Today was one of those days.

You know what I mean when I say "those days" because we all have them.

Those days are the worst.

Today was filled with dogs who found some sort of exciting thing in our fenced-in backyard and did not want to come inside, leaving me schlepping around my backyard in my pjs with a container of deli meat trying to reason with an 8 year old stubborn pup.

Today was filled with ransacking the laundry room to find the game jersey that had to be worn to school today - only to realize that it had been left in the other parent's vehicle and was nowhere near us.

Today was filled with my freshly washed favorite post-workout hoodie smelling like old cooked food when I pulled it out of my bag, rendering it useless.

Today was filled with finding evidence of mice in my kitchen as I was rushing to prepare a birthday cake.

Today was filled with yet another Facebook Marketplace buyer backing out last minute.

Today was filled with still not knowing what time my son's practice is ending today and scrambling to arrange a pick up that would not interfere with our work schedules.

All of this was before 10am.

Naturally I felt all of the feelings.

I wanted to scream into my pillow. I wanted to cry out of frustsration. I wanted to send angry messages. I wanted to cancel my patients and crawl back into bed.

But, instead, I took 3 deep breaths and considered how I could reframe my morning.

Sure, my morning was filled with all of the things that make up one of "those days."

But, it was also filled with so much more.

It was filled with trashcans already at the curb, placed there lovingly by my husband before he left for work.

It was filled with an adventurous pup who just a few months ago had a cancer diagnosis and might not have been here right now were it not for his great doctor.

It was filled with the knowledge that tomorrow we get to celebrate a birthday with my favorite people in the whole world - people who love my boys with all their heart.

It was filled with back to back appointments with patients who show up regularly for their therapy appointments and commit to the hard work of self discovery and growth.

It was filled with reassuring phone calls from my husband with a plan for our new little mice friends.

It was filled with check-ins from good friends who make it a point to just reach out and say hi.

For all the annoying parts that made this morning one of “those days,” there were even more parts that made it a good day.

Listen, I’m not someone who believes in “choosing happiness” or not allowing yourself to feel the crappy feelings.

When you have a morning like I did today, it’s completely normal and acceptable to feel all the feelings about it.

But then we have to look for the good parts.

Even if they are hard to find.

Even if there aren’t a lot of them.

I promise there are always some good parts. There is always some glimmer of hope to hold on to.

Let those good parts be what defines your day, not the other things.

So, yes, today was one of “those days” - those days where lots of stuff went wrong.

But it was also one of “those days” - those days where I get to count my blessings and lean in to all the glimmers of hope.
​

As I neared my 40s, so many of the women around me who were already 40 were proclaiming a newfound sense of self.

They spoke about how they didn’t care what others thought of them anymore—sharing that it was as if some sort of epiphany suddenly released them from the burdensome weight of other people’s opinions once they reached the magical age of 40.

Hallelujah! Bring on 40! That sounds fabulous!

But, here I am, already 16 months into my 40s, and I can’t find the promised life-changing insight anywhere. There were no epiphanies that greeted me on my 40th birthday. There has been no increase in self-confidence. None of the magic I was promised has kicked in.

This isn’t how 40 was supposed to be.

I expected to roll up to my 40s, throw on some fabulous shades, and be able to let all the crap others might sling my way simply roll off my shoulders. At least, that’s the idea I was sold by so many of the women around me.

I want my money back.

Even at the age of 41, I am still crushed to the core by other’s negative opinions of me. Essentially, I am still the 14-year-old version of me. Yes, behind the wrinkles in my forehead, the crow’s feet around my eyes, and the sparkly grey hairs that frame my face is a girl who just wants everyone to understand she is a good person. She doesn’t need everyone to like her, approve of her, or even want to spend time with her, but man, does she need others to believe she is a good person — one who does not lie, steal, cheat, or deliberately hurt others.

Surely those insecurities were supposed to fade once I hit the age of 40, right? But, they are still there, sometimes louder than ever.

I keep telling that teenager inside my brain to ask herself So what if someone misunderstands you, talks about you negatively behind your back, accuses you of something you simply did not do, or even posts completely false information about you online? But my inner teenager always rolls her eyes at me, sighs, and gets stuck. She gets stuck on wondering if there is anything she can do to convince people of who she really is or to convince them the information they received about her is wrong. She gets stuck wondering how many other people believe she isn’t a good person.

This isn’t how 40 was supposed to be.

Life was supposed to change drastically for the better, leaving a fresher and more confident version of myself, poised to tackle my 40s like a boss. But, it really doesn’t feel much different here in my 40s, aside from increased joint pain and needing to cover my greys more frequently.

This can’t be it. There must be more. I must be missing something or doing my 40s all wrong.
​
I watch in awe as my youngest son navigates the world with confidence, able to brush off other people’s views of him swiftly and effortlessly. It’s an ability I thought I would find for myself once I turned 40. Somehow he has already mastered what it means to be 40 at the ripe old age of 11. He lives fully, without holding back. He is who he is and if people don’t like it, he doesn’t care.

I thought the theme of my 40s would be pretty similar to how my 11-year-old lives his life: I am who I am and if people don’t like it, I don’t care. How can I make that my mantra? How can I find for myself the changes I thought would come with last year’s birthday?

Perhaps my 40s haven’t gone the way I thought they would because I’m still holding back. Maybe I am still holding back who I really am, afraid to just let the real me be free for all to see. Perhaps I am holding back what I really want to say, do, or even be. Could I be holding back pieces of myself so there is less of me to be unfairly judged?

I’ve had 41 years to figure all this out, and I suppose if I want my 40s to be the way I envisioned them, it’s up to me to do something about it.

I have to be more like my 11-year-old and less like my inner 14-year-old. I have to stop holding back. I have to put the real me out there and learn to be a fabulous version of myself who just lets negativity roll off me. After all, the people who matter are the people who know me, the people who have my back, the people who see the real me, and the people who believe in me. If others choose to misunderstand me, that’s on them.

So, today I’ll go buy some fabulous shades, toss my sparkly hair back, and begin facing the world like the 40-something-year-old boss I know I can be.

Watch out world, I’m in my 40s now, and I’m going to start living my life for me.

This piece was originally published on 12/3/20 on Her View From Home.

See this face right here?

 This is the face of someone who decided to be brave and start seeing her therapist again.

Maybe this is your sign that it’s time for you to get support too.

This is the face of someone whose suitcase of feelings was bursting at the seems and desperately needed to be unpacked.

Maybe this is your sign that it’s time for you to unpack your own suitcase too.

This is the face of someone who wasn’t sure where or how to start or what feelings might show up.

Maybe this is your sign that it’s time for you to give your feelings a chance to be fully expressed and held too.

This is the face of someone who let down the facade today and let herself be real and raw and vulnerable.

Maybe this is your sign that it’s time for you to let yourself be real and vulnerable too.

This is the face of someone who feels emotionally exhausted after a therapy session but also lighter and somehow more whole.

Maybe this is your sign that it’s time for you to feel lighter and more whole too.

This is the face of someone who believes in her worth and her dignity and her right to build a life she wants.

Maybe this is your sign that it’s time for you to believe in yourself too.
​

“You’re one of the strongest moms I know. If you can’t do it, I can’t either.”

My friend’s words jumped out of the text at me, hitting me right in the gut. That negative voice in my head, always lurking just beneath the surface, was quick to question her view of me. 

How could it be that someone sees me as strong when lately all I feel is weak, a growing sense that I am a failure, and the notion that I am shrinking away from everyone?

How could it be that despite the fog of depression and anxiety that has lately filled my head once again, I could appear to have it all together to others?

How could it be that my outward projection is such a contradiction to my inner thoughts about myself?

Which view of me is the correct one? Her view or my own? 

“I always think of you when I am in a bad spot and wonder what you would do.”

This time her words hit me even deeper. They cut through the nonsense in my head and brought some clarity to me. 

She had no way of knowing my inner struggles, but something I was doing or saying was acting as a lifeline for her. Somehow, despite nearly drowning in my own despair, I was serving as a beacon of hope for her at times. 

Maybe, just maybe, that voice in my head was wrong. 

Maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to be that beacon of hope for myself. 

Her words echoed in my head that night and kept me awake for hours as I reflected more and more about what it meant to be a source of hope for someone.

I realized that I can’t give up. None of us can. 

We have no idea who is watching us, who is holding on to their last thread of hope thinking, If she can’t do it, neither can I.

We have no idea who is wondering what we would do if we were in their shoes, using us and our experiences to help guide them through their troubles. 

Look around. Someone somewhere is watching you, desperately looking for signs of hope and a sense of guidance. Maybe it’s one of your closest friends, a family member, a neighbor, a mom who sees you in the drop-off line at school, a coworker, an online friend, a stranger at the grocery store, someone reading your words—it doesn’t matter who it is, but they need you to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep believing in yourself. 

If you can’t do it, they can’t either.

Originally published 11/27/20 on Her View From Home: https://herviewfromhome.com/dear-mama-you-are-stronger-than-you-think/

Anxiety is setting multiple alarms every day so that you are never late for anything but then being uncomfortable if you arrive too early.

Anxiety is working efficiently and being over productive but then crying in the shower because it’s all just too much.

Anxiety is leaving text messages from friends unanswered because you overthink your response but then believing unanswered messages from friends must mean they don’t like you.

Anxiety is being too exhausted to be awake but too exhausted to fall sleep.

Anxiety is feeling like your brain never stops racing but being unsure how to sit in the silence.

Anxiety is believing that you are not enough and then worrying that you are too much.

Anxiety is something that has shaped part of your story.

But...

Anxiety is not something that defines you.

Anxiety is not something to be ashamed of.

Anxiety is not something you have to manage alone.

Anxiety is not something to avoid talking about.

You are more than anxiety.

As I was listening to my sons tell me all about their impromptu baseball practice session at the field the other day, critiquing each other’s stance, swing and follow through, I realized that life is a lot like getting up to bat in baseball.

The People

Your fans
Behind you are your friends. They are the people in the crowd who are there for you and want you to do your best. They know when you need to be cheered on and when you need them to be quiet. They get you.

Fans of the other team
Behind you may also be some people who are not your friends. They wouldn’t mind seeing you strike out because they are there to root for someone else.

People only there for the snacks
Then there are the people that are just acquaintances. They are the people behind you who are totally uninterested in what you are doing — they are taking selfies on their phones and carrying on about something totally unrelated to your at-bat. Even though they are neutral, you still might not want to make an error in front of them.

Your coaches
Then there are your role models. They are your coaches. You look to them for guidance and advice. They motivate and push you.

The umps
Let’s not forget about the authority figures in your life. Perhaps they are bosses or others who are quick to judge you. They are the Umps, ready to call you “out.”

Your teammates
But, as you make your way to the plate, you also feel the presence of your team. Your success is their success. Your failure will also be felt by them. Maybe they are cheering you on, chanting your name, reminding you that they believe in you.

Your opponents
Then there is the other team — waiting in the outfield, watching your every move. Willing you to strike out and send them a nice pop fly.

Does any of that seem a bit like how real life goes?

It does for me.

I can identify people in each of those roles: fans for my team, fans for the other team, neutral acquaintances, people quick to judge or point out my errors and also my team who has my back.

Once you are in the batter’s box, all that other stuff fades away as you face off with the pitcher.

The Fear

• What if you swing and miss?
• What if the pitcher throws a crazy ball and you get hit?
• What if you get hurt?
• What if you completely strike out?
• What if you let yourself down?
• Worse yet, what if you let your team down?

I have seen countless batters step into that box throughout my years as a baseball mom. One single bad experience can set some kids into an incredible slump. Great hitters suddenly freeze, afraid to swing the bat. Some confident batters suddenly find themselves jumping out of the box because they have grown afraid of being hit by a ball again. Others lose their focus and can no longer seem to make contact with the ball. I have spent many seasons cheering on my sons, hearing coaches remind them that baseball is in large part about confidence, focus and staying in the box.

Look around. What is it like in your batter’s box of life now?
1. ​Who is cheering you on?
2. Who wants you to strike out?
3. Who is part of your team?
4. How are they supporting and encouraging you?
5. Who are your coaches and how do they motivate and bring out the best in you?
6. How does it feel in your batter’s box?
7. Do you need to make some changes to your stance?
​8. What are you thinking when you step into the batter’s box?
9. Is your fear of striking out so great that you just stand there, frozen, as the pitched balls fly by you, hoping they are called balls and not strikes?
10. Are you so scared of being hurt that you back out of the box on each pitch?
11. Do you lack confidence in yourself so you find yourself closing your eyes and swinging wildly at any pitch?​

As you move through this week, notice all of the children who are taking to the fields with their gloves, bats and balls. Let those images be a reminder to you to take some time to reflect on your life and what it is like in your batter’s box.
​
How can you regain your confidence, drown out the negative noise behind you, lean in, keep your eye on the ball and smash it out of the park?

The other day I fell into a sinkhole. Again.

You know the kind of sinkhole I’m talking about - the metaphorical kind. The kind that opens up and drags you under, disrupting your life - usually without warning.

This same stupid sinkhole has plagued me for years now. Each time it gets patched up, the fix only lasts for a short while before it becomes dangerous again.

Over the years, I’ve learned a lot about the sinkhole.

I’ve learned what causes sinkholes and how you can try to decrease your chances of encountering them.

I’ve learned how to add supports and reinforcements to reduce the risk of falling into the sinkhole.

I’ve learned to make the sinkhole more stable so that I could more safely move near it.

I’ve learned how to calmly drag myself out of the sinkhole each time it swallows me whole.

I’ve learned to minimize the toll the sinkhole has on my life.

I’ve learned to normalize sinkholes - afterall, we all hit sinkholes sometimes.

But, the other day I fell in it again. My reinforcements hadn’t worked, minimizing it hadn’t worked, normalizing it hadn’t worked. Nothing had worked.

There I was again - inside the sinkhole. I was powerless and defeated - again.

When people tried to help me out of the sinkhole, I yelled at them to go away, or I ignored them, or I begged for them to tell me it was ok to be a mess because I was back in the effing sinkhole again.

And then my child fell in behind me.

Of course he did.

It was only a matter of time before this happened. Afterall, he’s watched me and this sinkhole for most of his life. If I couldn’t avoid it then how could I expect him to avoid it.

That’s when it hit me.

I needed to be done with this sinkhole.

Like, completely done.

I’ve tried everything to keep the sinkhole from being a looming force in my life. Everything except one thing. I have never decided to stop letting the sinkhole be in my life.

I COULD make the one choice I hadn’t yet given myself permission to make.

There are always other routes we can take to get where we need to go.

Maybe those routes will take us longer to get where we are going.

Maybe those routes won’t make sense to those people who have never fallen into the sinkhole or who can’t imagine that particular sinkhole being so bad.

Maybe we’ll be judged harshly and criticized for my decision to take a new route.

But, the truth in life is that there will always be criticism. There will always be people who don’t understand us. There will always be people who disagree with us.

There will always be sinkholes.

When the sinkholes become too big, too scary, and too damaging we CAN take away their power in our life.

We CAN stop allowing them to dictate how our journey goes.

We CAN stop allowing them to wreak havoc in our life.

It was time to do it.

So, together my child and I pulled ourselves out of the sinkhole and decided to drive away.

One last time.

​We didn’t look back.