March 10, 2021 · 1:18 PM

Mental Illness Does Not Discriminate. What I Took From The Interview With Meghan Markle.

This past Sunday, more than 17 million Americans tuned in to watch Prince Harry and Meghan Markle sit down for an interview with Oprah Winfrey. In an interview that spanned two hours, they covered everything from arguments over flower girl dresses, to being hounded by the press, to pointedly racist comments within the family . Meghan also talked openly about her suicidal ideations, and the lack of help she received from the royals.

While the interview admittedly leaves a lot to be broken down, the part that I cannot stop thinking about is Meghan’s mental health, and her frank discussion of the day that they had a royal engagement to go to. She’d just opened up to Harry about her mental state, and when he told her that she didn’t have to go, she answered, “I can’t be left alone.”

I have felt that feeling.

The difference being, she had the pressure of having to put on a fancy dress, and smile, and engage, and be “on” for an entire evening all while no longer wanting to be alive.

My heart breaks for Meghan Markle.

A recent perusal of Facebook made me stumble upon a discussion by some of her detractors, people who either didn’t believe her or didn’t have any sympathy for her, one pointedly stating, ” …they narcissisticly (sic) chose to put themselves on TV complaining about problems many wish they had.”

What problems do many people wish they had? The problem of being relentlessly hounded and harassed by the British press? The problem of being made to feel unwelcome by your new extended family? The problem of a family member fretting over how dark the skin of your new baby would be? The problem of being so beaten down, so broken, so hopeless, that it feels like your only option is taking your own life?

So she has money. So she’s a member of British royalty. Her mental health doesn’t care about that. It doesn’t make her immune. If anything, the added pressure (Seriously… just think for a minute the enormous amount of pressure this poor woman was up against) makes it more likely she would have issues, not less. One look at the high rates or drug and alcohol abuse, eating disorders, mental illnesses, and suicides among the rich and famous tells us everything we need to know about the intense pressures that can come with fame and notoriety. Money is not synonymous with happiness. Celebrity is not the answer for stability.

Mental illness and suicidal ideation can strike anyone, regardless of their status. It doesn’t care how much money you have. It doesn’t care how famous you are or where you live or what you do for a living. It doesn’t care if, on the surface, you have everything you could have ever wanted in your life. IT DOESN’T CARE.

And to those who are callously saying they don’t believe her: You are part of the problem. While Meghan Markle will never hear your skepticism, your mom might, or your uncle, or your cousin, or your best friend. Someone who may one day feel the same feelings of despair and know that you’re not a safe person to come to. One of the hardest parts of being in that place is the severe feeling of isolation, the feeling that there is literally no one to turn to. No matter how many friends or family members a person may have, the loneliness, and the feeling that nobody understands, is staggering. Getting up the courage and the strength to tell someone, anyone, feels impossibly hard. And now? Now you’ve ensured that your loved one can cross you off their list of possibilities. Congratulations.

I see so many people patting themselves on the back for not caring. “I don’t care about the interview. I don’t care about the royals. I don’t care what those narcissistic blah blah blah blah.” We need to care. We need to care about everyone going through a mental health crisis. Why? Because too many people never get help. Because too many people fall through the cracks. Because too many people aren’t taken seriously. Because mental illness is an epidemic, and it’s never going to get any better if we don’t collectively care for everyone who’s affected. One in four people will deal with a mental illness in their lifetime. One in four. That means you know someone, or several someones, who are suffering right now. You can be the person that poo-poos mental health needs, who chooses to sit in ignorant privilege, or you can be the safe place to fall.

You need to care. We need to care.

At the end of the day, all we have is each other. We need to care. We need to care about our friends, our families, our neighbors. We need to care about PEOPLE. People who are afraid to ask for help, and people who are desperately begging for it.

And yes, we need to care about Meghan Markle.

2 Comments

Filed under mental health

January 8, 2021 · 1:48 PM

An Open Letter to Bean Dad

In case you’re lucky enough to be blissfully unaware: This past week a dad went viral on Twitter for telling a very lengthy, 20+ tweet story about his hungry nine-year-old daughter. She wanted a snack, and he suggested she open a can of beans. She didn’t know how to work the can opener, and despite her asking him for assistance, dad helpfully suggested she figure it out on her own. He documented her entire struggle on Twitter, and SIX HOURS LATER, she’d figured out the tool and she had her beans. Multiple people asked me for my take on the matter, so here it is…. my unfiltered response to Bean Dad.

Dear Bean Dad,

We have something in common. I figured I’d start there because there’s so very little that qualifies, and it only made sense to start off on common ground. There’s actually two things we have in common, but I’ll get to the second one a little bit later.

We both know that sometimes lessons are best learned on our own, even if it involves some frustration. I think of my now twenty year learning to ride a bike. Unlike my oldest, who took the more cautious scooching approach, he was bound and determined to ride the “right” way, all in one day, all at once. He fell. He got back on. He got frustrated. He got back on. He got mad. He got back on. We encouraged him in his efforts and also let him know it was okay to take a break if he needed one. But he was determined. It was truly something to witness, and do you know? By the end of the day, he was riding, all on his own.

The difference between my son and your daughter though is that she asked you for your help. Right from the very beginning.

She asked you (politely, I might add) to open the can for her. That would have been your moment to either 1) open the can, or 2) show her how the can opener worked and let her open it herself. But you chose to look at it as a Teaching Moment instead, and essentially leave her to her own devices. That’s where you lost me.

After awhile of trying, she “collapsed in a frustrated heap.” You watched your (hungry) daughter collapse in a frustrated heap, you knew what the problem was, and you still refused to step in. This would have been a perfect time to say, “You’ve almost got it. You just need to clamp it on, like this.” But you didn’t. You let it go on. And on.

Once tears appear, you’ve lost your teachable moment. She was exhausted, she was hungry, she was dealing with “anger-management” issues, and she was in tears. Again, a good time to step in. At this point, I’m a little confused at what lesson she is supposed to be learning. Because all I’m seeing is that dad won’t help her, no matter how much she’s struggling.

SIX HOURS. I find it interesting that you use the word, “us” here. The kachunk of puncturing the lid was not eluding you. It was eluding her, and her alone. It had been eluding her for six hours. And yes, as you detailed in the next several tweets, she did eventually get it, and she had her beans. But… at what cost? What did she actually learn? Sure, she learned how to use the can opener, but she also learned that:

A most basic need (hunger) was less important than learning a lesson.

That Dad wouldn’t help her, no matter how frustrated she got.

That she couldn’t ask for assistance when doing something hard.

That it’s okay to be amused and entertained by someone else’s struggle.

Now, I saw that you apologized – sort of. You said that the story had been poorly written satire, that you both actually spent a lot of time laughing, that it was a positive moment, not a negative one. I’m sorry, but none of that changes the fact that your daughter asked you for your help, and instead of giving it to her you let her struggle, hungry, for six hours, all while splashing it about on the internet as though it were entertainment.

But I’m not alone in my assessment. In fact, you got so much backlash that you eventually deleted your Twitter account altogether. I can relate to that, as deleting is my first instinct too. But I’ve learned (or am currently learning – it’s a process) that there is something to be said for standing in the bed you made, and facing the music as it were. Yes, there were people being hateful, name-calling and shaming. But there were also people telling you, parent-to-parent, that you made a mistake. Telling you that there were other ways. Telling you that could have done things differently. Those are the people you could have listened to. Those are the people you could have learned from.

I hope that your time away from Twitter is a positive step for you, truly. I hope that you spend some time in self-reflection. I hope that you do eventually realize that the situation with your daughter could have unfolded much differently. And much more peacefully.

Mostly though, I hope that the next time your daughter comes to you and asks you for your help, that you stop what you’re doing and help her.

2 Comments

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

December 30, 2020 · 3:10 PM

Three Things I Won’t Be Doing in the New Year

I used to get really jazzed about New Years. I was allured with the whole idea of clean slates and fresh starts, and I couldn’t wait to start writing in my crisp new planner – Okay, that part hasn’t changed. I’m very excited about my 2021 bullet journal – But somewhere along the way I either got more realistic or more jaded, because it’s just another day on the calendar to me now. I don’t do resolutions, I don’t make vision boards, I don’t come up with a “word of the year” (that’s one I’ve noticed is really popular lately). I don’t begrudge anyone who does do those things; it’s just not for me. If I want to make a change or try something new, I just do it, regardless of the date on the calendar. A little over a week ago, Tegan and I decided to start Couch to 5K again. There were a few reasons, but it was mainly because we’re signed up to do a mud run this spring (Covid permitting), and it will be more fun if we have more endurance. We could have waited until the new year, but we started on December 20th. Voila. No New Years resolutions about exercise.

There are a few popular things though that even I did make resolutions would absolutely not make the list. Here are three things I won’t be doing for 2021, in no particular order:

Trying to lose weight – I have a long, complicated history with my weight. From dealing with disordered eating starting in my teens and lasting well into adulthood, to being underweight, to being overweight. Three years ago, I was put on a new medication that made me swiftly put on 40 pounds, and a year ago I was put on another one that made me swiftly lose 30. Could I still lose weight according to those outdated charts? Yes. Would I be mad if I lost it? No. Am I actively going to try to lose it? Also no. One of the lessons I’ve had to learn in the past few years – and it was a hard fought lesson – was radical body acceptance, no matter my weight. The diet industry wants us to believe that we have to be thin in order to be acceptable, but 1) thin is not synonymous with healthy, and 2) beauty comes in all sizes. My body carried, birthed, and breastfed four humans. It’s climbed mountains and swam in the ocean and rode horses and played soccer and ran a 5K. My body is amazing! The number on the scale? That’s just a number. DISCLAIMER: I’m not suggesting I’m not going to take care of my body. On the contrary, I’m excited about having more movement in my life, and am looking forward to doing the run with Tegan. I like playing hard, eating nourishing foods (see item 2), and getting good sleep. There is no end goal, because health is a constantly moving and evolving thing, but if there was? It would be strength. It would be confidence. It would be endurance. Not whether or not I fit into size 6 jeans.

Trying to eat healthier – I’m going to pick on the diet industry again, but the word “healthy” is such a loaded word. What does it even mean? What’s healthy for one person could literally kill another. We have preferences and intolerances and allergies. What makes me feel light and energized might make you feel sluggish and weighed down. I’ve written about this before, but now more than ever, the moralizing of food is out of control. Hate and war are bad. A potato chip is just a potato chip. I’ve had the same food philosophy for a long time now, and it hasn’t served me wrong. I eat when I’m hungry and stop when I’m full. I make no food off-limits. I eat a variety of foods, and I eat foods that nourish me in mind, body, and soul (Nourishment, by the way, can come in the form of a salad or in a gooey chocolate chip cookie). I don’t look at food as good or bad but simply as choices. I listen to my body, I pay attention to how things make me feel, and I don’t berate myself for having a piece of cake. Sometimes needs are best met with an egg, and sometimes they’re best met with a handful of Skittles. They’re just choices. And if I happen to make a choice that disagrees? My body lets me know by getting cranky – in a variety of ways…. bodies are useful like that – and I make a different choice next time. Simple, and certainly not something to count, weigh, measure, or stress out over.

Trying to be happier – Off the bat, this sounds like an odd one (why would I not want to be happier??), but hear me out. First, for people with mental illness, you cannot just choose to be happy. You just can’t. They’re called mood disorders for a reason. Trying to just decide to be happy when you have a mood disorder is a lesson in frustration and futility. Meds, food, rest, and exercise can all help of course, but there’s no magic bullet. Beyond that though, much like with the black and white thinking of the diet industry, there is a black and white push for toxic positivity that tells us that we MUST be happy. But it’s not realistic. We were given a wide range of human emotions, and they’re all valid. Every one of them. I don’t want to try so hard to be happy that I deprive myself of the growth that comes from sadness, or the resilience that comes from heartbreak, or the resolve that comes from anger. Our emotions teach us things, lessons that we’ll never learn if we squash them down in an effort to be happy all the time. My caveat is this: I do believe in gratitude. I do believe in self care. I do believe in service to others. I do believe in love. I believe in looking for rainbows and ice cream with sprinkles and bubble baths after a long day. All of those things, when done well, will naturally lead to more happiness. Happiness is the fortunate byproduct, not the destination. Because don’t get me wrong, I want to be happy…. I just know it won’t always be the case. And that’s okay.

————————————————————————————————

So what then WOULD make my list, if I were to make one? Right now, it’d simply be this: To be me. To live loud, to work and play hard, to make mistakes, and to learn from them. And to know, in my heart of hearts, that that’s enough.

1 Comment

Filed under Uncategorized

December 29, 2020 · 2:15 PM

Some Words

This morning on Facebook, I was called ableist, elitist, classist, and racist. In the interest of “When you know better, you do better,” I deleted the post that had prompted it, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It spoke to a larger issue that’s been on my mind the past couple of weeks, and helped some loose edges of a thought fall into place.

A week or two ago, I read a post about kids and water. The mom was encouraging other mothers to get their kids to drink water (as opposed to drinks such as juice and/or soda) and said that it was easy if you just led by example. Her kids, she said, have never had anything but water, and it was all because it’s what they’d been exposed to. Fair enough, I guess, but the way the post was worded felt steeped in judgement. I am not at all proud that that was my first thought. Because my very NEXT thought was, “Is this how I’ve come across for the past 15 years?” The thought was swift, and real, and visceral, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that I stopped just short of pulling down my blog altogether.

Judgmental is a complaint I’ve gotten a lot, along with sanctimonious, self-righteous, and holier-than-thou. I’ve worked hard at learning to share my own truth, and letting other people’s opinions of my words be just that: their opinions. But the thought is there now, and I can’t let it go:

What if they’re right?

What if I have been judgmental? What if my words have been unkind, unwarranted, or ungracious? Last year someone said that I wrote as if I thought I was better than everyone else. It wasn’t the first time someone had said that (and, if I continue to write, likely won’t be the last), but for some reason this time it cut extra deep. And when I had to see that person and smile and act normal and make conversation at our conference? It was one of the hardest face-to-face interactions I’ve ever had. It hurt.

I didn’t ever want to be afraid to voice opinions, but this year I’ve become afraid. I’ve deactivated my Facebook more times than I count because I’ve gotten my feelings hurt, because I haven’t been able to handle the backlash, because I just get so tired of saying the wrong thing. And some of it is just people looking to start conflict to be sure. Some of it is just people being, well, jerks. But…

What if they’re right?

As we close out this dumpster fire of a year, I’m finding myself questioning everything. I feel genuine remorse for the times I’ve missed the mark, for the times I have been judgmental, or arrogant, or elitist, or ableist. It was never my intention.

So what does this mean moving forward? Where do I go from here? What do I do with my writing? Do I hang up my hat? I don’t know. I really don’t. I’m discouraged, and I’m tired.

I have no neat and tidy way to wrap up this post. It was a brain dump in its purest form. And I don’t know if it’s because it’s the end of a hard year, or because I still have some seasonal depression going on, or because I once again got my feelings hurt on the internet, but damn. I am feeling all the feelings. And I am sad.

If you’re still reading, I’m sending peace, love, and best wishes for a calmer, healthier 2021.

8 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

December 6, 2020 · 11:33 AM

Elliot Page, and Erring on the Side of Compassion

(Photo by Rich Polk/Getty Images for IMDb)

Last week, Elliot Page, the actor known for Juno and Inception, came out as a trans male. At first what I saw was positive. People sharing his Instagram post and articles, voicing their love and support, and generally showering him with respect and acceptance.

And then I read the comments.

Everything from flat-out hate and bigotry, to the more insidious “I disagree with the lifestyle, but ….” comments. Judgment, unkindness, and disrespect for this person who just …. what? Dared to live his life? Had the audacity to be true to himself? Allowed himself to be happy? What exactly did he do to earn or deserve your ire?

To those who are in the camp of, “She was born a female, so she’s a female, period:” you are not only being close-minded, you are scientifically incorrect. Sex and gender are two different things. Yes, you are born with a certain set of sex organs, but gender is a separate and complicated construct, one that does not always align with the organs assigned at birth.

To those who use religion as their shield: “God made male and female! He doesn’t make mistakes!” I would argue that if He doesn’t make mistakes, then Elliot Page and all of the other 1.4 million Americans who identify as transgender are not mistakes either. Also, if you feel it’s somehow wrong to identify as anything other than cisgender, then don’t. No one’s forcing you to do anything.

To those who are threatened or disgusted or otherwise freaked out because it is “different”: Life is full of people and concepts and identities that we may not understand. I can’t honestly say that I completely understand being transgender myself. I am not transgender, and I don’t know anyone in my close circle who’s transgender either. But I do know it’s not something to fear. It’s not something to be threatened by.

Because here’s the thing. Elliot Page coming out as transgender is not about you. It’s not about me. It’s about him, and his own life, and his own identity. Full stop. And you don’t have to agree with someone, or understand someone, or even relate to someone in order to respect them. In order to show them kindness, in order to show them compassion. His words and his actions are not hurting you, in fact are not affecting you at all. It’s not hard to just let other people be happy.

The way I see it, when we’re faced with news like this, we’re given two main options: To respond with distrust, bigotry, and fear; or respond with love, acceptance, and compassion. Keep in mind too that the issue at hand isn’t dealing with someone who’s murdered someone or robbed a homeless person. It’s not complicated. This is simply a fellow human, living his fellow human existence, and telling the world, “Hey, this is who I am.”

You don’t have to agree to be kind. You don’t have to understand to be compassionate.

When Elliot Page told the world he was transgender, he wasn’t asking for your approval. He was simply being Who He Is. It doesn’t matter if you don’t agree. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s wrong. It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand. It really, truly doesn’t. People are allowed to live their lives. All people. Famous people, your neighbor, your uncle, the guy that fixes your car or cuts your hair or does your taxes. If they’re not somehow hurting you (and they’re not) it’s their literal right as human beings to live their lives on their own terms.

One of the most beautiful things we’ve been given in this life is choices. For Elliot page, and other transgender individuals, he gets to choose how and when and for what reason he decides to tell the world that he’s a man.

We get to choose how we respond.

2 Comments

Filed under hot topics, Uncategorized

November 29, 2020 · 5:52 PM

Leaving the Nest

I started writing this blog in December of 2004. Just shy of 16 years ago. It started out as a simple semi-daily diary of our unschooling adventures, though it’s gone through several iterations since then. I’ve been drowning in nostalgia lately (more on that later), so I recently spent some time reading my earlier posts.

My heart hurts.

Two weeks ago, Paxton, who’s twenty at the time of this writing, moved out. It was a happy occasion, one marked with excitement for this new chapter in his life. He moved in to a 3 bedroom with two close friends. He’ll be able to gain the independence he’s ready for, and his commute to work will be much shorter. It’s a good thing. It is. But

My heart hurts.

Having my first child move out has broken a most tender spot in my mom heart, one that I didn’t even know existed. I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to name what it is I’ve been feeling, and I finally realized it yesterday: I’m mourning. It’s a different kind of loss than a death or a divorce, but it’s a loss nonetheless.

I know it’s a cliché, but seriously, where did the time go? How did I get from there: the wide-eyed 30 year old mom with little kids, to here….. the middle aged mom with all these young adults, 16 years later? It truly was like I just blinked.

My grief at the change has made me question, well, everything. Was I a good enough mom? Did I give them enough time? Enough attention? Enough patience? Enough of ME? Did we do enough cool things together? Did we make enough good memories? Did I give them the kind of childhood I wanted to give them? Were they happy? Not just superficially happy, but JOYFUL, deep in their souls? Right now, today, I have no answers, so clouded I am in my own melancholy.

It’s weird to suddenly have big kids. In February, my baby will be 13, and I’ll officially have only teens and young adults. I adore having older kids, and I am eternally thankful for the relationship that I have with each of them. But woosh. The feelings are big and overwhelming. An entire chapter, several chapters really, are over, and we’re starting a new one. One in which I play a very different role than I’ve played in the past. I’m still mom (I’ll always be mom), but mom means something different than it did 5 years ago. 10 years ago. 15 years ago.

I’m nostalgic. And I’m sad.

I’m excited for Paxton, who is going to have a great time with his friends, and a great time on his own. I’m trying to trust that we did a good job, and that we gave him the tools and the confidence and the self-awareness he needs to fly on his own. This is a big step for him, one that I’m thankful was able to even be an option for him. He’s fortunate, and I know that too.

But my God, am I missing those little kid days. So much I almost can’t breathe. I know this too will pass, and that eventually I’ll get used to the new normal. But right now? One of my chicks has left the nest, and I don’t feel okay.

I’m trying to give myself grace, and a whole lot of space to feel not-okay. It will pass. It will. I’ll come to appreciate the new parameters of our relationship in a whole new way, and life will return to another, if unfamiliar, sweet spot. For now, I’ll wait.

And if you’re reading this and your kids are still small? If you’re still dealing with sticky fingers and sippy cups and sleepless nights? Please hold them just a little bit longer, just because you can.

2 Comments

Filed under parenting

November 12, 2020 · 4:06 PM

Spencer

This is Spencer. Spencer has a huge heart, a goofy sense of humor, a knack for solving problems, and a love of interesting facts.

Spencer also has autism.

Spencer has always had autism. But up until yesterday, there’s never been an official diagnosis, never been a piece of paper stating those words. And now there is.

One might wonder, if we knew all this time (and to be clear, we all, including Spencer, knew) why we’d wait until he was 23 to pursue a diagnosis. It’s a fair question. And the answer is complicated.

For one thing, it didn’t feel necessary to have a formal diagnosis. Having the diagnosis wouldn’t have changed how we treated him, wouldn’t have changed how we parented, wouldn’t have changed the decisions we made about school. Wouldn’t have changed who he was as a person. He was, is, and will always be Spencer.

Beyond that though, was the fear of starting to view him through the lens of a label. I saw too many people viewing their atypical kids through that lens, to the point that they were no longer people who had a diagnosis, but actually WERE that diagnosis. I didn’t want to be a parent who referred to her child as “my autistic son” or “my aspie daughter” when that information was irrelevant to the conversation at hand.

I learned a few things as time went on though. Having a label, official or otherwise, was not mine to claim. It was Spencer’s. It was his right to decide what he did and did not want to embrace and accept and share. It was his right to decide what importance he placed on the label, and what its presence meant to his identity.

I also learned that denying him the formal diagnosis would mean I was denying him services, support, and information that would be not only helpful but potentially life-changing. Especially as an adult, opening this door means he’s eligible for SSI and support and services such as job coaching and life skills training.

So now he has the diagnosis. And while we were all expecting it, it still kicked the wind out of me. It just felt real and official and BIG, along with its accompaniment of a host of new appointments and evaluations and hoops. So many hoops. (More hoops than there would have been if we’d done it when he was younger.)

While I’m resigned and optimistic, I’m also a little bit overwhelmed. Not because of the autism, but because of what it’s going to entail.

But Spencer? He’s the same as he was yesterday. Same as he was the day before. Having a diagnosis doesn’t change him from the unique and complicated and perfectly imperfect person he’s always been. He will deal with the next steps with the same formidable determination he’s dealt with everything else. He will rise to the challenges with strength and dignity and a sense of humor because that’s who he is.

For his part, he is glad to have the diagnosis, so I am following his lead on this. There will be bumps and missteps and headaches as we get the next steps sorted, but we’ll be okay.

And at the end of the day (day, week, month, year) he’ll still be perfectly Spencer.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Uncategorized

October 17, 2020 · 3:59 PM

Making Home Life As Sweet As Possible

I don’t spend a lot of time where traditional parents gather. Not in 3-D life, not on websites, not on Facebook groups. I have very little in common with those parents, and to be completely honest the advice that tends to be held in the highest regard makes me… sad. It just makes me really, really sad.

The other day I was on a Facebook group (devoted to something else entirely), and someone came on looking for parenting advice, specifically punishment advice. Their child had committed some sort of infraction, and they’d tried the typical grounding, taking away electronics, and giving more chores. One commenter commended their efforts so far, and said:

“Make their home life as miserable as possible.”

That comment sort of stopped me in my tracks.

I realize that my parenting philosophy ventures far from the norm, but that particular piece of advice hit me so strongly it gave me a visceral reaction. Make their home life as miserable as possible. Is this where we are as a society? Is this how we solve problems?

Because I have spent the the past 23.5 years trying to do the exact opposite.

Home should be the safe place, not the miserable place. Let me just start there. Home should be the soft spot to fall, the place where if you do mess up (and you will, because you’re human), you’re met with understanding, kindness, and compassion. The place where you’re treated with respect, where you’re heard, where you’re accepted… mistakes and all.

I’ve said it dozens – if not hundreds – of times on this blog, but behavior doesn’t exist in a vacuum. If someone is doing something unkind, unsafe, or generally out of character, there is a reason for it. Making life miserable will not only not fix the problem, but will likely make it worse. If you were angry and yelled at your spouse, would you find it helpful if the rest of the family conspired to make your life more difficult? If they took away all your favorite things, if they banished you to your room? Would you be more or less likely to want to continue yelling?

Kids are people, too. Compassionately addressing the root cause of whatever’s going on will be the first step in problem solving, and will preserve the integrity of your relationship – the most integral part of good and effective parenting.

One of my main goals as a parent is to have a close, kind, and mutually respectful relationship with my kids. As such, I want good things for them. And that starts with making their home life happy, not miserable. Is there any other relationship in life (work, school, church, wherever it may be) that would be helped by purposely making things miserable for the other person? Why should our kids be any different?

Home is supposed to feel like, well, home. The place you can fully relax. The place you can be yourself. The place you can confidently try new things. And yes, the place you can make mistakes. No home, just like no family, is perfect. We all have our warts, we all have our shortcomings.

But shouldn’t the goal be more joy, not less? Shouldn’t we want to make things sweeter for our kids, not more bitter? Shouldn’t we strive to make our interactions with our kids (regardless of what sort of behavior might have precipitated said interaction) a little more patient? A little more compassionate? A little more kind?

I think making home life miserable is a straight-up terrible idea, for everyone involved. Not only is it a terrible idea, it’s an ineffective one. If home life is miserable, it will only force your kids to turn outward for the support they’re not getting at home. I don’t know about you, but I want my kids to come towards me when they’re having a problem, not turn away.

Like the meme so aptly says:

It starts with us. It starts at home.

It starts with a home that strives to be safe and sweet and kind and sparkly. It starts with us as parents showing our kids what it means to be respectful, and what it means to be responsible for our actions. It starts with parents who “walk the walk”, instead of demanding blind obedience. It starts with you and I, taking our kids by the hand, and telling them through our words and our actions, “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

It should never, ever start with miserable.

11 Comments

Filed under gentle parenting, parenting, Uncategorized

October 15, 2020 · 5:10 PM

Chaos

Photo by Pouria Teymouri from Pexels

Uncertainty.

Intertwined threads of worry. Of fatigue – SOUL CRUSHING FATIGUE. Of sadness.

A sense of space and time that has gotten soft and hazy, one day bleeding into the next.

A vague recollection of something different, something better.

A world without the hatred, the fighting, the politicization of everything from masks to toilet paper. A world without plexiglass dividers and x’s on the floor, evenly spaced out to their six perfect lonely feet.

Trying to make sense of the senseless, order out of the chaos, peace out of the unrest.

Missing hugs, missing birthday parties, missing NORMAL.

Trying to “look on the bright side,” when the bright side is vastly overshadowed by the avalanche of a global pandemic, systemic racism, lies, and more than 210,000 souls gone.

Trying to move forward when you’re frozen in place.

Knowing that collectively we’re all going through a similar fate, but feeling totally alone all the same.

A feeling of heaviness. Of a weight that just might crush us.

Tears. Never quite spilling, but always at the surface.

Wanting something different, but not trusting what “different” would even look like.

Taking a deep breath. A big, deep breath. More, more. Gulping breaths.

Praying, if you’re the praying sort, for some sort of break. For the rainbow after the storm. For the sun shining through the rain.

Knowing deep down – way way deep down – that it really will be okay, that the madness will end, that together we’ll find a new normal.

Knowing deep down – way way deep down – that despite all evidence to the contrary, people can come together, that there can be a common good.

Knowing deep down – way way deep down – that the way we feel right now is temporary. That everything is temporary.

Finding somewhere, anywhere: In your child’s laughter, in the soft floof of your dog’s neck, in the changing colors of the fall leaves, in the new song from your favorite band, in a really good cup of coffee…

There is hope.

4 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

August 31, 2020 · 3:09 PM

Managing

Every three months, give or take depending, I have a med check with my psych, and we talk about how I’ve been doing. She always makes me rate things on a scale of 1 to 10. Depression? Anxiety? Sleep? Check, check, check. I hate that part of the appointment, because it’s hard. How do you rate something that’s so fluid? But I especially hate it right now, in the middle of this pandemic. I don’t know how I feel one minute to the next, let alone well enough to be able to assign a number to it.

What I’ve realized though, is that despite how I rate my feelings, I am managing. I’m managing. No more, no less. I see all these people and their quarantine hobbies… their sourdough bread making, and their new exercise regimes, and their foreign language learning, and their freshly painted living rooms, and that’s… not me. And that’s okay.

I recently saw someone on Facebook asking others about their new hobbies, and she said, “There’s no excuse not to be learning something new right now!”

But there is an excuse.

Things are hard right now. Things are different. Things are uncertain. Things are new. It’s okay not to be productive right now! Really, it’s okay not to be productive anytime, but it’s especially okay right now.

It’s okay if you’re not doing a new hobby.

It’s okay if your house isn’t spotless.

It’s okay if your laundry has piled up.

It’s okay if you’ve been watching Netflix like it’s your job.

It’s okay if all you’ve been doing is breathing in and out.

It’s okay if, like me, you’re just managing.

I have had some bad days over the past five months. I have had some very bad days over the past five months. (Fun fact: medication is not a panacea.) But I’ve had good days too – which is exactly what I tried to tell my doctor when she pushed me for a number. Ups and downs are normal and healthy, which is why toxic positivity gets under my skin so much. It’s normal to have bad days. It’s normal to have bad moods. It’s normal to have moments of screw-you-I’m-not-putting-on-pants-or-leaving-the-house-or-doing-anything-you-deem-productive-today.

And a lot of days, days like today, are neither bad nor good. They’re just… days. Days, like Matt Haig says up above, to “be and feel things and get through and eat crisps and survive and that’s more than enough.”

Life will be normal again one day, What on earth this new normal is going to look like, I have no idea. But it will come. Until then, it’s okay to just hang on. It’s okay to just manage.

It’s okay to just be.

2 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized