Shifting Perspectives through Word Choice

A lot of times all we need to see the world differently is a shift in how we see the world.  Sometimes that's about the words we speak and internalize. Sometimes it's a shift in what we are physically doing. When I look straight into a mirror I see my face.  I see my nose.  I was once told by a classmate that it was like peanut butter and spreads across my face. I can't remember the kid.  At all. This child was such an insignificant part of my childhood that I can't remember if it was a boy or girl.  But I remember those words. I see the tiny little blackheads harbored in the safety of my pores. I see the memory of every sadness I've lived because I know what my face looks like when my smile isn't one that is in my heart or shining through my eyes. I can see my reflection when it's not the mask I present to the world.

I have a couple of mirrors in my bathroom on opposite facing doors. I can adjust them to see the back of my head or body.  The other night I was watching myself without seeing my face.  I was looking at the reflected image of the side of my face. It was an odd feeling to watch myself, watching myself, knowing I wasn’t seeing a side of me I’m used to. It was what you might see if you were watching me and I didn’t notice you. I saw the harsh angled line of my jaw.  I noticed the way my hair fell softly to frame my face and I noticed that I’m beautiful when I’m smiling at myself. Imagine that!

It was a shifted perspective.

A few years ago I would often hear, “it is what it is.”  That phrase would make me so angry because I felt powerless in it.  It meant my husband of 15 years was leaving me for another woman and I had no choice in the matter. I had to shift my perspective and once I did, I felt like I was able to gain control through an altered word choice. “It is what we have made it and we can choose to accept it or change it.”  I tried to change it.  Then accepting it meant it was a choice I was making too.  After a year of standing and waiting for my marriage, I realized I was happier embracing life as a single woman.

I had a moment this week of being coached by a co-worker. I’m so blessed to have her in my life as a friend and mentor, and surprise, yet another life coach in my life.  She’s pretty amazing.  I was having a moment of feeling out of control and not knowing how to react or respond.  It was a deer in the headlights moment for me and I was so out of my depth.  I was lost and the anxiety had me.  She could see and sense it because my emotions were so palpable.  She reminded me to be still and not puff up or shrink back. She gave me a word: Allow.

So much of life is given as moments we are told to accept. You accept what has happened and move on, but what if you don't have to? What happens when you allow it to happen? What happens when you embrace your ability to empower the situation with your ability to offer grace through allowance.  We allow things to happen and they are no longer things which have been forced . . . Things we must accept. They become things we are in control of as we offer permission.

I think of my tiara.  I blogged about it a while ago.  It’s not the idea of being a princess.  I bought it last summer to wear when I pay my bills.  It helps me feel more like the Queen that takes care of my Empire.  I am no longer being victimized by my choice to shop for junk I really don’t need at a discount.  It’s a moment to reinforce the spending I did by deciding that I made a choice, and I continue to make that choice in making payments and balancing my checkbook.  I have choice and control over my finances in a way I never have before.  Even before I met my ex, I was at the mercy of my debtors.  I wanted a night of fun, so I used a credit card to pay for that night over the next year with the interest involved. In my marriage I was often told what I could and couldn’t do, and any rebellion on my part was rebellion.  I was never an equal.  But with my tiara, and my checkbook, I feel control and empowerment.  It’s about a shifted perspective and the choice to be empowered by words.  "I am making a payment" is so different than feeling "I have to make a payment."

What do you get to do?

My job is 20 miles from home and the commute is at least an hour to and from. I get to go to work and I get to sit in traffic. Working for a company that treats you like they want to keep you is easy when you know what it's like to not be able to work, or what it feels like to work where you feel disposable. Traffic is a real treat when I get to sit alone and sing to myself to start and end my day. I get to go to work and drive through traffic!

I get to pay my bills because not everyone can.

I get to make dinner for my family because sometimes I also get to be alone.

I get to do more than was asked of me, knowing that being asked at all is an honor.

Today my shift wasn't just in word choice. I had a rough start to my day with a moment when an email made me feel defensive and insulted.  It cast a shadow over my morning and by the afternoon I had felt the weight of it physically.  I was sitting in my seat, doing my job, working on remembering to snack less, and eat an actual meal.  It was slouching and leaning forward with the weight of my head on my hand in a position that said I was uncomfortable in my skin. And then there was music.

It wasn't the lyrics.  I don't understand most of them. It was in the way I was able to step outside of the space I was in, and just feel.  The sound of Madilyn Bailey's voice hit me in a way that I started tearing up and needed to share it.  From that song, I was able to shift into the sound and feel of the other songs on my playlist.  By the end of the day, I was dancing in my seat, working and doing overtime but entirely pleased about it.  I jumped into traffic this way and got home feeling happy still.  It was a shift that came with song, and movement.

You get to shift.  And when life settles uncomfortably, shift again.  Shift several times.  It's like forgiveness.  It's for you, not the person you're forgiving.  You keep giving it, you keep shifting it, until you feel better and can move forward.  It can be a gift you give yourself.  Repeatedly.

https://open.spotify.com/track/4vxA3aI7l73i0Hi819OQhH

Crazy Stalker Ex Girlfriend and Collections

I'm doing my job by being the crazy stalker ex girlfriend that really doesn't work anywhere else. I'm a Billing Specialist.  It's a hybrid position that was created as an idea.  I was put in place and it has kind of evolved into what it is.  It's client facing finance.  It's customer service.  Whatever it is, for this company it is me and I love doing all of the things a crazy stalker ex girlfriend would do.

Reviewing the Contracts

We look over contracts and want to make sure what they have paid covers the cost of what we offered.  We want to see if there's wiggle room to maybe reduce services and lower costs.  We want to see if it's worth the time and effort to really go after someone for the debt.

You promised forever and you are going back on your word by taking the love that was promised.  I usually take this moment and try to remember the real moments of love and connection.  I want to remind myself that it was really special at one point, so I don't get bitter.  I like to push them away but let them leave. I don't want to be the one to end it because I want to know that I did all I could until the very end.   I've learned that about myself.  I can't be another person to reject them because in the end I still care and love them, but maybe it's not enough. Maybe I hold too tightly to the good and purposely ignore the bad.  Most of the time the bad really is terrible.

Stalking

I get to call customers repeatedly.  I get to leave messages and voice mails.  I send emails. I've faxed and mailed invoices.  Every day, until we're paid, I get to reach out and make myself known.

Sometimes it's about an outdated contact.  In those cases I do a Google Search or check LinkedIn.  I've texted someone from my personal cell phone. I've even checked someone's personal Facebook profile to make sure they're still around all in the name of getting a payment.

We all want to know, right? Where are they? Who are they with? Are they just as heartbroken as we are?

Begging

I'm not asking anyone for love or validation, but I get to beg them to pay us.  I ask repeatedly for what was agreed on.  You signed a contract. We gave you what we promised and now you owe us.

I suppose this could also be about getting closure but I've learned you can't get that from an ex.

Record Keeping

In collections, you document each interaction.  You want to know when you called and what efforts were made.  That way, when you enact your collections leverage, you are justified.

Toward the end, the good and the bad are measured and weighed.  We want to know when the scales tip and it's no longer worth the effort. We want to know what was good and what was accepted because of the good and is the good still there? Is it even enough?

Your Lesson Here

The lesson is this stuff works in collections, but not love relationships. I'm at a point in my latest relationship where we've pulled so far apart that I can't imagine being able to fix it.  I'm seeing that I need to acknowledge and cherish the good but let it go and move on. I'm back in self care mode, and it looks like the perfect time to be the crazy stalker ex girlfriend, but I'm trying to keep that focused and restricted to work. I'm trying to not keep dibs but I want to know where he'll go from here.  In quiet moments throughout the day since we last parted, I keep telling myself not to do all that I want to because that will drag out the pain instead of healing it.  I keep picking up my phone to read our last texts and start texting something new, only to put it down and remind myself that I will be okay when I decide to let go and move on.

I will hold each cherished memory and balance it with the bad times.  I'll take the masterpiece of who he is off of my pedestal and strip away layers I added to see the truth of who he was and areas I need to work on that I could only see in the hindsight of my relationship with him.  And I'll be alone for that healing and recovery because that's also part of honoring who we were and the memory of the babies we shared and lost.  I don't have to stop loving him yet.  He doesn't have to be here to experience that either.  I can release him moment to moment and day to day.

I suppose that lesson for you is more a lesson for me. Tonight there will be whiskey and a cigar on my porch. I'll read old texts and have a good cry. Maybe even watch some of the shows we watched together. And tomorrow will be a new opportunity to remember to love myself in spite of what I might be feeling. 

Who Are You?

She waits alone on the bluffs, facing the winds that would fight her stand.  Strands of hair whipping across cheeks lashed by the cold bluster of sea kissed air in haphazard frenzies and flurries dance chaotically around her still body.  She looks defiant and bold but courage has left her.  She trembles within where the ebb and flow of love and worry have battered her. The sun slowly warms her skin in spite of the constantly barraging wind.  The attack becomes a caress and the air breathes a whisper, "who are you?" She breathes deeply, knowing she's been given the breath of life. As she exhales, her faith is the renewed purpose begging to answer, "what's my contribution?"

She thought of her favorite literature and the accident of its survival. Through the burning of heritage by conquerors and the libraries that lost battles with floods and fire, its survival has been a lucky mistake of history.  There's no reason to its survival from oral tradition to written prose.  She is the guardian of her favorite tome, memorizing stanzas and caressing phrases on gentle lips that try to hold the beauty of each image with gentle breath in honor of the miracle of its persistence. Its survival is an accident and she will honor each word.

She feels the strain of the day as a pulse that throbs at her temple.  She feels the pressure rise a beat under her skin.  Humming and throbbing a frenetic rhythm of life.  She knows who she is.  She carries the blood of lifetimes before her.  Kings and slaves of distant lands and time came before her.  Women that carried babies and lead their households give her generational strength.  The back breaking labor of men in fields and railroads, through racism and scarcity support her and she feels her spine straightening. Her existence was no accident. Her life on this earth is woven with purpose. It runs through her veins. 

With a deep inhalation, she swelled with the fire bestowed by the breath of life and exhaled a fortified surge of power, knowing she was ready to offer the world her contribution.  She was ready to walk in love.  She was ready to be brave in spite of fear.  She was ready to be courageous, no matter how much the pain of her loss manifested as an empty ache in her belly. She would continue to lead with her heart, offering love because she knew it would only fester into pain if she held it quietly within. She was ready to lead.  She was ready to show others the power of their identity.

Relationships Aren't Disposable

Several months ago a friend posted something to the effect of, "life takes many turns." It was a phrase I held onto when one of my online relationships fizzled.  I thought it was real until I realized I was being catfished.  Again.  My catfish history has lead to my 9 day series on Anatomy of a Catfish, and here is the first post in said series. It's not all roses but it's not just piss, either. I was again on Facebook today when another friend posted about unfriending and blocking people.  We take that for granted, don't we? With the superficial aspect of online friendships, we have the full ability to cut someone off and we can choose to not acknowledge their existence.  It's easy.  It's a button and a confirmation click and you don't have to see them and you can stop them from seeing you.  When my ex first left me and I felt abandoned and attacked by everyone that knew us both, I did lots of blocking.  I've since unblocked people.  Less freakouts on my part mean I'm more passive about the secret fan club I may or may not have.  Now there's a handful of blocked people and they're only men that didn't take my direct rejection as hint enough to stop asking me out.  (Please don't try to woo a woman by telling her she doesn't know what she wants when she tells you it's not you.)

I even fully ghosted a man once.  Months later he called me from a different number to ask why and it's not something I choose to do as easily.  It's human nature to need acknowledgement.  I knew a man that was big on ignoring people.  Maybe I still know him.  I don't know if you ever know anyone right now.  I'm a little jaded. I can admit it though. We were at a gas station once and another man walked up to his window to ask for money.  The person I knew ignored him.  The acknowledgement probably hurt more than the money that wasn't given.  It's important to humans to be seen.  It's who we are. There are selfies for that reason. Personally, I have a whole blog with stats and everything.

Where is the social aspect of social media? Don't get me wrong.  I love Facebook.  I give my Facebook feed more of my free time than I give my blog. I get to spy on friends and watch their lives without taking time out of my life to actually see them in person.  I can share inspiring videos and things that make me smile.  I can share snippets of my Mommy Moments that look like snark and dark humor.  I can wish someone a happy birthday and even though that may be my only interaction with them or their page until next year, I can make you believe that phrase I typed means I hold you close to me.  Because in that moment you do. Don't get me wrong, I love all of my friends and really do stalk them all day and night.  At the same time, I can't tell you the last time I drove to a home or restaurant or cafe for a moment to really engage with someone outside of my kids.  It's totally me.  As it is, I rarely feel like there are enough hours in the day to do the things that I want to do the most.

Life would be different without social media.  I would probably make a greater effort. I mean, all of the meaning we feel in life is a reflection of the relationships in our lives.  As much as I'm big on my loner moments, I'm still very affected by my relationships and the frustration I feel with the amount and quality of interactions I rarely make time for.  When I was younger I would call my grandmother or write her letters.  When she passed, I found that she kept all of them.

Today I can share a picture and tag my mom and she doesn't need me to make the same efforts.  My mom takes Facebook photos and prints them out.  At the same time, social selling has become so easy because of these relationships.  People I know and have trusted are a few finger strokes away.  There's a whole network of people I have met or know through a network or two that share certain visionary ideals and their pictures and thoughts give me a daily boost of hope.  My point is we all need to dig deeper for a more meaningful relational experience with our friends. With the fast pace of life as a mom, I understand how busy we can all get.

Yes, I just admitted I'm not as involved in relationships as I really want to be. There are friends I've known since I was a little girl and friends from high school that I would love to spend some time with.  There's a 3 month old I am dying to hold and sing to, but I haven't made the effort.  I see his adorable pictures and pick apart the ways he looks just like his Dad did when we were all young and loving our terrible choices for after school entertainment.

What about applying the superficiality of online relationships to real life? In school we were forced to see the same people over and over again.  If you started a relationship that ended, you might get stuck with that same person sitting behind you. Talking about the new person in their life.  Making you miss them and showing you all of the reasons why you really shouldn't. You grow up and sometimes there's a spark at work and you consider that career move a little faster than you might have.  Or, like me, you go through a nasty separation with kids and have to do a custody swap.  We were lucky enough to have a judge wise enough to make most of those swaps happen from the kid's schools.  If I'm lucky, I don't have to see him.  But at the same time, we still have to see each other at functions for the kids and on custody swaps during vacation times.  It's frustrating because at one point we were close.

That's the point of relationships, right? At one point you move from strangers with nothing in common to people that share interests.  You become people that share a history.  Post relationship we might be able to be friends instead of picking fights.  That rarely happens for me.  A relationship ends and either they still love me or hate me.  There's no in between that fades into friendship. But when we blocked each other there was no fuel to fight with. It was convenient.

The thing with relationships it that they don't just end.  Months and years later, you might hear a song or smell something that brings you right back to where you were when you remember a special memory.  The people we love or have loved will leave indelible marks on our hearts and it's okay to honor that.  I think it's okay to tell someone what they meant or mean to you, even if there is nothing reciprocated because there is too much hurt to allow something like that to land.  The beauty of love is it can be unconditional.  You can give it without expecting anything in return.  You can offer it, knowing that it may always be unrequited. Giving love without it being returned can be painful.  It helps to remind yourself that your expectation meant you weren't giving it unconditionally.  That expectation was the cost of the love you offered.

Relationships aren't meant to be convenient.  They aren't meant to be one sided either.  My late aunt once gave me the best marriage advice.  You give as much as you get.  That's part of the deal.  The relationships we have take effort and communication.  They need time and intentional connection.  With all that we have and all that it takes, and our individual needs to be seen, acknowledged and loved, is it really that important to cut someone out of your life?

Self Limitation: What is Stopping You is Often Just You

A Facebook friend posted a query: What if your glass ceiling is actually a mirror?

My favorite answers were:

1. Well then you see your limiting beliefs.

2. Then I guess you’d look up and see the only thing truly holding you back.

3. Discovering what you have not been willing to see . . . jump through the ceiling to go to the next floor of your possibilities and become unstoppable.

Yes, I know some intensely visionary beings of light and they live in possibilities that not everyone can imagine. I’m very grateful for the network of ideals that flow through my Facebook feed.

How often do we stop short of taking a risk because we can imagine the outcome? Usually that outcome isn’t in our favor.  I must acknowledge what I’m doing and stop it. My kids do it and I’m trying to teach them not to, but what I have done consistently is a more solid lesson than the possibilities of what we can create when I’m choosing to be intentional.  Being intentional is a choice that needs to be chosen moment to moment when habits are easier to fall into.

An example is when we go shopping and my kids already expect what I will say yes to and what is usually a no.  Anything food related that isn’t too full of sugar or caffeine is usually a yes.  Toys are usually a no, unless it’s one that is reasonably priced.  The rest depends on my budget and how much I want to put up with it.  It’s a mom thing.  We don’t always want the loud toy that requires batteries.  We sometimes prefer quiet time. My consistency means my kids are really hesitant to dream big and ask for what isn’t usually approved.  It’s not something I want to continue teaching them.  I want them to learn to ask for the bigger things.  You don’t know what the possibilities are until you ask and are answered.  Everything in life is negotiable.  You just have to know what to ask.

In the shopping example, my kids limit themselves by thinking about my expected response. They stop themselves before giving me the opportunity to answer and in life, it’s a practice many of us have perfected.  We limit ourselves, not knowing we are often our only limit.

Sheryl Sandberg wrote Lean In and in her examples, there were many times she encourages women to Lean In.  This means not accepting what has been and pushing for the new thing.  I highly suggest it.  Her prose is easily engaging and her examples relatable.  More than that, her career altering perspective shift is just what is needed for women in the workplace. Sandberg writes about the many times in a career that a woman is likely to not lean in.  Be it starting a career, or jumping into a conversation, they often limit themselves.  Don’t get me wrong.  The glass ceiling and financial disparity in the work place are real and influenced by gender.  That’s a norm all of us get to break together.  At the same time, she points out where women are responsible and offers the authority and power to regain control of how you craft your career with her honest advice.

It’s a practice for me to ask, “what story am I telling myself?”

My big goal for the end of the year is still to take my kids to Canada.  It’s Kid1’s dream and my goal.  I do not yet have the finances, and that is the first story I tell myself. It’s hard to not think of my present financial situation as the only one there is.  It’s hard to not convince myself that the only way to make the money happen is to do what I’ve always done, and that’s going to work and making money.  Earlier this summer I started selling whitening toothpaste.  It’s work, but it’s also sitting on my phone and playing on Facebook.  (You can try it too.  It’s less risky than slanging rocks on a street corner.) Last week I was in a minor car accident with a minor payout to go with it.  Money comes to you in different ways all the time.  Why do I usually believe I won’t have enough if I don’t have a job? Because I’m living in the story I tell myself, and not the possibilities that fall in my lap because they surprise me and I can’t count on their schedule, even if I can count on those opportunities arriving (because they always do). Always doing things one way doesn’t mean I have to keep doing so.  I get to try new tricks.  I get to let the possibilities play themselves out without falling to the limits of a past that may never repeat itself.

The next story I tell myself is about access.  First on my list is to get passports.  I get to fill out forms, wait in an office and pay for them. Once I do, I also have to get permission from their Dad.  There’s also transportation and lodging. The area that limits me the most is having to ask their Dad for permission.  This was something that Kid3 also believes is impossible.  The kids aren’t convinced their Dad would let them go.  I’m not convinced either, but living in possibilities means when the time comes, I get to ask him. I will not just assume I know the answer because in reality I’m only in my own head and not always sure of what my own thoughts are.

The last story I’ll go over for now is the story that it’s not my time.  If I have until the end of the year, I can push my goals, right? I can wait for the right job.  I can wait for the right body shape to wear that outfit.  I can wait until my kids are older.  But then I’m giving the world excuses that I need to put off living my life.  What is so important that I would put it before my desire to live the life I choose to live? Go get your life! No one else gets to live it but you. Putting your life on hold doesn’t serve anyone.  Where’s your urgency?

It’s like lying.  What is so important about someone else’s perception that you can’t stand in the integrity of your word? What is so important about someone else’s feelings that you would choose to invalidate who you are by lying? If you can’t tell the truth as you see it, can you see why you would devalue yourself so much as to make someone else’s perception of you more important than how you see yourself?

So what is your story?

What do you tell yourself and convince yourself of, based on a past that has nothing to do with the future you get to create? What limits do you put on yourself?  What limits do you allow others to put on you? Why do you put these limits on yourself and do you know you really don’t have to?

Go get your life.  We get two. The second starts the moment you decide you only get one, and you won’t get out of it alive.  That’s not how the game is played.  We all die, but there’s no reason to live a dead existence.

People Are Not Labels

I love watching a man run, and yes, that is living poetry, but we are not boiled down to a word or phrase.  I might think he's sexy or even delicious, but he's probably smart and has complex feelings too. Labels are for jars of canned fruit.  Labels are for pantry items and filing cabinets.  Labels are not for people. I read an article (maybe it was a blog post) about a mom talking to her kids after her daughter (in a bit of I-want-it-so-I’m-having-a-tantrum-until-I-get-it-and-hurt-you kinda way) told her mother that she was fat.  Her mom informed her daughter that we all have body fat, and we are not defined or identified by something we may have.

That was profound.

We are not identified by a part when we are whole.  Honestly, that’s a literary trope and I am not a synecdoche.  We are not literary phrases.  It was a terrific argument. I wish I had saved that link.

I am not fat but I love my relationship with my marshmallow fluff.  I have a family member with diabetes, but he's not only diabetic.  Labels like that are for medical professionals to understand how to treat you.  That doesn't mean you are identified by a term.

My sons are not autistic, though they are on the spectrum.

This is all about relearning language because the words we use to identify us, have a strong influence on our identity.

I know I've said this before somewhere, but it's worth repeating: Labels for disabilities are like labels used in gender studies.  It's a way to classify a person so other people that can't empathize can understand them.  Labels serve to identify other people by differences, excusing us from actively looking for similarities. My sons will live in their world the exact same way if they didn't have a label.  Labels are not for them, but for the people that don't understand them. We are more than a body or a mind. If I didn't look for ways to be different from others, I would look for ways that we are the same.  This is where prejudice starts.  

When children are looking for their first friendships, they look for things in common.  When they are older and start looking for alliances in their friendships, they look for differences.  This pattern doesn't stop unless you are intentional with stopping it.

We are not the sum of our debt or how extravagantly we live.  You are so much more than words used to define you when usually you’re still working out who you are for yourself.  Understanding who I am in this world and in my skin is a life long exploration. There is so much more that makes up who we are and affects how we show up in the world.

The funny thing about defining ourselves in life is that those definitions are meaningless in death.  We pour so much into a career or home.  We want the fancy cars and the designer clothes. No one will care about what you drove or how many bills were piling up.  They won’t care about what you wore or how you wore your hair.  They’ll care about the connection they had to you and how that void will be filled, or if it even needs to be. They’ll worry about how their life will go forward without being able to rely on you.  They’ll be upset that they took for granted the fact of your existence.

At the most connected point of your interaction, that is the part of you that matters in the world.  It's not when we're on our phones, swiping or scrolling past a post that is a superficial substitution for a relationship. It's when we are sharing who we are through stories of what we have been through.  It's about holding a hand or embracing someone in a hug that is meant to hold someone together.  It's in sharing the vision of your future and the vivid dreams of your legacy.

You are not the designer clothes you wear.

You can work hard to keep it high, but you are not your FICO score.

You are not a fancy job or the transportation that gets you there.

You are not the depression that visits and holds you down.

You are not the pain of your illness.

You are not the person you are dating, nor are you defined by the connection you have.

You are an amazing and unique person and self love is essential to happiness, but even then, you are who you decide to see yourself as.

You see it, don't you? It's the many ways you are a unique and amazing person with exceptional gifts that only you can offer the world.

My point is there is so much to who we are and the ability to laugh and grow that is within us flourishes the most when we connect with others.  Humanity thrives on relational connections. No individual word or the stigma it carries can define who you are.

How to Spot a Parent

I was leaving the Barnes and Noble by my job a few weeks ago and I spotted a Dad.  He didn’t have a diaper bag or a t-shirt that identified anything other than the job he was working.  There wasn’t a stroller around him or a child he was looking after. There wasn’t a mom around, looking to him for support and he didn’t have a baby strapped to his chest in a carrier or sling. I could see his fatherhood in his stance because he wasn’t standing still. Parents with infants learn a hip swaying motion that is most soothing to little ones.  I would say it’s instinctive but it’s really a learned ability. Babies like the rocking and swaying.  They like the smooth flow in a side to side direction. It soothes them and soothing a crying infant can soothe a tired and stressed parent.

If you look around, you might see parents without kids doing the hip sway without kids around.  I do it when stressed or tired and it soothes me.  I don’t do it on purpose.  It’s become part of who I am.  I felt such a strong connection to this man in the simple body language learned through many sleepless nights that I felt the pull of his fatherhood in a way that brought me comfort.  I asked if he was a Dad and he was surprised when I shared my observation, but it was a connection that pulled me out of my thoughts and gave him something to chuckle over, breaking up the monotony of his day. He recognized the sway once I pointed it out.

I think of this so often lately.  Who we become as parents is a transformed person.  My reality before kids will never be a reality for me again.  It's impossible to go through so much and become that selfish child I was.  I will never be able to cook a meal for myself and not worry that my kids might not eat if I'm not the one to feed them.  It's impossible to think only of myself without wondering how my actions will affect my kids.  In dating, I had to learn that some choices need to be made for my sake, as my children need to learn to adapt.  They need to learn that I matter and I need to show them this by proving that I am capable of loving myself too by not sacrificing everything I am for who I want them to become.

I've been pregnant.  I've given birth.  I've lost children.  I've stayed up all night with sick children, catching projectile vomit in my bare hands.  I've kissed feverish foreheads and smelled the sickened breath on parched lips. I've sat in a cool bath, trying to break a fever with a limp child.  I've woken throughout the night to comfort and care for my child, only for him to wake and feel well enough to not allow me to take a nap, even if he was keeping me up all night.

In spotting a parent, it's the subtle things.  It's not flinching in a store when you hear a crying baby.  Or seeing a mom grab her breasts, as this sound so often made my breasts tingle and my milk would "let down." It's the sway that becomes it's own source of comfort even when there are no babies around.  It's over explaining because you're used to the many questions that come from the curiosity of a child.  It's being able to be aware of details without giving your full attention because you have the peripheral vision of parenthood that often feels like eyes in the back of your head.

It's being who our children make us and knowing we'll never be done, so long as we live, because we never stop being parents, even when our kids are no longer in our arms, or even our homes.

The Extreme Value of In-Laws

I had a set of in-laws when I married.  Some made me feel loved.  Others made me feel tolerated.  I don't plan to focus on them.  The idea of this post is more about the family of the men I'm into.

Learning How to Cook New Foods

When I was younger, my boyfriend's moms always invited me into their kitchens.  This is how I learned to make tamales. There's something about a girl willing to cook for a son that makes a mom want to give you affection.  The first instinctive act as a mom is to feed her child, and here is someone else willing to do so.  It was a time for me to learn, but a time for them to learn about me.  Do I mind getting my hands dirty? Will I clean up after myself? Will I jump at his every whim and how else will I undo all that she taught him.  Will I treat him poorly?

Someone That Understands and Still Loves Him

My favorite in-law bonus was the built in fan club.  I have a gift for finding men that are more selfish than selfless.  They tend to be stubborn and not easily coached into a shifted perspective. They tend to be dominant and aggressive. Of all the men I dated, not one escaped a moment of me thinking, "seriously? Is this what I want in my life?" At these times, I always knew that their family would get it. No one else would see selfishness or poor hygiene and still love the man I'm into like I would.  Except maybe his mom.

Deeper Understanding of His Past

No one can bring out both the best and the worst in a boyfriend like his family.  Typically, he's going to behave in a way that usually makes me feel like he wants to keep me.  When his family is around, he's likely to be at his friendliest and happiest and in the very next phrase uttered from a sibling, turn into an angry person you've never seen.

There's a gift to being the new person in the history of a family dynamic.  I can step in without the past clouding my judgement of the present.  I can see the most benign comments as innocent where my boyfriend would see something said by a sibling or parent as instigating and malicious.  I don't have history to mar the future like a sibling that has seen you with pimples would.

You Get to Glimpse into the Future

There's also a bit of fortune telling involved.  You see their kid pictures, but you get a real life experience of nieces and nephews.  You see how their siblings raise their kids and you can see echoes of what your boyfriend was raised like.  Parents learn from their parents, or work really hard to unlearn what their parents taught and it's so clear when you watch your significant other with their siblings, nieces and nephews.

Will he have a receding hairline? Will he repeat the same jokes? How does he act around his family? Does he treat his mom well? Is he respectful to his Dad? How does he describe his family to you? Is it an accurate description or does he see things entirely differently from the rest of the world and is this a good thing?

Where Do Loyalties Lie?

How honest are they? Will they tell you when you're too good for the sibling they know, or cover every sin and fault he is capable of.

Looking in the mirror, I can't deny the ways in which I favor my Dad and my sisters.  I never felt my emotional needs were met, and I'm almost paralyzed as a parent, trying to meet that need for my children.  So much of who we are is reflected in the relationships we have, and the family we're given is so much more telling than the families we choose.

Get Help Through Depression

I do collections.  What I’m doing for the company I work at is pretty much collecting payment for what most of the world sees as a luxury.  For the most part, I’m not harassing people that are trying to decide if paying me is going to cost them groceries for the next week.  But there was a call yesterday and it reminded me that I haven’t asked myself, “what’s my contribution?” in a while. I’m here to encourage you today.  My inspired moment yesterday looked like a poorly planned Facebook Live. I had the sun glaring behind me and forgot to turn off my Waze app that was taking me home.  There were lots of giggles but this is my follow up. Fewer giggles.  Same insane amounts of love for people I may never see.

I get it. Life can be overwhelming and difficult.  Bills pile up and it can be overwhelming.  Relationships can feel one sided or draining. Or they can end before you want them to. Things we hope for or expect can fail us and fall through.  It’s easy to get caught up in what we hoped for not being our reality and it can wear us down.  I can tell you to shift your perspective, but it’s not an easy thing to do and sometimes you have to shift it every couple of minutes.

Who are you?

I want to remind you that you are not your debt. You are not your job.  You are not your relationship.  When you are gone, no one will remember the details of what you did for a living, or how extravagantly you lived.  They’ll remember who you are.  So, who are you?

I’m a brave, courageous, heart-led leader.

I’m a mom who will do whatever it takes for my kids.

I am a woman capable of giving love and one day I will comfortably say I can receive it too. (Battle scars.)

My identity is not tied up in my circumstances.

I am not the jobs that come and go.

I am no longer an abandoned wife.  I’m here for me and I will not leave my side.

When we make regrettable choices in life, it’s so easy to take that moment and wear it as a punishing cloak of identity.  This is a choice you don’t have to make.

I loved being a student, so I’m asking you to take a moment to think of finishing school.  Once you graduate and are no longer a student that education is still able to serve you in knowledge as well as the habits that got you through it.  But you are no longer a student.

It’s like looking at that miniskirt I used to wear in high school.  I have the same legs, but my belly has held enough life to stretch it in ways that leave designers stumped (there really should be a market for c-section belly overhangs that just need a comfy belly bra).  It might look like it could fit, but it really doesn’t and I see it every time I try.  While it’s in my hands and not on my body, I’m imagining what could be, unable to release what doesn’t fit for the yoga pants that do.  Let it go.

You are not alone.

I understand depression.  I understand the inability to see beyond an immediate circumstance that has made me feel worthless.

My first real suicide attempt was when I was 14.  I had to have my stomach pumped and stayed in the hospital for about a week with most of that time in Intensive Care.  This was followed up in therapy. There were several other serious attempts, but I couldn’t give you a number.  I got help though.  I’ve had a therapist through the first event, the baby blues in 2001 and when my husband left me in 2015. I wasn’t counting the lows because it was a series of days that were too dark to see through. The most recent was probably around 2014.  My depression was intense but I got help in the form of a prescription that time.  The point is, I couldn’t handle things on my own and I got help.  Repeatedly.

Get help.

All I can say is I’m here today because I searched for help and didn’t stop searching until I felt I was safe.

I was never the type to tell people I wanted to kill myself.  Not in anger or as a threat. My personality is much too implosive for that.

I’m very self-aware and have always been great at torturing myself with that pain in silence.  But it has also forced me to advocate for myself in getting help.

When I started visualizing self-harm, I asked for help.

When I tried to imagine what death would do to my body, I asked for help.

When I sat alone in the dark, unable to get out of bed, I asked for help.

When insomnia was controlling my life, I asked for help.

When I couldn’t eat anything, or couldn’t’ stop myself from eating everything, I asked for help.

When I started cancelling plans with friends because I didn’t plan to be around, I asked for help.

When I held pills or something sharp in my hand, and couldn’t see myself getting past the next hour, I asked for help.

When my smile was painfully fake but no one could tell, I asked for help.

When I see that same smile on someone else’s face, I now offer help.

You will get through the next minute, hour, day.

You will learn to help yourself through hard days.

I sing out loud.  I dance or walk (endorphins are amazing). I get lots of sunshine for Vitamin D. I write, and when I feel the people I reach out to are making things worse, I step back and know that self-care is not selfish. And I catch a sunset.  Something about nature reminds me that I am tiny and as small as I am, my problems are smaller and just as the world does its thing without me, I don’t need to feel responsible for the world.

You’re not a tree.  You don’t need to stay where you are.  If you hate your job, get another.  If a relationship isn’t working, end it.  You don’t need to put a time goal on your life.  There’s no need for “I’ll give it another couple of months.” Go get your life.  Decide what you want to change or keep and work for it.  Don’t settle for the same circumstances and hope time will fix things.  If it’s meant to be done, you must get it done.  No one can live this life for you.  No one is to blame but you if you choose to settle in misery.

Again, get help.

Ask for help from your doctor.  They have pills and facilities that are made to help you when it’s too much.

Ask for help from your pastor or church.  There are religions built around helping others. Good stuff, really.

Ask for help from a therapist.  They won’t fix you.  They’ll help you learn to shift your perspective, address what is holding you back and break through to the next phase of your healing.

Ask for help from family and friends.  I can’t remember a time I tried to kill myself with an audience.  Don’t be alone if you don’t feel safe.

Know that saving your life is an inside job that no one can do but yourself.

Know that there is no shame in what you feel.

I won’t say you’re wrong in what you feel.

I won’t say you need to help me feel better about what you are going through.

I won’t guilt you for feeling bad.

It's okay to feel what you do.

If you’re hurting enough to want to hurt yourself or others, you are hurting enough to need support.

Ask for the support you need.  Know you are worthy of a happy and fulfilling life.  Know that depression isn’t a life sentence and there are always options and answers to questions we don’t always know to ask.  Wait and the question will present itself. Help comes when you look for it because it never looks the way we expect it to.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (800) 273-8255

Everything Happens the Way It's Supposed to and It Isn't Always About You

A couple of weeks ago I was getting a haircut.  I loved the way his work made me feel. I wanted a trim and a dye job.  I have a bit of hair at the nape of my neck bleached, then dyed purple. I wanted it near work in Santa Monica to help me take my time getting home so I could avoid traffic. I found a hairdresser who uses gentle products and was very social.  I loved my time in his chair. While he worked and the shop began to close, his cleaning man came in to scrub floors and make the place smell chemically clean and sanitized. We chatted about his birthday weekend plans apart from his twin sister.  We chatted about the twins I carried long enough to love. Just as my hair was washed out, a woman came into the shop.

The hairdresser was supporting her with a hug and the benefits of friendship.  She wore a cute black dress that was perfect for work and made me jealous of it until I remembered I rarely sit like a lady in a dress.  She seemed to be holding back with so much pain and emotion.  I asked if she had just endured a long day and my moment of compassion opened her up just enough to be authentic in the pain she felt.

This woman was going through a divorce with a man still intent on making her suffer even though they were no longer together, and she was faced with starting over.  New city, new job, new lower credit score (divorce will do that) and no idea how she was going to get through it. I've been there and I'm certain several of my readers have as well.

I gave her encouragement like I got so many times from people who had been divorced.  I told her she was stronger than she knew.  I was told the same thing repeatedly and it was only in the months after I found a new normal that I could see it was true.  I told her there were good times and bad times.  Remember the bad, but cling to the good.  I told her that I acknowledged her for not giving up and getting this job for herself.  She insisted the job was for others and their expectations of her, but I pointed out she was doing it for herself.  I knew because she wasn't in bed, hiding and quitting life.

The cleaning man stopped to encourage her as well.  He was a man that got to start over after nearly 40 years and and it wasn't his first choice either.  He also eventually found freedom in starting life over.

What are the odds that I would be in the right time at the right place with another stranger sharing a similar story of getting through the end of a marriage with a woman who needed to borrow our strength?  We were exactly where we needed to be when we needed to be there.

There was another hair appointment that was supposed to be worked in tandem with mine.  She had cancelled and had she been there, we might not have had that same cradle of connection and care that we were able to offer her. Had I decided to go straight home or wait for the weekend to go to a salon near my home, I would have missed her.  We are right where we need to be, when we need to be there, but sometimes we're meant to be present for someone else.  It's not always about me, and I get to see how I might help others.  That is a gift.  It is a special honor.

I told her to hold onto that moment.  It was one of the good ones where she openly cried with two strangers and she was met with love and compassion.  One day what we gave her will be needed by someone else. I'm certain she will give and also receive in the act of giving the way I did.

There is a right time and place for everything.  There's a whole song and bible verse on it if you don't believe me.  The thing is you get to look at the moment you are in and see what the purpose is.  Maybe you're there and the reason is you're meant to support someone else.

The Biggest Takeaway from my Surrogate Pregnancies is about Not Being a Bigot

I don't often write about my surrogate pregnancies.  Part of its was a non-disclosure that was signed to ensure I would give my couples their privacy.  They're amazing people and always close to my heart. In a perfect world they wouldn't have needed me. Part of me wants to keep them closely protected in my memories. I could still share about doing seven IVF cycles as a surrogate.  I could tell you about the many needles and syringes.  I could write about prepping my needles and shooting myself in the butt because help from the ex didn't look like him helping me with the awkward position of where I needed to shoot myself.  I could share the horrible feeling from hormones.  Feeling pregnant and bloated and emotional and knowing I was doing it all to myself... There's also the way it felt to be cared for and pampered by these parents or what it feels like to part with the children that spent so much time just under my heart. Maybe one day I will share.

What I am sharing is the greatest takeaway I have from it.  It's the people and the relationships and the perspective shift.

My second couple was culturally Jewish, though they weren't religious.  I wanted to get a Mezuzah for the baby's room but learned how inappropriate that is for a family that didn't plan to raise their child in the practices of a faith they weren't passing on.

I won't get into all of it, but I will share just enough about my last couple.  They were an Arab couple from a muslim country and they were practicing muslims.  I had studied geography to know where they came from but beyond that, my understanding came from the news.  I don't watch the news anymore.  It's all about creating a perspective and selling viewers to companies that want to show us their really expensive ad campaigns. I read and skim for important details through news outlets that don't try to make me throw things.

When I met my intended mom for the first time, I was told to meet this Arab woman I had never seen before in a store on Rodeo Drive.  I thought that maybe she would have dark skin but that she would be covered up in a Burqa or hijab.  I wasn't prepared for who she was and it threw me off center just enough. A couple of hours with her changed who I am as I look at the world outside of myself.

She was so beautiful with fair skin and beautiful black hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders.  She wore a long flowing top with dress pants.  Her outfits were always high fashion, but conservative. It was a hot day, but she looked comfortable even though she was covered up by her clothes, I would have never known she was muslim by her clothes. She was confident.  She had an A type personality and could easily take command of a room.  I would have never known she was the meek and oppressed woman I thought every Muslim woman was. Everything I had been told to believe about Muslim women was ridiculous compared to who she showed up as. She wasn't dominated by her husband.  She made decisions and she was empowered through his support.

Months later I was hospitalized so the twins I carried for them wouldn't come early.  The intended father refused to enter my room without my ex there.  When it occurred to me that he treated me with the respect he would show the women in his country . . . his mom, and wife and sisters . . . I was floored.  It was no longer an oppressive practice as I had once thought it was that a woman couldn't be alone in a room with a man that wasn't her family or husband.  I saw it as the highest respect he could offer me and the feeling of being cared for through this act still moves me so much five years later.

Before I met them, I had this idea of who they should be.  Before I met them, I was convinced I knew what Muslims thought and believed because my news anchor was supposed to be reliable.  After meeting them I researched enough of the Quran (a really tiny amount) to see that there's an overlap.  The books in the bible I studied as a child are also in the Quran.  We're in the middle of Ramadan.  People all over the world are fasting as I did along with prayer in my Christian church. They are looking out for others that don't have enough.  In the name of religion and through faith so strong as to wear it outwardly through the oppression of a fearful country, they are living practices I would hope to internalize myself and teach my children.

My couple through being the good people they are . . . Through proudly practicing their faith . . . Through caring for me as they did, were able to let me see how much of a bigot I was.

My lesson was that I cannot judge anyone for anything but how they show up, and even then without having the knowledge of their motivation I really can't say what makes them do what they do.  I just know I'm here on this earth to love others and support them to do better and be more and live life epicly.

And that was the greatest gift I took away from my 3 surrogate pregnancies. That and all of the love and support a pregnant lady could want.

Being a Working Single Mom and Separation Anxiety

The phrase "working mom" is complex in itself. Moms work. Nonstop. From sons up to sons down and later still because some things can only get done after they are down. For most of my marriage I stayed home or went to work or school a few hours a week. For the most part I was home with the kids doing chores, finding hobbies, baking, crafting and carrying babies as a surrogate when I wasn't earning scholarships as a student. Most of this was concurrent multi-tasking.

Life for my 10 year old hasn't been okay since the separation started two years ago. All three still haven't smiled like they used to. I can see it in their eyes and the way it feels forced and fake. It's not obvious unless you have known what it is to fake happiness for someone else. I just had another talk about depression the other night and Kid2 admitted he still struggles.

For Kid3, his identity was the youngest in a family of five. When the family of five shifted to four, who he is became a fluid identity in a sea without a stable anchor. Add Mom and Dad living differently and having new relationships and he hasn't felt safely attached for a while. Not safely enough.  He's been struggling since then with what is normal.  He's seen a therapist.  I try to do things with him around the house. Actually, projects and catching up on housework on weekends because I spend most of my week at work or driving are my new normal.  I leave at 7:30 in the morning and don't get home until around 8 at night.

My latest project was to update my pond.  Pictured is Kid3 several years ago. As for the pond, it's still evolving.

Yesterday morning was a hard one for Kid3.  Honestly, it was a rough continuation of my day before.  I left for work at 7:30 a.m..  I left work early at 3:30 that afternoon, then drove through traffic so bad over about 20 miles that I didn't get home until 5:45 where I picked kids up for an Awards night at my older kid's school, not arriving there until 6:15.

We sat through the ceremony, took a few pictures, dropped the boyfriend off at home where he could decompress, then drove around a little more before landing at a new family favorite ramen restaurant. We got home and the meltdown started.

There's a pattern.  On days when school starts or they're going back to their Dad, my little one's separation anxiety ramps up and he refuses to go to school, begging instead to stay home with me.  Yesterday morning I was trying to rush out the door and take a phone interview on my way to work (yay me! I'm over qualified for this entry level position and he'll keep me in mind if any senior positions open up that will pay more).

Kid3's tantrum was so bad that I was now 40 minutes late for work, but I had him sit in the car as I finished the interview and hung up.  Tearfully, he told me he didn't want me to work. He wanted to get me fired. He was willing to leave because calling his Dad for support resulted in a threat to go back to court for custody.   As tight as money is when I'm not working, he wants me to stay home with him.  It feels good to be that wanted.  At the same time, this tells me I'm neglecting his emotional needs and his separation anxiety is a symptom of him not feeling safe enough attachment to me to want to be independent.

That's heavy.  That last sentence is full of density and I'll unpack it.

When my kids were little, their needs were simple.  Help them rest when tired.  Feed them when hungry.  Keep them clean enough to be comfortable but dirty enough to have fun.  As they're getting older and more physically independent, their emotional needs are shifting and they need more support.  I need to help them feel so surrounded by my love that they feel it even when I'm not around.  My youngest doesn't feel that right now.

A couple of years ago I read the 5 Love Languages by Dr. Gary Chapman.  It explored the five ways we can express or feel love.

1. Gift giving - He often asks me to buy him things.
2. Quality time - He likes playing board games or being with me to watch movies or throw a ball around.
3. Words of affirmation - He needs to hear that I love him and that I value what he says when he's telling me about his day.
4. Acts of service - He often asks me to brush his hair or help him with personal hygiene. When he's happy, he's willing to do things for me.
5. Physical touch - He likes belly massages and bear hugs.

He actively asks me to do or engage in these things on a regular basis. So basically my son has shown and told me that he needs all of his emotional love needs met and he's starved for love.

The greatest lesson about the book is that it taught that the way you show love isn't necessarily the way others need to receive that love from you and love means finding out how to fulfill the needs of someone else, rather than assume what works for you is good enough in the way most of us selfishly do.

In doing projects I choose and having him join me, I assumed he was getting enough love in the time together, but over the last few days he was showing me that he was not.

At the end of the day, my relationship with my son is a relationship.  I can't assume what I've always done will always be enough because as he grows and walks in independence, his needs change and evolve.  I want to be the parent he is willing to talk to. It's a relationship that needs time and attention to detail . . . Just like any other relationship.

How To Make Bath Bombs

Quality time with Kid3 looks like projects Mom wants to do anyway.  We made bath bombs.  While my usual mold is the ball that you get your pantyhose in, I sometimes use the little paper cups I keep in my bathroom for brushing my teeth.  Last night Kid1 was being a teenager in the bathroom so we used little disposable horderve bowls.

Whisk together:

8 oz. Baking Soda

4 oz. Citric Acid (I get it from Whole Foods.  Sometimes with vitamins. Sometimes with canning supplies.)

4 oz. Corn Starch

2 oz. Epsom Salt

2 oz. Dead Sea Salt (I get the big bag next to the Epsom Salts at Walmart)

Separately, whisk together:

¾ teaspoon water

2 teaspoons essential oil (your choice, your scents)

2 ½ teaspoon almond oil (or olive)

A few drops of food coloring (going nuts will compromise how it clumps or if it reacts early)

Whisk the dry mixture while slowly pouring in the wet mixture.  It should begin to clump together and hold its shape if you squeeze it.  Too much liquid can start an early reaction and your bath bomb will bomb in your bowl.

Pack the mixture into your molds as tightly as you can.  Let it sit for a few minutes before carefully removing them from the mold.

I like to line a fluffy towel with wax paper to cradle them, but paper towels work too.  Let them sit and dry for at least a day before you use them.

Once dried, keep them in an air tight container, cellophane, or tissue.

Startup Culture as it Relates to Motherhood

I've been temping at a web startup in Santa Monica and I love it.  Mostly it feels like slipping on a comfortable glove, but only because I have the perspective to see it. It looks like the push and hustle that comes in the early days of motherhood when all you came to expect as normal is shifted for the little one that flips things around for you.

Identity

All startups want to first define who they are.  What are their values? What matters and how will they make their impact? As a new Mom, I had to figure out who I am.  Do I copy the mothers I watched on television? What do I want to take from my parents and grandparents? What is something I want to distance myself from?  How do I identify as a mom, or as an individual? What about my children's identity? It took many years to accept that my children were separate from me.  They had their own personalities and ideas.  They were going to need to do things their own way and all I could do is guide them from where I sat as Mom.  It was about defining us and setting boundaries that were flexible enough for who we were and wanted to be.

Relationships

There’s a lot of gentleness towards co-workers and inclusion through activities in a startup.  There are company-wide meetings and training with applause and congratulations.  There are company provided weekly meals and happy hours.  There are ping pong tournaments, though I've never seen anyone touch the Foosball table. The point is we want to like each other and I really feel we do.  In mothering, I want my boys to get along with each other.  One day when I’m gone, I know my kids will only have each other.  I often remind them that when they end up in therapy as adults, the only people that will understand exactly what their parents put them through is each other.  Without relationships, you can’t rely on others, and being unreliable and unwilling to trust is a weakness.  Relationship matters. This is taught and encouraged and part of the fabric of startup life.

Collaborative Environment

We work together.  Every opinion matters and we keep asking for it. This isn’t reflective of all mothers, but it’s how I run my house.  I try to get my kids to tell me what they think, know and feel.  If I don’t encourage them to see and understand the value within them, I can’t expect them to stand on the security of who they are.  If I don’t trust the boys I’m raising, how can I expect them to trust themselves?  Startups try to hire the right people so they can trust them with their ideas and know they’ll try to make the company successful.

Communication

Documentation and communication are everything in a startup.  It’s how we track progress and see where we came from.  Everything is written and talked about and brainstormed.  It’s about sharing what is in our heads so we can create something bigger together.  Mothering requires diligent communication.  Specifically, you have to be able to read your child’s language as well as their silence.  You have to understand how their bodies move so you’ll know when they aren’t moving normally.  It’s not enough to speak but to listen actively.  As a special needs mom and advocate, documentation is what gets the services you need. It's a skill that flows fluidly between motherese and Salesforce.

Self Care and Care of Others

I’ve noticed that those in startups rarely take care of themselves.  Give them a job and they’ll do whatever it takes.  There’s a fluid ability to flex your reach into things outside of what was originally defined for you.  Give a person a problem and they’ll analyze several possible answers into solutions.  It’s a gift that is part of mothering.  You do whatever it takes for your child, but with both, there’s an inability to take care of yourself.  In these startups, you’ll have fully loaded kitchens to nourish your body, machines to keep you caffeinated, games to keep you agile and relieve stress and drinks to take the edge off in a grown-up way. In the office I’m currently in, there are even dogs that sit with their people and follow them to meetings. These people consistently put others ahead of themselves.  They are natural at caring for the world outside of themselves.

Focusing on the dogs . . . They are so loved and pampered.  They have neat haircuts and trimmed nails.  Their coats are glossy and well groomed.  They go on walks throughout the day. These dogs make their people go on walks and care for them.  (Much like children.) On Fridays I’ve noticed far fewer dogs in the office.  Their people work harder and will work through lunch or run to the bathroom because they have put their workflow ahead of their bladders.

It’s like being a Mom.  We’ll do all we can to care for our kids and our self care often looks like putting their needs first and getting the latent benefit of our sacrifice.  It’s that same drive and personality.  Self sacrifice and hard work is the default setting. Self care is secondary.  But unnecessary.  If your company wants to make you happy, they understand and want to honor your commitment.  They also understand the value of your contentment means they can pay you less but make you feel like they want you to stay because of the many perks. It's like the harder exchange that comes in chasing toddlers and changing diapers.  It's exhausting and hard work but the rewards of a happy child make you forget the frustrations.

Growth Strategy

As a startup, the goal is to grow and be so amazing in the world on it's own that other companies will want to buy you.  So maybe it's terribly creepy if you are trying to sell off your child, but really, the goal is independence and that comes from exponential growth and secure development. In that way, startups are exactly like motherhood.

Fear to Commit in Relationships or What are you afraid of?

If you had asked me what I was looking for in a relationship six months ago, I would have told you it wasn't a relationship.  I was looking for company.  I thought that was what I wanted, because it was simple.  I wanted company for the nights when I didn't have my kids. Someone to laugh with over dinner or to walk with and discuss literature without grades and term papers being involved. I wanted a connection that was as superficial as I could easily commit to. Or not commit to. Mishegas. I wanted a heavy dose of mishegas with two helpings of batshit crazy lady. I pushed my boyfriend away. Repeatedly. Hard. For nothing he did, nothing I thought, and every spooked hint of the feels I had no control over. I pushed him away because I was falling in love. Somehow he is still around and even finds a way to love me back.

I was asking the wrong question.  What I should have asked myself was, "what are you afraid of?"

There was something so profound about being completely vulnerable after my miscarriage.  I let my walls down.  I was defenseless.  I wasn't looking for failure.  I was in a space where all I could do was be loved and held.  In that space my fear was muted by loss and I was able to live outside of that fear long enough to see what I was blinded to before.

My boyfriend is a really special guy.  I wouldn't have seen it while asking the wrong question.  He was supposed to be company, so when he wanted more, I freaked out and backed away while pushing him as far as I could.

Today I'm asking the right question:  What am I afraid of? The answer was commitment.

I made a commitment.  I was married and kept my vows.  I never had a crush on anyone while I was still with my husband.  I was faithful.  That marriage and the dreams I held for our lives vanished without warning.  I was afraid that if I committed again, I could lose it all again.

I talked to my nephew on Mother's Day and he told me that being Yessie on the prowl was what he knew. I was being who he grew up with. That was shocking to me because I didn't realize how easily I slipped into those old habits while online dating. I had no sex but I was just as broken as I was as a teenager.

I was afraid of losing control.

I worked hard to get my finances where I wanted them.  (Recent grief retail therapy doesn't count.) I was proud of being able to lease a car on my own.  I was happy with being able to do what I wanted whenever I wanted.  The idea of someone else in my life that might try to control where I went and who I went with scared me. My boyfriend has a degree in finance and wanted to share his expertise and knowledge and I freaked out about financial abuse and control.

I was afraid I wouldn't have my space. We both crave each other while also needing space. I don't feel suffocated and had nothing to fear. We fit in the ways that matter.

I was afraid of losing my voice and not being heard. I didn't know how to ask for support or how to be a partner.

For Mother's Day my boyfriend bought me a leaf blower and weed whacker. Initially there were giggles. It's not traditional. Years ago I would have been angry. I like tools. I'm terrified of circular saws but I've been looking at Dremels for a while. I want to replace mine. The thing is, he was watching me. When we lost our twins, I was pulling weeds like I was exorcising demons. He wanted to support that. He watches me carefully and he can see shifts in my mood that I can't see. The projects I take on are balanced. He knows I have it covered and it's cute to watch him struggle with not taking over, but he partners with me and listens for what I don't say.

I was afraid of what co-parenting might look like. It was hard enough trusting my ex with diaper changes, let alone a new man who doesn't know my kids like I do.

I had this moment on Mother's Day where my boyfriend stepped into the step-father role with Kid3. He was teaching him how to use a BB gun. He showed him how to use the safety, and reminded him to point it to the ground. He even used a stern Dad voice in setting boundaries about needing supervision. It was a moment where my fear was replaced by that feeling you get when a man is being a great role model to your child. It's somewhere between heart bursting and melting while your libido reminds you that you are far from dead in all of those lovely and tingly ways.  It was a moment where that lioness that protects her cubs also marks the territory that is hers. It was a terrific moment to be me.

I sat back on the porch and watched them and kept wondering what on earth was I afraid of.

Self Care and Who is Taking Care of You if You Aren't?

One of the best perks of working through a temp agency is you get placed in really amazing companies.  I'm offered opportunities I would never have on my own because my placement means I'm disposable.  They can bang out a project and send me on my way without the work involved in a typical onboarding process. Company hopping means I have had cubicles but I've also worked in open floor plans with sparse desks that lack personality.  I've had standing desks that lift with the touch of a button. (I miss that desk. We were friends.) Right now I have a laptop computer that opens up with recognition from my fingerprint.  I've had touchscreen laptops, dual monitors, touchscreen phone systems and noise cancelling headsets.  I've been to kitchens that were stocked with healthy free foods and insane amounts of junk to gnosh on.  Some companies regularly cater lunch on some days and others offer free products that they work really hard to sell to the public. They stock half and half next to the almond or coconut milk. There are touchscreen coffee makers that use Starbuck's coffee or machines that will brew a triple shot espresso and in the next cup you can have a mocha latte or vanilla coffee.  On the way to my desk I've walked next to ping pong and foosball tournaments, full indoor basketball courts and dogs that go to work everyday.  I've been offered margaritas on the work patio or kombucha and beer on tap.  I've avoided monthly emergencies with a bathroom fully stocked with feminine products for free and unlimited Bath and Body Works soaps and lotions.  I've been next to co-workers on balance ball chairs that bounce and move as they type or handle calls. I've seen showers and a lactation lounge and heard about Summer flex days where 3 day weekends are expected and paid.

These companies treat their employees like they want them to stay.  They remind them to take breaks and stand and snack or relax.  Consistently, I have been in conversations with people at all of these companies where I wonder, if you're not going to take care of yourself, who will?

I see (usually younger people) working through their lunch and forgetting to eat.  On a great day, I do it too.  There's a zone where purpose meets drive and productivity babies don't even need to be burped or changed. But I also make it a point to take care of myself.  I still treat myself like I love myself.  I act like I need to care for the toddler in me.

In my first week with this new company, I kept hearing complaints about the snacks.  The company was moving toward healthier snacks without bothering to focus on internalizing the ideals of healthy foods.  The masses revolted and complained.  I was on the elevator one day, and laughing at the outrage.  I mean, I used to love rolling out of bed for a cold Tommy's chili burger for breakfast after several hours of too many drinks, too little water, and feet that were tortured in pumps on a dance floor all night.  A few years ago wheat sensitivities changed my ability to eat anything crusty, flaky or relatively cheap.  Earlier this year my gall bladder was taken out, changing my ability to handle fat.  My age has made changes necessary, and they were complaining about food I can no longer eat, while sitting in the same spot at their desks all day.  It was almost funny.  They were abusing their bodies, not knowing that age will take care of the rest one day.  I mean, if you refuse to take care of yourself, who will take care of you?

Self care is so important.

Rest when you need to.  Eat when you need to.  (I only put in my mouth what will make me insanely happy. Good food is a necessity.) Eat foods that will make you feel good.  Play.  Enjoy sunlight and laughter.  Cry when you need to.  Scream when you need to.  Say, "no," when you need to. Commit to what will make you happy.  Take care of your body and your heart.

Seriously . . . If you refuse to take care of yourself, who do you think will do it?