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.
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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. I’m going to let you in on a little secret about change.
Walking away from the things and people that drain your energy is one of the hardest things you can do. Ever. Even if that person or thing leaves you bruised and broken over and over again, making the decision to leave it behind and step towards a life that is more authentically you, is terrifying. Like leaves your palms sweaty, gives you a pit in your stomach, and sends your heart racing - terrifying. You begin to worry about all the people that won’t understand. You start a repetitive loop of all the “what if” scenarios. You decide that it’s just not worth it - change would be too hard. But, sweet reader, I promise you it IS worth it. All of the pain and fear and hard work of walking away from the life you know and walking towards the life you deserve is worth it. I hope that someday you find the courage to take the first step away from the hurt and turn your gaze to the horizon of possibility. A beautiful horizon of possibility - that’s what exists for you once you decide to take your future and your happiness into your own hands and go after the things you want. I promise you that there will be moments where you doubt your decision. There will be moments where you start to turn back towards the pain because the devil you know is greater than the devil you don’t know right? Remember this - there’s only one way to find out. You owe it to yourself in those moments to keep moving forward. Keep moving towards your goals and away from the painful past. Even when it’s hard. Even when it feels uncertain. And someday, hopefully in the not too distant future, you will take a deep breath in for just a moment and catch a glimpse of the life you used to know, a glimpse of the shell of the person you used to be, and you will smile. You will smile and notice that your heart is light, you are surrounded by true support, and you are on the right path - all because you believed you were worthy and took that first step towards change and possibility. “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/ This weekend I didn’t want to go anywhere.
I turned down invites from friends and turned inward instead. I sat on my couch, wrapped in my soft blanket and just felt my feelings. I laughed. I cried. I sat in silence. I binge watched a new series. I drank homemade margaritas and let myself eat extra toasty cheez-its. I didn’t count calories, worry about miles on my spin bike, or focus on the number on the scale. I let myself be loved and seen and let myself just be in the moment. No right. No wrong. No rules. I just lived in the moment and let myself be. And by the end of the weekend, my spirits had lifted and I felt freed from the heaviness that had weighed me down. I was able to peel off the blanket and step back into the world, refreshed and hopeful. If you need to take some time to stop and just be, do it. Find a way to let go of the things weighing you down at least for a few moments. The scale can wait. The gym can wait. The dishes can wait. The vacuuming can wait. But how much longer can you wait? 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
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. Beep beep!
It’s your struggle bus captain checking in again. This week I am 4 weeks post surgery and when the doctor told me the hormones would be awful for up to 4-8 weeks, he wasn’t lying. Yesterday I had a mini panic attack because the football stadium seats felt too steep and I was afraid I would topple to my death. Then I cried because my freshman’s football coach sent a text for everyone to meet for dinner and it felt so nice to see something so normal. And then an hour later I was filled with so much rage that I wanted to find a total stranger that was trolling online and give her a piece of my mind. Seriously. Then I ate chocolate. And cried some more. And picked a fight with my husband. And cried about what a terrible person I am and how my face is full of acne. Whew! How many of you can relate to days like that? The truth is - days like this can happen to all of us - even without crazy hormones. Whenever we start to listen to all the negative thoughts in our head, it’s easy for all our good self-care practices to simply fade away. self-doubt inner criticism imposter syndrome guilt shame They really don’t do us any good. Ever. So, anyways, I’m here to say that sometimes some days and some weeks just don’t go the way you want them. It’s ok. Let yourself feel your feelings. Sometimes it’s really ok to cry and eat the chocolate and fantasize about what you want to say to the internet trolls. But then take time to center yourself. Reset. Remember who you are at your core. Keep moving forward because you deserve the life you want. And on the really hard days, don’t forget to pick your head up and look around. You aren’t the only one on the struggle bus. There’s lots of us here with you - reach out when you need support. Beep beep! See Less 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. |
Mental healthNow, more than ever, we all need a little support to help get us through the rough spots. With all the pressures of life, it can be a challenge to find time to not only take care of yourself but also to truly understand who you even are anymore. Archives
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