The Social World of the Stay At Home Parent

Learning to socialize in the world of parents is not near as easy as I thought it would be. Now, when I say social I don't necessarily mean making new BFFs. Not at all. I am most certainly not one to develop deep and meaningful relationships quickly and easily. I am slow to trust, slow to open up, and a cautious person when it comes to relationship that go beyond the basic social interaction.

When I first started this SAHM job I was both nervous and excited about the prospects of socializing with other adults in the same phase of their life as I was. I have been lucky enough to connect with one fellow SAHM. And, honestly, I consider myself lucky to also not be wrapped up in a group of "mean moms". I have met them. I have tried to be kind and polite, but on the inside I am cursing them and their stuck up noses. I remind myself that they are probably mean because deep down they are unhappy or struggling with something. I try not to take it personally, even though there are times I probably should. But f*ck those bitches. I mean it. They are not worth the fretting over.

Making friends as a parent reminds me of being the new kid at school and it's lunchtime. There you are standing in your wildly colored jeans (standing out like a pink flamingo in a flock of ducks), slowly scanning the room for a safe place to land. Next to a kind face? All by yourself in that corner over there in hopes that no one sees you? Heaven forbid you be brave and just sit next to whoever you want to, risking deep cutting rejection.

As a parent, instead of the cafeteria, I'm standing in a room full of adults and children, all of which are either judging your parenting style/skills or not even acknowledging your existence. Honestly, I'm not sure which is worse. And it seems that almost all of the parents you encounter (often frequently if you are a SAHP who goes to all the local activities for little ones) have little to no desire to make any level of friendship or acquaintance let alone make small talk.

Recently, I had the "opportunity" to attend a parent/child class without my one mom friend. I dread going already, but I dreaded it even more knowing she wouldn't be there. Without her there though (and because the hubs was there too) I was able to observe things going on. I learned a few things from this observation opportunity:

1) Other parents are not paying any attention to me unless my kid is misbehaving, in which case all eyes are on us. It's difficult to decipher whether their looks are judgmental in a negative way or if they are just feeling sorry for me. And, naturally, I assume they are thinking I am a terrible parent because my child is not sitting perfectly and listening like their kids are.

2) Other parents are not at all interested in interacting on any level with the other parents at the activity. Some even go so far as to prevent their own child from interacting too much with other children or parents.

3) It's basically just a room full of parents playing with their own children.

4) Being completely ignored feels almost as insulting as being stared at. There was one point where the kids were supposed to bounce balloons up and down on a flay swatter (excellent idea for older kids...not so much for 1 to 3 year olds). The girl next to me kept hitting her balloon in my direction. It landed on my head at least twice. When this happened it was natural for me to turn and attempt a social interaction. In my mind I expected that I would turn, make brief eye contact with the mom retrieving the balloon from my side, and perhaps share a little laugh about being hit in the head with her daughter's balloon. Typically, there is what I refer to as the "laughing apology". This is the moment where your child does something like accidentally hitting someone in the head with a balloon then you make eye contact, laugh, say "haha I'm so sorry.", and the other parent laughs and says something like "That's ok." and sometimes we have a brief reciprocal conversation about how awesome and adorable our kids are. So that's how I imagined this situation to play out. I don't want to make a best buddy, but social interactions in passing are normal...right? What actually happened was that the mom rescued the balloon and pointedly avoided eye contact with me. There was no verbal interaction despite the fact that I turned, looked at her, and smiled. It was weird. I felt like I wanted to wave my hands in front of her face and say "Hey! Look at me! Look I exist and I am trying to have a human interaction! Hello!!"

Am I the only person here that thinks it's weird that all these kids and parents would be together doing something that is supposed to be social and interactive but only focus on interacting with their own? Like, what is the actual point of doing this sort of thing if you're not even going to use it to take advantage of an opportunity to talk to another adult for like 5 minutes?

Then there's the expectation that my child is there to socialize with other kids, yet every parent keeps their child within arms reach and interacts with them so the littles don't really get an opportunity to socialize with their peers. Some parents have even gone out of their way to redirect their child away from socializing with a peer and re-engage with them instead.

(The psychologist and lover of sociology in me wonders if this is how it's always been or if this is a symptom of our fear mongering society and constant bombardment with news about terrible things that happen to people...)

When I go to these things I imagine myself as more of a coach. I stand in the background, observe, and intervene when necessary.  How else is my child going to learn how to be a social being? Then again, how is he going to learn to be a social being with all of his peers are afraid to socialize with new people?

Unless I suddenly develop telepathy, I'm probably not going to find the answers to my questions. I will remain perplexed. Until then, I will proceed with my social observation and intrigue.

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To Procreate Again or Not To Procreate Again? That Is The Question.

It wasn't until my son, who just turned 3, started to look like a boy instead of a baby that I started feeling the pangs of instinct once again. I always wanted to have at least 2 children. My life plan required that they be born somewhere between when I was 25 to 28. Of course, as we all know with life plans, this isn't the way it happened. I was late in the game of maturing enough to feel like I was going to be capable of caring for another human life. I also had a lot of expenses after grad school. I wasn't ready. When I was finally ready it took a while for me to get pregnant.

I was 30. It was December. I was late. But my period, or what I thought to be my period, came with a vengeance. I was devastated. I wanted so badly to at least have one child before 30. Thirty seemed so late to start a family. But when I finally got there and still hadn't gotten pregnant, I was crushed. 

The next month I again came late. This time we had some positive pregnancy tests, but they turned out to be expired so we didn't trust them. We got some new ones and confirmed that we were in fact pregnant. I can't even begin to describe the way I felt in that moment. A combination of pure joy and utter terror would put it mildly. My life plan was already out the window by this time. The new plan had me starting my family at age 30. Five more years of 'safe' pregnancies possible now....yikes. 

It's been 3 years now since my son was born. He's been a blessing. And although there are times I want to rip my hair out, I love him so much it hurts sometimes. He is my boy. I made him. I stare at him with awe sometimes, especially when he's sleeping. And now he's starting to look like a boy instead of a baby. He's leaning up, stretching out, and wearing underpants now. He's not a baby anymore. Cue uterus thump. 

I didn't want any more ever since he was born. I was pretty firm on this to the disapproval of several family members. But about three quarters of the way through age 2 I started to think about it. I think about whether he would be upset with me for not at least trying to give him a sibling. I know my siblings are so special to me and I can't even imagine my life without them. Am I denying my son that kind of love? Then I talk to people who grew up as an only child and they say they loved being the only one. 

Then there's the grandparents. I see my son with his Grams and Gramps and just how much he adores them and they adore him. I am so thankful I was able to give them that experience in their life. And sometimes I feel like I should have another baby for them (because the likelihood of any of their other children to produce grandbabies is looking pretty slim at this point...at least anytime in the near future. And when/if they do, my son will be too old to connect with them very well.). And I know my brothers and sister-in-law would love to have more littles around too.

Splitting attention between two children also seems to be a daunting task. I don't know how my son would adjust to losing the attention he already gets (and doesn't think it's enough). Having to keep track of multiple children by myself in a park or a store sounds terrifying.

Financially it definitely would not work. We can barely afford what family we have already created. We live a comfortable life, but if we had another child, things would become much more stressed. I also would have to continue my leave of absence from my job as a school psychologist for another 3 to 4 years, then putting me about 5 or 6 years out of practice. And that's only if I got pregnant before I went back to work. I couldn't even consider having one if I started a new job. I couldn't do that to an employer...well I could technically, yes, but it would not reflect well on my professional life. That's just the way things are as a woman. In my kind of position, a woman is less likely to be hired if she is pregnant. And less likely to be retained if she becomes pregnant immediately after having been hired. Regardless of how good she is at her job, it's a great inconvenience to have someone be gone for 12 weeks. 

When I really sit down and think about why I want another child so badly right now I find that it is instinct and the sibling thing. Almost everything else makes it seem less appealing - lack of sleep, losing freedom again for another 3 years, going through another c-section, not being as lucky with the second one and having a difficult baby (mine was pretty easy for the most part), dealing with GD again and potentially developing Type II diabetes as a result of a second pregnancy with GD, having a small house with literally no space for another human to live in, and the list goes on. So making a pros and cons list would clearly indicate that "No, we should not have another child."

And then there's the husband factor too. Obviously we both have to be on the same page about this one. We never want a baby at the same time. At this point he's a pretty firm "No". And that's ok. I'm not mad about it. I respect him and I respect why he feels that way. And I most certainly wouldn't want an issue like that to come between us, especially since we already have at least one really amazing little kid in our life. 

It is not an easy decision to make to say no to having more. Our son will be judged as an only child if he ends up that way. We will be judged as parents for anything our son does wrong because he's an only child. We will face our challenges. He might resent not having siblings. He might not.

I feel like this conflict will rage on inside me for a while. I feel like I'm straddling a fence with both halves of me equally split between a 'no' and a 'yes'. This fence is really uncomfortable. 

"The ultimate test of a moral society is the kind of world that it leaves to its children.” - Dietrich Bonhoeffer

This platform (my blog) is not typically used for politics. But recent events in our country have compelled me to share my feelings/opinions. All of this is also coming in a bit late. I've worked on this post for several days and contemplated deeply the potential repercussions I might face by making a public post like this.

I don't share these things because I think I'm special or that my stories are special, but because they are not special and not uncommon. That is why they are important. Also because people are dismissing the core issue here. It's not about politics anymore. It's about basic human decency.

Michelle Obama gave a speech talking about something that has now become more than  just a political focus, but has exploded into a test of our nation's morale compass: sexual assault. I tend to group this with sexual harassment and sexual abuse. To me, it's all the same thing. But I guess, by definition, it is all the same thing. It all elicits the same kind of emotion in a woman. It all cuts deeply in the same way.

I have been shaken to my core as well. A lot of what has shaken me is the realization that people around me, people I love dearly, people I care about, are saying deplorable things with regard to Trump's comment and the women coming out to share their story: Why now?, Why didn't they report it when it happened?, They probably deserved it, what were they wearing?, They are liars., We can't expect men to not do these things because all women are sexualized and objectified, therefore are basically just baiting these men, men are all pigs and it's common so what these women are reporting isn't that big of a deal....

Oh my goodness...where do I begin.

First off, let's get one thing very clear. Reporting any sort of sexual assault whether it be rape, molestation, sexual harassment, or anything related to this particular action of violating a person's private space without their permission is not easy. A quick and simple Google search will provide plenty of research-based evidence on this topic. Here...or here...or here...I could go on, but quite frankly, I don't believe the people that actually need to understand this sort of thing will even bother to try. They've already made up their minds whether it be an original thought in their mind or by media manipulation.

Much to my dismay, some women are still being fairly dismissive of this whole topic in general. This is mind boggling to me. Some women are saying that it's just the way things are, that men are all pigs and we just need to deal with it or stop sexualizing and objectifying ourselves. Or they are simply trying to make this solely about politics. But it is so much more than that at this point. Come on ladies! How can you devalue yourselves so much? Yes, I know it's a common thing, but that doesn't make it right! And to clump all men into this lump of being pigs is an insult to good men everywhere. Not all men are like this. It is not locker room talk! And it is not okay.

I even heard a woman on CNN last night say that these women should just get over it because it happened decades ago. Their voices are being dismissed because of timing by some.

Because of the way our society views this issue...because so many women believe that all men act this way and it's just "locker room talk" in the "boys club"...we, as victims, are automatically discredited from the very start. Before a word is uttered, the people around us have already judged us, the victim, as part of the problem. What we wore, how we acted, everything we did or didn't do becomes scrutinized. Somehow we become the ones under investigation. Suddenly our integrity is questioned even if we've always been a honorable person. As victims we have to weigh the risks of sharing our story or keeping silent. Will people hate us? Will our personal life be strung out on a line for all to see? Will we be fired? Will the perpetrator retaliate? What will this do to my family and their lives?

The words that came out of Donald Trump's mouth on that bus shook me to my core too. The implications of what he said and now the allegations going on now have cut me deeply. Not only because he has said and allegedly acted on these things, but also because of the response it has elicited from the people around me.

But all politics aside...this got me thinking about my stories. And being reminded that so many people out there still believe that I deserved it because I didn't say no, or I didn't stand up for myself, or I was dressed "too pretty", has really gotten to me.

My stories.

Yes, sadly, I have several as I am sure many other women out there do. Some women just brush them off as a normal part of life and others find it to be much more damaging. But I think all women know what it's like to be a woman to some extent.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"We are acutely aware of our vulnerability. Aware that if he wanted to, that guy in the Home Depot parking lot could overpower us and do whatever he wants.

Guys, this is what it means to be a woman.

We are sexualized before we even understand what that means. We develop into women while our minds are still innocent. We get stares and comments before we can even drive. From adult men. We feel uncomfortable but don’t know what to do, so we go about our lives. We learn at an early age, that to confront every situation that makes us squirm is to possibly put ourselves in danger. We are aware that we are the smaller, physically weaker sex. That boys and men are capable of overpowering us if they choose to. So we minimize and we de-escalate.

So, the next time a woman talks about being cat-called and how it makes her uncomfortable, don’t dismiss her. Listen."

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

My stories start early in my life. I was around 8 and my cousin "grabbed my p*****". We were down at the lake that my grandparents had in their gated community. No parents, just us kids. I vaguely remember us playing some sort of monster game and when the other kids were bored with it, my cousin and I were the only two still in the water, while the rest were up playing in the sand. Then it happened. It was so fast. I was shocked. I knew what was happening wasn't right, but I literally had no idea how to respond. I froze. He whispered something to me about "needing this" and I honestly don't remember the rest. I didn't tell my mother about what happened until I was 16. It haunted me all those years. Every time I wiped myself after I peed, I thought about it. I remembered. It cut again.

The second time I remember I was in junior high, I believe. My brother's friend grabbed my boob and I kicked him in the balls. I kicked him hard, wearing green Doc Martins boots. He called me a "f*ckin' b*tch" and went home. I got in trouble over that one. I got in trouble because I defended myself when a man encroached on my space and touched me in a placed that is supposed to be touched only if I permit it. Another cut.

Later in high school a friend of mine grabbed my boobs and I kicked him in the balls too. He promised to never do it again. We stayed friends. This memory really isn't so bad, but it is one of my many encounters of sexual violation.

I honestly can't even count the number of times I was inappropriately grabbed or spoken to while I was working at a waitress for several years through high school and some of college. Cut, cut, cut...

In college I dealt with professors staring at my chest blatantly while I attempted to ask them questions about class. One in particular, never actually looked me in the face for an entire semester. And this was a fall/winter semester so I wasn't scantily clad. Cut...

I have dealt with sexual harassment in the workplace on a number of occasions. None of those were a violation of my personal space, but they were equally distasteful. Cut, cut...

Those are my stories. Those are my scars. There aren't many (in my opinion there shouldn't be any at all). But so many people right now are out there justifying this behavior or being dismissive of it. So many people are out there doing exactly the thing that makes reporting it an aversive decision. Even saying that we should just get over it because it happened decades ago and I didn't report some of them. I did report being violated once when I was young (got in trouble) and another time when I was older (thank goodness I had good administration backing me. I did worry about retaliation though). And I will tell you...reporting it in the workplace was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Sad thing too, is that if he hadn't have made one of his staff come into my office sobbing over what he had just said to her (in front of students no less)...well I may have never reported it. Somehow for myself I felt like it was just something I had to deal with because I am a woman. But I couldn't allow a man who was someone's superior to continue to behave in such a manner. That was apparently where I had drawn the line. In retrospect I am seeing how completely screwed up that is. That man had absolutely no right to act that way in a professional setting and most definitely NOT in front of students.

And so many people are saying, including people I know well and love, that somehow or another, all of these experiences were apparently my fault. I mean they don't come right out and say those words exactly, but the implication is there in how they are responding to this discussion topic of sexual assault. As I have mentioned before, many are dismissive of this because it's so close to the election, because the women didn't report it when it happened, because they weren't pretty enough to be sexually assaulted, because they must be wanting fame or money, because they are dressing too provocatively, because they didn't say 'no',....and on and on. These are the words they are using to say that sexual assault is somehow an acceptable behavior or that it's the fault of the victim.

I would really like to know, at what point does it become my fault that these things happened? Was it when I was a little girl and didn't say 'no' or smack my cousin in the face? I was wearing a bathing suit, I guess, so maybe that was part of why it was my fault. I was dressed too provocatively. [sarcasm]

Or maybe it became my fault when I was in junior high and, as most adolescents do, I was dressing provocatively to get attention from the boys. I mean, I'll admit that part. When I was a teenager I was obsessed with boys. I'm pretty sure that it's common knowledge that teenagers are obsessed with whomever they are sexually attracted to. The ultimate goal for me was to have a boyfriend. The ultimate goal for most boys was to get laid. But, I was unfortunate in my looks and ability to apply makeup, do hair, or match clothing. So as much as I tried to get attention from the boys...it didn't work all that well for me. So I don't know, you tell me. Was this when it became my fault? I guess I didn't disclaim to every male I encountered that I was not interested in sex with them or having them touch my privates. Maybe that's what I did wrong. (I wonder where to buy those signs...)

Oh wait, I know, it became my fault when I started actually figuring out how to look pretty and I was a waitress. So, a moderately pretty girl is a waitress and now I've done it. This must have been where I just started tempting the men folk so much that they were compelled to grab my ass or make lewd comments. I guess I didn't wear that sign around my neck telling all the men that 'No' I don't want them to touch or grab my ass. I suppose the signals I was sending were "foggy". So it must have been my fault then.

I guess I forgot to wear my 'No!' sign when I became a professional working in education too, so it was definitely my fault when I dressed too nicely and had to treat everyone kindly because I was in a position of authority (sort of). So I guess that must have been when the man thought I gave him permission to speak lewdly to me, about me, and to ask me perverted questions when I am trying to just do my job. And I'm sure the other lady who was victimized also asked for it somehow [sarcasm]. (I really need to know where I can buy one of these signs!)

So there it is. All of my experiences, that my memory hasn't blocked out, of sexual violation and harassment. Most of my life I have been told that these were things that shouldn't happen. I was told that people aren't supposed to be able to treat me in such a way. I was told that men/boys weren't supposed to touch my vagina, butt, or breasts without my explicit permission. But they did. Sometimes I fought back. Sometimes I just shut down. And I am always wondering why. Why did these things that are not supposed to happen, happen so many times? Anyone paying attention to the outrage over Donald Trump's comments about women on that bus will have an opinion on how to answer that question. I have my own. I do not think it was my fault. And I don't think this should be happening so often to so many women.

I also think it is important to praise and commend those who are brave enough to share their story. Not because the perpetrator will be punished (although in some cases that would be appropriate), but to shed light on an underlying darkness in our society that we have been working to leave behind for many years. And thankfully, we have come a long way. If this sort of thing happened 20, 30, plus years ago, I don't think as many people would be outraged like they are today. So this is a good thing because it proves that our society has progressed, albeit slowly, to a place where every human is respected. So, at least there is a bit of a silver lining in this dark cloud. And I hope this will progress in the right direction, and I think it will, because even though there are a number of people out there perpetuating the darkness that our society has held onto for so long, there are an equal number or even a greater number of men and women out there making it clear that this behavior is not acceptable and will not be tolerated.

Even before this Trump stuff came out, I was complaining about how I practically couldn't go anywhere outside without being cat-called. Those don't necessarily traumatize me, but I do find it annoying. It's just so degrading and disrespectful. Especially when I am with my son. I mean, come on guys. Have some respect. I don't expect guys to not have feelings. Even I appreciate the half naked college guys that run past my house. But I don't sit out on my porch and whistle at them. I don't comment on their looks. I don't permit myself to go grab their junk or sexually assault them because they are dressed (or not so dressed) provocatively. So, why is it somehow acceptable for me to be subjected to it? And not only that, but I'm expected to be flattered. I'm not.

I've said a lot here. I shared my stories. I shared my opinions. All of these things are now open to judgement and ridicule. I get that. But I have to share. I cannot stay silent. I share this because little girls out there should know that just because the women in their lives have these stories, it doesn't make it right. I share this because little girls everywhere are wondering how the adults are going to play this one out. They are waiting to hear your definitive answer regarding whether this behavior is socially acceptable or not. They are waiting to find out if their parents are going to believe their story when/if it happens to them. They are waiting to find out if they should even bother to share a story. they already have. They are waiting to hear if the adults around them are going to dismiss their cuts or help them heal. Will they be believed? Will they matter?

We, as women, need to let our young women and men know that sexual assault is not acceptable and not "just something that happens". We, as parents, have an obligation to help our kids make the future of our society a better one. This is not the time to be silent. It's not about politics anymore. It's about the morale compass of our nation.

I'm The Mom Running Into The Middle of The Giant Circle of Children and Parents

I hate to admit it...but I have "that kid". At least in a structured setting surrounded by peers I have "that kid". You know, the one kid who has difficulty sitting still and listening to directions. Mine is the one running circles around the instructor trying to engage in play with his peers who are all sitting there so nicely with their parents, listening and following directions. Mine is the one running up to the instructor and trying to get her attention so she will play with him right in the middle of her trying to tell everyone else what we are doing. Mine is the one that runs up to the front so he can point at pictures in the story and engage with it more directly. And I am the mom facepalming.

 Yep, that's right. Even Wonder Woman has her moments.

I am proud of my decreased self-consciousness in other aspects of my life, but when it comes to being surrounded by other kids and parents...oh. my. god. I am seriously a nervous wreck. I can just feel their judgmental eyes burning into me and I just want to grab my son and run like hell. I feel like they're all judging me because I'm the parent with the kid who is running around like a wild animal. Humiliated by having to get up in front of everyone to snag him and drag him back over to my lap. And they're judging my son as he turns around and smiles at me instead of obeying me immediately.

This scene is exactly why I avoid structured activities! But I know that I shouldn't do that just because it is an awful experience for me. My son deserves a chance to experience different things...right? (Can there seriously just be a manual that tells me exactly what I need to do to raise my kid perfectly!?!?!)

Our first experience with the structured activities was at library story time. It took us about 4 visits before he finally at least sat with me or near me instead of standing up by the lady reading. He never sits still. He doesn't even sleep still. (I hope he has good teachers when he goes to school!! He's a mover!)

Last night we started on our second very structured community activity...our first "Move it" class. This is a parent-child activity put on by our local parks & rec where they do a variety of song/dance, listening/following directions games, and motor games. In general, the girls who instructed us did a fabulous job. It was complete pandemonium in there with all those littles plus their parents (hovering over them everywhere they went...honestly I would have preferred to be an observer rather than a participant...let someone else be in charge of my child for an hour please!!), but the ladies did a wonderful job.

It was...
an experience.

Personally, I hated it. Goofy songs I don't know with goofy actions that made me feel silly (mostly because I didn't know any of them so I looked like an octopus trying to tap dance). Normally I have no problem being goofy with kiddos, but only when I already know what I'm doing (yes I am a perfectionist). (I was also going into this expecting it to be more fitness related than just random activities. I was very thankful that one of my mom friends was there with me. I would have hated it WAY more without her there. She's one of the reasons I feel I can't bail on this adventure)

Then the activities begin...
My son (exactly like he did the first couple times we went to story time at the library) was the only kid having trouble sitting, listening, and following directions by the instructors. When he's around peers he just wants to play. He doesn't want to sit around and listen to directions on what to do, he wants to get in there and just do it. He's all action (maybe a visual learner like his mother?  Possibly.). And it wasn't until about halfway through that he started to get into the activities (of course as soon as he figured it out they would change activities which also frustrated him), finally understanding that they are short and the next one will be introduced as soon as the last one is finished. He did ok the rest of the time. He really seemed to enjoy the time and cried a little when it was time to leave. Honestly, I think he most loved the running activities and the time after when most of the kids had left and there was just him, a few littles, and a giant floor of mats. He loved the instructors and being able to play with his BFF. So, in the end I think he had a good time.

But I couldn't help but feel regret as we left. Avoiding any eye contact from the (perceived) judging eyes surrounding me. I couldn't help but feel like trying this structured activity was a mistake (the same feelings I had with story time at the library). I couldn't help but feel like I put my son in a position to be judged negatively, to be embarrassed, to be humiliated.

Sometimes I really hate having to expose him to the real world. It's so cold and cruel. Some parents (as I am beginning to learn) seem to be about as juvenile as actual juveniles. And if they don't like me for whatever reason or they think negative things about my son, they won't allow their children to make their own friend. But he seemed to enjoy it. And I know that I shouldn't keep him from new experiences just because it makes me feel terribly uncomfortable.

I've asked myself why this situation bothers me more than other situations. It's not just about me looking foolish because I don't know the song and dance, but because my job as a mom is being evaluated based on my son's behavior. And not only that, but my parenting skills influence how other people will judge or regard him. That's the part that really breaks my heart. He is such an awesome kid (and I am not just saying this because he's mine). He is kind and thoughtful. He is rowdy, but not out of control. He is very well behaved most of the time. But when he's not being well behaved...that's when the judging eyes come out. And I really don't care (on some level) that people judge me. Haters are gonna hate, right? Right. But when it impacts my child. That's when it really hurts. When he is punished for my failures or the choices I have made for him as a parent, that's when it bothers me.

I don't have him go to a lot of structured activities. I really try not to overbook him. We pepper the weeks with attending about one very structured activity per week. He's 3. Neither one of us want to participate in more than one time a week. We would both hate it. But I know he needs it because otherwise he's going to be "that kid" when he goes to preschool. So perhaps I don't do it enough and there's my failure. But I know that he would rather be playing with creative freedom. I know that he would rather be up in front helping to tell the story rather than sit and listen. I know that he would rather run in circles than play simon says. So am I wrong to give him a life that makes him happy during his formative years. Am I wrong to not be providing him with a more preschool-like setting at home every day? We do a structured morning routine complete with learning activities, but this whole scenario only takes us about 45 minutes, sometimes less. Maybe I'm doing it all wrong... Maybe not...

Judging from our library story time experience, there is hope that he will figure it out after going a few more times. Or maybe he won't because this sort of thing just isn't for him. I guess we will figure it out as we go! Wish us luck!

Getting Older Can Offer So Many Opportunities To Free Yourself

Recently someone asked me my age and I literally forgot. I had to do the math. And I realized that I am going to be 34 this year. 34! 

My first thought was, "Well, shit." But this was quickly followed up with, "I thought I'd be old by now." There are most certainly times that I feel "old" in comparison to my almost 3-year-old boy with an endless abundance of energy (god I wish I could siphon that off him!) But in general, I am most definitely not feeling as old as I expected to feel when I was thinking about this at age 20. 30 was old to me then. 40 seems old to me now, but I'm only 6 years away from that number (insert choking sound). So maybe not really that old.

It freaks me out a little. My life is not the way I envisioned it when I was in my 20s. I figured I'd have had at least 2 kids before I was 30 (although I am super blessed to have my one who decided that age 30 was the perfect age to have my first baby). And even as I approached 30 I was so upset because I thought that was the beginning of the end. I thought my life was only downhill from there. But I can honestly say that I feel younger now than I did when I was 20.

It has taken me three decades to let go of my armor, to learn to love myself, to shed the terror of rejection, and become the person I am today. I feel that I'm finally really living life because I'm finally free of all the burdens that weighed me down, making me feel old, tired, sad, lonely, isolated...  Now don't get me wrong, I still feel all of those things from time to time. That's human and part of life too, but they aren't on top of me always anymore. This is what freedom really feels like, perhaps. It saddens me that I missed out on really living for so much of my life already. That's like a third of my life! Spent hating myself, feeling inadequate, insecure, alone, broken, tired, worried...

And in a couple days, my little baby is going to be three. I can envision in my mind what he'll become in the blink of an eye. And there will go another third of my life. Will I feel old then? I certainly hope not.

Sometimes You Just Need To Talk It Out, Even If It's Just With Your Reflection

I have been feeling exceptionally anxious the past few days. Running in the morning has helped, but only for a couple hours. It occurred to me today that I've basically just been putting a band aid on the anxiety instead of addressing it.

So today I had a good talk with myself. Yep, I stood in front of my mirror and actually talked to myself. Sometimes just saying things out loud is such a relief. It beats swirling around in my brain achieving nothing but high blood pressure and a racing pulse.

With my vocal processing of the recent dilemma I discovered that it was coming from pressure that I have put upon myself. Once again, I am my own worst enemy. I've been stressing about my son's upcoming birthday party. Plus, having so many people in my house at one time makes me feel like I just took a deep breath but can only blow it out through a tiny pin hole. While I love each of them dearly, the sheer numbers just...it's a lot.

I really stopped to think about what it was I was getting so stressed about. I wanted it to be perfect. But then I thought, "What does he care about?" He cares about the cake, the presents, and the people. He doesn't care about it being perfect. He'd be content with just getting to play with his BFF and his cousin. And it doesn't have to be perfect, because, to him, it already is. How lucky he is to even have all these people come together to celebrate the day he took his first breath. How blessed he is to be so loved. And here I am freaking out because I overfilled the cupcake papers and the cupcakes now look like mushrooms. But they taste good so I should not care!

The self-talk really helped a lot. It was a bit unconventional, and I certainly could not have done it without being all alone. But it worked.

We're going to have a birthday party. It's going to be awesome.

Strength Grows in the Moments When You Think You Can't Go On But You Keep Going Anyway

Some people who are close and know me or have known me for years also know that I have struggled (like basically almost every single woman in the entire world) with my self-concept, self-perception, and weight. I am guilty of self-hate, self-deprecation, starvation, and fad diets. I spent many years looking at myself in the mirror and breaking down in tears because I hated everything about how I looked on the outside. And truthfully...there were a lot of things I hated about myself on the inside too. But the outside part...that's the part that faces you every day. And if your inner voice is saying awful things to you...it breaks you. It breaks you in so many ways.

Somewhere, somehow along the way I began to shed those cruel inner voices. I know it was a long process of changing my self-talk, challenging the lies those inner voices told me, and learning to love myself for exactly who I am. I could make quite a lengthy list of all the things I hated about myself. But to do such a thing would be counterproductive...because it just doesn't even matter anymore.

In addition to being my own cruelest critic I also constantly fretted over what other people thought of me. I was always distracted by the constant running inner dialogue. I missed out on so many awesome life experiences because I feared what kind of judgement I would get from other people about how I looked or how I performed.

I worked really hard for many years to change those voices inside my head. It wasn't easy, but I did it. It's really difficult to explain how, because, like I mentioned before, it was a very long process that took years. But at the beginning I just had to make the decision that I didn't want to hear those voices anymore. I wanted so badly to love myself and be who I really am. I wanted acceptance from me.

I'm not sharing this because I think I am better than anyone. I don't share what works for me because I expect others to do it too. I share my story with whomever wants to hear it because I hope that someone out there is inspired. That someone out there reads this and knows that it can get better. It is possible to learn to love yourself. It takes time, but it is possible.

This Is What I Have Learned

Lesson 1: Changing your inner voice is a very big challenge and sometimes it requires some support outside of yourself. 

For me, I think the pivotal moment was when I was in a group counseling class during graduate school. Being surrounded by a bunch of compassionate, helping people was an incredible experience. We led groups and participated. I distinctly remember one group did a session where another person had to write something (a few words) they felt/thought about the others; what they admired about them or what they liked about them. It is sad to say that this might be the first time in my life that I ever heard (or literally read them, but my inner voice heard them) kind words said to me and gave them merit. People had said them before, but I always thought they were just saying those things because they had to. But these were people that didn't know me that well and they were still able to tell me that I had some really good qualities. It was then that I felt like it was time to start challenging that little critic inside my head that made me feel so worthless all the time. But this is where it starts and the journey never really ends (in my opinion). And at that point when you can truly love yourself just the way you are, it takes so much pressure off.

I really feel that it is necessary to point out that loving who you are or what you look like doesn't mean that you just accept whatever you've been given. I mean, yes, there are some things that can't really be changed. Like for example, I can't change the way my knees are, or that my elbows look just like my mom's, or that my ankles (regardless of how fat or thin I am) are just cankles, etc etc. Accepting yourself doesn't mean settling. It means letting go of the things you cannot change and working on changing the things you can.

Lesson 2: Take the pressure off. 

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I was trying to hit the bulls-eye from 100 miles away when I had only just started shooting arrows. 

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Let me explain a little here. When I say this I mean that, for me, when I put pressure on myself to work out in order to lose weight or eat right in order to lose weight, I always failed. I pushed myself too hard, injured myself, and never made it to that point where I felt successful. I always gave up after a while. It was always a chore. It was not my motivator. It only increased my negative criticism and made me feel inadequate. So I decided one day to just stop. Being skinny could not be my goal if I was going to be successful. Instead I needed to do these things because I wanted to. Not that I don't want to lose weight. I definitely know that's something I want, but it just can't be the goal. Not for me.

For me "taking the pressure off" meant that I set my bar pretty low to start out. Why not? If I meet it, I raise it a little more, and so on and so on. I just continue to challenge myself to get to that next teeny bar. Achievable goals in a realistic amount of time. (Kind of like IEP goals! haha) I took the pressure off myself to run long distances, run fast, run harder, pound out that Insanity program, finish that T25 program, be perfect at yoga, etc etc etc. I lowered my expectations. I know this sounds exactly the opposite of what most people might tell you. "Aim high" is a pretty typical motivational approach. But aiming high doesn't work for me. It only works to make me feel like I just can't hit the mark. Probably because I put my aim way too high. I still have "aspirations", but I won't pressure myself to meet them in a way that makes what I am doing less satisfying.

Lesson 3: Find your "quit line(s)". 

This is the point in which your aspirations become cumbersome. My quit lines are probably completely ridiculous to other people, but I just went over how I do not care what other people think so... Some of my quit lines are things like not already being dressed to work out, having the bar set too high, working out for too long, and restricting myself. Let me explain them a little more. 

Dress for success!
Dressing to work out has been a HUGE motivator for me. I don't know if this would work for others, but it definitely works for me. If I plan to work out that day I get dressed in my work out clothes. If I'm not already dressed in my workout gear I will not change in order to work out. It's silly, and lazy, yes, but I am who I am and I know my limits. I am a bit lazy in some respects so I find a way to work around it. If I am already dressed and I don't feel like working out my inner voice says to me "Why not? You're already dressed for it. What have to got to lose now?" And it WORKS! Seriously. I tried a couple days of just getting dressed and thinking if I have time to work out today I will. I had time. I never did. So now I know that's a quit line for me. Get dressed for your goal!

Set the bar low.

Now I realize how terrible this might sound, but it makes sense for me. Too often I would have unrealistic expectations of myself. I wanted to be the best right off the start so I didn't have to suffer the humiliation that comes with the beginning weeks of starting a fitness routine. Being super slow, breathing heavily, not being able to go as long, not being able to bend into the poses, not having my body stretch as much as the instructor's, etc. etc. Those are all the things that I wanted to skip. But how silly of me was it to expect to be perfect without ever having practiced. I sit here trying to teach my son that you have to practice in order to get good at something, you have to keep trying, and yet my own personal expectation is unrealistic. So lower it. Put your goal in a place that you really feel is achievable in a reasonable amount of time. If that means your goal is to walk around the block at least once a week then great! Start small and work your way up. It doesn't matter what you are doing as long as you are doing something!

You gotta have goals, but make them realistic!
Workout when you can, but make an effort to work it in. It has to be on my mind to do it or at least be penciled in to my day. I also set a low goal to start with about frequency. I decided I would expect myself to do yoga at least once a week and run at least once a week. So far I have exceeded that goal every week. I set the bar low, then when I get to it, I can assess how I'm feeling and whether or not I feel like amping it up or not. Almost every time I get to that point and I ask myself "could I just do another or go a little farther this time?" and I feel like I can. It's so much more motivating than working myself to death then feeling like I didn't achieve anything. 

Make it short and sweet. I know myself enough to know (and just accept instead of trying to change it) that I simply cannot focus on a workout routine that lasts more than 45 minutes. I have tried and tried and I just cannot do it. Once I get past that 45 minute mark, my attention and focus deteriorate into irritation and anxiety. All I think about then is just being done with it, so my effort and focus go straight out the window. This is particularly targeting my yoga practice, but it would also apply to things like Insanity. 

Variety. I get bored SO easily with workout routines. And honestly, the only workout routine that I feel isn't torturing me is yoga. So as much as I just adore Shaun T, I can only do his workouts for so long before I begin to feel annoyed. And it's not about him at all! He's amazing. It's more about the inability to focus and that the routine begins to feel cumbersome. I started doing yoga mainly for my chronic lower back pain (thank you pregnancy for the everlasting gift of SI joint pain!). I subscribe to yogisanonymous which enables me to attend real life yoga classes by amazing instructors right in the comfort of my own home. There are hundreds of classes to choose from and they are easy to search through. I love being able to do a different practice each time or do the same practice over and over. It all depends on how I feel or what my inner voices need to hear. Whatever I do, I set myself up for success. I do what I know I want to do and will make me happy. So my variety is all the yoga workouts and running. 

Running is easy to put variety into also. I change my course all the time so I can see new things as I run. Being outside and moving is imperative. Running on a treadmill never worked for me. It became annoying to be moving, but not going anywhere. I like to be able to go places.

Do it because it feels good. Do it because you want to thank your body for being alive and giving itself to you each and every day. Do it because you want to live a long full life. Do it because you want your children to see the value in being healthy. I have found the kinds of work outs and routines that make me feel good. I get that high from it so it motivates me to want to do it again. I love it. I sleep better. I'm not insatiable all the time. I'm not tired all the time and grumpy. It just feels so damn good. 

Do it for yourself. Because you deserve it!! I have learned that when I do these things because someone tells me I should I am much less likely to do it. I don't need anyone bossing me around and telling me how to live my life and what's good for me!! I know what's good for me and I'll do it if I want to dammit! (haha I am very stubborn.) You could say I am oppositional. I don't like being told what to do or what I can't do. But even if you're not the stubborn and oppositional type, you still deserve it. 

Get a partner if you can! Having someone who both relies on you and encourages you is so motivating. My sister-in-law and I decided we were going to be each others partner. We decided to finally do a fun run together (Zombie Run is the first, but will not be the last!). Having this real goal in my face and having someone else rely on me to be there (as well as not wanting to humiliate myself by totally sucking balls) has been great for me. If I wake up not feeling like I want to run I remind myself that my sister is counting on me to run with her in a month not miles behind her. 

Moderation not Abstinence! Oh gosh this one is a big one for me. I was always pressured to stop eating this or that, cut back on this, eat more of that...blah blah blah. Abstinence does not work for me. When I cut things out of my life, like say sugar, completely it only makes the desire to have it a thousand times stronger. It breaks me, then I end up hiding in a corner scarfing down an entire bag of mellowcreme pumpkins (or something along those lines). Ok, yes, I admit, this probably means I am a sugar addict. Yes this is a real thing. Sugar is as addictive as cocaine (just google "research on sugar addiction", it will blow your mind). So...yep I am an addict. A sugar fiend. I freaking love sugar. I've tried to cut it out of my diet, but I always end up in a dark corner bingeing until my stomach aches and I can't move. It's disgusting. Humiliating. It's not something to be proud of. But I have come to accept that moderation works best for me (my husband and I disagree on this strongly). I know myself. I know what happens if I cut sugar out. I do much better at indulging myself in a reasonable way rather than doing the fast then binge routine. So yes, I consume sugar, and I am not going to stop. I'm just going to be responsible about it. That's just what works for me. 

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I've been practicing yoga regularly (at least 1 to 2 times a week and often more) for almost 4 months now. (update January 2017 - Now doing it 5 times a week) I am seeing progress in every way and yoga, for me, (sigh) it's just so incredibly therapeutic. Ally Hamilton was the first yoga instructor that ever really moved my heart during a yoga practice. My first time in Savasana with her, I wept. She spoke right to my heart. It moved me in a way I cannot describe. Ally has been an inspiration to me in countless ways. She is such an amazing person and I feel so lucky to live in an age where I have virtual access to her teaching. Yoga is more than just working out for me. It's a spiritual, emotional, and physical practice. It clears my mind, calms the storms inside me, and pulls my body around in relieving ways. It has almost completely cured my chronic back pain (which has been a huge motivator for me). And it just feels sooooooooo good! Seriously. I may be a little obsessed. But I suppose that's a good thing to get addicted to right?!

Running is also a love of mine. Running in the morning is my best time. I am not a morning person and I just hate getting up early, but I have found a method that works to get my lazy, grumpy booty out of bed. Running helps me clear my head, rid myself of excess negative emotion, and is just so cathartic. I've found my perfect fitness balance between yoga and running. This is my cocktail of self-love. 

So, no I'm not skinny. In fact I haven't lost a single pound since I started working out for real (meaning building into my life routine, not just doing it to lose weight) 3 months ago. It might be because I don't do it enough or push myself enough and I know I don't always eat healthy (although I do try to do this more often than not because it makes me feel like shit when I don't...like physically. It's crazy how your body changes when you stop eating shit all the time.) But quite frankly...I don't care about losing weight. I will certainly celebrate it if I do get all hot and sexy, but if it doesn't happen for me that's ok. Right now I am in a place where I like my body. It's not perfect, not thin, there are squishy spots and jiggles, I have huge thighs, and a giant ass. But I am not "fat", at least I don't think I am, although some people out there probably would consider me fat. But they can go ahead and think that because it really doesn't matter what they think. I look in the mirror now and my inner voice is honest, but kind. I don't delude myself. I'm not like a 300 pound woman walking around in a bikini expecting people to think I'm sexy. No. I am just an average size 7 woman and sometimes I rock a bikini because I want to...because I feel ok with it and comfortable in my skin for the first time in 25 years. So yeah, I'm gonna rock it with pride, stretch marks and all! And I couldn't care less what those snickering teenagers think or anyone else for that matter.

I hope that my words are an inspiration to someone out there. There are far too many people out there hating themselves. Far too many people who say things to themselves that they would never say to another human being. Why would you respect other people more than your own self?! That is just preposterous to me. I leave you with this...believe in yourself. Find your path and just take that first step. You can't go anywhere if you just stand still and hope change comes. It just doesn't work that way. Nothing that's worth having comes easy nor does it come without an ounce of effort. So go believe in yourself, fall in love with YOU!