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.

I have a confession.

All around me this week people are sharing their posts from a year ago - posts from when our lives as we knew them came to screeching halt.

Although those 2020 feelings of dread, fear, and uncertainty are there beneath the surface and I can easily tap into them, those feelings are not how I define my memories of the past year.

I remember things a bit differently.

I remember my oldest son walking around in a bike helmet all day on a dare from his brother because what else was there to do? The photos from that day will forever make us chuckle.

I remember pulling out all our board games to pass the time, working our way through all the boxes that filled our hallway closet. Those games allowed us to share laughter and create memories.

I remember learning Tik Tok dances much to the embarrassment of my sons. Somehow those silly songs now hold a special place in my heart.

I remember group FaceTime calls with my friends as we showed our stashes of toilet paper and hand sanitizer. Those calls brought us closer and provided me with a connection I desperately needed.

I remember creative date nights at home planned by my husband. His Dominican feast on the day we were supposed to be traveling alone to Punta Cana certainly did not replace our trip but it was a pretty good back up plan.

I remember sitting at our kitchen table every morning. That tiny table that somehow fit four humans, their four laptops, and mountains of paperwork became the center hub of our home as we all made the switch to remote learning and remote working.

I remember watching the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe and Star Wars catalog as a family - twice - once in the release order and once in chroniclogal order. Those films became the soundtrack of our year.

I remember crafting a new kitchen island as a family after on a whim I said we needed a bigger space to do our work. Now that Island anchors my family and serves as the gathering place in our home.

I remember building a new patio as a family, brick by brick, because our backyard would be where we would spend our entire spring and summer. Even now under cover of winter in New England, that patio makes me smile as it is a piece of my family’s heart.

I remember hugging my sister, brother in law, my nieces, and my nephew for the first time after the initial lockdown. In that moment, standing in my dining room with tears in our eyes, we all decided that we needed to be in each other’s bubble always.

I remember spending time with friends outdoors when at times it almost felt like normal life.

I remember how when we struggled we were there for each other.

I remember how we all adapted.

I remember how we learned important lessons about ourselves and our family.

I remember how we decided to make lasting changes to our lives.

I remember laughter.

I remember joy.

I remember love.

I remember hope.

I remember that the year we were forced inward and were forced to slow down was also the year when we learned how to stay connected and truly enjoy life.

I remember that we found out just how lucky and loved we truly are.

There are times in everyone’s lives when the bad stuff hits.
​
Sometimes the bad stuff hits all at once. Sometimes the bad stuff hits gradually over time. Sometimes the hits are so bad that you don’t feel like getting out of bed, leaving your house, or answering your phone. Sometimes the bad stuff makes you turn inward. Sometimes it makes you implode on yourself. Sometimes it makes you explode on others. No matter how you react to the bad stuff, one thing is shared — the bad stuff exists for all of us at some point in our lives.

As I have been reflecting on our shared experiences with the bad stuff lately, I have been considering them within the context of this time of year. Spring is almost here and with it comes a collective shift of our focus to the future. This is a time of reflection and goal setting. At times like these, I always turn towards inspirational quotes to keep me grounded in reality while also striving towards my goals.

This, one of my favorite quotes from Theodore Roosevelt, made it’s way into my social media
feed the other day.

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.― Theodore Roosevelt

For me, this quote is about being your best, striving for greatness, and setting up the best future possible for yourself, knowing that it will take fight, courage and, sometimes, even failure. But, really the quote is so much more. It is a quote filled with questions:

• Are you stumbling these days?
• Are you reflecting on how you could have done things better?
• Is someone else pointing out your shortcomings?
• Are you failing?
• Are you finding yourself totally spent but spent for a worthy cause?
• Are you tired of the fight?
  

At some point in our lives, we all can answer at least one of these questions with a resounding “YES!”

The reality is, though, it truly doesn’t really matter whether you succeed or fail. What matters is that you are out there — you are in the arena. You are trying. You are doing. You are living. And, until we know failure, loss and sacrifice, we cannot truly appreciate the sweetness of success and all the beauty life has to offer us.

So, to the person in the arena, with the face marred by “dust and sweat and blood,” look around. If you take a moment to pause your battle and take stock of where you are right now, you will see that you are not alone. There are lots of us in the same arena and while we all are fighting versions of our own battles, our own bad stuff, some of us are here to help fight each other’s battles as well. This arena can be a scary, dangerous place but it isn’t a vast empty space.

The arena isn’t a space in which we all fight our own battles; instead, the arena is a place where we can gain strength from each other and from knowing that we are not alone. Reach out to those around you in your arena right now and let them help you fight your battles and your bad stuff.

The real living in life, after all, takes place in that space between failure and success. It takes place in the arena.

Ladies, I have an important message for you.

You know that voice in your head — the not so nice one?

The one that tells you all the ways other people are better than you.

The one that tells you that you aren’t smart enough, pretty enough, funny enough, skinny enough, nice enough, rich enough, talented enough, popular enough.

The one that tells you that you are a bad mother, bad friend, bad sister, bad employee, bad wife.

Yes, that voice.

Guess what?

She lies.

She’s wrong.

She’s become too comfortable in your brain.

She lies.

She’s become too familiar.

You don’t need to listen to her.

She lies.

You don’t have to be perfect. No one is perfect.

You don’t have to have it all figured out. No one does.

You don’t have to be able to do it all. No one can.

When that voice starts ringing in your head, picture yourself turning down her volume, like you would on the tv or radio.

Remind yourself that she lies.

Turn up the volume on all the good things about yourself.

You ARE enough.

You DO matter.

You ARE loved.

​That’s the only voice that you should listen to — the kind one.

That’s the truth.

Sometimes you will be too much for people.
Sometimes you won’t be enough.

Sometimes they will find you too sensitive
Sometimes they’ll say you are too insensitive.

Sometimes you will make decisions that hurt others.
Sometimes the decisions of others will hurt you.

Sometimes you will be lonely.
Sometimes you will wish for solitude.

Sometimes you will feel like all eyes are on you.
Sometimes you will feel invisible.

Sometimes the people you need to cheer you on won’t be there.
Sometimes people around you will shout things that aren’t true.

Sometimes you will feel too focused on a goal.
Sometimes you will feel lost and directionless.

Sometimes you will lie awake at night unable to find sleep.
Sometimes you will crawl under the covers, afraid to face the world.

Sometimes.
Not all the time.

Sometimes you will feel valued, seen, and appreciated, despite your flawed parts.

Sometimes you will find your confidence, support, and direction.

Sometimes you will be at peace and rest easily at night.

Through all the sometimes, there will be constants to hold on to.

You matter.
Your life has meaning.
You are not alone.
Tomorrow is always a new day.

Sometimes you just need to hold on.

Life is messy today.

Right now from my home office window, I can see the first snow of the season as it drifts gently down into my backyard — a backyard that still is somehow straddling not just summer and fall but now also winter.

The hammock that I like to lounge in on hot summer days is still sitting under my favorite tree.

That favorite tree is still in the process of shedding its vibrant orange and red leaves, many of which now cover my backyard.

Summer, fall, and winter are alive in my backyard-all at once.

My yard is in the space between. The space where nothing is clear. The space of messy overlap.

My life feels like it is in that messy space too.

My kids are remote learners but also attend school in person a few days each week.

I am working full time but I haven’t seen the inside of my actual office in months.

I am exhausted but also cannot sleep.

I am content but also cry at the drop of a hat.

I am hopeful but also anxious.

I feel loved but also lonely.

I long for the warmth of summer but also enjoy the forced hibernation winter brings.

I crave connection but also need time to be alone.

I am like my backyard — messy, unclear, and clinging to different seasons all at once.

Today I will embrace the beauty that this in-between space brings.

Today I will marvel at the scene of summer, fall, and winter co-existing in one messy space. One beautiful messy space.


Sometimes there is beauty in the mess.

Even my mess.

​Even yours too.

Today my laptop crashed.


In the middle of my workday, with 27 tabs open as I balanced insurance billing, reviewed new client documents, read emails from my children’s teachers, and did some online shopping before my Kohls cash expires, my laptop was like “Nah. Peace out. I’m done.”

I have never identified more with a machine than I did in that moment.

It reached its limit. It simply had too many internet tabs, excel documents, word documents, sticky notes, and programs running all at once.

It just couldn’t do it anymore.

How many of you can relate? How many of you, right now, are at the end of your rope? How many of you feel like you can’t do it anymore either.

My laptop and I are right there with you!

As I sat staring at the screen, unable to engage the mouse, or the escape button, or any reset tricks, I realized that I had no choice. I had to force my laptop to reset.

As I pushed the power button, sending the laptop into its power down mode, I felt a twinge of jealousy. How lovely would it be to power down right now? How nice would it be for someone to walk in and say to me: “You need to reset. I’m shutting everything down for you and giving you a chance to catch your breath and restart.”

I’m quite sure a lot of you can relate. As a psychotherapist, I get to have some insight of how people, in general, are doing. You know what, the pulse check right now is pretty concerning. People’s lives are filled with stress, anxiety, depression, and hopelessness right now. So many people have a million tabs open at a time and are completely overloading their operating systems, at risk of crashing at any minute.

Don’t be like my laptop. Don’t wait until you have no choice but to shut down.

Take a break now.

Close some of your open tabs.

Schedule a reboot.

Give yourself a break.

Recognize that we all need a break and if you don’t schedule one for yourself, eventually you will just get stuck and need a forced reset — probably in the middle of some important project or at the worst time possible.

​Take a few minutes, maybe right now, but at least soon, to figure out how to prevent your own crash.