Have you ever seen one of those “entertainment shows” (term used rather loosely) that take a self-assured, confident, smart, beautiful woman with inner strength who has life by the….horns and watch these shows put this woman (or women) into a suit/costume that is the exact opposite of who they are? You know, where it is a great sociological experiment to put the skinny model in a fat suit or the brilliant Harvard MBA with a high powered career and dress her like a “frumpy housewife” all in the name of “learning how the other half live” for a while? (I’m looking at you Tyra Banks. You, too, 20/20.) Some of these shows- when done to sensationalize how horrible it is to be “the other half”- make me want to smack the ratings grubbing producer and send them into the Brazilian Rain forest without a survival guide. Just for the sociological experiment of course. But that really isn’t the entire point of this. Sometimes- those rare sometimes- it turns out that it isn’t just poor little pretty Britney crying that “OMG, I am so fat! Make it stop!” Sometimes they actually do something that surprises not just the women who are doing this experiment but the people around them.
At first, these women are the same. It doesn’t matter what is on the outside, they are confident and know what is on the inside. They are fully tapped into their authentic selves. And? They are confident nothing and no one can shake that. But after a day, two days, three days, a month…they begin to react not as the woman inside the “costume” but as the woman the rest of the world sees.
The beautiful, skinny model no longer gets the adoring looks and attention she has always known. It causes her to react to the way she is treated- to what people assume she is when they don’t look further. She begins to hold her head down when she is walking, not quite looking anyone in the eye. She is no longer the first to speak up, if she speaks up at all. She hears the rude comments and begins to cry and is truly hurt deep down inside. With her self-esteem at an all time low for her, she feels beaten down and broken.
Or take the brilliant Harvard MBA executive who becomes the old stereo typical stay at home mom who spends her days with her kids or running errands or volunteering somewhere. She begins to be treated as someone who can barely manage a grocery list. Her “mom jeans” and sweater sets are frowned upon and she is rarely taken seriously unless she is talking about household affairs, PTA or Johnny’s latest accomplishment- and then rarely is she truly taken seriously. Surely this frumpy mom couldn’t know anything about the stock market, foreign affairs or politics. I mean, just look at the way she dresses! She doesn’t even wear makeup everyday. She must be “just a mom” and therefore not worthy of the intelligent conversations offered up at business dinners or get-togethers. She belongs on the playground with the “other mommies” and before you know it, she begins to act less self-assured. She buys into the lie that maybe she isn’t as smart as she thinks she is. Maybe it is a man’s world and she does belong just on the playground. Her authentic self may be able to command a board room and handle multi-million dollar accounts but when she is treated as less than, she begins to feel less than. She begins to believe that she IS less than.
What happened to these women?
I suppose as a society we are quick to judge what we see and what “truth” we have been told. Take the woman above. A stay at home mom is the “truth” that is told. Her dress is not the most fashionable. She doesn’t look high-powered but perhaps a bit overly tired. Is that who she really is? Is that her authentic self?
Well, yes and no. It is who she feels she is after repeatedly- I mean time and time and time again- being treated in a way that isn’t true to her authentic self. When it comes to the collision of perceived reality and personal reality, sometimes perceived reality wins even for the woman inside the suit who knows better. She knows who she really is. Yet, her heart is broken by the reactions and actions of others based on the way they perceive her to be because of the “truths” they are either told or choose to believe on their own. However, her authentic self is not lost.
After a while, that authentic self fights back. From deep inside the suit, the pain and the reality she has been living– which is not reality at all– become too much for her authentic self to bear and her authentic self begins to emerge and beg to be let out of the suit, out of this experiment. It hurts too much. You may first see it as a fierce look in her eyes. It may come from a retort to a comment that went just a bit too far. Or you may not see her authentic self come out until piece by piece the suit is removed and she has a chance to stretch both her body and her mind, refresh her emotions and feel once again at peace with herself– her real self.
I think that is true of all of us.
At one time or another we step out of our comfort zone and try new things. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. It’s in the trying that matters. Over a year ago I put on a new suit that I truly wanted. It fit like a second skin and I was happy. But bit by bit, piece by piece layers were added to that suit. Some by me and some by others. The more that was put onto that suit the heavier it became. The harder it was to wear and still be my authentic self. There were times the “real me” would scream so loudly to get out but by then the suit was so think, so heavy and attached so strongly, I couldn’t break free. In the Spring I knew it cost me too much personally to continue wearing it. I tried to brutally claw it off to get back to the real me. But let me tell you something. The process of ripping, tearing and clawing at something that is attached to you like a skin just scars you more. You have to go through a process to take it off. Though I was succeeding, I had a long way to go. I made mistakes. I hurt myself, my family and some friends. To those I could offer an olive branch, I did. Some accepting it and everything was put in the past to move forward. To others, the olive branch was thrown down and walked away from. There is and was nothing I could do about other people and how they react and choose to respond. I was working on getting myself back and didn’t have the energy to argue, fight or try to make my side heard. It became counterproductive to what I needed to do and who I truly am.
The beginning of summer I learned about finding the authentic me. I spent a week with people I love who love me. Not only do they support me but they love me in spite of me. During that week, the suit started to melt away in a beautiful and pain-free way. I learned that the ones who love me not only accept me as I am but they expect me to be who I truly am. It was a wonderful time of letting go, healing and getting to know myself again.
But that wasn’t the end. It just doesn’t happen that easily.
In July my family went through a crisis. I think all of us at one time or another (at least once) go through something that so thoroughly, completely and irrevocably changes you. Sometimes it is a wonderful event. Sometimes it is traumatic. But there is a moment, a time in life that you can exactly pinpoint, where everything changes. It doesn’t matter if it is something everyone can see or just those close to you or even something only you know happens. The point is, nothing will ever be the same after that moment. Ever. Things that seemed so painful lose their sting. Things that seemed so important become trivial. Things you thought you would struggle with for a long time to get past are suddenly no longer roadblocks in your mind or heart. You move on. You have to. You are not that person anymore.
I would never wish the events of my summer on anyone. At all. But I am forever grateful that I was able to be where I was needed, go through I needed to go through and come out on the other side the person I am now. Through crisis I mended fences that should never have been put up in the first place and found an amazing friend on the other side. A gift that I wanted, needed and came to accept through a crisis situation. I grew closer to people I love and have a tighter bond with them that nothing in this world can ever loosen. I found strength in myself I honestly didn’t know I had. I found peace in a way I have never known. I learned lessons about life that will forever be with me and keep me strong when I feel broken.
That suit? It completely melted away.
I thought I would find “the old me” underneath waiting to emerge. That didn’t happen. I found a new version– a better version– of the authentic me that I never knew I had the capacity to become. I never want to be the “old me” before my suit wearing days. Ever. A part of her is still with me but what I found when the real me emerged is so phenomenal and strong and at peace that I gladly put the old me in the past and embrace who I have become.
What about you? Are you struggling with a “suit” that doesn’t quite fit anymore? Do you need someone to stand beside you and say, “I believe in YOU and I will be here for you if it hurts to find the real you!”? Let me know. I’ll stand in that gap with you. I’ll hold you hand or your heart and be someone you can know cares. Or have you recently been through something that has brought you to a point where your own “suit” melted away only to find a wonderful new authentic you? Share it with us. Those stories always help us feel connected. Your story, declaration or simple “I’ll stand by you, too” can make a huge difference to someone who may need to hear it….even if you never even know it.
“Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.”
Are You Smarter Than an 8th Grader? The Homeschool Edition!
April 13, 2010
When my husband and I decided to have children, we discussed many things we knew we would face. We came to a few agreements and knew that by making some concessions here and there and meeting each other at least half-way, we knew we would be healthy, happy parents.
For example, we agreed that for us we should probably wait at least five years until we tried to have our first child.
Brandon was born three years after we were married.
We agreed that we should probably have an even number of children since we both grew up in families with three kids and we knew someone would be set apart. (Clint for being 15 years younger than his next older brother and me because I was the unexpected baby.) I felt strongly about this. I thought even numbers would even things out.
We have three kids.
We talked about working outside the home or being a stay at home mom and decided I should be a stay at home mom while the kids were young and as soon as they were all in school, I would go to work full time.
I haven’t worked outside the home in 17 years. I do, however, work full time as a volunteer as the PTA president.
And for the love of all things educational, I promised I would never homeschool our kids. (Seeing as we wanted to give them the best chance at being well educated and I knew I would fall short if I were to homeschool them. I know myself. I have nothing against it but it was something I was dead set against doing myself.)
Z is now being homeschooled.
Yes, you read that correctly. I am the PTA president at one kid’s school while I homeschool another. I am a contradiction of myself.
It started a month or so into school. Z was just not feeling well. To me he looked pale and he was complaining of dizziness often. He started missing more and more school. For weeks I would take him to school and within 45 minutes, the nurse would call me telling me he needed to come home. One time it was dizziness another his oxygen levels was too low etc etc. It got to the point where I would drop him off, go get a coffee and then return to the school in time to pick him up (knowing the nurse would call).
Of course even with the nurse sending him home I still had the dean calling, sending letters and threatening truancy court. (I will go with Stupid School Contradictions for $500, Alex.)
Finally, late in October I got a call from an administrator at Z’s school. She told me that he was stable, but they had to call 911 for him.
This is where I pause while you imagine getting that call from your kid’s school.
I got to his school in record time. Driving up and seeing an ambulance and firetruck at the school entrance and knowing it was for my child was terrifying. When I got to him, he was surrounded by paramedics, had an IV and looked paler than I have ever seen him. Riding in the ambulance to the hospital was a ride I will not soon forget.
It was in that week that I realized how many specialists I was going to have to see to figure out what was going on as well as how ridiculous it was to continually get phone calls from the school about him not being there yet knowing it was not safe to send him until we figured things out.
I pulled him out of school the next week. It was then that we entered the empowering yet intimidating world of homeschooling. Empowering because we- as his parents- get to decide what is best for him as far as his health is concerned and not fear the sword of truancy falling on our heads. Intimidating because HELLO, I am so not smarter than an 8th grader. How in the world could I ever teach him all he needed to know? How could I ever give him the tools he needs to be successful? What have I done?
And yet, we persist. We push forward. We make it work for us. Right now Z is currently take his CBE’s to see where we really need to be focusing on. (CBE stands for credit by examination.) Oh, look! I got to use homeschool speak on my blog. Totally a foreign language. They should offer it as an elective in schools. (See what I did there? *snort*)
So basically, to sum it up: We broke most of the parenting agreements we set forth before having kids within 3 years. (I guess it is a good thing we didn’t have ‘promise to obey‘ in our wedding vows or all hell would break loose.)
And? I am doing two things I promised myself I would never do: homeschool one of my children and become a PTA mom– especially not the president. (Folks, Stepford shudders at that last statement. Trust me!)
And there is my life. Just one huge contradiction after another. I also agreed that I would become a good homemaker and cook. Yeah. It’s a good thing the mind goes after nearly 20 years of marriage or Clint might actually catch on to the fact that I really didn’t know what I was talking about when I was a young, new bride and agreed to all of this. What did I know? (Very little!)
Like my Mom always told me: Never say never. (Which never made sense until I became old enough for my nevers to come back and bite me in the arse!)
Today my daughter turned 9 years old. Somehow 9 seems so much older than 8. She is my cuddle bug, my angel, my sweet princess. She is the dream I had and was told would never come true. She is the girl we were told would never survive full term and would not be born alive. She is my miracle. Having her in my life makes thing brighter, funnier and filled with more unicorns and magical dragons than I ever knew existed.
I was never much of a girly girl who played with dolls and Barbies. I was more into GI Joe and kickball. She teaches me how to be patient when playing dolls and that Sleeping Beauty was not always an option when playing princesses. She’s given me a deeper appreciation that the joy of twirling in a new dress can bring. She’s brought more pink into this home than I ever thought possible and definitely more than I thought I was capable of seeing without losing my mind. She shows me that girly girl can be fun. However, she also shows me that princesses can wear tiaras and play in the mud. That a white dress doesn’t have to stay white if chocolate is involved. She can rough house with her brothers one minute and snuggle with her Daddy the next. She is the best of all of us. She is our dragon full of fire and fight and our princess full of beauty and charm.
Today on her birthday I want to let her know how much she has blessed my life. I want her to know that every night when she is sleeping I cover her up, brush the hair from her forehead and give her a kiss and thank God that she is mine. I want her to know that she saved my life by coming into it at just the perfect time when I needed something stronger and deeper than my own will to keep me clean and sober. I want her to know that every time she laughs, my heart sings. Every time she cries, my heart breaks. Every time she takes even the smallest step towards independence, my heart both rejoices and breaks a little. I want her to know that her dreams are never too big to achieve and her wishes are never too unrealistic to wish them.
But today on her birthday, I will snuggle with her. I will sing her happy birthday and watch as she blows out her 9 candles. I will kiss her and tell her I love her and my heart will swell with happiness and pride in my little dragon princess.
Someday she will know all the things I wish she could know about how she blesses me. But for today, she knows without a doubt that she is loved, cherished and above all the greatest daughter I could ever dream to have.
Happy birthday, my sweet dragon princess. You are my miracle and you are loved.
Right before school started in August, my daughter’s best friend moved away. She only moved 3 hours away, but it certainly wasn’t local anymore. I’ve watched how this has changed Gabriella. It is in subtle ways that unless you know her, you may not see it.
She seems a little lost, I hear close friends of ours say.
She and her best friend met the first day of kindergarten and formed a bond immediately. It’s not like they were joined at the hip 24/7, but they did a lot of things together. When they were apart they still knew someone always had their back. They knew that in any new situation or circle of friends, there was always someone they could count on and lean on or just simply have the comfort of knowing they would be there.
Where is my safety net to catch me when I fall or my tether to keep me grounded? I see her wonder.
I have talked to her about it a few times. She usually just shrugs and moves on, unable to find the words to express what she feels or misses or is searching for.
I get it! I tell her
You see, Gabriella’s best friend’s mom was one of my best friends. She was my safety net. My tether to keep me grounded. The one I knew always had my back. The friend where I could always and would always be myself.
She seems a little lost. They say about me.
I do for myself what I try to convince Gabriella to do: Branch out. Let yourself be open to new friends. Accept invitations to be with new people. Let your guard down a little bit. Okay, let your guard down a lot.
But where is my safety net to catch me when I fall or my tether to keep me grounded? I don’t know anymore!
One thing she has learned even though she is only in third grade is people form their “tribe” early. Most of the girls in her class have been going to the same school for 4 years now. They have their best friends and their tribes. It isn’t written but it is there. She’s made new friends. She’s joined new groups. Yet, she still searches for her tribe. She searches for where she belongs somewhat afraid to let her guard down without knowing someone has her back. I see her searching and wish I could just plunk her down in a group and let her feel “established” there. But, I can’t do that. She has to find her place and her tribe on her own. And it hurts to watch.
It is no different with me. Try as I might, I cannot fit into the tribe that I am around the most either. I try to accept invitations (when offered), I try to join in on the laughter (when it isn’t an inside joke) and I try to open myself up and not keep them at arms length.
Apparently, I am not very good at it. At not keeping people at arms length. No matter how hard I try. I can’t help but wonder if maybe jumping in the way I did was the wrong thing to do.
Maybe I am just a loner and just really put that vibe out there.
Maybe I am incapable of social interaction that lasts longer than a lunch.
Maybe it is the addict in me that doesn’t know how to just let go and get involved.
Or maybe I just really don’t fit in.
I don’t know.
What I do know is that I would give anything for my daughter to be happy and for me to figure out the secret to leaving loneliness behind and embracing new friendships. For now, I will do what I always do…the only thing I know to do: Smile and laugh and never let ‘em know it hurts. (Well, that and start looking at places for a fresh start.)
I was touched by the outpouring of love I received when I mentioned it was the anniversary of the day my Mom died. People both close to me and casual acquaintances left me words of encouragement through emails, Facebook or phone calls. I, of course, chose to hibernate the day away. I did not want to pretend to be happy or act as if nothing was wrong. It is just easier to do that when you only have your dog and your son at home with you. One doesn’t ask questions and the other already knows the reason for sudden tears.
More than one person asked me to share a favorite memory of Mom to help me think of the good times and make me smile. I love that idea. But to choose one favorite memory would be impossible. I suppose I would have to chose one thing I am most thankful for when it comes to something Mom ensured that my brother, my sister and I all had the ability to do without effort or falseness: The ability to laugh no matter what is going on around us.
You want the humor? We can bring the humor. Sometimes it happens to be at inappropriate times, inappropriate places or under inappropriate circumstances, though. Mom used to call those the “church giggles.”
Here is your lesson in “church giggles.”
Something strikes you as amusing (real or just a passing thought) at a time when you should not be laughing and the next thing you know, you start to giggle. The more you try to stop, the harder it is and the more you’re giggling. Before you know it tears are streaming down your face as your shoulders are shaking and people around you are wondering if you have lost your mind or are having some sort of fit. The “church giggles” can strike at any time in any places. Just know that it will be a time or place when laughter is usually not “the thing to do” at that time. Funerals are a classic place to get the “church giggles.” Or? When someone is giving a speech (not a funny one either) and you begin to feel the need to giggle and cannot stop it, you should brace yourself for the full on giggles. Don’t bother to apologize while in this state. That only makes the laughter worse and harder to stop.
It has happened to me at, yes, funerals as well as PTA meetings, meetings with school administrators, speeches (both by strangers and friends alike), as well as just every day, average situations that do not call for laughter.
The best example of the “church giggles” was during Mary Tyler Moore on the Episode “Chuckles Bites the Dust.” Here is a part of the show. The giggles start around the 3 minute mark. The clip is long but the roller coaster emotions sure do fit me to a tee on this day. That whole show with its inappropriate jokes and laughter mirror my life. Well, except knowing anyone who was “shelled by an elephant” thing.
But it isn’t just laughing at inappropriate times. It is laughing at whatever life throws at you. I have laughed sitting beside more hospital beds than I can count. I can find humor in the situation. I have laughed when it seems as if there is nothing funny. Trust me, something is funny and can be found. You need someone to help you find the funny, come sit by me. We’ll laugh.
Never was it more evident than when my brother, my sister and I were all together in December. We laughed at everything. We laughed at each other. We laughed at ourselves. We laughed at our family. We laughed at strangers. We probably even laughed at you! The point is this. Mom gave each one of us something special that is unique to each of us but she gave all of us something that we can share with each other and with those around us: The ability to laugh in life’s face. And, oh boy, do we laugh!
That’s what I remember (and carry with me) most when it comes to Mom.
