To the mama who didn’t get to have a normal childhood,

I see you.

I see your daily pain as you move through the journey of parenthood, realizing over and over again just how much you were mistreated and abused by your own caregivers.

Your heart breaks almost daily for all the things you missed or had taken away from you during what was supposed to be your childhood.

YOU NEED TO HEAR THIS:

You didn’t deserve any of the abuse, neglect, and mistreatment that happened to you.

None of it.

It was the job of your caregivers to keep you safe, make you feel loved, and allow you to be a child.

They failed you.

You didn’t fail.

None of it was your fault.

You need to believe this - in your core.

And now look at you - making the decision every day that the cycle of abuse will stop with you.

Every day you make the active choice to give your children and yourself a better life.

Each time you tell your children that you love them so they don’t go to sleep at night wondering what they have to do to earn your love - you continue to break the cycle.

Each time your child feels safe coming to you for advice after they have made a mistake instead of cowering in fear - you continue to break the cycle.

Each time you spend time with your children at their sporting events, extracurricular activities, or just snuggling on the sofa, reminding them that you not only love them but you LIKE them too - you continue to break the cycle.

Each time you apologize and take ownership for your mistakes as a parent and clarify that your child is not responsible for your emotional well-being - you continue to break the cycle.

Each time you set a boundary and protect your child from people that do not respect them or cannot be trusted - you continue to break the cycle.

Each time you seek support for yourself so that you can be a better version of yourself - you continue to break the cycle.

I see your efforts and I know that the work you are doing is hard.

You are tired.

You doubt yourself.

You fight daily to prevent those negative thoughts and messages from your own childhood from coming to the surface.

Keep going. Keep moving forward, building the life your children so deserve - the life you never got to have as a child.

But be sure to also take time to think about all the ways your children will never have to experience what you experienced.

Take time to be proud of the parent that you have chosen to be.

Your children are lucky to have you as their mama.

Remember that.

Love yourself just as fiercely as you love your children.

You deserve it.

You are worthy of love and compassion - especially from yourself.

It’s easy to miss them.

It’s easy to miss all the little moments that remind us that we matter.

It’s easy to miss those exchanges that show us how much we are loved.

It’s easy to let those moments happen, pause for a brief bit of gratitude, and then return to the hustle and bustle of life.

It’s easy to miss the weight of all those moments.

It’s easy to miss the weight of the quick text from a friend after your child’s sports game telling you your son played great and asking you how you are feeling.

It’s easy to miss the weight of that little package of skinny drink syrups and a cup of good gin left on your doorstep by someone who knows you share the same taste in quality cocktails.

It’s easy to miss the weight of a daily funny meme text from a friend just to make you laugh.

It’s easy to miss the weight of a Facebook message and post from high school friends who are just checking in on you.

It’s easy to miss the weight of a hug from a friend who stops mid conversation when you enter their house just to give you a hug - one of those nice long hugs that only real friends can give.

It’s easy to miss the weight of posts from online friends that you have never met in real life yet have somehow become some of the most important people in your life.

It’s easy to miss the weight of an Aunt who puts together a gift of snacks and teas and a Golden Girls mug to remind you of your grandmother.

It’s easy to miss the weight of group texts from friends who make you laugh, keep you connected, and accept you - even with all your flaws.

It’s easy to miss the weight of a 15 year old son taking time each day to ask you how you are feeling - even two weeks after you have surgery.

It’s easy to miss the weight of a 12 year old son somehow finding his way into the crook of your arm to snuggle a bit - even after all these years.

It’s easy to miss the weight of your 7 year old niece giving you a handmade card on HER birthday asking how you are feeling.

It’s easy to miss the weight of your sister bringing an extra bag of dark chocolate Cadbury mini eggs just for you because she knows you don’t like milk chocolate.

It’s easy to embrace these moments, soak them in for a bit, and then file them away in the back of your brain - filed in that dark space where the volume is set too low.

It’s easy for those moments to get overshadowed by the moments of self doubt, low self esteem, and insecurities - all of those seemingly stored in a place where the volume is kept too high.

It’s easy to miss them.

But we can’t LET ourselves miss them.

We need to remember how much we are loved and how much we matter.

Drag out your memories of those moments and shine the light on them.

Turn up the volume on those moments.

Write them down.

Cherish them.

Hold onto them.

Turn to them on your dark days.

Those are the moment that matter.

Those are the moments that are real.

If you’ve been here for a while, you know I’m all about being real and giving space to things that are difficult to talk about.

So, here I am!

It’s been 6 days since my 6 hour surgery to evict my broken uterus and excise my endometriosis and since I write about everything else, I figured it’s probably time to write about this too...

For starters, I read my surgery notes yesterday.

Yikes.

It turns out I was a mess internally. Endo had been doing quite a number on my insides. Organs were not where they belonged. Stuff was stuck to other stuff. Endo was growing through muscles and was literally everywhere. I had to have a lot of stuff removed, put back in place, and put back together. I’ve got internal sutures and dissolvable mesh and am waiting on lots of pathology reports from things that were removed.

Explains why the surgery took 6 hours.

Already it is lovely to no longer be feeling the daily pain my uterus was causing me for years now and it’s startling to be starting to really understand just how much pain I was in on a regular basis before last week’s surgery.

But, man do hormones suck.

My doctor had told me that I might feel pretty hormonal afterwards for 4-6 weeks. Endo is hormones and my body would likely react to the sudden hormonal change when lots of endo was removed even though I was able to keep my one remaining ovary. I felt great a few days ago and thought I was out of the woods.

Ha ha ha.

Silly me.

My doctor was right about everything else so of course he was right about this.

I feel first trimester pregnant now. I’m nauseous. I’m tired. Everything makes me cry. I’m foggy.

And I’m a bad Amazon shopper now too. It turns out that fogginess plus online shopping is not a good match.

On a slightly related note, does anyone need a random round battery from Amazon that fits absolutely nothing?

Back to the hormones...I only want to eat bland carbs and Cadbury mini eggs.

And I’m craving weird things.

Like that raspberry lime rickey in the photo.

I typically don’t drink anything other than water, tea, and alcohol and nothing sweet.

But man did that raspberry lime Rickey taste good.

So, basically right now I’m a lot of fun.

All of the hormone symptoms get worse the more I push myself. They also seem to peak in the afternoon so I am trying to find a balance between doing something and doing nothing.

I sort of suck at that.

I taught a class today and that went well but now my brain is mush - as evidenced by the choppiness of this post.

So, what is the point of this post?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sometimes the point is that there is no point.

Sometimes you just have to be in the process - without really knowing when you’ll get to the other side of the process.

Sometimes you just have to be in it - wading through the mud and muck and dragging yourself to the other side.

So, this is my update from inside the process.

Reminding you that if you are in the middle of a process right now - keep holding on.

Keep moving forward.

The other side is there. You’ll make it there.

And if you love someone going through a process and they aren’t so fun to be around right now, love them anyways.

They’ll get back to being themselves soon.

And seriously, when your brain is mush and foggy, step away from the online shopping...

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.

You know those days that just don’t go right?

Days where you sleep later than you planned. 

Days where you can’t outrun the dark cloud following you around. 

Days where you spill your entire protein shake and  then your giant glass of water all over your rug 4 minutes before a work meeting. 

Days where you stub your toe while rushing down the hallway. 

Days where you accidentally forget to pay a bill, return an important call, or miss a text message.

Days where the brand new rug cleaner stops working. 

Days where everything annoys you and nothing feels right. 

Sometimes you can reframe it all. 

Sometimes you can laugh it off. 

Sometimes you can take a deep breath and reset. 

Sometimes you just can’t. 

Sometimes some days are just not meant to be great or even good days. 

On those days, pour yourself a hot cup of tea (be careful you don’t spill it on yourself), soak in a hot bath, or leaf through a light and airy magazine. 

Give yourself a break and cut yourself some slack. 

Then go to bed. 

Trust that tomorrow is a new day.

You can try it all again tomorrow.

​I know I will.

My therapy sessions with my patients have grown heavy once again — especially for my patients that work in healthcare.

Day after day they share, with tear filled eyes, their overwhelming fatigue. They stare blankly ahead at the telehealth screen as they describe lying awake night after night, too exhausted and overwhelmed to find sleep.

Each patient and their story is different but the common theme is the same — burnout.

Complete and total burnout.

So many question their career choice — for many of them have felt failed by their employers.

So many question their own humanity — for they now dread going to work and being around people.

So many question their future — for the passion that they once felt for their work is now nowhere to be found.

Like so many of us they are crawling, bruised and broken, toward some nebulous finish line on the horizon.

Sometimes as we near the end of a session, they will stop me and ask me if I am doing ok.

“How are YOU managing it all?”

They are caregivers by nature and struggle to keep the focus on themselves-even during their own therapy session.

But I think they are mostly looking for signs of hope.

Hope is what is missing most now.

Hope is what is needed most now.

In times of great sorrow, loss, and tragedy it is hope that keeps us tethered to our life and to each other.

Hope that something and someone can be consistent.

Hope for brighter days.

Hope for rest.

Hope for passions to be reborn.

Hope to enjoy the world again.

Hope to make it to tomorrow.

As you crawl toward the finish line right now, find hope.

Find it anywhere you can.

And hold onto it.