remember, however, she masked herself for years and years.

When I was a child, she began doing what she could to manage the chaos in our house. This included believing that she could change the mood in the house at anytime. She believed this was her responsibility.

When I was a teenager, she looked like a whole lot of self medicating so as not to feel.

When I was in my twenties, she sabotaged any happiness I might grasp onto. She did this by knowing it all, by reacting instead of responding, and by doing her best to protect herself from feeling out of control in any way.

When I was in my thirties, I was married and began to have children. Life felt beautiful. Life felt oddly calm, and life felt good……too good.

She began to show herself, but this time she was wearing a mask. She would creep up on me at my happiest moments.

Instead of kicking me when I was down, she pounced when I least expected it.

During a dance recital for my daughter, she would whisper “what if you got into a crash on the way home”?

While watching my son play on the playground, she would remind me “you aren’t always a great Mom, you should do better”.

When arriving home after a long day, and feeling exhausted, she would compare me to other Mom’s who seem to balance it all with ease.

She grew into a bully. A bully that wouldn’t allow me to feel happiness.

She was always there, to remind me I’m not as great as I think I am.

She was always there to rip my happiness right out from under me if I wasn’t careful.

She was always there to whisper hurtful words into my ear, which lowered my chin a bit and slumped my shoulders.

She reminded me that I am not as good as other women in remembering their birthdays, and I never send Christmas cards.

She never missed a chance to mention that my chest is small and my legs are skinny.

She wouldn’t let me forget the label she had assigned to me as “not a school person”.

She refused to allow me to feel worthy.

Did you forget that you got kicked off the cheerleading squad in high school?

Did you miss that all those other girls graduated from college “on time”?

She was relentless.

Eventually she masked herself as anger and defensiveness.

The more you feed anxiety, the more her power grows.

If I couldn’t feel happiness, I felt anger.

This looked like arguments with my husband over silly stuff.

This looked like lack of patience with my children.

This looked like “on and off” communication with family members, depending on who I might be angry at.

This looked like a whole lot of conflict and not much connection.

One day, someone else visited. I believe it was compassion. She whispered something different into my ear……she said “this is a choice…this is all a choice”.

She said “take my hand, your road hasn’t been easy, allow me to show you the way”.

Compassion began to show kindness to me, even in the face of anxiety.

Compassion was not a bit intimidated by her.

When anxiety yelled, compassion just nodded her head and said….”I understand, this is what you know”.

When anxiety said “but……” compassion said “it’s okay, I’ll stay by your side”.

When anxiety made my heart race and “what if’ed” me, compassion loved me through it.

Compassion was there through my whole journey.  She is just much more quiet than anxiety.

We can’t always hear compassion.

We have to create a space to hear compassion.

I began to hear her in my late thirties when I took a leap and returned to school.

I heard her when I walked into my class of mostly younger students.

She was there as I walked across the stage to accept my Masters in Counseling.

Don’t get me wrong, anxiety showed up to ask “who do you think you are” ……I just smiled at her and decided I know exactly who I am.

I am whoever I say I am.

I am who I decide to be everyday.

Anxiety and I no longer speak the same language.

She still comes around from time to time.

We aren’t so much friends but acquaintances now.

My new group of friends include compassion, kindness, empathy, joy, and mindfulness.

Mindfulness is the leader of our group, she reminds me on a daily basis to meet myself where I am that day.

Today, I wanted to remind you all that this therapist knows anxiety well.

Self disclosure is frowned upon in my work.

I’ve never been good at following the rules.

Why shouldn’t you see my imperfections?

I want to show you my scars so that you too can begin to hear compassion.

I am not good at what I do because I am perfect….I am good at what I do because I can see you.

I see you, and I know your bully well.

I have filled my own cup so that now I have enough to give away.

Allow me to introduce you to my group of my friends…..I know you will like them.

The “Too” Journey.

                                 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                     

                               The “Too” Journey

I laid there curled in a ball, sobbing, until calm came through sleep. I woke up to shame, and cried consistently the whole next day too. Something had changed. Something was gone, that I would never get back. I had no understanding of why my body was grieving so deeply.

At age 15, I had just started my period.My body was at the very beginning of becoming, and I had already given it away. This would be the beginning of the “too” journey.

My chest is too small.

My hips are too wide.

My legs are too skinny.

My nose is too crooked.

I talk too much.

I laugh too loud.

I noticed it in every picture.

I felt it at every turn.

Am I enough?

Will I ever be enough?

At this point I was alone. Alone with my “too’s”. Just me……to love my “too’s”, except I didn’t. I believed that those “too’s” meant my worth was less. I believed that my worth lied in my body, and my face. I looked for reassurance, and that lied in relationships. It rooted firmly in attention and approval. Society teaches us that a pretty face will move mountains, a beautiful body will change our lives.

My “too” journey ended in childbirth. For some this is where the “too” journey begins.

At that moment, I wasn’t  “too” anything, I was just enough.

My body nurtured and grew life.

My “too” small chest fed another human.

My “too” wide hips were cut open, sewn back together twice and I kept moving.

My “too” skinny legs carried babies and toddlers for several years

My “too” weak body balanced groceries, dogs kids and car seats every single day.

When I was young, I abused my body in whatever way I could. Alcohol, junk food, lack of exercise and an inner voice that rivaled any critic you’ve ever met. After kids, my coping skills were still young and raw, my habits still unrefined. Although I stopped the bad habits, I did not spend time creating new ones.

Until one day, I caught my 4 year old daughter watching me in the mirror.

She took it all in.

As I turned to the side and almost asked my husband “do my legs look too skinny in this”?

But her gaze created a pause.

In those eyes I saw the reflection of a young me, before the “too” journey, and I vowed my daughter wouldn’t take the first step onto that path.

In order to fill my daughters cup, I had to fill mine first. That’s just how it works.

I decided my body deserved to be on a journey of “enough”.

I decided my body deserved to be loved instead of judged.

I set about this journey with purpose and intent.

I created a mantra. I wrote in the steam on my bathroom mirror, every single day.

I stood in front of a full length mirror naked every week, and gave thanks to my body, part by part.

I hiked steep mountains, and climbed large boulders until my body felt strong.

I challenged it at every turn to see what it was capable of.

Turns out, this body is badass.

I made a choice, a choice that I would create a different path for my daughter. She will go on whatever journey she is supposed to, but it won’t be dictated by society or my inequities. Her body journey will be shrouded in a foundation of love and acceptance. Her memories will not be of her mother being “too” anything. Her memories will be of a mother who was just enough. Enough for herself, not anyone else. A mother who was able to see beauty in the mirror and feel beauty in her heart.

A mother who hopped off the “too” journey to find “enough” was much kinder.

My “enough” journey began with a pledge of mindfulness.

I share that with you now, humbly and compassionately.

 

                           Mindfulness of Body Pledge

I PLEDGE to appreciate my body by recognizing her strengths, abilities, capabilities, and her potential.

I PLEDGE to be a friend to my body by not criticizing, showing empathy when I falter, and by paying attention to her needs.

I PLEDGE to laugh as often and as loud as possible. Because it just feels good.

I PLEDGE to listen to my body by recognizing physical symptoms when experiencing overwhelming emotions.

I PLEDGE to meet my body where she is on that particular day, while pushing her to always work hard.

I PLEDGE to embrace my body’s beauty and remind her every day, not apologizing for confidence.

I PLEDGE to not make excuses, because she doesn’t need excuses.

I PLEDGE to wear whatever she feels good in, regardless of what others may think.

I PLEDGE to build in time to be still, so my body can rest, and recover every single day.

I PLEDGE to experience all that life has to offer in the skin I am in now.

I PLEDGE to not judge other people’s bodies, lest mine feel compared.

I PLEDGE to stand up to body shaming in personal conversations, and publicly.

I PLEDGE to treat my body like the badass she is, honoring, respecting and loving her every step of the way.

Get Grounded: www.groundedblog.com

Kerry Foreman MA  Mindfulness Based Psychotherapist

 

 

You Are My Sunshine: Our Darkest Days Provide Our Greatest Light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I ran in the door, letting it slam behind me. My Mom was heating water on the stove for my bath that night. There were no lights on in the house, and I could tell by the draw in my Mom’s face that something was wrong.  I didn’t have to ask what it was. There was a look to her face when a grenade had been thrown into our home. Her eyes tired with worry. Bags beginning to form with lack of sleep. The corners of her mouth pulled downward, as if she would never smile again. This was a pattern in my home.

This was my moment to shine. I would crack a joke, or compliment my mom in some way to help her find her smile again.  Her nickname for me was “sunshine”.  She said I was always there to be positive or make her laugh. I took it on, with everything I had.

I learned what her face looked like if my dad had lost his job. There was a difference you know……more anger was bubbling to the surface, masking fear. This meant my jokes might not work….wiser to go the compliment route.

I learned what her face looked like if a utility had been shut off.  Worry masking fear. Her eyes were softer during these moments. A joke could make it in, but it might not create lasting happiness for the night.  Better to have a litany of jokes ready.

I was a light in my Mama’s darkness. I knew this. I had the touch. I grew in my assuredness that I had the ability to help my mom through these tough times. I was the answer. I knew this at six years old as much as I knew that I loved Snoopy’s girlfriend Belle the very most in the Peanut series.

This was set in stone at eight years old, when my Mom asked me if she should divorce my Dad. I was sitting on the side of her bed. My gaze was set on the quote hanging in her room. I remember the quote that I focused on was “Children Learn What They Live” by Erica Jong. I would later write a speech on this very thing. But not that day…..that day, I channeled my very best inner counselor and discussed what my Mom should do.  “Well, you guys do argue a whole lot”…..and “ how would you support us”? I remember helping her to decide what she might want to do for a living if she had the choice. We both knew she didn’t, but at eight years old, I provided hope. That was my job.

I grew up reading faces. I grew up temperature taking. What was the mood in the house, what would my day look like and what skills did I have to effect that?

I was skill building, and I was completely unaware.

I woke up in the morning with the belief that I could be positive enough to change my world and other’s. That’s pretty impossible as a child. I know this now. I see children everyday that can not create change in their own household. They can only create change in their own head. I teach them that this is their light and THEY have control over it. It’s the only thing we have real control over…..our thoughts. It is our thoughts that create how we experience our world, no matter how out of control it is.

A day came at fourteen years of age, that I was forced to sit in helplessness. I was forced to realize that I had no control over the mood in our household…..I never really did.

Knock knock knock.  I rubbed my sleepy eyes and rushed to the door at 8:00 am on a Saturday morning. I was greeted by two police officers and the landlord of our current home. They simply asked me to get my Mom or Dad. I knew, this wasn’t a utility being shut off. I knew all of those unanswered calls we had been instructed to ignore meant something. I knew…….that our lives were about to change.

The people at the front door informed my Mom that we had twenty four hours to vacate the premises. Translation…..twenty four hours to get the hell out of the home that we had lived in the longest….five years at that point.

She came undone.

I can’t blame her.

I could no longer reach her.

My Dad was conspicuously absent over that weekend. Forcing us to find help wherever we could in relocating to my Grandpa’s house. Our belongings would go into storage, and we would never see most of them again.

My precious Belle was in there, and I convinced myself I would see her when we moved to a new home. I gave myself a light in that belief.

A spiral of helplessness began. Jokes didn’t work. Compliments fell on deaf ears. At this point, I was either a part of the problem or I was a part of the solution. My childish way of fixing things no longer worked and was no longer welcomed. I floundered for years, not recognizing that much of the anxiety I was experiencing was due to lack of control. I had spent so many years being attached to the idea that I had control over other people’s moods and feelings.

This led me to take a closer look at an unhealthy coping skill I had been building for years.

Temperature taking is when we try and read everyone’s mood around us and be a force of change for the better. This doesn’t sound so bad does it?

The ugly side of this is when we realize we can’t control how other people feel and act.

If we do, it is only temporary.

That lack of control can create anxiety.

The real gift lies in the helplessness.

Inside of helplessness lies a beautiful light.

Helplessness renders us paralyzed.

Paralyzed creates a moment of pause.

Pause allows us to feel.

Feeling allows us to pay attention to our thoughts.

Thoughts lead us to the light.

This light shows all of our flaws.

This light shows our intentions and our authentic values.

This light shows our inner ugly when we are faced with a lack of control.

This light forces us to feel our anxiety and be curious of the root.

Being a “fixer” dulls this light.

I would say it downright turns it off.

Fixing allows no space for helplessness.

In helplessness, lie our greatest gifts. The ability to just be. To not be attached to an outcome, but to sit in the feeling of doing our very best and trusting that the outcome will be for us.

Helplessness has allowed me to own my own moods and feelings, not taking things personally and not expect others to create my happiness.

Helplessness has helped me to stop driving my husband nuts with questions like “are you in a bad mood” and refusing to let it go.

Helplessness has helped this mom of a 14 year old and 10 year old to realize that many things I just can’t fix…..and that is perfect.

Helplessness has set this fixer free.

I am free to not fix.

I am free to be silent.

I am free to just listen and reflect.

I am free to be a space where you can find your own answer.

In that, it occurs to me that I am still helping.

Some things never change, always a helper….even in my helplessness.

The Beauty in Conflict: Stop Avoiding and Start Inviting.

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Every year I run a conflict resolution station at the 5th grade retreat for a local school. The first thing I ask is for them to tell me what words come to mind when I say the word conflict.

Every year, all the adjectives are negative.

Not one child, gives me a positive response to this question.

I bring the word conflict up in family therapy sessions and my clients bristle.

It’s unanimous, no one likes conflict.

But what if we looked at conflict like an opportunity? What if we looked at conflict as a way to teach our children negotiation skills or a way to strengthen our relationships.

What if we didn’t avoid conflict, but we invited conflict.

As a woman, I have been taught to avoid conflict at all costs. Don’t speak too loudly, or have too strong of an opinion. Shrink, so that others around you feel more comfortable. I have been taught this by society.  But I have always failed to listen. Which has created many opportunities for conflict.

The way I handle conflict has evolved over the years quite drastically. Conflict now represents an opportunity to learn from my partner involved.

When I was a child, conflict was what I was surrounded by. There was almost always an argument in process in my household.

Conflict was loud.

Conflict was insecure.

Conflict was angry.

Conflict was unreasonable.

Conflict was scary.

Conflict was based in ego.

Conflict came from emotional mind.

From this, I learned maladaptive coping skills on how to handle conflict.

He who screams the loudest, wins.

If you feel out of control, get physical.

Tears always help.

Threatening to leave gives you power and forces your partner to kiss ass.

It’s about being right, not about the relationship.

When in doubt, use sarcasm and belittling to give yourself the upper hand.

These coping skills, created many dramatic relationships for me. Until, at the age of 25, my boyfriend (now husband) told me I was creating a “yes man”. I knew, as well as he knew, that I wouldn’t last long with a “yes man”……I never had. For some reason, this created a break, that I was able to see a beautiful light through and it opened up my mind to what I could have….what was at my fingertips, if I just was able to create change. It offered a different way.

Years later, I interned at a counseling agency whose population was centered around domestic violence victims and offenders. I had a choice, to work with the victims, or the offenders.

I chose the offenders. I felt this was the area I could create the most impact, from my own experience and education.

Some may question this choice, and wonder why I would ever want to work with this population.

In them, I saw myself. I was forced to see that I had been verbally abusive at the very least.

In their stories, I heard my childhood.

Through their admissions, I too, acknowledged where I had failed.

In the “not extreme” cases, I saw us all. Just people who have no idea how to disagree. Sadly many take it too far.

This time with this population, helped me to see the cycle crystal clear. I was able to make the connection as to the “why” I behaved the way I did.

As children, not many take the time to teach us how to do conflict resolution right. Where you walk away, still friends. Still in love, or still intact.

We teach math skills we may never use.

We teach history, that many times is no longer relevant or accurate.

We drill grammar and science.

But we ignore conflict resolution.

The one thing that will help form successful relationships in our lives. We know, that all of us are moving towards relationship, in every form. It’s a piece of our lives that is essential and helps us to create our happiness. But we ignore the skills needed to maintain that relationship. Whether it be an intimate relationship, our relationship with our children, or just friendships in general.

So, as children, we are left to watch our parents. How do they resolve conflict? How they resolve conflict becomes how we resolve conflict. Unless we grab a hold and demand better for ourselves.

It begins with a choice. Do I want power or a partner?

Believe it or not, that was a hard one for me. Power feels really good. Power provides something I missed in my childhood…..control over my own choices.

Even with the pull of power, I decided I wanted a partner.

So I set forth, learning how to change my conflict resolution skills.

I learned how to fight fair.

I learned how to actively listen.

I learned how to take a time out if needed.

I learned how to create a space, where I could hear my thoughts, not participate in them.

I learned I shouldn’t trust all my thoughts.

I rewired my brain, from the bottom up. I created a new pathway for healthy conflict resolution, and I humbly offer that to you. If you know you are in need of change in the way you handle conflict resolution…..grab a hold friend. Awareness and accountability are the first steps.

In all of my writing, I wish to offer raw, real, stories. I wish to offer help to those who want it and I wish to offer the tools needed to make that change for yourself and those you love….breaking cycles always.

Begin with mindfulness. Get to the bottom of what is going on with your thoughts and get to the root of the feeling behind those thoughts. Then, learn new skills, and change your behavior. In a nutshell, don’t buy into all of your own crap.

A great skill to begin with is knowing what your triggers are. This means, what sets you off? What really gets under your skin? What sets in motion a series of negative thinking patterns? Take note of when those negative, destructive thoughts ruminate over and over through your brain, getting you more and more angry. What behavior comes from these thoughts?

Once you know your triggers, take note of your built in warning system of when a trigger has occurred. How does your body react when you are triggered? Where do you feel it? What is the pattern?

My heart races, my jaw tightens, and my head feels pressure.

What does your do?

Where do you feel it?

Are you listening to your warning system, so that you can better regulate your thoughts that come from the trigger?

We all want lasting love. We all want good coping skills for our children. We all want friendships.

Begin today…..conflict is an opportunity to express how you feel, and to create growth in a relationship. Stop avoiding conflict, and become comfortable enough to invite it in and learn from it.

Are You Rooted in Reactive Parenting?

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Definition

Reactive: Tending to be responsive or to react to a stimulus. Characterized by reaction.

Proactive: Creating or controlling a situation by causing something to happen rather than waiting to respond to it after it has happened.

~The Free Dictionary online

 

As a 14 year old girl, I was running wild. I took my first drink at 12, and by 14 had moved onto parties, weed and actively lying to my parents to get out of my chaotic home. I had allowed hands on my body, many a kiss, and was fully invested in how I looked from a boy’s eyes. My opinion of me, was not so important. My opinion of me, was an after thought. If I were an adult, watching me at 14, I would surmise that I was a “wild child”.

What does a “wild child” look like as a parent?

Last night, my 14 year old son hung out at the park with a group of kids (boys and girls) until dark, when they changed the venue to a neighbors back porch, remaining until I couldn’t take it anymore and needed to shut my weary eyes and fall asleep.

I was worried.

I was anxious.

I was mindless.

I was creating stories in my head.

I was reactive.

I suddenly realized, that since my son turned 14 last week, I have felt triggered. I had become more protective…more irrational, and more moody.  Somehow, I had allowed my thoughts to react to who I was at 14. Treating my son as if he was the same.

I tell my clients, when they are feeling anxious….listen to your body. What is your body telling you? My heart was racing, my thoughts were ruminating and my shoulders were raised and tight. My body was screaming out that I needed to be on guard. My amygdala wasn’t letting shit get past to my frontal lobe, where everything would finally make sense. My intuition was speaking, from my frontal lobe, but my amygdala was so invested in freaking out, that I couldn’t hear my intuition.

I was so rooted in my old story, that I was letting it color what my story looks like now. If I were to access my rational mind, it would sound like this. The characters in my old story were dysfunctional. They were angry, confused, exhausted, and not paying attention. They had bigger problems to deal with, than a 14 year old girl trying to figure it out. At 14, my parents had just gotten divorced. My sister had just been sexually assaulted. Our home had just been taken from us. No one was looking. My family was scattered, and I was an after thought. I could do whatever I chose…because no one was looking. I was left to come up with….what do I choose?

I chose to skip school.

I chose to accept any label assigned to me.

I chose to push old friends away, scared of being judged.

I chose to self medicate the pain.

I chose to give my body away, before I was ready, and with it, my confidence.

Turns out, a former wild child, can easily become a reactive parent. We remember what it was like to be 14, but our memories are skewed by emotional mind. We feel the anxiety in our hearts and assume there is a reason for it. We recount late nights and bad choices, and fear our child will follow suit.

Parenting is hard. Isn’t that an understatement of epic proportions? Mindful parenting is even harder. Mindful parenting requires I don’t lean on old stories. It requires I just be present with my emotional mind….do my best to bring in rational mind, and make my decisions from wise mind.

I know this….I don’t want to be a reactive parent.

A reactive parent assumes that our children are doing what we did.

A reactive parent parents in reaction to our own childhood.

A reactive parent imposes guidelines according to our fears, instead of facts.

A reactive parent dismisses all of our hard work.

A reactive parent ignores our child’s specific make up, and groups according to age.

A reactive parent is not mindful….they are operating on auto pilot.

A reactive parent doesn’t trust.

This former wild child wants to parent proactively and mindfully. I want to take the gifts from my old story and let them inform my present story. I study mindful parenting, and teach it as well. I still wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for the wonder. I wasn’t ready for the fear. I wasn’t ready for the vulnerability. I wasn’t ready for it to be so damn hard.

It’s so easy to teach others, however, when it applies to yourself, it is harder to see.

My reactive parenting colored the characters in my present story.

The main character in my present story is an honor roll student. A good kid, by all accounts. He has two very involved parents, who are watching. We see him. We are curious about him. We notice changes and we are there to guide, not impose punishment for the sake of punishment. The main character in this story….just wanted to hang out with his friends…after dark…..laughing, trading sarcastic remarks and growing. No trouble needed.

He has made mistakes, of course. Mistakes that measure quite small on the yard stick of childhood. Mistakes that should inform our parenting, not guide it. He will make more….of this I am sure.

How does a former “wild child” parent a good kid?

Proactively. Mindfully.

A proactive parent looks at patterns of behavior.

A proactive parent listens.

A mindful parent doesn’t let feelings cloud thoughts.

A mindful parent doesn’t assume motivation.

A mindful parent has empathy for what a teenager goes through.

A proactive parent welcomes mistakes.

A proactive parent uses mistakes to create growth.

A proactive parent cares less about punishment and more about making sure the lesson gets through.

A mindful parent takes inventory of our experience and ensures we are not operating from old story.

When you are in reactive mode, you will know. It doesn’t feel right. It feels uncomfortable and on edge. This isn’t where your parenting should derive from. Mindful and proactive parenting, come from your gut. It comes from knowledge, and being firmly rooted in present story. It comes from recognizing and being in tune with your thoughts and having the wisdom to not believe them all. Let your child’s actions inform your parenting. Nothing else. This puts your child and you in control, instead of your emotions driving the bus.

I wouldn’t change a thing in my childhood. I love who my authentic self is….and without my inner wild child, who would I be today? Should we discount all of our experiences? Absolutely not. Our experiences are there to inform and to create a place of wisdom. But wisdom knows the difference between decisions based on emotion and decisions based on facts. Tap into your wise mind. Know the difference between emotions and thoughts. Treat yourself tentatively. Just because you are the adult, doesn’t mean you are behaving rationally. Question yourself, and allow yourself to be put on trial by you.

Lastly, hang on friends. Parenting teenagers is a bumpy ride……even for this former wild child. It becomes much easier, if you don’t expect perfection. Listen to your emotions, and don’t trust every thought that comes your way.

 

Mindfulness of Emotion:

Notice the feeling.

  • Identify the feeling- name it.
  • Notice how and where it shows up in your body.

Observe the feeling as:

  • Pleasant, unpleasant, neutral

Accept the feeling- don’t judge it or try to change it.

Investigate the present moment of the feeling.

  • Notice the opponent of the emotion that is present as well as those aspects that are past or future aspects of the feeling.

Stay present with it.

Don’t identify with the feeling.

  • Your emotion does not equal you.

Examine the thoughts and the story behind the feeling.

Identify the trigger for this emotion.

When have you experienced this emotion before?