Category Archives: rant

Dear Sports Parents, Your Only Job is to Cheer

This week was the 11 year old’s last volleyball game of the season. She’d never played before, so it was really cool to watch her growth and improvement over the past eight weeks (including scoring several points in her final game!)

I really enjoy watching the kids play sports. Between the four of them, they’ve at various times done football, baseball, gymnastics, volleyball, karate… the list goes on. It’s fun to watch them enjoy themselves out there (I remember when our now 14 year old was about 6, he was easy to spot as the little-league player who couldn’t wipe the smile off his face the entire game), it’s fun to watch their pride in their burgeoning skills, and it’s fun to watch them improve.

What’s not fun? That one parent.

Or three parents or five parents. You know the ones I’m talking about. The ones that yell at their kids from the sidelines. The ones that critique. The ones that never say, “Good try”, but instead holler, “You should’ve had that!”

They break their kids, and they break my heart.

One of the saddest things I ever witnessed was after a little league game – and keep in mind, these are YOUNG kids – when a father reached his hand out to his son. The son thought he was about to give him a high five, so with a smile on his face he went in with the swing…. and his dad pointed in his face and let out of torrent of what he’d done wrong. I’ll never forget the look on that kids’ face.

There’s one girl on Tegan’s volleyball game who I’ve always sort of watched closely. She’s incredibly talented and good at the sport, but she looks pretty perpetually unhappy. I finally decided that maybe she was just one of those people who had an unhappy resting face, until my husband pointed something out to me during the last game.

“Look at how she looks at her father after every single play.”

I watched, and indeed, every single time she hit the ball or missed the ball or was anywhere near the ball, she looked over at her father. He shouted critiques, gave instruction, or, in the case of her missing a play, just shook his head in disappointment.

These are 10 to 12 year olds. In a recreational, instructional league. They’re there to learn to play the game, learn to work together, and have fun. That’s about it. They’re not training for the Olympics. And, honestly, even if they were training for the Olympics, that’s why they have coaches!

The negative, sideline coaching hurts my heart. The look on that girl’s face every time she sought her father’s approval hurts my heart. The fact that these parents are missing this fleeting – it is so, so fleeting! – time in their child’s life hurts my heart. What is supposed to be a fun learning experience turns into something else entirely. It turns into a lesson of “Mom/Dad doesn’t support me.” “I’m not good enough.” “I’ll never earn their approval.” Not to mention the fact that no kid is going to enjoy a sport – or anything – if they’re being criticized while they do it.

Those scars are lifelong, and they run deep.

If your kid plays a sport, he has a coach. With any luck that coach is supportive and fair and equally instructive and encouraging. But they’re the coach. They’re the ones who give instruction. They’re the ones to listen to on the sidelines. They’re the ones to give gentle corrections when they’re needed.

Parents? Your job is to cheer. That’s it. To clap for your kid, and the other kids. To model what good sportsmanship looks like. To encourage. To support. To sink into the joy of watching your kid do something they (hopefully) enjoy. To appreciate this short time in their life when the most exciting day of their week is showing off their new skills on the volleyball court. To celebrate with them when they get the perfect serve. To lift them up when they miss a bump. To generally serve as a cheerleader … a bright, smiling presence, so when your kid does look at you over in the stands, they feel nothing but supported, and see nothing but a thumbs up.

Kids look up to us as their parents. They look to us for approval, they look to us for support, they look to us as an example. While I’d like to believe that the critical parent means well, and just wants their child to get better at the game, they are doing so at the expense of their relationship, and at the expense of their child’s self esteem.

Words hurt. Think about what your words are really doing.

And please. PLEASE. If you raise your hand to your child after a game? Let it be that high five for a job well done.

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Filed under gentle parenting, parenting, rant

An Honest Day’s Work

In case you missed it:

Last week, a shopper at a Trader Joes in New Jersey recognized the cashier.  It was actor Geoffrey Owens, who played Elvin Tibideaux on The Cosby Show back in the ’80s.  She snapped some photos, sent them to a tabloid, and a media firestorm erupted.

Thankfully, the vast majority of people came to Owen’s defense.  Here was a successful actor and family man, who through either choice, circumstance, or a little of both, was paying the bills by working at Trader Joes.  I use the past tense because the undue attention caused him to have to quit his job (although, to their credit, Trader Joes told him to consider it a leave of absence and to come back whenever he’d like), and a national conversation about “job shaming” came to the surface.

All honest work has dignity and worth.  Let me just start there.  It bothers me on a deep level, for example, every time someone makes an off-the-cuff remark about someone only being qualified to “flip burgers.”

Flipping burgers has dignity and worth.  Flipping burgers puts clothes on people’s backs, and food on their tables.  So does running a cash register, bagging groceries, and stocking shelves.

A few years ago someone asked me a series of semi-hostile questions about unschooling, culminating in wondering if unschoolers could go to college or if they could “just work in a trade.”

(Yes, unschoolers can go to college if they so choose, which is another topic altogether.)

But JUST a trade?  When did we become such vocational snobs?  We need people working in trades!  We need plumbers and mechanics and electricians just as much as we need doctors and lawyers and engineers.  Who gets to decide that one is worth more than the other?  Who gets to decide that one is worthy of more respect?  Of more dignity?

The fact is, we’re surrounded by hard workers on a daily basis, many of whom continually get taken for granted.  In the past couple weeks alone, we’ve utilized a car rental company, an auto shop (fender bender, anyone?), a pool repair man, waitstaff, various cashiers, a doctor, a pharmacy tech, customer service, and a whole host of staff members at a hotel.  The common thread?  People earning an honest living.  People working hard to put food on the table.  People working hard to support themselves, their loved ones, their children.  Some are working these jobs as a pit stop on their way to something else, some are working these jobs to support themselves while they pursue a less financially stable craft, some are working these jobs as long-term careers, and some are working these jobs simply because they enjoy them.  All are okay.  All are honorable.

Including, but not limited to, Geoffrey Owens working at Trader Joes.

As an interesting post-script to the story, all the publicity surrounding Owens prompted  producer Tyler Perry to offer him an acting job (which he accepted) on the seventh season of The Have and The Have Nots.   So one lady’s moment of poor judgement ended up leading him to a new opportunity, one that I truly hope he will enjoy and be enriched by.

But if that wasn’t the way the story had gone?  If he’d continued to work at Trader Joes, along with or instead of acting?

I’d at least hope he’s buoyed by the hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of people who heard about the story, and took a stand.  Hardworking people from every demographic out there.  People who won’t tolerate a fellow human being disrespected.  People who know the value of hard work, and know that not one of us is better than the other.

People who speak up at injustice, who stand on a wall at say, “Not today.  Not on my watch.”

To Mr Owens, I see you and I wish you well… no matter where your next job ends up taking you.

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Filed under hot topics, life, rant

Dear Trump Supporter: How Are You Still Defending The Indefensible?

source: Twitter

It’s 12:00 on a Friday, I have nowhere to be, and I’m laid up with a migraine.  So naturally I’m passing the hours by thinking about…. Donald Trump.

In all fairness, I try not to talk or write about the president too often.  It’s as frustrating as all hell, it’s not considered polite dinner conversation, and John Pavlovitz is doing an amazing job saying all the things I want to say in a more eloquent way than I could ever say them.

But this just needs to be asked, because I’m genuinely and deeply baffled.

How do you keep defending him?

It feels like that question should have been preceded with a nicety like, “With all due respect,”  but I just couldn’t make myself do it.  Because the thing is, I don’t respect a decision to support the president.  I don’t.  I know it’s not very PC to say that, and God knows I often talk about the importance of respect myself.  But the fact is, while I respect a LOT of people and ideas and opinions that are different than my own, I just can’t respect unkindness.

Or misogyny.

Or bigotry.

Or arrogance.

Or name-calling.

I can’t respect a man who brags about sexual assault.  I can’t respect a man who spends his days disgustingly disparaging everyone who disagrees with him on Twitter.  I just can’t do it.  And the thing I can’t stop thinking about, the thing I keep wondering, is: Do you, Trump supporter, respect those things?  Are they okay with you?  Do you find those traits to be admirable? Do you find this man to be someone to emulate?

Those (mostly) rhetorical questions are for all of you, but most especially for my fellow Christ-followers.  Because I can not, not for the life of me, understand how someone who purportedly wants to live like Jesus lived, could defend and support a man who does everything but.  Donald Trump is like the universe and God and the spaghetti monster all got their collective little heads together, and asked, “Okay, who can we think of that’s the LEAST Christ-like candidate out there?”  And in walks Donald Trump.  And they saw that they’d done their job, and they delivered him on a platter… and the people just ate him up.  Lock, stock, and barrel.

And the rest of us stand with our mouths open, and say, “Wait.  WHAT?  What just happened?”

Because it makes absolutely no sense.  It makes no sense how otherwise kind, compassionate, and reasonable people could buy what he was selling.  It makes no sense how they could overlook what kind of person he is.  What kind of person he continues to be.  What kind of person he’s proud to be.  Because make no mistake.  Donald Trump isn’t just a regular flawed human being who’s made some errors in judgment but is doing his best to right his wrongs.

He’s a man who takes great pride in doing, and saying, horrible things.  He’s not your savior.  He’s the antithesis of a savior… a person who would not only let you drown, but laugh at you while he watches.

So again I have to ask, how can you keep defending him?   Defending his actions?  His words?  His demeanor?

There’s a saying that goes, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”  My friends, Donald Trump has shown you who he is.  Not just once, but over and over again.

And I’m confused and I’m tired and I’m angry and I’m sad.  I want to believe – I have to believe – that there is an explanation.  I want to understand, but I’m afraid that there IS no understanding.  There is simply no understanding the defense of a man like Donald Trump.

So I think my question is really this:

Do you truly not see the kind of person he is?  Or do you simply not care?  Because as far as I can tell, at this point in time, those are the only two possible explanations.

 

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Filed under hot topics, politics, rant

What If You’re Wrong About Depression?

Depression is a mind game. If you stop thinking about it then it will eventually go away.

I read that on Instagram this morning, but I see the same comment in various iterations on a daily basis.

Just think positively!

Look at all you have to be thankful for!

Step out of the darkness and into the light!

Well meaning, to be sure, but it’s not as simple as that.  It’s just not.

And we could debate all day about the causes and treatments of depression, and whether or not it’s even a real thing.  It’s a chemical imbalance.  No, it’s all in your head (side note, I saw a cute meme that retorted with something along the lines of, “Well where do you expect it to be, in my kidney?”)  It’s all just a state of mind.  It can be fixed with diet.  You just need more sunshine.  You just need drugs.  Drugs make it worse.  You need therapy.  Psychiatry is just a bunch of pseudo-science quackery.  Just stop thinking about it.

Etc

Etc

Etc

But the thing is, for the purposes of my point here, none of the above really matters.  It doesn’t.  Because just pretend for a second, just for a second, that you’re wrong, and that the person in question truly CAN’T just positively think their way out of depression.  Do you know what comments like yours do to a person with depression?  They minimize them.  They invalidate them.  They make them feel – when they are already at their most desperately lowest point – that they’re doing something wrong.  They make them feel worthless, and they make them even less likely to seek help.

At best, comments like these are annoyances… thinly veiled insults wrapped in a pretty bow of concern.

But at their worst?  They can be the very last thread on someone’s already rapidly fraying rope.   This is going to sound harsh, but your comment could literally mean the difference between a person’s choosing to tread water another day, or letting the rope slip through their fingers.

I think that of all the ways we hurt each other as human beings (and boy howdy, are we good at hurting one another), one of the worst is simply when we don’t see each other.  When we don’t listen.  When we tell each other, through actions and inactions both that we don’t matter.  That our feelings and experiences are not valid.  Are not real.

IT HURTS TO BE MINIMIZED.

In fact, at this moment in time, I can think of few things that hurt more.  I’ve always known that I was more sensitive to this feeling than most people, and I only recently learned why.  In a lovely twist of irony (because what is life if not a giant example of irony?) deciding to open up about this painful facet of my life earned me nothing more than more flippant dismissal.  “Pfft. Oh, that.  We all feel like that.  That’s just being a human.”  So now?  Once again, I feel unsafe sharing.

IT HURTS TO BE MINIMIZED.

Be kind.

If you’re wrong about this (and hell, even if you’re right), you need to know your words matter.  Your words hurt, not help.  Because even IF you’re right?  Even if the depressed person CAN just think they’re way to happiness?  At that moment, that moment that they’re choosing to invite you in… they’re not okay.  What they feel is real.  They need your friendship, they need your love, they need your support.  What they do not need is for you to tell them that they’re wrong to feel what they feel, that they’re wrong to not have pulled themselves up by the bootstraps and fixed it already.

If someone had (fill in the blank with a physical illness – cancer, diabetes, meningitis, asthma) would you tell them it would go away if they would just hurry up and stop thinking about it already?  I’m guessing you probably wouldn’t.  You know that illnesses, from the common cold to leukemia, are complex.  That they’re unique and multi-faceted and require different approaches for each individual person.  You realize this.  You respect this.

It’s 2018.  Can we please start giving mental illnesses the same consideration?

I have written a lot about mental health, especially over the past two years, but this issue is one of the most important, and one of the most personal.  Ironically (see above comment about irony), I’m doing well at the moment.  I’m in balance.  Which is… unexpected, given everything that I have going on right now.  I feel good.  But when that changes – and it will change, because that’s the beautiful cyclical nature of mental illness – please don’t tell me I just need to stop thinking about it.  Please don’t minimize me.  Please don’t tell me what I’m feeling isn’t real.

As anyone with depression can tell you, it’s real.  If nothing else, it starts and ends with being REAL.

P.S.  I just posted an update over on Patreon if you want to know what’s going on in my 3D life at the moment.  🙂  It is set to public, so you don’t need to be a Patron to read it.

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Filed under bipolar, depression, kindness, life, mania, mental health, rant

The Conversation About Mental Illness

People have often asked me how I can stand writing about controversial things, and/or how I can handle the negative comments when I write something that’s widely read … especially the people who know how very sensitive I am (which is anyone who’s known me longer than about 90 seconds).   The truth is, sometimes I do get my feelings a little – or a lot – hurt.  And sometimes I wonder why I keep doing it.  And sometimes I want to just take my ball and go home.

But in many ways, it is far easier to be brave on my blog, where it has the potential to reach many people, than it is on a smaller forum.  Or than it is with people I know – even if you’re using the word “know” in the loose, Facebook-era kind of way.  I like to keep my own little personal Facebook bubble generally light and happy and controversy-free.  Partly because that’s just who I am when I’m not railing about my various causes, but also because I can’t handle the heat.  I can’t.  Every time, EVERY TIME, I think I’m brave enough to post something that’s going to garner mixed opinions … I regret it, I end up crying, or both.  That’s just the way I’m wired, for better or worse.  My blog is different, because even though there’s the potential for a much larger group of people to be much meaner to me, there’s also anonymity.  There’s safety behind the curtain.  There’s the “imagine everyone in their underwear” mind-tricks to keep things in perspective.  In small groups though, there’s just so much raw vulnerability. For a person whose greatest blessing and biggest curse happens to be vulnerability, it can be a lot to handle.

Sometimes I forget, though.  And sometimes I post something controversial.  And then I regret it.  And then I delete it.

I did that very thing tonight in fact.  I posted the thing, a respectful conversation followed, and still I panicked and deleted. I felt an immediate sense of relief …. promptly followed by whatever the opposite of relief is, promptly followed by bawling in the bathtub (the kind of crying where you feel like you’re never going to stop), and texting my friend to talk me down.

The thing is, I wish I hadn’t deleted it.  Because I think it’s an important conversation to be had.  I think it’s one of the MOST important conversations we should have.  So I’m bringing it over here where I feel brave.  Where I won’t feel the need to delete.

Like all of you, I was horrified by the news of another school shooting.  Like most of you, I have strong opinions on what I believe should and should not be done to hopefully help solve the problem.  Like a lot of you, I’ve been saddened and frustrated and angered by many of the memes I saw floating through my Facebook feed.

For reasons that are obvious to any of my regular readers, I’ve felt particularly stung every time I saw a meme screaming, “Mental illness!  MENTAL!  ILLNESS!”

I finally saw one that flipped a switch in me that turned off all reason, and I posted this:

I have a mental illness. It is currently well-managed. When it is not well-managed, the only person – THE ONLY PERSON – I’ve ever thought of harming is myself.

As I said up above, what followed was a respectful conversation.  No one was mean, no one called me names.  The comments were, even from the people who disagreed and/or didn’t understand the point I was trying to make, pretty benign.  “There are lots of different kinds of mental illness.”  “Different people are affected differently.”  “There are many factors at play.”

Yes.  Sure.  All true.

I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this, but for the sake of clarity:  I am not at all suggesting that the shooter was not mentally ill.  People who are of sound mind don’t typically go on shooting sprees.  The fact that people are suggesting he’s mentally ill isn’t actually my problem.

My problem is that we’re perpetuating a stereotype.  My problem is that we’re feeding a stigma.  My problem is that we’re taking this tiny percentage of those with mental illnesses (you guys, this is a TINY percentage) and using it as a scapegoat.  As a way to explain something away.  As a way to make ourselves more comfortable with a situation in which there IS no comfort.  “Oh, well he was MENTALLY ILL.  Of course.” My problem is that we’re holding this one, extreme, violent person and saying:  This.  This is what mental illness looks like.

I hate to break it to you, but mental illness FAR MORE OFTEN looks like the guy sitting next to you on the bus minding his own business.  Like the co-worker you’re joking with next to the water cooler. Like the person who sold you your house, or cut your hair, or did your taxes.  Like the girl in the bare feet and the owl pajamas.  The who falls and keeps getting back up again.  The one who isn’t going to bed until she hits “publish” on her blog post.

A few fast facts about mental illness and violence:

People with mental illnesses are far more likely to be victims of crimes than perpetrators. (source)

The absolute risk of violence among the mentally ill as a group is very small. (source)

The public is largely misinformed about any links between mental illness and violence.   (source)

These inaccurate beliefs lead to widespread stigma and discrimination. (source)

Someone in my since-deleted Facebook post asked me, “Are you saying that you think talking about mental illness is harmful?”  And what I think is very much the opposite.  I think we need to be talking about mental illness.  I think we need to know what mental illness is (and is not!). I think we need to have more compassion.  I think we need to harbor less judgement.  I think we need to demand true information, and real awareness.   I think this conversation needs to happen openly, honestly, and in an ongoing fashion.  Because what’s happening in the media right now?  That’s not a conversation about mental illness.  It’s fear-mongering.  It’s sensationalism.  It’s perpetuating a stereotype, it’s increasing stigma, and it is HARMFUL.

Let me say that again:  Make no mistake.  What’s happening right now is harmful to those with mental illnesses, and making those who suffer even less likely to seek help when it’s needed.

I’m going to close with something I wrote on the thread on my Facebook page before I deleted.   It was responses to this comment that were what eventually led me to delete the post.  Because it was so, so deeply personal.  And if you don’t feel heard when you write something so personal … I don’t know.  I think it’s one of the most painful things we can experience.  This is what I wrote, and the kernel from which this whole post was born.

There are so many people, so so many people, who’ve had or currently have suicidal ideation, who are afraid to get help for various reasons. I think the stigma is a huge one, as well as the fact that there is so much judgment attached (ie: How could anyone do something so *selfish*?, etc). But I also think that talking about it just makes people so damn uncomfortable that they’d do anything to avoid it. I get it. It’s uncomfortable. No one’s even mentioned it in this entire thread, despite my having led with it. But my life is valuable too, as is everyone’s who suffers from a mental illness. The problem is, it seems like no one wants to talk about mental illness until someone commits some horrific crime. This tiny, tiny segment of mentally ill people is literally the only exposure that people are getting. And by sensationalizing it, and using it to explain something away (something that is obviously multi-faceted) so many people are hurt. The feeling that one gets, from this side of it, is that your average, run-of-the-mill person who has a mental illness – which is SO many more people than most are aware of – is unimportant. If they take their *own* lives, oh well, as long as they’re not violent towards others. So sure, let’s have a conversation about mental illness, but that conversation needs to include the vast vast majority of people who live/work/exist without ever harboring violent tendencies. Otherwise, it’s just propagating stereotypes and increasing stigmas.

Let’s do better.  Please.

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Filed under about me, bipolar, depression, headlines, mania, mental health, rant

9 Reasons I (Still) Refuse To Be The Meanest Mom

Someone recently asked me when I was going to stop writing about not being the “mean mom.”  My answer?  As long as people keep writing articles glorifying being mean, I’ll keep writing about the alternative.

This one, published by Scary Mommy, was the latest one to come across my desk, but there is no shortage of others.  Be the mean mom, they tell us, not the nice mom.  Not the cool mom.  Not the friend.  In reading this one for a second time, I see and understand that it was written in a sort of tongue-in-cheek, humorous style.  And please understand, it’s not that I don’t have a good sense of humor.  I do.  (Ask my dog.  He thinks I’m freaking hysterical.)  I just don’t happen to find humor in disparaging kids, and in treating them as less than …. which is exactly what articles like this do.

The other side deserves to be heard.  The other side needs to be heard.  Here then are the author’s 9 reasons for being the mean mom, and my response from the other side.

1. I’m not your friend.  Not even close.

I say:  I will always be your friend… the best friend you could ever ask for.  I’ve written about being friends with my kids again and again.  And I’ll continue to do so.  For me, it’s pretty simple.  Friends are going to come and go, for a variety of reasons.  But as parents, we have the unique opportunity to be the friend that’s always there.  The trusted rock that our kids can count on… not just now, but for the rest of their lives.  I will proudly, unabashedly, always be that friend for my kids.  In fact I strongly believe that it’s one of my most important jobs when it comes to being a mother.

2.  I’m not here to be cool.  I’m here to raise cool kids.

This is one thing we may partially agree on.  Anyone who ever accused me of trying to be cool wouldn’t get very far.  I’m pretty much a big dork.  I’m socially awkward, I trip over air, and I laugh way harder than I should at “That’s what she said” jokes.  But I’m perfectly me, and I encourage my kids to be their own best selves too.  It’s not a zero sum game, where I have to be “mean mom” in order for my kids to be raised right (or whatever version of “right” that society deems appropriate).  I do my best to be kind, and respectful, and a person with integrity.  And guess what?  My kids are kind, and respectful, and people with integrity.  Who cares about cool?

3.  Because nagging works. 

Lots of things “work”, especially in the short term.  But that doesn’t mean that anything that works is the best choice, or the kindest choice.  Being a mom should be about the relationship.  Nagging doesn’t tend to be a great thing for relationships, and rightly so.  No one likes to be nagged.  Bottom line:  if I wouldn’t like it said – or done – to me, I don’t want to say or do it to my kids.

4.  I married a cool dad.

I think this is meant to be a take on the antiquated good cop/bad cop paradigm, where one parent needs to be the soft one, and the other the “heavy.”  But it doesn’t have to be that way.  My kids have a cool mom and a cool dad (or, at least, uncool in equal measure).  We are different, to be sure, because we are vastly different people.  But good and bad?  Nice and mean?  Nope.  We’re partners; both on the same team.

5.  It just plain works.

Didn’t we already do this one?  Sure, it works.  Know what else works?  Being nice.

6.  It takes a village, except when the villagers are all too nice.

The author feels that a trip to the playground should carry with it a mandatory contract that reads, “If you see another kid being an asshole, don’t hesitate. Say something.”  Gah.  Again with the calling kids assholes.  So here’s the thing:  There seems to be a false dichotomy that states that there are exactly two ways for parenting (and by extension, society) to operate.  1) Parents are “mean”, children behave, and there is order and harmony in all the land.  Or 2) Parents are too nice (ie: pushovers) children run wild, and chaos and bedlam reign supreme.  But there are other options.  Yup, sometimes it really does take a village.  And yup, sometimes a trip to the playground does require intervention involving another child and/or another parent.  I have been there.  But I’ve never met a situation that couldn’t be at least a little more quickly diffused, a little more softened, a little more pleasant for all involved… by being nice.  I don’t care who you are, young or old.  God knows we could use a little more “nice.”

7.  Kids will suck the nice right out of you.  Let them. 

We’re not born with a finite amount of “nice.”  If we are treating our kids kindly from a genuine place of love and respect (and not, for example, from a misplaced sense of martyrdom or insecurity), we literally never run out of niceness.  No one can suck it out of us.  No one can take it away.  In fact, it’s one of those emotional muscles that actually increases the more we use it.  I’ve been a parent for over 20 years, and I still manage to be nice to my kids.  I think I’ll even be able to be nice to them tomorrow.  Crazy! (But true.)  Even crazier?  My kids are nice to me, too!

8.  I refuse to raise little manipulators.

Oof.  Listen, it’s not that I think kids are perfect (they’re human), and it’s not that I don’t think kids – past a certain age – can’t manipulate (again, they’re human).  It’s just that 1) being nice to your kids doesn’t turn them into manipulators; 2) being mean doesn’t preclude it – in fact I think it increases the odds exponentially; 3) children, like all of us, tend to behave as well as they are treated; and 4) calling kids manipulators (and brats and assholes etcera) is tired and uncool and contributing to the problem.  Not solving it.  Look at it this way:  if someone was assuming the worst about you and calling you a name, would you be more or less likely to act pleasantly toward that person in the future?

9.  Still want to be cool?  Just wait until you’re the grandmother.

Nope, it’s not about being cool.  Not even a little bit.  It’s not about being liked.  It’s not even about being nice.  It’s about something far simpler.  It’s about treating my kids the way I’d like to be treated.  At the end of the day, I wouldn’t like it very much if an important person in my life measured their relational success against how mean they were to me.

In fact, I’d actually appreciate the opposite.

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Filed under gentle parenting, hot topics, mindful parenting, parenting, rant, respect

My Daughter Doesn’t Dress For You

teganaseleven

Halloween 2016

My daughter is eight at the time of this writing.  Her wardrobe, besides being fabulous, can best be described as eclectic.  It’s a dress one day, followed by running shorts and a tank top the next, followed by an ever changing mix of leggings and long tops,  and swishy shorts and boots,  and skirts with knee-high socks, and other various combinations that I haven’t even imagined until I’ve seen her put them together.  Last week she wore one of her dad’s t-shirts as a big boxy dress, and believe you me, she rocked it.

One thing she does not do is dress for me.  Or for her father.  Or for her peers.  Or for boys.  She dresses for herself, in whatever way makes her feel comfortable and confident and best able to take on the world as her own wonderfully weird and perfectly imperfect self.  My wish for her is that that always continues, whether she’s eight or twenty eight.

To insist otherwise is to give in to rape culture, and to an increasingly misogynistic society that tells us that 1) girls are nothing more than sexual objects, and 2) boys are nothing more than walking penises, slaves to their animalistic urges.  It is always amazes me each time that I again realize how equally disparaging this view is to both genders.   Can we give ourselves a little more credit?

Women are more than the clothes they wear.

Men are more than hormonally-driven hunters, always on the lookout for the next thing they might want to have sex with.

Which is why articles like this one, by Shelly Wildman, are so concerning.  Titled How Your Daughter Dresses Matters, she explains why as parents we need to be vigilant in ensuring that our daughters are dressed modestly (which sounds pretty difficult, since she estimates that 80% of what we see in stores is inappropriate.)

From the article, in response to a WSJ online article with a quote that said, “We wouldn’t dream of dropping our daughters off at college and saying: ‘Study hard and floss every night, honey—and for heaven’s sake, get laid!’ But that’s essentially what we’re saying by allowing them to dress the way they do while they’re still living under our own roofs.”:

Think about that. If, as mothers (or fathers!), we’re encouraging our daughters to dress inappropriately, that’s basically what we’re saying. At the very least we’re saying, “Here’s my daughter. She’s on display. Take a good, long, hard look at her.”

And a few lines later, in describing what the author says to the junior high girls she works with:

Dressing a certain way attracts a certain kind of guy. I doubt very seriously that the kind of guy you want to attract is the kind of guy you’re dressing for when you dress like that. Besides, you are above that. You are better than that. You deserve better than that.  So dress for the guy you deserve.

Oof.

First of all, thinking of your daughter in terms of her hypothetical sex life is gross and inappropriate, to say the least.  I don’t care what she’s wearing or not wearing.  Second, if a parent is equating a specifically dressed daughter with an object on display… the problem lies within the parent.   This is going to sound harsh, but that excerpt literally filled me with revulsion.

Our children are not our possessions to display, nor are they puppets with which to act out our own ideals about  what is and is not “appropriate” when it comes to attire.  They’re humans.

As for the “encouraging our daughters to dress inappropriately”, there is a very big difference between respecting autonomy and encouraging inappropriateness.  And who decides what’s “inappropriate” anyway?  You?  Me?  The church elders?  “Appropriate” attire is completely subjective, and it’s both unrealistic and arrogant to think that we can define it for someone else.  I would never encourage my daughter to dress in a way that feels inappropriate to her, or uncomfortable to her, or inauthentic to her. 

What I will encourage?  Self-respect.  Self-love.  Self-confidence.  An intrinsic need to think, and act, and dress out of a deep respect for herself... not for me, not for you, and certainly not – as the second quote advises – to land the man of her dreams.  Sorry (#notsorry) current eight year old boys who might one day want to date my daughter: She’s not going to dress for you.

She’s going to dress for herself.

And I can’t speak for the rest of the moms or daughters out there, but if my daughter does in fact choose to be in a relationship with a man:  The man she deserves is one who doesn’t give a single wit about the clothes she’s wearing, and instead sees the person underneath.

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The One About The Boobies

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We talk about boobs a lot in our house (and before I go any further, I’m using the word “boobs” only because it’s my preferred euphemism. I’m not a fan of most of the others, and the word “breasts”, while of course anatomically correct, feels strangely formal. And we’re all friends here, right? So boobs it is. But if you don’t like that word, feel free to substitute your favorite alternative as you go.)

Anyway, as I said, we talk about boobs a lot. Not in a creepy or weird or crass way, but just because we have an eight year old who is extremely open when it comes to talking about… well, everything… and a favorite topic at the moment happens to be puberty. Side note: She also talks about farts way more often than the boys ever did, combined. I always laugh when people equate potty humor with mostly boys, because they obviously haven’t met Tegan yet. But I digress.

She knows – at least in basic concept – about sex, she understands what happens during puberty, and while not necessarily excited about it, she accepts that she’s going to have boobs one day.  She knows that they make milk should she become a mother.  She knows that they come in different sizes.  She knows that you don’t get to pick your size unless you have surgery of some sort.  She knows about bras, and sports bra, and as of recently, she knows about these too:

 

These are the greatest things ever if you don’t wish to wear a bra, or if the cut of your top or dress means that straps would show, or if you’re like me (a 34A to be… lying. An AA, with zero reason to wear a bra for support) and want to be comfortable, but don’t want to worry about any nipple issues.

They’re also similar to what Kaitlyn Juvik  says she was wearing under her (completely modest and appropriate and loose-fitting) black top the day that her teacher reported her for not wearing a bra, because it made him “uncomfortable.” Juvik – rightly – protested, it instantly became a whole big internet thing, and people are quickly jumping to one side or the other. I read one article that had a little survey at the end about whether or not girls should be required to wear bras to school, and the response was rather disturbingly divided down the middle: something like 54% to 46% in favor of yes.

There are so many things wrong with this, I don’t even know where to start.

1. No teacher should be looking at an underage girl’s chest long enough or closely enough to even be able to discern if she is or is not wearing a bra.  Let’s just start there.  Her shirt was not see-through, it was not sheer, it was not tight.  It was a black t-shirt; nothing that demanded special attention.  Why was he looking at her breasts long enough to determine that there was no bra in the first place?  That to me is a larger issue that I wish more people were talking about.

2. Schools shouldn’t be in the business of policing undergarments.  If Juvik had violated the school’s dress code, this would be a slightly different conversation.  But she didn’t.  She wasn’t showing cleavage, and she wasn’t wearing anything revealing.   I’m not a fan – to put it politely – of the idea of dress codes in the first place, but I understand why they exist, and can even get behind them if they are fair to both male and females… which, let’s just be honest, they so very rarely are.  But the school’s dress code said nothing about bras (as it shouldn’t, because HELLO they are undergarments!)   What sort of underwear someone does or does not choose to wear should  be nobody’s business but the owner of said underwear.  The fact that I even need to say that out loud is so disgusting that I feel like I need to immediately take a shower to wash off some of the ick.

3. It encourages misogyny and rape culture.  We find ourselves, again, with another situation where a woman’s body is deemed responsible for someone else’s discomfort.  THIS IS NOT OKAY!  Women are not responsible for men’s thoughts.  Women’s bodies are not responsible for men’s comfort. Women’s boobs are not responsible for men’s actions.  My body, and my daughter’s body, and Kaitlyn Juvik’s body have just as much right to take up space in this world as my husband’s, and as my son’s.  If someone is uncomfortable due to what someone else is or is not wearing, that is on him, and him alone.

4. They’re just boobs.  Let’s just take a minute here for some perspective.  Males and females both have nipples.  We’re basically talking about a matter of a little bit more (in my case, a very little bit more) fatty tissue beneath them.  That’s it.  It’s nothing to get freaked out about.  Seriously, they’re just breasts.  Yes, I understand that they’re often viewed and used in a sexual context, but these are not genitals.  And you know what?  Even if we were talking about genitals…  I might not be “comfortable” if I were eye-level with the graphic end of a Speedo, but I would defend till my last breath the wearer’s right to wear it. 

It makes me angry, and to be completely honest, a little bit scared, that this is the world in which my daughter will grow up…. a world that wants to tell her that she needs to wear a bra, whether she wants to or not, lest she offend the delicate sensibilities of the men around her.  A world that wants to tell her that she is nothing more than a body.   A world that wants to tell her that she is somehow less than exactly as she is, and that she doesn’t deserve to be here, exactly as she is, as much as her male counterparts.

My daughter?  I’m going to tell her to be strong, and to hold her head high.  I’m going to tell her that she matters, not because some man told her she mattered, but just because she is her.   I’m going to tell her that she can be anything, and do anything that she puts her mind to.

And that it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference whether or not she’s wearing a bra while she does it.

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In A World Where Rapists Only Get Six Months

brock turner

This is the face of a rapist

I have been sitting here, staring at this blank page, for half an hour now.

So many words, and yet….. no words at all.

The one thought, the one thing that keeps coming back to mind is:  “How in the hell did we get here?  How is this the world we live in?”

I think of that boy.  I think of Brock Turner.  I think of the depravity of a kind of person who could not only do what he did, but show no remorse.  I think of the people who defend him, and of the journalists who want to keep bringing up his swimming records.  Because, apparently, being really good at something is somehow worth more than the woman he assaulted, and the life he forever altered?  Ted Bundy was good at things too.  I think of that girl, and what she went through, and what she continues to go through.  I think of what he took from her.  I think of her family, and her friends, and the people who love her.  I think of ALL the victims of sexual assault, past and present, and how verdicts like this are an assault to them all over again.  I think of the students who stopped the assault, one of whom was crying so hard at what he saw that he could barely answer the officers’ questions.  I think of the judge, the judge who felt a person who systematically removed an unconscious girl’s clothes, then physically and sexually violated her behind a dumpster is not a danger to others, and who couldn’t possibly be punished for more than six months because of the severe impact such a punishment would have on his life.  I think of the boy’s father, who – among other equally disgusting things – said that his son shouldn’t have to pay a steep price for his “20 minutes of action.”

He’s depressed, his father tells us.  He’s barely eating.  He’s a shell of the boy he once was.  It’s horrible what this has done to his life.

And in six months, his punishment will be over.  While the girl he raped is punished and haunted by his “actions” every day for the rest of her life.

But it was the alcohol!  He made a bad decision, and he drank too much.  She made a bad decision and she drank too much.  He’s seen the error of his ways.  He never should have…. drank.  Oh and according to his father he’s “totally committed to educating other college age students about the dangers of alcohol consumption and sexual promiscuity.”   Wow!!  How noble and selfless!!

How about this, Brock Allen Turner?

How about you educate other college age students not to rape?

How about you tell other college age students that if someone has had too much to drink, you should help them, not strip them of their clothes, push them behind a dumpster, and violate them?

How about you explain to other college age students what consent means, and how consent is something that an unconscious person is not able to give.

How about you admit to the vile and heinous crime you committed, and that you deserve the maximum punishment available?

How about you quit trying to garner sympathy, and whining about how this is ruining your life, and think about the ACTUAL victim here?

How about you apologize not just for your crimes, but for the disgusting and misogynistic and patriarchal society that supports you?  The one that not only allows a rapist to walk free after six months, but wants us to actually feel sorry for him.

I do not feel sorry for Brock Turner.

I feel disgusted with Brock Turner.  I feel anger towards Brock Turner.  I feel rage at a system, and a world, and a society that lets this be okay.

And to his victim?  To you I offer my whole hearted support, and love, and validation.   There are not words for how sorry I am for what you endured, and what you continue to endure.  You are strong.  You are brave.  I stand with you.  Lots of people stand with you.  I hope that you know that.  I hope that you feel our support.

I hope that somehow, someday, I can tell my own kids about the backwards system that supported people like Brock Turner, and about the people like his victim who bravely stood up, again and again, to say “no more”…..

and how that system eventually changed.

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My God Won’t Leave You Stranded On The Side Of The Road

SONY DSC

Christianity has a bit of a PR problem.

As I type that, I want to laugh (except of course that I’m so sad I want to cry), because it’s just about the biggest understatement I could possibly make.

Christianity has a really really huge, colossal PR problem.   The word – and concept – of Christianity has become such a marred and dirty word that I don’t know that it’s likely to ever recover.  In fact, many God-loving people are abandoning the word altogether, because they’re sick and tired of having to follow the statement of “I’m a Christian,” with a hastily uttered addendum of “But not one of those Christians.”  I actually started calling myself a follower of Christ a few years ago, because I felt like it more accurately described my position.

And really, who wants to be associated with… well, those Christians?

People hear the word Christian these days and they think of people like Phil Robertson.  They think of people freaking out about coffee cups.  They think of people freaking out about bathrooms in Target.  They think of people freaking out about the phrase, “Happy Holidays.”  (Are you sensing a pattern here?)  They think of people petitioning and boycotting and generally spending their collective time and energy on being negative.  They think about people withdrawing their funds for starving babies – literally taking food away from hungry children – because of an administrative policy that wouldn’t discriminate against gay people.  They think about bakers refusing to make wedding cakes.  They think about hatred.  They think about prejudice and bigotry and judgement.

And as of this week…. they think about tow truck drivers proudly taking a stand and refusing to tow the car of a disabled young lady who’d just been in accident… all because she had a Bernie Sanders bumper sticker on her car.

People hate Christians.

And not because, as some would have you believe, they’re doing God’s work à la Matthew 10:22 (“You will be hated by everyone because of Me, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved.”)  No.  They’re hated because too many of them have been behaving  like horrible, horrible people – and it could stand to be said: not at all Christ-like – and then proudly claiming God as their justification.

And I get it.  I struggle with my love for my fellow Christians too.  I want to cry.  I want to scream.  I want to desperately yell, “We’re not all like this!!”  Yes, 98% of my writings on Christianity have been born of straight-up frustration.  No question.

But I realized something.

In the time it took me to decide to write about this, to find the perfect picture, and to brew the perfect cup of coffee, it dawned on me:

This is not about Christianity at all.  It’s really not.  It’s about select individuals making bad decisions, and using “God” as their cover. I’d like to believe (really, I need to believe) that people are smart enough to see the difference.  That anyone with a working, thinking, rational brain can recognize that a Christian, as in a follower of Christ, is NOT synonymous with a “Christian”, as in “I’m going to leave an innocent girl stranded on the side of the road BECAUSE GOD TOLD ME TO.”

Am I horrified by this behavior?  Yes.  Do I find it absolutely disgusting that anyone would bring God into something so ugly?  Yes.  But my ranting and raving and general defensive word-spewing only serves to bring me down to their level. I’m not the spokeswoman for Christianity at large.  Beyond that though, I can’t control what anyone else does.  I can’t control what anyone else thinks.  If someone wants to behave like a complete and utter jackass and  delude themselves into thinking it’s what God wants them to do, it’s their choice to make. If someone wants to lump all Christians together and label them all as horrible, bigoted, self-seeking sycophants, so be it.

None of that changes my faith.  None of that changes my God.

Have you met my God?

(Ack, I just heard the way that sounds.  Please don’t stop reading.  I do NOT mean that in a door-to-door, “Brother, have you accepted the LORD JESUS as your personal savior??” kind of way.  What I mean is… do you know who it is that I – and others like me – personally follow?  Because let me perfectly clear: It is not a deity who would ever… ever ever ever… ask me to turn my back on someone who needed my help.  In fact, my God is very much the opposite)

My God has more love, and grace, and patience than humans can even comprehend.  Love and grace and patience for ALL people …. Black people and white people. Gay people and straight people.  Christians and atheists and Jewish people.  Sanders supporters and Trump supporters.   Able-bodied and disabled.  People who spend Sunday morning at church.  People who spend Sunday morning at Target.

My God wants me to feed the hungry, to clothe the poor, and to stand up for the oppressed.  It’s kind of the whole reason I’m on earth.  I really believe that.  All this other stuff… it’s just noise and distractions.  And make no mistake;  I miss the mark, a LOT.  (More on that later)  But what I strive for? This is it.

My God wants me to use my powers for good, not evil.  I realize I’m a person and not a superhero, but it’s far more interesting to think of our skills, talents, and gifts as super powers, don’t you think?  I like to think that my super power is writing, but, you know, I’m not God, so….  A few years ago, I thought I heard God to tell me to get trained to teach yoga, so I did.  And I’ve spent many moments since then wondering if that was the right decision.  I had two shoulder surgeries in two years.  I have had chronic physical illness, chronic pain, and the worst anxiety and depression I’ve ever experienced. I’m clearly supposed to be learning something from the experience, and I’m still not sure what it is.   Maybe one day I’ll go back to teaching.  Maybe I’ll shift my focus elsewhere.  But I digress.  We’ve all got powers, and we all get to decide how we use them.  My God wants me to use them for good, whatever they ultimately end up being.

My God wouldn’t ask me not to bake a wedding cake.  If wedding cakes were the way I brought to the world my skills and my heart and my love of Christ, He would ask me to bake two.  He would ask me to make the best damn gay wedding cakes that ever existed, and to do it with love.  He would ask me to throw in some free cookies too.  Not the day-old ones that were sitting out in the case and starting to get dry around the edges, but fresh cookies.  Beautiful cookies, made with the finest ingredients I could get my hands on.

My God wouldn’t ask me to spend my time and my energy and my blood, sweat, and tears on picketing, petitioning, and boycotting. My God tells me that my time is so much better spent doing the work I need to do on myself so I can live out my faith to the best of my ability.  So I can show people what Jesus actually looked like; so I can show people how Jesus actually behaved.

My God wouldn’t ask me to leave anyone stranded on the side of the road.  The entirety of what I feel, and believe, and know to be true about my God and my faith tells me that the moment someone is in need is in fact the very moment that we’re here for. As a follower of Christ, as a person with a heart and a soul, as a human sharing this earth with other people, I am here to help my fellow man.  This is it.  This is what it’s about.  Forget the fact that it was his job as a tow truck driver to tow his car.  Forget that.  He was there to do a job, and he chose not to do it.  And I don’t know… maybe he hates his job.  Maybe he’d had a bad day.  Maybe he had a traumatic Bernie Sanders bumper sticker incident in a past life.  Setting all that aside….  no matter who or what he may believe in, or why he was there, or why the woman needed help in the first place:  as a human being, with values and morals and a sense of right and wrong, there was only one thing to do.  And he didn’t do it.  And then, he blamed God.

Which brings me full-circle to the beginning of the post, and the agony of people behaving badly, and the sadness and frustration of people lambasting Christians as a whole for believing in a God (except they usually words like “imaginary sky ghost”) that would ask them to do something so awful.

Let me say again that my God wouldn’t want me to leave anyone stranded on the side of the road.  Whoever or whatever those people are talking about is not my God.

And I’ll be perfectly clear (and honest).  God knows, I don’t always do the right thing.  I want to;  I do.  But I’m a fallible human. Sometimes I let fear, or pride, or ego, or laziness, or just plain selfishness keep me from doing what I know in my heart is the right thing to do.  I’m a work in progress, like everyone else.  But when I drop the ball, when I do something unkind… IT’S ALL ON ME.  And when you drop the ball and do something unkind, it’s all on you too.  Not God.

My God wants me to love my neighbor.  He doesn’t want me to be an asshole.  Full stop.

I’m tired of having this discussion over and over.  I’m tired of people behaving badly.  I’m tired of the emotional gymnastics I always go through when people rail about how horrible Christians are… when half of me wants to agree with them, and the other half is cut to my core at the hatred, wanting to curl up and cry, “But…  but… we’re not all like that!!!”

Mostly I’m tired of all this ridiculous noise, distracting us from doing what we need to be doing, and what we need to be focused on: Doing the right thing, loving our neighbor, and standing together to say we won’t tolerate bad behavior.  I don’t care who you are or what you believe in.  If you stand for love and kindness, I’ll stand beside you.

I’ll stand beside you, with my God, and work on me.  Work on my patience, work on my compassion, work on my love…. both for the person on the side of the road, and for the person who left her there.  Both for my fellow Christians, and for the people that aim to hurt us. It’s hard sometimes.  But I’m working on it.  I want to work on it.  God wants me to work on it.  Because my God?  He only wants goodness, not bad.  Lightness, not dark.  Love, not hatred.  Anything else is not God.  It’s user error.  It’s humanness.  It’s the dark side of humanity.

But I’ll work on me.  And you (if you choose) can work on you.  In the meantime…..

If you’re going to be a bigot;  If you’re going to do something disgusting and inhumane:  At least own up to the fact that you’re doing so out of your own moral shortcomings, and leave God out of it.

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