“Many people lose the small joys in the hope for the big happiness.” – Pearl Buck
I hope that everyone enjoyed and is continuing to enjoy a wonderful holiday season. Today is a little “respite” into what has become to be, what I call the Venn diagram of Christmas. We have four adult kids, with their own careers, and who all have serious significant others with careers and their own extended families, so our Christmas is a lot of comings and goings. We still plan to have our biggest celebration, when all of our crew can finally be at the same place at the same time, in a few days. This has been a transition that started happening a few years back and it is still evolving as our youngest is graduating from college in the spring. I’ve learned to embrace it, and to surrender to the gifts and to the surprises and to the metamorphoses that each new Christmas season brings. I have learned to savor the small joys that have a way of turning into “the big happiness.” Our daughter said that someone asked her recently how her parents were doing with all of the big transformations which we have been experiencing in our lives lately and my husband and I looked at each other and smiled. I think we are doing just fine. Change is the only constant and so you have a choice to embrace it and look for the growth and the blessings, or to fruitlessly try to fight it, and end up despondent and frustrated by your own futile resistance. I choose to focus on the joys.
Karen Nimmo wrote an excellent article about the four best questions to answer, in order to reflect on your past year, in order to help you do any course corrections for the new year. My birthday happens to fall in December, so I find this time of year to be particularly reflective for me, and I really enjoyed the structure of her questions. My husband and I answered these questions with two of our kids the other night, and it really gave us insight into what we are all feeling and doing. Here are the questions:
What did you do this year? (when you start listing everything that you did, I think you will be amazed!)
What delighted you? (perhaps bring more of this answer into the new year?)
How did you improve?
What demanded courage?
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Happy Holidays, my dear friends and readers. I have felt a crazy, needful urge to write all day. I am currently in a hotel lobby in Oregon, on a public computer. I live in Florida. I have just travelled, relatively impromptu, all of the way across the country, smack dab in the middle of the holiday season, because my husband, my true love, never, ever knows what he wants for Christmas. He never asks for anything. He gives us, his family, everything. But this year, he absolutely knew what he wanted for Christmas. My husband wanted to see our college alma mater football team (a team, which he, himself, played for) play in their first ever college play-offs. And so here we are, in rainy, but beautiful and lovely and honestly, gracious and accommodating Eugene, Oregon.
My husband and I met at James Madison University in the quietly gorgeous Shenandoah Valley in Harrisonburg, VA. I met my husband my first weekend at JMU. We just recently celebrated our 31st wedding anniversary in October of this year. Up until lately, James Madison University was relatively/vaguely known/unknown to anyone whom I mentioned that I graduated from there. It is one of those wholesome, best kept secrets in the valley, and for those of us who enjoy living under the radar, we have been happy as clams, to keep it that way. The regional people in the DC/Richmond/Maryland/eastern PA areas are, of course, familiar with JMU and all of its charms and advantages, but it is clearly not one of those “University of . . . . Name the State” whom everyone and their grandmother is familiar with. And that never bothered me. Never. Even when professors at the University of Pittsburgh and Carnegie Mellon University, whom I sold college textbooks to, would smugly proclaim that I would have gotten a much better education had I stayed home to go to school there, I would equally as smugly think in my mind, “Perhaps, but I would not have had the overall, all-together amazing, gentle, kind, prodding but safe cocooning experience into the final phase of my turning into an adult. And even more importantly, I would never have met the love of my life.” James Madison University has something special that’s hard to put into words. It is a protective cottagey greenhouse that lets you bloom in your own way, and in your own time. It’s like having a sweet nanny/fairy godmother who knows your potential but allows you to reach it, just on your own and only when you are ready, planting the seeds, keeping you nourished and nurtured, and slowly filling you with the faith and the confidence which she already has in spades for you. And when the time is right, she gently, and optimistically, sets you free. At least JMU was that way when I was a student there. It’s something in the mountain air there. It’s a secret emanating from its sacred Bluestones that just makes you know how blessed you are to ease into final adulthood there. I once heard someone say that they had never met more people with higher E.Q.s than people who had gone to James Madison University. James Madison is good at making sure that every graduate, graduates as a “whole” person. And is there any better way to go at life than when you are filled with a sense of your own wholeness? Is there any better protective cloak in life than being whole?
Obviously, it goes without saying that I love James Madison University, but we aren’t known for our football team. It’s only in the last five years or so, that JMU has ever made national news, regarding its football team. And that is a huge contrast to the team which we are playing tomorrow. The University of Oregon’s football team has a long legacy of NFL players, Heisman trophy winners and 37 Bowl games under its duckbills. Some football elites are angered that this playoff scenario has even happened. They believe that this “David versus Goliath” experience should not even be allowed, and NCAA rules have already recently been changed to ensure that this won’t likely happen again.
But we are Americans. And we love a Cinderella story. And in my mind, America could really use a Cinderella story right now. I have been to the awe-striking Pacific Northwest previously, but I have never been to Oregon. And it is lovely. It is gorgeous and green and filled with tall, lush, ancient trees. The people here are kind, open-minded, colorful, friendly, and robust. So far, they are treating the many of us East Coast JMU people (many more than I expected to make the trip!), warm-heartedly and with curiosity and consideration. They make me proud to be part of this immensely large and diverse country. I am doing my own best to be a good ambassador of my beloved alma mater, and my own east coast roots and traditions. I want them to feel the same pride and communion which I feel now, even in our competitive spirit tomorrow.
I felt desperate to write this blog post before I came back home, before the game happened even, because it really doesn’t matter the outcome tomorrow. The winning has already happened. The winning has happened for a sweet, not largely known university to make it to the primetime, with guts, grit, brotherhood and a huge belief in themselves. It has happened for a patient, and jubilant fanbase, who excitedly made impromptu plans in the middle of the holidays to make the college football playoffs, at least some part of the plans which were already in place. The winning has happened for a young man and a young woman who met each other one weekend in Harrisonburg, VA and found a love like no other. Sometimes winning is just understanding how is to live in the pure wholeness of your one sweet life and appreciating all the supporting players and systems which have helped you live it, all along the way.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
^^^^^ This is my latest excuse for my various messes, a.k.a. “ideas”, lying around my house.
***** Happy 25th Birthday, my blue-eyed baby! I am proud to be your fellow Sag and Yenta of the family. Mostly I am super proud to be your mama. I love you.
One time, one of my friends asked me what my love language was, as she was really into reading and understanding Gary Chapman’s famous book, The Five Love Languages. Honestly, I didn’t have an answer because I really never got into the book and the question started my internal critic reeling, wondering if I wasn’t showing my friends I care, because I didn’t know my “official” love language. According to Chapman, people show love in five major categories and most people have a predominant way that they show love. The categories are: Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch, Receiving Gifts, and Acts of Service. Apparently people give and show love in the ways that they would like to receive it. And so the theory is, if you want to better understand and appreciate your partner and how to love them, you notice how they show you their love.
I’m intrigued with the idea of all of this, but I don’t think love or relationships are ever this simple and easy. I’m also uneasy with the idea of “transactional” love. I do believe that love is an action and so it follows that spending quality time, affirming your people, giving and receiving hugs and kisses, etc., giving and receiving gifts and doing kind deeds for people, are all beautiful ways to express your love and affection, but the concept implies to me, an expectation, “If you do this, then I’ll do that . . . ” (transactional and performative and obligatory)
In my life’s experience, I have sadly come to better understand and appreciate my loved ones’ unique love languages when they are no longer a part of my life, for various reasons, usually death or growing apart. It’s the unique, nuanced love language of any individual that makes you realize that there really is no one else who can fill those exact same shoes. No one else can share with you that same exact love communication. It’s what “I miss” about a person that makes me realize I was understanding that person’s unique and special fit into the puzzle of my life. I was “hearing” their love language which sometimes I could only fully decipher when they were gone.
Who in your life listens to you intently with the biggest desire to understand? Who in your life rallies you to live it more fully than you ever realized you could? Who in your life shares the same sense of humor, so that you are both cry-laughing in unison until your sides ache? Who in your life makes you feel like you have hung the moon just for existing? Who in your life has pushed you to be the best version of you? Who in your life has been an example and inspiration of strength and resiliency? Who in your life lights up the minute you walk into the room? Who in your life introduced you to things and concepts and experiences that opened up whole new worlds to you? Who in your life seems to know that exact right time to reach out with just the right words? Who in your life makes you feel more “alive” just being with them? Who in your life just “gets you” and loves you for it?
What will people miss about you when you are gone? What void will be left in their lives because you are no longer in it? I don’t necessarily think it will be what you did for them. I don’t think it will be anything about your looks, or your personality, or your money or your talents. I believe that it will be the unique, interesting, vulnerable giving of yourself that beautifully and intrinsically connected to something deeper in them. And I think that when this connection is electric and happening, we don’t realize it, until we don’t have it anymore. I believe that we share a unique love language in every significant relationship in our lives, kind of like those fake, secret languages that we would make up, in our childhood, with our siblings and best friends.
Maybe one of life’s biggest ironies, is that we don’t clearly hear or understand someone’s love language, until it is no longer spoken to us. And then that beautiful language is clear as a bell. It sometimes plays in our heads, like a tune we can’t stop thinking about. It’s that one note in the symphonies of our lives that no one else could hit, but that one person. Thankfully, we shared a special language at one time, and so it lives on in us, carved like engravings in our hearts, even when it is an ancient language, no longer spoken.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
First, I am going to trinkle these new “gems” I found onto this pile of life’s thoughts/reflections/wisdoms which is called Adulting – Second Half:
“A lot of things broke my heart, but fixed my vision.”
Marriage argument motto: “I have nothing to win, everything to gain and everything to lose.”
“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” – James Baldwin
“Those mountains that you are carrying, you were only supposed to climb.” -Najwa Zebian
“If your compassion does not include yourself, it is incomplete.” – Buddha
And from a really good movie, Jay Kelly:
“It’s a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It’s much easier to be somebody else or nobody at all.” – Sylvia Plath
“Italy. What is it’s fatal charm? I believe it is a certain permission to be human, which other places lost long ago.”
I’m sorry for a longer than usual absence, readers. The latest flu really got me. (and no, I didn’t get the flu shot, so maybe something to consider. . . .) I just finished one of those wonderfully cheesy, fill-my-eyes-up, 2025-year-in-review videos. It was honestly pretty compelling. These videos always remind me of just how much happens in one year.
Lately, I’ve been observing our human nature to sweep entire years as “good” or “bad.” We often take one monumental event that happened in any particular year, either to us personally (tragedies such as deaths, job loss, or happy things like new homes, graduations or babies being born), or out in the world (think politics, wars or ends of wars, natural disasters or major scientific discoveries) and we make one or two of those major events, the basis for our entire judgment, of an entire year: Good or bad. Then we pronounce blanket statements like, “I just can’t wait for this awful year to be over!” or “I’ll never have a year as good as this one.”
And yet, the video I just watched featured unbelievable Cinderella stories in all different sports, political shockers from both major parties, wildfires and floods and the rebuilding of communities, cultural phenoms, medical achievements and so, so, so much more that collectively happened in just one year, in our lives on this Earth. A year is not entirely “good” or “bad.” Isn’t it often the case that we sometimes look back at our “bad” years and we actually feel thankful for them? In retrospect, they were “good” years because they forced our hands. They brought more of ourselves and our own individual needs and desires and insights, to the forefront of our awareness. We experienced more, and thus we, in turn, became more complex, more interesting, more human.
Years are made up of our moments. There are a lot of moments in our years. One time one of my friends asked me this common phrase when I was being a bit tragically dramatic: “Did you really have a bad day, or was it a bad five minutes you milked out all day long?” Even our worst days, have sweet moments. Even our worst years, have lovely days.
The beauty of keeping a daily journal, is that you have a record of the moments – the “good” moments, the “bad” moments and a record of the days – the “good” days and the “bad” days. As a person who has consistently kept a daily journal since 2013 and has saved my calendars since 2008, I can tell you that most days are just a conglomeration of mostly banal, routine moments, with a few notably “bad” moments and a few strikingly “good” moments sprinkled on top – even on vacation days, even on tax-filing days, even on mammogram days, even on birthdays.
Sometimes I think we get a little bored with our everyday routine moments, and that’s when the stories play in our heads. That’s when our inner narrator starts turning annoying moments into horrific days. We all say we want “peace”. We all say we want “calm”, but the truth is, we often don’t know what to do with peace and calm. We get restless. So we stir up our inner pot to create drama and intrigue. Our stories of what happened are usually much more interesting than what actually happened. Aren’t we humans annoying?
Maybe the answer is to turn our inner label makers off. Days don’t need to be labelled. Years don’t need to be labelled. All experiences teach us something. We can integrate these experiences without the narrative. Our lives are not performances. Our lives are our moments, our days and our years. And we have the ability to live fully in each one of these moments, if we give ourselves permission and freedom to do so.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
This morning I was reading a newsletter by Katie Hawkins-Gaar. She writes that a stranger recently told her that he loved how her shoes matched her earrings. She wrote that she must have seemed a little surprised by his compliment, so he told her, “It deserves recognition.“ I love that sentiment.
Who, what, where deserves recognition in your life? At the very least, give your focus of thought to those people and things and places and habits and rituals that deserve special recognition. This is a great way to fill your heart with gratitude this Thanksgiving week. What about you? What do you do for yourself that deserves recognition? Bring into your consciousness the banquet of all of the good in your life. Notice the good. Recognize the good. You deserve it.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
On Friday, on somewhat of a whim, I wrote two long, heartfelt letters to people (and their spouses) who have worked with my husband for a long, long time. Both of these men are retiring from their long, successful careers at the end of this year. And so I sent them each letters and a small gift and then I woke up on Saturday morning with a vulnerability hangover. I get vulnerability hangovers a lot, because I tend to get deep. I tend to get quite open with people whom I care about, and then afterwards I feel kind of exposed and embarrassed for sharing my deepest, heartfelt thoughts. It’s a really sick, scary feeling honestly.
But then this morning, I received a text from my husband whose colleague was “gushing” about my letter. He told my husband that receiving the letter made he and his wife’s day. And at that moment, any ounce of regret and terror I had felt from my vulnerability hangover, vanished with a feeling of happiness that I had risked my open heart, to add love and sincerity to my words.
Supposedly, so much of what we read on the internet is now being written by AI. Teachers have new tools to figure out what percentage of their students’ writings are being written by Chat GPT and others. Apparently, the percentages are quite high. All expectations are is that this is only going to increase.
Still, I strongly believe that as humans, we intuitively know the difference without any tools to tell us. Robots don’t have hearts. Sincerity is hard to fake, even for other humans. It takes two open hearts to feel a true connection. It takes gumption and feeling to be vulnerable with someone, and it takes strength and humility to be able to receive someone else’s message from the heart, and to believe it and to be grateful for it.
When AI started really coming into the news, I think that a lot of us writers/creative types felt a little panicky that we would become obsolete. We started to fear that a vocation that is already finicky, low-to-no paying, and not often highly valued, would become our own hungry ghost – putting our efforts (and honestly, our deep compulsion to write) into the darkest realm of oblivion and obsoletion. But then I remembered some of the most amazing lines I have ever read and they were all written by humans throughout the ages. These lines were all written by people desperate to get the story right. These incredible lines of poetry, lyrics, prose, created a picture for me that connected me to something deep within my own living experience, that only someone who has actually lived a life, can fully portray.
Robots aren’t messy. They aren’t confused. They aren’t sad nor elated. Robots aren’t fearful, because they don’t have hearts. Robots are imitators. They can imitate deep feelings (and some of them are excellent imitators) but they can’t have them. And sometimes, I envy them for that fact. Feeling our feelings is one of the most difficult things that we humans do. To get the best out of our writing, we writers have to open up our hearts and our feelings, and pour them out on pages, watching them bleed outside of us. This is something that a robot will never be able to do.
If you don’t want to be obsolete, don’t imitate the imitators. Be vulnerable enough to be yourself and to share it with the world, through your most intimate creations, whatever form they take. How ironic that soon human creation will be the rare form, as we give way to everything which we know, being engineered by robots. How ironic that we might be entering an age where human-made creations might end up being the most rare, exquisite and valuable conceptions on Earth. The thing that will clearly set your own creations apart is how much of your heart and your soul you are willing to pour into them. Risk the vulnerability. Robots can’t do this.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
“Make your own Bible. Select and collect all of the words and sentences that in all your readings have been to you like a blast of a trumpet.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Adulting – Second Half must be one of my bibles then, according to Emerson. During my entire life, I have collected words and sentences (and also paintings and pictures) that have touched me deeply, like my own “blasts of a trumpet”. I have pasted these words and sentences, on my mirrors. I have notebooks and scrapbooks full of them (and then cabinets full of these notebooks). I have a messy desk covered in them. And I also have my beloved “Adulting – Second Half“, one of my most sacred collections of words and sentences and readings and thoughts. Thank you for bringing your own beautiful energy and thoughts, here. Thank you for helping to make Adulting – Second Half one of my most sacred, precious extensions of myself. Thank you for blasting your own trumpets in resonation and validation and curiosity and extension to what I bring here to share. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Good morning and happy Friday! I am currently all alone (except my sweet dogs are with me) in one of my most sacred spaces. It’s one of those places in my life where I have found myself in a state of total exhale and peace of mind. We all have our various sacred spaces, and they are as unique to us, as we are to the world. (Our preferences are what makes us uniquely special and interesting. Make your own choices. You get to decide what YOU like and your appreciation, happiness and peace for loving what you love, leaks out into the atmosphere, on to all of us. Thank you.) I hope that this weekend you can take an exhale in one of your most sacred spaces and that this will sustain you for your next week’s adventures and escapades and experiences. I came back to the blog again today because I found some more quotes which I feel compelled to add to this precious thought museum, which I have named Adulting – Second Half.
+ This is from an interview with Jennifer Aniston (Elle Magazine) Jennifer says this:
“The good news is anybody can do a podcast, and the bad news is anybody can do a podcast.” We all need to listen to both sides. That’s what we’ve lost. We’ve lost communication, we’ve lost sitting across a table and having a discussion that is productive, learning from each other. It feels like everyone is sort of stuck in their positions and it’s my way or the highway, and that’s just not how the world works.“
+ ” You’re zero miles away from Your Truth. But sometimes you have to walk a thousand miles to realize it.” – cbmeditates
+ “Never take criticism from someone you wouldn’t take advice from.”
+ “Any good apology has 3 parts: 1. I’m sorry, 2. It’s my fault, 3. What can I do to make it right? ***most people forget the 3rd part”
And because I get feedback that my readers miss my Favorite Things on Favorite Things Friday posts, here are a couple of bonus favorites of mine, for old time’s sake:
I picked up this hilarious postcard book when we were visiting a quaint little bookstore in NYC this fall. It’s called Disappointing Affirmations by Dave Tarnowski. It’s snarky (perhaps a little mean), but hilarious and a reminder to not take things too seriously. There are 30 postcards in the book to send to friends who may share your off-color sense of humor. (or just keep them for yourself when you need a laugh) Here’s one example:
And for a bonus favorite today, I recently discovered Second Chance Bears in a little local gift shop. I’ve scoured the internet to find a website to share, but I can’t find one. I think that this is such a lovely idea! I bought a little bear whose name is Thomas (and according to his story, “Thomas seeks out joy in everything”), and I bought one for dear friends, who finally got their home completely and beautifully restored, after it was damaged terribly in last year’s hurricanes. They’re giving their lovely home a much-deserved second chance. This is the tag that is tied around the necks on all of the little saved teddy bears:
Who, what or where in your own life deserves a second chance? Is it a hobby? Is it a relationship? Is it a vocation? A restaurant? (Just make sure that whatever it is, it truly warrants a “second chance”, see apology exhibit above ^^^) Maybe you deserve to give yourself a second chance. May you deserve to give yourself some grace. Clean yourself up. Fluff yourself up and give yourself some love this weekend.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
“Culture The Moms Are Not Alright What’s going on: We’re still months away from Mother’s Day, but Hollywood can’t stop putting moms on the big screen right now — and they aren’t just supporting characters. Two movies are currently driving the conversation: Jennifer Lawrence’s Die My Love and Rose Byrne’s If I Had Legs I’d Kick You. As Glamour puts it, they’re all about the mom meltdown. Lawrence portrays a new mom battling postpartum depression, and Byrne plays a single mother caring for a sick child while trying to hold it together. The stories are wildly different, but the women do share this: valid crash-outs. And in each case, a frustrating partner helps push them there. (Because honestly, who gives a new mom a puppy?) What it means: Motherhood in America is a pressure cooker. Child care costs averaged $13,000 in 2024, according to one report. Nearly half of all mothers report symptoms of postpartum depression. Add the centuries-old demand to be the “perfect mom,” and it’s no wonder so many feel like they’re falling apart. These films don’t just tell that story — they confront it. Each one holds up a mirror to how society rushes to judge mothers for cracking under impossible expectations instead of asking what broke them in the first place. The result? A cultural moment that feels less like escapism and more like recognition. The only question now: Will people watch a movie that feels this close to real life?” – The Daily Skimm
I hadn’t planned on writing this morning. Lately, my inspirational “hits” have been more focused on my transforming “nest” and the upcoming holidays, but then I read the above blurb from the Daily Skimm. As a woman who is over the hump of raising her kids (my eldest son of our four “children” will be 30 in April, and our daughter, the youngest is 22) and as a mother, who has passed the threshold of the everyday duties of raising kids to become functioning adults, the words that I read above were still recognizable, and reverberating in my body. I ached with compassion for these fictional characters, and also for the many, many non-fictional women, over decades of generations, whom these characters represent. I ached with compassion for my younger self.
I intimately knew many fellow mothers throughout the years of raising my children. Despite our different theories, methods and choices in parenting, and despite our wildly different experiences and backgrounds, relationships, and nationalities and beliefs, these other mothers were my comrades and my compadres, my “sisters-in-arms”. I couldn’t have done it without them. Despite how vindictive, judgmental, catty and hard on each other, we women can be, it was the support of other mothers that kept it all afloat for me. It was the validation and the understanding and the quiet knowing of when to step in, and when to cheerlead, and when to send prayers and when to be a strong example (good examples and bad examples) that came from the other mothers (of all different ages) in my life – these are the things, all gifts from the other mothers, which got me to the threshold in one piece.
And so “crashing out”, “meltdowning”, “trying desperately to be perfect” mommy, let me be your compadre today. Let me be your sister-in-arms. You are okay. You are doing your best. You do not have to meet impossible expectations. You have many other women in your life who are mothers and who completely get it. Find the ones whom you feel safe enough to be vulnerable with, and let it all out. You love your kids. If there is one thing that all of us mothers understand is the undeniable strength that a mother carries every single day of her life until the day that she dies, because she allows her heart to walk far away from herself, into many unknown dangers and adventures and escapades, all apart from her, in all different directions, from the moment she experiences her first child’s first breath. A mother’s heart has pieces of itself scattered in many different directions, throughout the rest of her life. Understanding this, why would it not be hard to hold it all together? Sweet mother, answer me this, with the pieces of your heart scattering in the wind, how could you not have moments of crashing out and melting down? Why, in your unholy perfectionism, are you the hardest on yourself?
Movies are great for “escapism”, but people who actually intimately know what you are going through in life, are great for “recognition.” If you don’t need to see your life, dramatically splayed out on the big screen, that’s okay. But I guarantee you, in real life, you need someone who “sees” you. You need someone who can validate what you are experiencing, as a mother, externally and internally. Find those other mothers. Find the ones who are going through it with you, and also find those mothers, like me, who have graduated to a different level of holding up the scaffolding of a family that she has already built. Find those other mothers, and let them in. Throughout raising my children, I knew young mothers and older ones, working moms and stay-at-home ones, married moms and single ones, straight moms and gay ones, religious moms and non-religious ones, moms of huge broods and moms of onlies, rich moms and poor moms, and guess what? None of us were perfect. We all had our “crash out” moments (and we all still do). None of us cracked the “perfect mothering formula”, but the one thing that we all had in common is that we loved our children ferociously. I saw this meme the other day that stated it perfectly: “Mama Bear is such a sweet way to describe the fact that I’d tear you open and eat your insides if you hurt my child.”
Dear sweet mother, who is reading this right now, all of the while feeling like she may explode in her own pressure cooker of steamed, mixed-up feelings of anger, frustration, fear, guilt, resentment, loneliness, shame, doubt, unworthiness, hopelessness, worry and regret, let some of the air out. Let yourself breathe. Then take a look around. You aren’t doing this alone. Within blocks of you, within clicks on a computer, are other mothers who empathize with you so completely, and all that they are asking for, is just a little bit of your own empathy back. Dear sweet mother, as I continue to build the scaffolding of my own family and I continue to support my own life, and the lives whom I brought to this Earth (we mothers carry a load), I offer you tools from my own toolbox. I offer you a seat, where you can rest and wipe your brow. I offer you the wisdom of my experiences – what worked for me, and what did not. But mostly, I offer you my love and my reassurance. You already have all of the tools you need. You are doing a great job, working on that gorgeous building that so many generations of women behind you started, and added to, all the while doubting themselves, having crashout moments and many a meltdown, along the way. And yet, here we mothers are, still growing and still building away. There should be another word besides “other mother” which describe a different mother than you. In many ways, our mothering journey is the same. Our Mother Earth knows this intimately and ultimately. She knows in the end, we are all just truly One and that’s why we can rest so deeply in her compassionate and empathetic arms. Dear sweet mothers, give yourselves moments of resting in Her calming arms. See Her in the eyes of the “other mothers”. You are not alone. You never were alone.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I was driving around a lot yesterday and so I was listening to all sorts of music and podcasts. One podcast was discussing what constitutes a healthy group dynamic. In order to be in a healthy group, whether it be a work group, a social group, or even a family, the expert being interviewed said that you need to have two things: 1. The feeling that you can be your authentic self and 2. The feeling of belonging. If you are in an unhealthy group situation, you may feel that you only belong if you change yourself or your beliefs to “fit” what the group says is right or wrong. In that case, you belong at the expense of your own authenticity. Or, if you do behave in your own authenticity, and you are ostracized or derided or shamed or scapegoated for it, then you are being authentic at the expense of feeling like you belong. If you are experiencing healthy relationships in any community (professional or personal) which you belong to, you must feel that you can be your authentic self and also feel appreciated and welcomed for what your unique attributes bring to the group. In any relationship, ask yourself, do I feel like I can be my true self, and also feel that I belong in that relationship at the same time? If so, that is a healthy and nurturing relationship, workspace, community to call home. Anything else is not an acceptable, long-term situation for your own health, well-being and growth.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
