Author: amandameneses0101@gmail.com

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“You are Not Alone”- A Letter to the Person who Finds This Season a Struggle

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Dear friend,

I see you. I see you sitting at the table, hot cup of coffee/tea in your hand…and a pause…that you wish would go away…or last forever. A desire to move on…or to freeze and be lost in thought, anything but to deal with the outside world right now. I see the struggle to decorate, the struggle to participate, the struggle to smile.

I see that you are tired. I see that this is hard.

You are not alone.

This isn’t how you want to be. The rest of the world is happy. The rest of the world is bright and busy…and you are just trying to hold on and survive. You want to feel “normal”. You want to get caught-up in the happiness and the joy…but just when you do…you remember…and then…you’re low again. You’re alone again. You’re tired…again.

Maybe the holidays were never good for you. Maybe they have been a reminder of your trauma since as early as you can remember. Or maybe, they used to be good…and things changed. I don’t know what’s worse- to have never had…or to have had and lost.

Either way, I see you.

And I feel you. You are not alone.

This is a hard, hard time for so many people, myself included.

This is what I have learned:

Sometimes, it never is the same again or the way we wish it would be. We may never get the family, the partner, the wishes that we’ve had for so long. We can’t rewrite history or resurrect the dead. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t find value despite our pain.

Finding a way to give back, attaches purpose and positivity to the season. Years ago, my family and I decided that we’d pick three “give-back” activities every holiday season. Some years I called soup kitchens, others we packed a box of donations for the local cat/dog rescue, and still other years, we sponsored a family in need and added their needs and wishes to our holiday shopping lists. Our longest running tradition is creating gift-bags for the homeless (as we live close to a major city with a large homeless population). The kids decorate gallon-sized zip-lock bags with colorful sharpies and we fill them with things like weather-appropriate socks, hand/foot warmers, non-perishable proteins, sweets, toothbrush/toothpaste, hand wipes, a water bottle, etc. We hand them out on the days leading up to the holidays. And on the years that I am scheduled to work at the hospital on Christmas Eve, I make a deal with the universe that if they don’t call me in to work, I will instead, drive around the city to hand out bags with my children. We never get tired of the satisfaction that we gain in helping others. And the kind words and expressions that we receive in return, make it feel like Christmas morning on the city streets. Good deeds are scientifically proven to improve happiness. With no obligation, no price point to match, nobody over-seeing you…find your own way to give-back…and let the magic happen.

And a smile or a kind word is immeasurable to the person receiving it. Don’t get caught up in consumerism-either feeding into it or fighting it…just be kind! The world needs it!

Rituals and traditions-however mundane or silly they might seem at times, help to improve mental health outcomes. Not only do they give us something to look forward to- the game that we always watch, the recipe or the restaurant that we always enjoy, or the “thing” we always do…but they also decrease anxiety because, whether we realize it or not, traditions within a family/group, are predictable. Whether you like the tradition or not…the fact that you know that it’s coming, makes it less anxiety-provoking than the unknown. So, traditions provide us with a comforting sense of “what to expect.” If you don’t already have long-standing traditions, start them! Let this year be the beginning, so that future years reap your ritualistic rewards.

Self-care is essential- and that doesn’t have to mean the spa… (cuz who has time for the spa this time of year?!) While cooking/creating can feel like a chore sometimes…it can also be a wonderful method of self-care. There is something very therapeutic, very maternal, very practical and satisfying about cooking or creating a gift (instead of buying one) for our loved ones. Consider building a photo book/calendar, painting a canvas or ceramic, drawing, writing a poem/letter, making homemade bird seed ornaments or dog treats or baking for friends/family/neighbors. If it feels pressured or overwhelming, than we’ve missed the point, but if it provides distraction and a sense of accomplishment… then well done! You have experienced self-care, with a practical multi-purpose.

You don’t owe anyone, anything… Ok, so if you’re a parent with small children….you’ll have to pull it together for them. But other than that…work functions, family get-togethers, community events…they will all go-on without you-and you don’t owe anyone an explanation. This season might be self-preservation-mode for you. While the rest of the word seems to be operating in over-drive, what you are comfortable doing, is enough! Create boundaries. Know when you are approaching your limit. It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to “sit this one out.” It’s okay to stay close to home this year. This is your holiday too, protect your heart and your energy.

Energy is precious when you are struggling. When I am in grief, I have learned that I can have one really good, productive and social day. One day when I’m acting like I’m back to my old self and it feels like “the old days”… and then, I’m exhausted. The next day, both mentally and physically, I have nothing else left to give. Learn what your patterns are. If this is true for you…then don’t schedule more than one busy day back-to-back. You can always spontaneously add activities if you are feeling up to it, but don’t set yourself up for failure by committing to more than you are comfortable doing. Ask for help if it’s a matter of carting kids around to activities or other such stops that don’t require your presence. And always make an escape plan- a easy way to get out of a social gathering if you need to.

I see you.

I see the sadness and the longing in your eyes. I see the heartache that feels as though it will last forever. I see the broken promises and the shattered dreams.

I see you standing in the middle of the flashing lights, the blaring carols and the larger than life trees-donned in loud and bright decor…in the middle of lots of happy people.

You feel small. You feel unheard and un-noticed. You see their smiles and you hear their laughter and you want to join them… but tears and the urge to run away feel stronger than the muscles that could turn the sides of your mouth upwards.

You are not alone.

But you are loved and you are important.

I urge you to step out of that busy scene and use this time to discover the real significance of this season. The quiet, reflective season of giving, nurturing, and loving one another. If you feed that…it will feed you in return. And blessing will come, even in your darkest hours. You can do this. You will survive this season.

Wishing you peace, this season…and always! Happy Holidays, from LIFELIBERTYANDLIBATIONS.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Quilt

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Forward: A deeply personal piece, I have woven into this quilt my own life experiences. This quilt, while unique to me, represents the patchwork inside all of us. Some days I struggle with the loss and tragedy that has touched my life. And some days it’s hard to see the good through the bad. But we must remind ourselves that in the end, it is both the light and the dark, in the struggles and the successes, the tears and the laughter that build the beautiful masterpiece that we are. I am learning to love myself, in all of my different shades. And this piece was an exercise in doing that through writing. I encourage you to reflect on what your quilt would look like and learn to love yourself too, in all your many colors.

Outside, rain smacks against the window panes. Sitting in her chair, her wrinkled hands guide the shiny needle, poking the soft edge, then pulling the thin white thread through the colorful panes of fabric that lie folded on her steady lap. As she sews, she reflects…

Her eyes scan the fabric for a pattern. Is there a pattern? She holds in her lap and in her heart, a patchwork of progress, experiences, accomplishments and hardships that have unfolded over a lifetime. Each event, each square, occurred separately in her life and when stacked in a pile on the table, felt solitary and unrelated. And yet seeing them now, in her old age, side-by-side and top-to-bottom, she realizes that the thread in her hands is not the only thing that ties them together.

Olive and white strips with a silver ring filled with burnt orange felt- the colors of the trailer she was born in and the mud pies that she learned to make from the clay outside. It was there, from her very beginnings, that she learned how to make-do and find joy in simplicity. And the move was her first experience in feeling uncomfortable in order to make positive change, at age five.

Change is easier with magic. She was always looking for magical things- like fireflies and genuinely kind people. Royal blue, with stars, the outline of a jar and little black and yellow fireflies embroidered within its lines. Next to it, a frog, patiently plopped with a subtle smile. The flying creatures that she watched decline in numbers over her lifetime, brought magic to the evenings of her childhood, and lit-up both her jar and her inner joy. The jumping amphibians that she chased as a girl, became an exotic pet and then a tattoo on her back…and then a favorite pitcher and candlestick set on the dining room table that she used to entertain her guests. She loved frogs!

And she loved to entertain- something that wasn’t celebrated in the home she grew-up in, because anxiety oftentimes overruled joy. So she had to make a busy and colorful square with a cake and confetti for all the parties she was denied as a child and overcompensated by throwing as an adult. Birthdays, baby showers, weddings, even seasonal changes- her parties utilized her organized and energetic nature to satisfy both her drive to create beauty and to share joy.

Animals also brought her joy. Her Dad taught her to love and respect all creatures-even snakes. When she was a girl, she thought she’d grow up to be a veterinarian. She wanted to help animals that were hurt or sick. She’d grow up to teach her own children the same values and have a house full of pets. There was never a time that she didn’t have several. So with tiny, shaped pieces of material, in various hues of brown, she created a square for a lifetime of unconditional, furry, scaly, love.

And next to the mud pie, the frog and the pets, a powder blue square with a white house and a tree for the childhood home, she at first hated, but grew to love. Pragmatically perched across the street from her school, with the best climbing tree a kid could ask for, it survived both a house fire and a multitude of challenges. That house held her bed, her pets buried in the yard, her secrets and her screams, her dreams and her nightmares for 15 years. The house that she both ran to and ran from, taught her both what she wanted to be and what she didn’t.

A dark gray square with a single candle. “There’s a candle burning”… sings the Aerosmith song of child loss, “Fallen Angels.” Her family of six crumbled to a family of five when as a teen, her brother ended his life too soon. And it burned a hole in her heart where her faith once resided. Out of the darkness she crept and many a survivor she ministered from her own painfully, preventable loss. And while his flame of existence he might have snuffed, the threads of his influence weaved the most intricate pattern and spelled compassion and understanding on her soul.

An emerald green square, for a pop of her favorite color and birthstone, a symbol of her Irish roots, the color of frogs… And the color of mental illness- that took so much more than a brother from her; but became a passion that she fought for fervently. And top-stitched on the green, a purple and turquoise semi-colon, a lovely cool color pallet that appealed to her on the days when she felt low, and the symbol of suicide prevention.

The turquoise of the semi-colon almost matched the teal hearts sewn atop the solid black square. One tiny heart for each time hers was broken by another “me too,” her own and the children and women she loved so dearly. She wished she was left with more open space and her heart and hands grew tired of cutting out the same shape. And yet she knew the experiences came to define a large part of her- the power that grew from her pain and the anger that energized her fight for change. Her gray head nodded as she thought of the progress made by her gender and education on the word “consent”.

The black background and the fight for women complimented the dark red square, that she proudly embellished with a black tassel and a gold RN- for the day she danced across the stage with a diploma in her hand, past the instructor who told her “Who do you think you are… having a baby in nursing school!?” The diploma that handed a single mother the most rewarding career of nurturing (not animals, like she once thought, but people) and empowering women in their life changing moments of childbirth- where the screams and tears of pain, perfectly married those of new life and joy…(the irony didn’t escape her).

And two more blocks of life-altering significance…cotton candy pink and blue ones with cradles, not just for the career she choose, but for the two babes she birthed herself. She added a microphone to the pink one, for her feisty girl’s ability to always speak-up, to use her voice to help others and….for her love of Elvis Presley- (a unique obsession for a girl so far removed from that generation). And the blue one had a monkey with a pink heart hanging onto the side of the brown cradle, for her active little boy who learned to climb before he walked; but carried with that crazy boy energy, a love for the color pink and a tender heart that found compassion and love for the people most often rejected by the world.

Pink and blue mixed together make purple…a lavender square with a dark green leaf and a tear, for the many babies she held in her career that were still…and the many tears she wiped, when a gift became a betrayal. Around the leaf she stitched concentric circles. Like the ripples a falling leaf creates on a pond, the ripples of grief and loss were ones she knew all too well.

The thin lines that created the pond circles almost matched the perfectly spaced blue stitch that repeated horizontally across the white square. Evenly spaced circles lined-up along the left, to create a piece of paper. Like the papers she graded as an instructor and the papers she sat with for hours, helping her children do homework (ADHD sucks), like the papers she filled with her thoughts and poetry. Across the center she added a pen and covering the bottom corner, appeared to be the edge of a book. She believed that knowledge was power and writing was her therapy.

Empowered as she was and though armed with a spirit of steel and a therapeutic habit, during some seasons of her life, that therapy wasn’t enough. And she remembered the days that she walked into an office and said, “I need help…I’m not okay right now and I can’t do this alone.” Then it was someone else’s turn to minister to the ‘soldier’ who so often ministered to others.

A tangerine orange block spoke to the trauma she witnessed too many times to count and the caution it created in her steps. But overlaying the color of both bold fun and caution, she stitched a rainbow, because after every storm always came a new perspective and behind the dark shadows of tragedy, beautiful blessings are always hidden. Rainbows also mean “love is love” and she never could understand why not everyone could support that.

A light gray square served as fitting background for the beige stoop and black and white door, for the first foster child who knocked on that fateful August night. He brought to her what she knew she was being called to do. “Grief is love without a place to put it”. And fostering gave her love a place to go- cradling those in need of comfort and acceptance and a safe place to lay their heads. Coming full circle from her own childhood and experiences with grief and trauma, it opened a door in the greatest of ways. And she ensured that every child that walked through that door knew both love and fun.

A colorful Ferris wheel made of tiny scraps of fabric for another meaning-filled block…that’s fun….or not. A day at the fair gave her an illness that would forever change her perspective and overall health. Like the facial paralysis she experienced as a teen, being a medical anomaly isn’t cool when you’re living it. Whilst some days, it felt like another illusion, another betrayal…from it she learned what was really important in life and she gained an immense gratitude for the things she took for granted- eating, walking and living a day without pain.

A sunny yellow square with a green tent for the camping vacations that started out as “all we can afford” and ended with driving across the states for a lifetime of unforgettable adventure. Persistence and hard work always pays off. And the view from the summit is always worth the climb.

A cornflower blue one, to compliment that yellow…with some clouds and a plane. The plane that brought her her husband, adventures and a worldly view.

And a sand-colored bottom, with an ocean blue top for the bodies of water that bordered both her and her husband’s home lands. The only vacation she ever knew as a child, didn’t bore, but instead guided them to their most favorite place to be…at the beach. There, the hot sand soothed her joints, the waves washed away her anxiety, and the wildlife provided joyful entertainment.

Every square carefully stitched, each one sewn together to create shapes of both light and darkness, warm colors and cool ones. Every experience interwoven into the next, nothing happening by accident or without repercussion.

While she so wished some of those squares weren’t there at all…while she would have done anything to keep the colors of trauma out of her quilt…she realized the fact that they were there, wasn’t her fault. Instead, it was through her hard work and healing that those colors didn’t sabotage the rest and instead made space for new habits, new experiences, new colors. She even began to see the ways that the different colors complimented one another. A black quilt would be drab, but black next to cheerful colors make them pop. A life without pain and tragedy yields a life of ingratitude. And a life without struggle, yields a life without perspective. Painful as they were to experience, the quilt wouldn’t be complete without them.

Snipping the final loose threads, she lays down her tools, sinks back into her chair and pulls the blanket up under her chin. She’s tired now and as her head relaxes to the side, she nods off to sleep. Her dreams are flooded with every memory that together, created the final masterpiece that she has become. And although there are times in her sleep that her brow furrows and silent tears sneak past the wrinkles around her eyes, she ends with a smile on her face; because she not only survived the storms, she managed to create beauty with them.

Behind her, the rain has stopped and a rainbow crowns her…. and her masterpiece quilt.

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Sitting in a waiting room…again.

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I’m sitting in a waiting room again…

Another 2 1/2 hours of my life, spent.

We do this every week,

for psychiatric therapy.

There, I said it. Ohhhh….psychiatric…..gasp!

It’s not because our marriage is on the rocks or because the school advised it for the children based on behavioral concerns (although those are two very good reasons to consider going). We go because we are normal people (whatever the hell, “normal” means), with normal emotions, who encounter normal challenges and struggles and we want some help sometimes to know how to navigate those challenges in the healthiest way possible.

We are blessed to have a wonderful marriage, a loving home and two wonderful, socially mature and thriving children. And we have chosen to share our happy home with foster children. While fostering certainly adds another, emotional and sometimes challenging, dimension to our lives. Fostering is not the only reason we utilize therapy. In fact, we started going to therapy years before we ever considered fostering.

We started going when one of our children found school overwhelming, and we’ve continued as we encounter new challenges. We go because our brains and our hormones, our emotional balance and psychological wellbeing are important to us. We don’t just want to ‘do’ well, we want to feel well. We want to communicate well. And we don’t want our successes to be inhibited by the emotions that so often guide our thoughts and actions.

Just as I go school supply shopping for my children to ensure that they have the tools they need to participate in school…

Just as I take them to the doctor to get immunizations and the occasional antibiotic for strep throat so that they can be well in life…

Just as I call a girlfriend, pour a glass of wine or run a hot bath to unwind…

We go to therapists when we are having a hard time so that we can achieve, settle our minds and be well in life.

We go to therapists so that the patterns in our family lines, don’t repeat themselves.

We go to therapists because we want to utilize every tool available to us.

And there is no shame, misfortune or inferiority to be had in that.

The only shame is ignoring a problem that you know exists. The only misfortune is a person in need of assistance, being denied it. And the only thing that I find inferior, are people who think that they are superior to the services being offered or to those who utilize them.

 

I’ll be the first to admit that my fervent passion for mental health lies in part, out of fear. I was eight when I lost my uncle and fourteen when I lost my brother. I entered adulthood and motherhood afraid to lose anyone else, especially those closest to me, from an untreated, narrowly acknowledged condition. Both my uncle and my brother were never diagnosed nor ever attempted medication therapy…and they died from their self inflicted decision to escape their mental conditions because they saw no other way out. And thousands of others are suffering from the same problem, every day.

And yet the snarky comments, the diverted glances and the air of superiority continue.

We’re all supposed to be “strong”. We’re all supposed to “manage”. We’re all supposed to be able to “figure it out” and “make it all happen”. And yet, no one is giving us the tools to be able to do that. Nor are they taking into account our mental and emotional state and/or capacity.

If your kid has trouble seeing, you get them glasses. If your mom can no longer hear well, you get her a hearing aid. If your back hurts, you take a muscle relaxant, go to physical therapy, do some stretches. But when you’re overcome by fear, anxiety, sadness, loneliness, or feeling overwhelmed or stressed…you’re told to “get over it.” When someone begins withdrawing from social situations, having bursts of anger or crying spells, or is suddenly under-performing at work or school…they are shamed….or…better yet, ignored. And the more subtle signs of mental struggle are almost always missed.

No one expects a diabetic to survive without insulin and diet modifications. No one expects a morbidly obese person to run a mile. No one expects a physically disabled body to function at the same capacity as an able-bodied one. And yet all over the planet, while people acknowledge that our bodies are different, they’re pretending that our brains are all the same. And when someone can’t perform at the same caliber because of their current emotional or mental capabilities, they are shunned.

And so we go along setting unrealistic expectations, over-extending and over-committing ourselves, hiding our problems and making excuses…and it’s killing us.

Yet the excuses keep coming…

“He/she is just doing this for attention.” or “They’re just lazy.”

Attention seekers and people with a low drive exist. But most of the time, there’s more to their behavior than just these single signs. Have you taken the time/effort to explore possible underlying causes? Have you involved a professional to ensure that there’s not more going on? Or did you, with your finite knowledge come to that conclusion on your own?

Imagine the torment of not being able to see and your family telling you that you’re faking your blindness for attention. Imagine losing your ability to hear, and your boss telling you to “just listen more closely and you’ll get it”. Feeling overcome with fear/sadness, being so distracted that you can’t perform…or so manic that you can’t sit still, is like being blind/deaf to the world around you. It’s like sitting in the eye of a tornado and trying to pretend the world isn’t spinning and trying to suck you into it. Talk to them. Believe them when they tell you their struggles.

“I called but I couldn’t get an appointment.”

Mental health facilities are hard to get into. Many of them have 6 month-1 year waiting lists for new patients. Hospitals rarely have an open psych bed. The supply and demand for psychiatric services are incredibly out of balance.

All the more reason not to wait until you are in crisis! Routine mental health support not only provides the resources and support to help prevent a mental health crisis, but it gives you a provider to call when you need them the most.

“I don’t have the money or time for that.” Those co-pays add up and going to routine appointments is cumbersome and time-consuming…

So does carry out pizza and all of your kids’ extracurricular activities. Unlike pizza, investing in your children’s emotional wellbeing will support their overall health. And being a violin playing, chess master, soccer star doesn’t matter if their anxiety, sadness, anger or social immaturity prevents them from enjoying life and reaching their potential. And as parents, the damage we can do by not managing our own mental health effectively, is far more detrimental than any benefit of running ourselves ragged and avoiding self-care to serve our families non-essential desires. Trust me! That shit will come back to bite you!

That being said, there are very real financial hurdles some people face when it comes to affording adequate mental health services. However, there are a lot of resources out there…especially when you live close to a big city. A google search or even a call to a doctor’s office can help you find those resources.

“I tried that before and it didn’t help…”

Medications and therapists are not one-size-fits-all. You don’t go into a shoe store, try on one pair, and then give up on wearing shoes if that particular pair didn’t fit. You have to find a therapist, and when needed, a medication, that works for you. And sometimes, that takes trial and error. But finding the right fit…can be a game-changer.

“We’re not there yet.”

By “we”, do you mean “you”? Because if you are not the one suffering from the mental health symptoms, you shouldn’t be the only one deciding when it’s “bad enough” for someone else to receive outside help, even when that person is your child. Imagine drowning and watching a lifeguard on the shore shout to the onlookers-“He’s okay…he’s got this…he doesn’t need this floatation device yet”. What is the threshold for pursuing a treatment as benign as talking to someone? Why wait for them to go under before you call for help? What benefit do you suppose will be achieved by allowing someone to continue struggling with their head just barely above the water? And just suppose, you do…gasp go to a therapist pre-maturely…what is the detriment, as opposed to going too late? I beg of you, do not let your own pride, prevent you from seeking help for yourself or the ones you love. The risks simply do not out-weigh the benefits.

 

Many people avoid psychiatric services, for themselves or their loved ones, because they are afraid-either of the stigma or a diagnosis. Or because it involves work. The stigma ends with this, us, talking about it and normalizing it. Avoiding it only perpetuates the thing we all hate. While it is normal to grieve, to some degree, if/when a diagnosis is made- it’s important to remember that a diagnosis doesn’t create symptoms-the disease/disorder already existed, it merely has a name now. And having that name allows you to learn how to treat it and move forward. Lastly, becoming better at anything requires work. Digging shit up and working through it, recalling what is tormenting us and recognizing what our faults are and where we have err’d is hard! Growth is hard. Self-improvement is hard. But it’s worth it, to be our best selves.

 

I am sitting in a therapist’s waiting room again…2 1/2 hours…well spent…

Because I don’t have all the answers. Because while I am an expert in some things, I am not an expert in mental health. Because while my children talk to me and I, to my friends and husband, sometimes it helps to have someone else to talk to…an outsider, a professional. Because sometimes, life hands us a load that is too damn heavy to carry on our own.

Because just like pencils and erasers and two-pocket folders, I want my children to have all the tools they need to perform at their best. Because, just like the PT I get for my back, my heart and my mind too, need support and exercise. Because I want to normalize the healthy management of mental health so that one day, when I’m not around, my children, my loved ones, don’t ever hesitate to get the help they need; and so that, they in turn can continue to support others who find themselves in need of support. Because I want to be the best mom/foster mom, wife, nurse, writer, teacher, counselor that I can be. And because I’m not too proud to admit when I, we, need help.

 

 

 

 

 

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If Life Were More Like Video Games

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In the wake of National Video Game Day…

As a mother of an adolescent boy, I must confess I distain video games and virtual realities more than I care for them. The addiction and the violence associated with them is something that deeply concerns me. And the empty void that kids find themselves in when they play is frustrating. However, I also appreciate the art that goes into their creation and the fantastical escape that it can offer (when played in moderation). And the world is certainly moving in that virtual direction, whether we like it or not. Graphics are better than we could have ever imagined. Complex gaming systems and VRs are now readily found in most homes in the U.S. Disney’s newest top rides/experiences around the globe are based on virtual reality over animation. And whilst I do like old fashioned, outdoor play and adventure, if I’m truly honest with myself, I too- the screen-limiting, no-fun Mom, sacrificed quite a few middle of the night hours, in the 90s, trying to beat those pesky levels in Super Mario and Zelda.

So it had me reflecting today…

And I began comparing and marrying components of the video games I once so enjoyed playing, with the harsh realities of the world as I now know it.

And I thought…“What if life was more like video games?”

Despite the very obvious perks of cool suits (or skins as they say in Fortnite), amazing fantasy lands and kick-ass, unearthly abilities… video games come with even more practical advantages over real life… like instructions and an on/off button.

Real life doesn’t come with a manual- our instructions are based solely on who happens to be around us or what info we have access to at the time. None of us get more than one life. And the reset button, despite every best effort we might make, never erases our memory when we just want to start over.

I think of it like this: Birth-toddlerhood is like our pre-game. It’s gazing at the new gift, still in its wrapper and clicking it into the console, before anyone even picks up a controller. It’s that hopeful time, before any real skill is required or sense of defeat is experienced. It’s a place where we can just be. No matter our background, genetic predisposition, or how we came to be, our very existence is widely accepted because we are small and cute and innocent. The world smiles on us and we are embraced with open arms by virtually everyone who passes us by. Babies, like puppies, are loved by all. (And of course, it’s the one phase of our life that we have no memory of… go figure!)

But it doesn’t take long before that cuteness, that baby pudge, wears off and our genetic and environmental influences begin to surface. And at just about that time, we are dropped into our own reality with a pack strapped to our back… to explore, to learn, to conquer, to live… and to be judged. The world who once ogled and coddled us, gives us a swift smack on the back, as our game called “Life” begins.

Once we try out our legs and get a good look around, the first things we look for are instruction and tools. Only in life, there are no instruction boxes that pop up. And it’s not grappling hooks and sling shots that we look for in our packs, but coping skills, emotion management, social awareness, a sense of safety and security, and life skills.

And unlike the predetermined game settings, real life isn’t fair. We don’t all start with the same weapon and powerpack. Some people, because of their background and circumstance, have a lot of tools and they carry a full pack with many options. And others, hold a pack that is nearly empty. From the very beginning of the game, these players, lacking the tips and skills that others were gifted with from the start, feel slower and less inept. Life for them, is harder from the beginning.

But regardless of these disparities, we do all start at the same stage in life. No one gets to skip ahead a level without completing the one before it. Nor does our beginning determine our end. Each person, regardless of their start, will encounter different experiences along their journey- there will be treasures and challenges along everyone’s way. Every level has characters who are willing to help, if you can find them… and every level has a different villain. We all start with an empty score and a full life pack.

What is or isn’t in your pack, similarly, doesn’t seal your fate. Creativity and resourcefulness go a long way over gem stones and cross bows! And even those with no weapons at all, can run and hide in order to survive. But the point of the game isn’t to survive… it’s to win! And let’s be honest, it’s easier to fight a dragon with a sword then it is a toothpick. Those who started with a map, a compass, power bars and new boots are clearly at an advantage over those who have none.

When I look at the faces that walk through my hospitals doors and into the foster system, it is clear who had a full pack and who didn’t. Tackling your demons and conquering your fears, whilst certainly possible for us all, is much easier when you come into life carrying a tool box instead of an eviction notice. Winning at a game is easier to do when someone you know has already done it. Imagine trying to beat a game that no one else has played and no one wrote a manual for. Life is easier to win at when you have another winner to consult with.

I wish more people would realize that.

You know those opaque boxes that pop up above character’s heads in some games? Inside those boxes is typed basic information that the players would find useful as they navigate the game… a sort of character profile box.

What if, in real life, we had such an insight…

If above every person’s head, popped up a profile box with basic facts regarding our background/experiences, tools/weapons, energy level… alongside an image of ourselves- only instead of being pictured in our armor, we were pictured at our start.

How might that change the way we view other people’s worth and productivity?

If you knew someone came into the game with less, would you expect less? If you knew they lacked the tools to tackle their current predicament, might you stop to lend them one of yours? If you knew someone’s energy level was flashing red, would you go in for that last dig, or walk away and let them live? Would you feel as proud of the fortress you had built, knowing you started with an army and they with only a knife?

Would you use that information to eliminate disparity and to promote community? Or would you selfishly use it destroy faster and build bigger?

And what about that youthful image? The one without the armor… the happy, pudgy baby and the sweet, giggly toddler that the world stops to smile upon…

If when you passed by the damaged and aging bodies of our elderly, our homeless, our sick and addicted… you could see first-hand, that they were once young and healthy like you… If behind those sad eyes, you could see their once hopeful face as a child… Would you write them off so quickly? Would seeing them as someone’s “bundle of joy”, someone’s “congratulations,” someone’s baby… before trauma and illness and poor circumstance, before life, had a chance to create its influence, allow you to see them as a human instead of a burden?

How might knowing just a small piece of someone’s puzzle change the perceptions that we make at first glance? Would it create unwanted biases and nudge us to jump to preliminary conclusions? Or would it encourage us to see people from a different perspective and perhaps give them a little more grace?

Would knowing someone’s history, give us the courage to reach into our own tool box and find that patience, compassion, and understanding to meet them where they’re at?

Life isn’t a game. It’s a journey that has a start and a very clear end. It isn’t fair and it isn’t easy. But it also isn’t a void by which we lose our hours. It’s an investment wherein every step and every day matters.

And we don’t get fantastical lands or super-natural powers or convenient little info pop-ups. But we can pretend that we do. Just like we pretended as a child, that the backyard was a jungle or that we could fly…

So too we can pretend…

That everyone we meet is on their last energy bar. That maybe they came into the game empty-handed and that instead of a fight, they’re really just looking for a helping hand.

We can pretend that we’re not really looking to win by ourselves, but to win as a whole.

We can pretend that the thin and dirty face we see, was once a pudgy babe or a silly toddler who has now suffered insurmountable pain and is looking for respite.

We can pretend that a soul’s worth is not dependent on the body’s abilities.

We can pretend that our actions make a difference.

We can pretend that our lives belong not just to ourselves but are players in a much bigger scene and the talents we have are tools to make other lives better.

We can pretend that we are in fact super-hero’s in this life and we can be the treasured helpers hidden in various corners of the game, to offer other players a helping hand so that they might better succeed on their journey. 

We can pretend that this world is in fact fantastical in all it’s varied lands and that there are different lessons to be had in each, if we take the time to explore them.

We can pretend…

And sometimes… just sometimes… when we pretend… we are crazy enough to believe it.

If life were more like video games… 

 

 

 

 

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A Mother’s Fire

 

Barefoot and exhausted, her body ached with every move.

Her heart was apprehensive, though her soul quietly soothed.

Her ancestors’ cloth and leather strings wrapped around her-

Swollen breasts, bloody streaks and a womb empty from labor.

In her arms- tiny and perfect, brown curls and hopeful eyes,

Five tiny fingers clutching the strings, an instinct to stay alive.

 

The little one feared nothing, while her mother feared it all.

Her heart beat faster and faster while she answered the call-

Towards the beating drums, towards the light, and the heat,

Forever moving forward, the mother’s tired, aching feet.

 

Until soon, she approached the flames and there she did pause

The drums quieted, the elders waited and she stood for her cause.

Desperate for answers or a sign of affirmation

She came to the Fire God for a mother’s confirmation

“Tell me I can do this!”, she pled in her mind,

Praying the response from the flames would be kind …

 

“The journey ahead of you is long and hard and the answers I have are few;

But the love you have is stronger than you know, for this life you hold, that is new.”

 

“Promise me god of all the fires, that my baby will always be safe,

For my soul cannot carry the burden of her hurt or the tears that her eyes will chafe.”

 

“That I cannot not promise,” came the voice amongst the flames

“Life is a battle not a series of games.

Assurance lies not in circumstance.

Pull from these flames that flicker and dance,

The strength of the warriors who fought in these fields.

And when the day comes, that her tears flow without yield

And her heart looks to you in panicked hurry,

Call upon it without hesitation- of a pain stricken mother, there’s no greater fury.”

 

“Dear fire gods,

I fear I’ve not got enough strength, to fight what you say might be coming…

My hands are weak, my feet are tired, and my insides are painfully groaning.

How am I to survive this long journey?

I fear of her perfection, I may not be worthy…”

 

“I assure you dear woman, you were chosen by the stars

To mother this child, despite your flaws and your scars.

You are the greatest teacher she will know-

Knowledge, love, and skills, to her you will show.

Don’t be afraid, for tonight you will gain

The fuel that will power you through all of your pain.

Inside of each mother is the strength of the fire, that when summoned will easily burn

every heartache and threat that touches her child, into embers those threats will be turned.”

 

In silence she departed, unsure of her strength, but clutching her babe, knuckles white.

Ne’er would the world know a greater strength, than a mother, for her child, does fight.

 

As she settled back to rest on the floor made of earth,

Her swollen breast eased, as her babe began to nurse.

With one hand she held her newborn; from inside her, the milk and blood flowed.

And with the other, she held her spear, and the fire in her heart glowed.

 

It would be many moons before the battle would come-

When it did, there’d be no chanting or beating of drums;

But that fire that was lit so many nights ago-

That fire still burned, and it wouldn’t let go.

Until she avenged every blade that was thrown

At the babe she once held, a piece of her own.

Fighting for the ultimate success of humanity,

Is the mother whose child is loved to infinity.

 

But that babe no longer held leather ties,

But a spear of her own, that through the air did fly.

And side by side, they battled the beasts

That on womens’ hearts, set prey to feast.

And soon the old mother came to understand,

That a spark from the fire, on her offspring did land.

 

And when the day would come, that her daughter had her own,

A resurgence of fire would encircle her throne.

No man or beast would ever take her down

or tarnish the brilliance of Woman’s great crown.

 

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The Trials and Tribulations of Parenting: Learning not to minimize our teenager’s grief

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A couple of months ago, I had an experience, like many parents of teenagers (girls, especially), wherein my teen had a meltdown when the plans that she had concocted at the last minute would not be coming to fruition, due to, shall we say, parental factors.

In other words, despite her “hours of planning”, unbeknownst to us and her best of intentions to make it work, my husband and I, and the other parents said, “Not this time.” Thus, last minute plans led to last minute disappointment. Combine that, with her developmental stage and hormones… and holy moly… WWIII broke out in our household.

All morning she cried and all afternoon, she sulked. When I tried to talk to her, arguing ensued. That resulted in my feeling as though she was being ridiculous and entitled; and it left her, feeling completely frustrated and unheard.

It went something like this:

Daughter: “Mom, I haven’t done anything my entire first week and a half of summer.”

Me: “Yes you have, one day you …. and another day you….”

Daughter: “Two days, Mom!” That’s it! Two days!”

Me: “Well at least you got two … Seriously! It’s been 10 days!”

And then I continued to explain and justify why our decision to say “No” was reasonable,  and why her behavior was out of line. She stormed off again, slamming yet another door.

Then came threats from me and more ineffective communication. And I felt, yet again… that I was failing at this parenting thing.

Was she being overly dramatic and entitled? Yep!

Did I handle things the best way? Nope!

 

While I stewed about how long this was going to drag on and how to resolve this… I remembered a grief class that I had taught just a few days prior.

I teach medical staff who are caring for newly bereaved parents/family how to understand grief and how best to care for families who are being faced with the horrifying reality that their pregnancy will not have the happy ending that they had hoped for. In that presentation is a section of :”What to say” and “What not to say…”. And at the top of the “What not to say” list is anything that leads with “At least you…”-  because odds are, whatever will follow is a statement that minimizes their grief.

And I instantly realized, while on a magnanimously smaller scale, despite my feeling justified and rational in my conclusions, I too had minimized my child’s grief. Not only were our emotional needs not being met during this feud, we were no closer to reaching a resolution to our problem, either. And by yelling and arguing back, I was failing at providing her good instruction and demonstrating proper coping skills for how to handle her disappointment and resolve this problem in the future.

So I started by breaking things down:

Her complaint (minus the teenage drama and hormones):  “My plans were cancelled today. And I haven’t done as much as I would’ve liked to, thus far this summer.”

With this new viewpoint in mind, I completely restructured my communication with her. I went back to her, yet again. But this time, instead of telling her she was wrong, I said:

“I hear that you are disappointed that your plans were cancelled today. And I hear that you are frustrated that you haven’t done more this summer.” For once, she didn’t lash right back… so I continued. “I want to first remind you, that this is what you wanted to do initially- you asked to be able to ‘just veg out and not do a thing’, and I understand that that has changed now and you are feeling trapped.”

The high energy and defiant personality I’d been battling all day… softened and quieted… she was being heard and with that acknowledgement, she was ready to receive more input.

“So, fix it.” I said. “Go get the agenda book I bought you for school, and start filling it in. Figure out what you want to do and when. You can look at our family calendar and add in the things we already scheduled and then see what else it is that you want to do. Look up some recipes that you want to make, think about who you want to see and where you’d like to go- and I will do what I can to make those plans happen for you. But I need to know in advance. When you make last-minute plans, that require the help of other people, it is disrespectful to those people’s plans and lives. You can’t expect other people to drop everything and accommodate you without adequate notice. That is how you change what you don’t like, not yelling at people and disrespecting them-that’s never going to work out for you. And remember, it is always my job to keep you safe and make decisions that are in your best interest.”

That conversation was a game-changer.

Instead of shutting her down… I acknowledged her feelings.

Instead of arguing the accuracy and validity of her point, I offered her a solution.

Instead of copying her ineffective coping mechanisms, I offered her effective ones.

And none of that required that I waver on my expectations or renege on my standards as a parent.

And she really did hear me.

She changed her attitude, went and got her agenda, and filled it in. And we kept up our end of the bargain in doing our best to make those things happen. We shopped for her recipe-grocery items and added her plans to our calendars where we could. Within days her boyfriend was over the house and they were cooking dinner for us all.

It truly was a win-win. Even if it took me a few tries to get it right.

Parenting was one of, if not my greatest life goals. I wanted to be a Mom more than just about anything. And I really wanted to do it well. Great goals aren’t achieved overnight or without a ton of hard work. And being a parent is no different. You wouldn’t expect to hike Mount Everest without training and encountering hardships along the way. You wouldn’t expect to land a dream job as a trained professional without learned mastery and repeated failed attempts. So why do we expect any different when we become parents?

That afternoon, I failed several times before I got it right. And I’ll fail again, I’m sure. Unlike trained professionals, there are no textbooks or manuals customized for your particular child and their particular life stage. But if you keep trying… if you seek inspiration in the world around you… and if you aim to validate your children as the living, feeling, individuals that they are… you’ll be alright.

Hang in there! This parenting thing sure is one hell of a ride… and teenagers are the ultimate rollercoaster! But a few loopty loops and a few warranted screams are survivable, if there’s a safe station and loving arms to return to when it’s over.

 

 

 

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“It won’t always be like this…” Advice to the Mother of Small Children… From the Mother of a Teen

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I often times see on Social Media, a sort of competition between the mothers of toddlers and the mothers of teens… a sort of “Oh you think You have it bad!?” comedic banter. And truly, in order to survive parenthood, you must have a sense of humor. But I also recognize that there can be a bit of back-handedness hidden in comments like “Enjoy this time while you have it…” or “You’re gonna miss these days… ,” when they are being said to a parent who is at their breaking point. While on some level, these comments are very true, and I’m sure, I myself, have been guilty of saying them in the past… I also understand they are equally unhelpful when said at the wrong time.

I am not yet done my journey and I won’t pretend to have all the answers… but as a parent who has survived infancy and toddlerhood x2 and a nurse and a foster parent who has learned and observed… here’s what I have surmised:

Those days that you have while your little one can still fit in your arms, while they still look up to you, while they still think you wear a cape most days… Those days are in fact precious. And I do think we need those reminders sometimes- so as not to lose sight of our gifts or take those precious days for granted. The day will come when you find yourself longing for another chance to hold those tiny pudgy fingers and the little lump that crawls into your lap and falls asleep, to once again hear the sweet, unrestrained voice that says “I love you Momma” and “You’re beautiful” with ease and honesty. And that first birthday or Mother’s Day that doesn’t start with a hand print craft and a sloppy kiss, won’t go unnoticed or un-mourned. Life will likely never be this beautifully simple again.

But those days of raising tiny humans, whilst precious, are also hard. The days and hours are long and exhausting. And the love they give you willingly is met equally by selfish demands.

I remember.

While I do miss the days my children openly and lovingly adored me… Attending to their every physical, intellectual and emotional need, was exhausting. The non-stop questions, the non-stopping touching… both beautiful signs of their growing, inquisitive minds and their desire to feel safe and loved by their Momma, wore me out and left me over-stimulated on a daily basis.

I was never as tired. My house was never as messy. And chores and errands were never as difficult as when my children were young.

I now have a 12 and a 15-year-old.

And while I am a bit less tired now because I am able to physically lie in my bed for longer periods of time… and it has been years since I’ve been awoken by “Mommy I peed the bed.” or “Mommy, I threw up.” or “Can I sleep in here?… I had a nightmare.”, I now more often lie awake and lose sleep with worry. Adolescence is a time of a painstaking push for independence. Decisions are often made impulsively and recklessly. Attitudes are typically selfish in nature. And this developmental stage directly precedes adulthood, thus, the consequences for their actions often reflect that. I am grateful for the opportunity to sleep more but I must admit that my night-time anxiety is one I never knew before.

My advice to you, sleep when you can. Sleep when the babies sleep. I know you want to knock out that project or mindlessly scroll through social media in the short window that you have to yourself, but if you are behind in sleep, then catch up. Sleep is the most restorative function next to eating. And if you are sleep deprived, every other aspect of your life will be affected. You will likely find that when you do get sleep, your awake time is much more functional too. These exhausting days don’t last forever. The day will come when projects and housework will get easier. What you didn’t get to today, will still be there tomorrow. Sleep when you can.

Speaking of trying to get things done… one of the things I don’t think anyone prepares you for as a new parent, is how hard it is to run a simple errand. Just going to the store to grab a few things for dinner, when you have an infant and a toddler, is a huge-freaking ordeal. There’s getting them all ready, packing the diaper bag, getting them into their car seats… Then, getting them out of their seats and into the cart without one of them running off, and at that point… you haven’t even made it into the store. Long gone are the days when you could just slip on your shoes and run out for a gallon of milk. You’re exhausted before you even start shopping.

And then, there’s the trials and tribulations of trying to shop with them…

I remember one such shopping trip: As if the “Stay with me, please…” and “Yuck, don’t put that in your mouth!” and “No, we’re not buying that!” and “Stop putting things in the cart!” weren’t enough…. In the middle of my shopping trip, my infant-in-arms began throwing up. Then, while I stood in the middle of the grocery aisle, with vomit running down my shirt and splattering all over the floor, my toddler dropped the cap to her Chapstick- which conveniently rolled under the shelving unit and became irretrievable. And as he continued to vomit all down the front of me, she screamed about the cap that she lost. So, instead of resupplying my empty shelves at home, I left a full cart of groceries in the middle of the store. Covered in vomit, holding my sick baby, I dragged my irrational and screaming toddler out of store. And then I cried- because I didn’t know what we were going to eat that night for dinner.

My advice to you… try to time your errands when you have the help of your partner or a Mom friend. And when that’s not feasible, I hear those grocery store delivery services are a god-send! I’d check them out if you haven’t already. I know I certainly could have used it back then. Likely, it’s not a service you’ll use forever. I don’t need it now. And I love that I can leave my relatively self-sufficient children at home or at school and go shopping alone. But I do remember, what an unusual treat that was, just a few short years ago. Running errands won’t always be this hard. Hang in there!

Of course your grocery bill won’t be this low either. With growing teens and tweens, I miss the days that I could feed them for pennies. I miss being able to control what goes in their lunches. (My highschooler routinely eats from the vending machines at school using her babysitting money and it makes me nauseous). And sometimes with everyone’s crazy schedules now, we aren’t always at home together for dinner… and I miss their chubby faces at the table. Though I don’t miss them throwing food on the floor or having to poop the second I sat down with my plate.

Speaking of food, don’t bother making your own “Step 1” baby food- it’s not worth the effort to make food that pure and that thin. Build the prepared baby food into your budget- but only for a month or two. Once they can start tolerating some texture in their food, throw whatever you’re making for dinner in the blender and Voila! You’ll save money and create a child with a decent food palate. Studies show that eating a wide variety of foods is more important to the toddler diet than eating a large amount of food. So don’t stress if they only take a few bites. And keep trying, even when they refuse. Picky eaters are annoying no matter what age they are! Start them early by exposing them to a wide variety of foods.

And stop carrying the household work load alone! Give your children chores. Even toddlers can do simple tasks, like unloading the dishwasher and picking up their toys. And I started having them making their own lunches in Kindergarten (with a pictured diagram of what protein, veggies and a snack entailed). Yes, it is more work initially, to supervise them and go behind them, but it will pay off! My 7 year old foster child knew how to vacuum, cook and clean floors when he came to us. (… I thought I was doing good with “Pick up your toys” and “Put your plate in the sink.”) Teenagers should be doing their own laundry, learning to cook and sharing the kitchen clean-up. Those are life skills that they will soon need! You do them no favors by enabling them. Sharing the load leads to less frustration on your part and promotes teamwork and independence. My fifteen-year-old loves showing off her simple cooking skills with her friends- (most of whom can’t even fry an egg). Trust me, they WILL thank you later.

Sometimes though, it’s not just the chores that feel so cumbersome, it’s the constant longing for touch and attention that wears a new mom out. One of my children had very high physical touch needs. All day they wanted to be next to me or on top of me. They had no lovey or blankie or self soothing mechanisms, they just wanted to touch me all the time. And I remember that while my husband’s physical affection for me was one of the things that I fell madly in love with, during that time, I didn’t even want him to touch me. By the end of the day, I was so over-stimulated. Sex was a chore.

I do miss the daily hugs and snuggles. I did love nursing my babies and sleeping with them in a quiet lump on my chest… and now I love having my body back. And I love sex again… though it’s a little tricky now with teenagers who don’t want to go to bed and come downstairs for midnight snacks.

My advice to you, when that tiny body is clinging to your leg as you try to cook dinner and you want to scream “Get off of me!”- Stop for just a second, squat down and hug them. Tell them that you love them very much and enjoy that tiny squeeze. Sometimes that’s all they want. And then tell yourself that this is only temporary… and if you have to… go hide in the bathroom.

While toddlers truly are tiny, irrational beings that often drive us to our wits end, teenagers are simply bigger versions. Their tantrums and selfish demands are infuriating! Add that on to your ever, over-flowing plate of chores and challenges, and it can be enough to make you lose your mind! I know!

My advice to you- no matter how irrational or volatile they are, don’t spank them. I did, and I regret it. Spanking is easier. People say that our kids are entitled and spoiled brats now because people no longer beat them… not true. They’re spoiled and entitled because we stopped spanking and replaced it with little-to-no disciplinary action. Effective parenting is hard! It requires self-control and follow-through. It is easier to lose it and give their behind a couple good wacks than it is to remain calm and make them do an extra chore or take away their screens, toy or cookie. But it does yield better results. You will become a better person for it. And it’s great practice for the teenage years. You can’t beat a 17 year old who’s bigger than you… set your standards and practice these parenting techniques now while they, like their mistakes, are still small and easily managed. And treasure the fact that they still come back for a forgiving hug.

As the mother of a teen, the tantrums and the melt-downs are fewer now, but the consequences of those emotional breaks, the problems and the worries are much bigger. Remind yourself that their worries of which pair of shoes to wear and how many m&ms they’ve eaten today are very tiny choices in the scope of life. Allow them some autonomy and don’t get yourself all razed-up when they wear, say, or do the wrong thing. Take a moment to teach them, but don’t let their emotions escalate you as an adult.

And listen to them, teach them that their words and their feelings matter. Young children who feel heard by their parents will grow into teens who feel safe to confide in their parents. And teens who confide in their parents make less deadly mistakes. Their thoughts and opinions don’t have to change your decisions, but you can at least show them that you are willing to hear them. A foundation of respect, honesty, structure and discipline is essential to a healthy family dynamic. But don’t lose perspective either, save the big fights for when they truly matter.

Sometimes I think we intrinsically know which fights are worth fighting but we feel pressured by others to make a certain impression. And sometimes, the people who pressure us the most are the people who raised us. “You’re gonna let her wear that out of the house?”, “Don’t you think he’s a little young for that?”, or “Oh I didn’t let you guys have that …”, are judgmental statements that often leave us questioning our own parental decisions. But guess what? Our parents weren’t perfect! They made mistakes. Trust your own judgement. Don’t allow yourself to be bullied and don’t copy the same mistakes under the guise of- “That’s how I was raised.” Each generation has the opportunity to learn from the previous generation’s mistakes and successes- so learn, and then make your own decisions about what is best for you and your family.

While your parents do have plenty of wisdom to utilize, they might not always be the best source of advice for child rearing because they raised their children in a very different time. I find, I oftentimes get my best advice from friends and family who are not so far removed from raising children. The people that I see actively managing their life and their children in an admirable way, in the same culture that I’m trying to raise my kids in, are the people I look to forge relationships with. And those relationships have proved essential to my surviving life with children.

Friends give you breaks. You need breaks. Once you’ve built those trusting relationships with one another, take turns watching each other’s children so that the other one can get an errand or a nap in. Or better yet, schedule a wine date and leave all the kids with someone’s spouse so that you can get some uninterrupted, adult conversation in. We have to remember that we have an identity outside of being a parent. You and your child both will enjoy each other more when you have space from one another. Not to mention our children need to learn how to function in our absence. You’ll all be better for it… trust me! Even the spouse who’s watching the five kids… they’ll develop a new found appreciation for what you do on the regular. And when you come home after a few glasses of wine, sex might not be such a “chore” that night (*wink).

And lastly, my advice for the best way to meet said friends…

Get out of the house! Take your children to go play at the local park or elementary school playground. Church works too, if you’re a churchy person. They are all great places to watch other parents parenting their children and you’ll be able to see who you want to invest the time of building a friendship with, and who you want to lose the phone number of, (LOL). When you stay local, you’ll meet parents who likely live in your neighborhood and may even be assigned to the same schools as your children. This sets you up for the possibility of an ongoing relationship, if you so choose. Not to mention, by being outside, the kids won’t be messing up the house. You’ll all get some vitamin D, which everyone is deficient in (and that deficiency causes increased tiredness, fyi). And with all the evidence that screens are killing us… you’ll give your children a break from technology and the opportunity for wholesome, creative play and exercise.

And then… when they’re teens… you’ll be a little less tired, have cool friends to hang out with, and kids who (hopefully) have a decent food pallet, a few life skills, will talk to you, could potentially be able to handle not having a screen for a few hours and tolerate being outdoors… 

The day will come when what felt like an eternity ahead of you, are now the days behind you. And you’ll look back and say, of the greatest chore you were ever given, “I hope I did it good enough.”

Momma, it won’t always be like this.

Forgive yourself. Love yourself. Allow yourself.

Find Beauty where you are right now. And know that nothing lasts forever… even this.

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Finding Beauty in the Storms

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When I was a small child, I spent a fair amount of time in my grandparents’ residence, especially during summers it seemed. There, I learned about gardening, and how to make “Mimi’s iced tea,” and the freedom of running through the sprinkler in your underwear on a hot day. We ate homemade popsicles and sour grapes and ran around with our cousins until we collapsed on the cool ceramic floor.

The days were relaxed and easy and full of sunshine.

But sometimes, as summer afternoons seem to produce, a storm would roll through. And as the skies would darken, we’d run into the house to take shelter. You’d think that as young as we were, we’d be frightened by the storm. But Mimi would express her gratitude that the flowers and the plants were getting “a nice drink of water”. And when the thunder and the lightening would begin, and a thunderous clap would shake the house, my grandmother would shout, “Home Run!”. Yelling as loud as the thunder itself, her exclamation never gave us the opportunity to fear the startle that the thunder clap produced. “The angels are playing baseball” she’d tell us- likely her monotheistic version of Zeus and his thunderbolts, to ease our tiny nerves. She’d even call out their names “Nice one Gabriel! Whooohooo Michael is up to bat!” We were too busy imagining a celestial ballgame via my Mimi, the sports announcer, to fear the storm that was passing overhead.

Maybe that’s where it started.

Or maybe it was my father, scooping us up in his arms and running us outside, to watch under the shelter of our tiny porch, the “light show” of purple and white lightening bolts ricocheting across the dark skies. “Ooh! Ah! Look at that one!”, he’d comment on the weather phenomenon as if it were a fireworks display.

“You don’t think it’s scary Daddy?” A natural angst ran through our youthful veins as we stood outside, just out of the elements, in a powerful storm. “I think it’s beautiful” he’d say. And under his protective arms, our anxieties turned to excitement as we searched the sky for the glorious electrical surprises.

Maybe that’s when I learned to find beauty in the storms.

 

Those are amongst some of my earliest memories, before I was even school-age.

I feel like we tend to hold a special place for our early-childhood memories. The ones we have before reason and intuition and the awareness of life’s challenges become blaringly apparent to us. Memories, like secrets, tucked away in a treasure box and kept for safe keeping before the storms of life start rolling in.

And lord knows, the storms would be many.

Poverty, addiction, abuse, illness, divorce and death…like hurricanes raging through my life…with them came damage. That damage took years to repair and brought with it, the reflexive action to board myself up and hide; like a shore-side resident battening down the hatches before the storm hits. Only, I hid emotionally, not physically and the boards were nailed to my heart, not my home. Despite my early childhood lessons, I had forgotten how to look for beauty. I learned to be both afraid and numb at the same time. Negativity disguised as “realistic expectations” invaded my every view of the world; and I came to expect tragedy everywhere.

Every life encounters storms, some more than others. But no one is immune. Heartache and hard work, misfortune and tragedy rain down on everyone sometimes, regardless of your background and life choices. It’s what you do when those storms come and what lessons you choose to take away with you, that begins to define your character.

 

It took me years to see the beauty in my storms.

The beauty in poverty that is the drive to work hard and learned resourcefulness.

The beauty in pain that is perspective and an understanding of both humanity’s tragic weakness and tremendous strength.

The beauty in broken promises that is the opportunity to mend and then grow.

The beauty in ends, which yield new beginnings.

 

Beating rains both tear-down fragile plants and soften hard grounds.

Floods, whilst destructive, yield fertile soil if you take the opportunity to plant seeds in it.

Dark skies cool the air and make us appreciate clear ones even more.

And after the storm, despite the damage and debris, there is always a quiet and a sense of new beginning as the birds and small creatures venture back out of their nests. And small children find puddles to jump in.

 

I remember the first time my children witnessed neighborhood kids running and screaming when a thunderstorm rolled in. They watched with puzzled expressions, the cartoon-like antics of the panic-stricken children collecting their toys and scrambling inside. And they asked me, “Why are they acting like that?”

“Because some people are afraid of storms.” I said. I explained how storms can bring strong winds and how lightening can hurt you, and that we must find a safe place and exercise caution. “Or, maybe it’s the loud thunder that they don’t like,” I said…

“But my grandmother and your Pops used to say …” and I picked them up and took them to the front window, to sit on my lap and shout “Home Run!” while we watched the “light show”.

As a girl, (and still now), I prayed that every day be a sunny day. Under blue skies and puffy white clouds, I rolled in the green grass, hunted for bugs and hidden treasures and soaked in the warmth of the sun’s great rays. My soul remains invigorated by the energy that a warm summer day produces. And it is calmed by its quiet nights when crickets and peepers lull me to sleep.

Never do I look to the skies and ask for a storm to come. Never would I choose dark clouds over cotton-ball-white ones or beating rain over clear skies.

But when the storms do roll in, because they inevitably, always will… I am grateful for a child-like grandmother and a brave and understanding father, who taught me to find beauty in the storms.

 

 

 

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The World is your Canvas: A Letter to a Graduate

mortar-board-2-1551255-639x852You made it! And I couldn’t be prouder of you! The work that you’ve done, the lessons you’ve learned, the character you’ve built, were not feats attained overnight. You worked for every one of them. Both your mistakes and your achievements carry great value and contributed to your success today. Because of both of them, you are smarter, wiser and stronger than when you first began this journey.

And still, your journey is far from over. This is not an era that has ended but a new chapter that is beginning – a new chapter that will be filled with its own challenges, hardships and celebrations.

Honor your moments of hardship and challenge for that is when growth and learning is best achieved; and revel in your moments of ease, you deserve them!

It took Michelangelo 4 years to paint the Sistine Chapel… a lengthy project for one ceiling. And one he was not excited about taking on initially. The technique he used, Fresco, was a new art to him. The work was back-breaking, literally. He encountered multiple set backs in the process. And sometimes, he had to ask for help. Anyone who has been to the chapel can tell you that its exterior is simple and unassuming, not the venue you’d expect to hold world-famous art for almost 500 years.

Don’t be fooled by unassuming people, many of the world’s most brilliant minds are housed in the simplest of appearances. Have humility.

Not every project you take on will be exciting or one you feel perfectly suited for, take it anyway. Growth comes with challenge. And new experiences sometimes yield surprising results. Take a chance.

Greatness is not achieved by mediocrity. Don’t ever stop working hard.

Complacency leads to the death of the spirit. Don’t ever stop learning.

And never mind, the physical aches and pains that come with old age and hard work- It’s the strength of the spirit that moves mountains.

 

The world’s greatest accomplishments are a balanced combination of talent, hard work and opportunity: Uncover your talents, search for opportunity, keep trying- even when you fail and don’t be afraid to ask for help.

 

Like a properly balanced palette, there is a use for every hue. Highlights and shadows require different colors and placements but are equally important in a piece of art. Every part of you has a purpose. Both the good and the bad, the light and the dark, can be used to better this world.

Use the goodness to achieve more goodness, the world needs it!

And use the bad to understand and to improve yourself and to sympathize with the shortcomings of others. But do not let those shortcomings or other people define you.

Be yourself and give the world someone to reckon with. You are Amazing!

Have respect for yourself and for others. And uphold honor in all the things you do. Power and intellect mean nothing if your morality is lost. Don’t be afraid to stand up for what is right, even in the face of adversity. Don’t be afraid to be alone, if being alone means standing with dignity.

The world is your canvas and your palette is endless, paint the hell out of it!

And don’t stop painting, don’t stop achieving, don’t stop reaching, until incurable physical fragility makes it impossible to pick up the brush.

Then, and only then, will you be lowered from your platform, to lie back and look up at the immense and beautiful art you’ve created and appreciate it for all of its complexity. And you’ll realize it was all worth it.

Your vision is your own…go pick up a brush and make it happen!

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This is an amended post first published on 6/17/18.

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Water, Leaves, and Stones… a reflection on the ripple effects of both tragedy and goodness as witnessed by this nurse, teacher, grief worker and foster parent.

 

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There is an image that is used by many perinatal bereavement programs which is that of a green leaf floating on the surface of still water. It is an image that I see every time I do grief work and one that is taped to the hospital room doors of families who are experiencing tragedy. And when I do grief education, I take a minute to discuss that image and the symbolism that it represents. There are quite a few components to that image that hold significance; but the one component, in particular, that always stands out to me, are the subtle water ripples around the leaf. While we focus the majority of grief education on the immediate family, (and we should) … I sometimes think we neglect to mention the many ripple effects that grief has on the world around us. And while the leaf is a perfect choice for this image- as it represents premature loss; sometimes the idea of a cold, hard stone works better for me.

When a leaf first falls or a stone is tossed into a still pond, the break in the surface is a sudden and loud disruption. Those closest to the disruption, to the loss, feel its effects the strongest and the fastest. They are the ones standing at the edges of the hole that is created when the stone breaks through the water’s surface.

From that hole, from that initial impact, the effects continue to spread outward, from one circle to the next, ending in a seemingly remote place, the edges of the shoreline. There, far away from the inner circle, someone reads a story that was inspired by that person’s life or they receive the goods distributed by the charity that was created in that person’s name. Even subtler and further away still, are the ideas and the developing culture that is perpetuated by the feelings and ideas of the outer circles, like whispers into the ears of society telling us how we should feel or who/what was to blame. While these ripples are much quieter and much subtler than those closest to the loss, they are very much felt and very much have an effect on the world around us.

I have been touched by two types of loss that share similar ideas and feelings by society: Perinatal Loss (which encompasses any pregnancy loss or death of an infant close in timing to its birth-miscarriage, stillbirth, severe prematurity, genetic conditions or birth defects non-compatible with life and neonatal death) and Death by Suicide. Both types of death are largely considered “taboo” by society. When something becomes “taboo” it doesn’t occur with less frequency; in fact, both types of loss are much more tragically common than anyone realizes. But its occurrence is often ignored or mention of it avoided- either because one is afraid of “catching” it or because one is uncomfortable discussing it. And uneducated, often negative ideas and assumptions are often made.

While tragedy, I find, is not contagious, feelings of discomfort and negativity often are. This perpetuation of negativity/discomfort regarding both suicide and infant and fetal death leads to a lack of acknowledgment of the death by society and ultimately, isolation and complicated grief of those closest to the loss. Loneliness is an awful awful feeling. And then guilt and blame, the demonic twins of tragedy rear their ugly heads and they too feed into the tone of those quiet circles that move outward from the stone. Tones that encourage us to look away, to avoid, to think they must have done something wrong or missed something. Tones that allow us to feel that it only happens to them, not us.

Without even realizing it, the negative energy that is fed into those ripples perpetuates pain and it leads to the under-serving of those affected the greatest by that loss.

Through my journey as a bereaved loved one and my years of public service, I have come to realize that we all play some part in the circles of change.

And not all leaves and stones represent death.

As a mother, a teacher and a nurse, I know the effects that my words and actions have on my children, students, and patients. We all do. Because regardless of our backgrounds, we can all recall a time when we were taught, when we were raised and when we were ill or injured. And we can all recall how those various experiences and the people around us, made us feel- be it good or bad. Regardless of how many years tick by, we can still remember those people who helped to build us up and those who tore us down. And while a significant loss is known to make a strong and definite impact on our development of self, oftentimes it’s the seemingly smaller moments in life that too, become life-altering ones: The words of a mentor, the patience or annoyance of a teacher, the attention or dismissal of a caregiver, the confidence or chastisement of a parent… in the tiniest moments of life can cause large circles of influence on the human spirit.

In the few short months that my family and I have begun the journey of fostering, we have witnessed the most extraordinary effects on people that we could have never predicted. The stone of a child entering the foster system sent immediate ripple effects into the pool of our lives and our home. And in spite of some seemingly inevitable tones of judgment and isolation by people who don’t understand; we have seen more goodness, more understanding, more compassion, working their way into our circles, than we could have ever predicted.

We entered this journey to help children. Through direct affirmation, we can see children who have been immersed in ignorance and anger, now learning love because of our involvement. It is more beautiful and more affirming than we could have ever imagined. And they have changed us as much as we have changed them.

We are better people because we elected to stand by the edge and help catch that stone.

But as beautiful as that is, that’s not what surprised us the most. What has surprised us the most, are the effects that we’ve witnessed rippling further outwards from our experience:

The people who took no previous interest in foster care or adoption, who are now researching the requirements.

The people who previously only worked to save babies, who are now taking a step to save older children too.

The people who in their minds, so easily tossed foster children into the “Damaged” bin, who are now seeing the faces that we love with sweet endearment and compassion.

The parents, not of foster-children, but the parents of children who ‘don’t quite make the mark’ for removal- the parents who have not made their children a priority, who have sparked a sudden interest to do better and to be more present in the lives they created.

The workers collecting a paycheck, in an overwhelmed and inundated system, who have seen love and progress and healing and have been reminded that despite the burn-out and the endless cases, it is tiny human hearts that are on the line. And they have softened and bent in beautiful ways.

And much further away, with no credit to us at all… are the messages in recent movies (like “Instant Family” and “Shazam”) that feature top stars and foster kids presented in a loving manner; even a Sesame Street puppet, who shares perspective and teaches inclusion.

Because while negatively spreads, so does goodness. Good energy begets good energy and waves of change happen when we initiate it.

Though early in our journey, we have been shown that good people can make mistakes and sometimes it’s not our job to rescue them, as much as it is to assist and teach them. We would’ve adopted our first three foster children in a second… but we learned that our efforts were better served in teaching their parents and other foster parents how to love and support by example. A similar message to that of grief support… where we too can’t rescue the bereaved, but we can guide and support and love them.

And it doesn’t take a movie star or a PhD to do that.

I am no super-human. I was raised below the poverty line and I hold college debt that I will take into retirement. I am married to an immigrant and together we make a very middle-class income. We live in a small 3 bedroom, 1 1/2 bath home that faces the side of a gas station, just outside the lines of one of the murder capitals of the world. My children have learning differences and therapists. And when I’m not around said children, I love to curse….and I also love wine. But together, we play and we talk and we love one another endlessly… and despite our very small space and limited abilities, we are changing are the fucking world! Not on a Mother Theresa level, not on a Noble Peace Prize level… but on an everyday tragedy, everyday joyous celebration, every day pond-skipping-stones level.

The nurse in me is forever aware that we never know when our card is up.

The foster mom knows no one is immune.

The teacher knows everyone matters.

And the mother in me won’t let me quit.

And so the ridiculous ven diagram that is my life evolves and the circles just keep coming from my ever-evolving pond.

It is so easy to see and perpetuate the bad. The bad is real and it hurts and mustn’t be easily dismissed. We must acknowledge it and be patient and work through it. And we must accept that that pain will forever change us.

But we can’t dismiss the good either. It too must be acknowledged and then fed; because it too, forever changes us. Like the scars left on abused babies bodies and the ache of the empty arms of a mother, so are the seared imprints of love on their hearts when they are cradled by someone who cares. They will never forget that pain, but neither will they ever forget the love either.

The ripple effects, the rhythmic and vibrating circles of cause and effect, are one and the same. It’s the energy that we choose to add, that changes the direction of the tides.

What if instead of dismissing or jumping to conclusions, we took a moment to educate ourselves and to try to understand? Or even more, to love?

Like the untimely falling of leaves, or the misdirected toss of a stone, not every component of life is one that we get to choose, or one that we welcome. But when those waves of impact strike us, will we add to them judgment and misfortune? Or will we change those circles into life-long lessons of love and acceptance?

Through our words and actions, we can choose to perpetuate anger, distrust, aggression and judgment OR we can be the waves of peace, trust, love and understanding.

The choice is ours. Go make your own ripples. The world is waiting.

 

 

The leaf image discussed in this piece is credited to Gunderson RTS.