In November 2017, I wrote a blog post about the difficulty of giving up yoga classes as my life situation has changed over the years. In the post I talked about how the way in which I defined myself (as a "yoga teacher") had changed, and how unexpectedly challenging and emotional it was to undergo these changes. I talked about my slow decrease in weekly classes from 15-20 per week, to 12 per week, to 10, then 8, and at the time of that post, down to just 4 classes per week after having Charlie Mae. 

Well, here I am today, just over two years later, and once again, I'm grappling with similar emotions. I recently gave up yet another class (at the beginning of April) and am still getting used to being home on Thursday nights after so many years away. I'm now down to teaching just 3 yoga classes per week (!!!!!), which is simply mind-boggling to me. And do you know what's even crazier? That 3 classes still feels like a lot of classes! I have no idea how I ever taught 12 classes per week [for so many years]. 

I'm also dealing with the reality of taking maternity leave again; it's hard for me to take time off from teaching and working because these are the two things that give my weeks shape, a bigger sense of purpose, and contact with adults in the outside world (LOL). 

Every decision that we make in life--especially those that we make to create time for something new--involve giving something up, either temporarily or permanently. Giving up a job, a location, a community, a role, an opportunity, a known quantity, a home, a relationship, an identity. 

In a way, since I became a parent, the past 3 years have been a series of lessons in letting go. I've given up being as creative, as productive, as available, and as active as I was before becoming a mother. I've had to scale back my teaching and my business. I've had way less time to myself, time for continuing education, time for my relationship, and time for travel (because who wants to travel with a baby or toddler? Thanksbutnothanks).

And all of this letting go isn't easy. It can be really unsettling and sad. But is it worth it? I definitely think so. Which is why I've signed up to do it again and why I'm gearing up to let go of EVEN MORE, YET AGAIN with the arrival of Babe #2. 

In my opinion (and in my experience), no matter what you're giving up, at the end of the day, it's the letting go that creates space for the new, the exciting, the challenging, the growth. And the good news is that in many cases, the letting go is either temporary or potentially reversible, if you want it to be (and I mean small scale here, ie. the having of the second child is not reversible, but the giving up of the yoga class is...).

So what do you have to lose? What do you need to let go of  in order to create space for something better, different, or more challenging?!?!

In early 2013, a couple of months after we got married, Ben and I each made a list of "100 Dreams." This list was meant to be a chance to sit down and think about 100 things that we hoped to experience, achieve, understand, do etc. in our lives. Obviously I put Ben up to this, but in typical Ben fashion, once we started working on it he was totally into it. 

We'd both forgotten about these lists until last weekend when we were "tidying" (using the Konmari Method) and came across them; of course I made Ben stop and read through them with me, and it was pretty wild to read what had happened (and changed) in just 5 years. 

Amazingly, we've already experienced/done a lot of the items on our lists. For instance, we both had things like, "buy a house," "have kids," "have a yard," "get a dog" (sigh) on our lists. Ben had "get a truck," "coach a basketball team" and "have a fireplace" on his list (lol) and I had "own my own business," "do reverse koundinyasana" (lol), "create a greeting card line," and "lead a yoga retreat" on mine.

I also had some "dreams" that made me kind of sad to look back on, but simultaneously reminded me of how far I've come in just 5 years--especially when it comes to my relationship with my body. I'd written, "stop worrying/thinking about my weight" and "eat ice cream without judging myself" on the list. Really, I still felt like that just 5 years ago? It was shocking for me to see, especially since I don't think much about my weight at all anymore and because ice cream has become such a normal (non-judgmental) part of my life since moving to the Cape (haha but truly). 

Some of the things that were dreams for us at the time have already changed, too. Ben had quite a few CrossFit-related dreams on his list (he was super into it and competing back then) and I had some dreams related to owning my own yoga studio someday (no longer something I would want to do!). 

There were also the dreams that are still so far away from becoming a reality: "have a live-in chef" (HAHAHA!), "always get lots of sleep" (for real: HAHAHA), and "do a pull-up" (why is this SO hard for me?). 

And then we can't forget about the ridiculous dreams, many of which made both of us laugh when looking back:

Ben: "Have better facial hair, have tons of fitness apparel, get lots of sun each day." 

Me: "Have no more cavities (I'd just gotten my first one and was devastated!), "sing a song on stage" (which made my list twice...??? Dying.), "see every movie nominated for Best Picture every year from now on" (I see like 1 movie per year these days). 

As tickled as we were reading these lists, I have to say that coming across them was a really great reminder of the power of setting goals (or writing down your "dreams") and then slowly working towards them. The fact that both of us have already experienced/are close to experiencing almost half of the dreams that we'd written down just 5 years ago is pretty incredible!

[It also speaks to how achievable some of our "dreams" were, but I think it's important to have attainable dreams as well as lofty ones--like singing on stage.]

So, my challenge to you? Make a list of 100 dreams for your life. Or 50! Or even just 20! Date it, tuck it away, and see what happens by the time you come across it again...

In the meantime, I'll be over here working with my vocal coach to get ready for my big debut (BAHAHA)...

{Images above: the adorable little reason for the following...}
​
Last week, I did laundry on Monday. I carried the basket of clean clothes upstairs in between things and dumped it out on the bed so I could fold it later. At bedtime, I went upstairs and found our bed covered with clean clothes. So I scooped them up and put them all back in the basket, put the basket on the floor, and got into bed.

The next day after hastily pulling the comforter over the bed to make a "clean" flat surface, I dumped all of the clothes back on the bed to be folded. That night, when I went to get into bed, I once again scooped up the unfolded clothes and shoved them back into the basket.

You would think I would learn, but this happened on Wednesday, too. 

I finally folded the clothes on Thursday. 

--

In late December, I ran out of contact lenses. The first appointment I could get that would be covered by my insurance was in early March, so I decided I would go without contacts until March and then get new ones.

When the day of my March appointment rolled around, we had a huge snowstorm and the Eye Doctor's office called to tell me that they were closed and would call me back to reschedule after the storm. I missed their follow-up call the next week and still haven't called them back to reschedule.

I've been without contacts for over 7 months.

The other day I looked out the window at the fuzzy leaves on the tree across the street and remembered my missed appointment and the fact that I used to wear contacts.

Then I thought, hmmmm...maybe I don't need contacts, after all!?

--

A few months ago, Charlie Mae was having a blast sitting in the driver's seat of my car, pushing all of the buttons on the dashboard (as you do). The next time that I turned my car on, I found that the radio settings had somehow been changed so that sound only comes out of the back speakers.

I have no idea how to fix this and no time to look up how to fix it so for weeks now, when driving around, I have to decide if I want to listen to music that is just a tiny buzzing from the backseat or drive in silence.

I mostly drive in silence [for longer rides I put on my headphones and listen to a podcast. Duh.] 

--

The debris in our garage--the Elephant Graveyard of our household for the past two years--has been building and building. This past weekend I finally couldn't take it anymore so I started cleaning it out with about 15 minutes until the lunchtime/naptime routine and while in charge of Charlie Mae (not my most productive time of the day).

We don't really drink beer around here, so every time we've hosted a cookout and had leftover beer, we've stowed the unused cans in the garage, leaving us with a garage floor littered with little clusters of half-used 12-packs (again, #ElephantGraveyard).

As a part of my quick cleaning job, I decided to start rounding up the beers, stacking them all up on a shelf. When Charlie Mae saw what I was doing she was overjoyed to see a job she could help me with.

One by one she would bring me a dirty, spiderweb and who-know-what-else-covered beer can and say, "'Nother seltzer mommy???"

--

During a snowstorm in February or March, the rubber padding on my back windshield wiper came off, rendering my back windshield wiper unusable. I've been without a back windshield wiper ever since. 

--

It's really easy to let the burden of all of these little things (and there are OH SO MANY more where these come from) get me down. But every time that my mind starts to go down the "undone" rabbithole (which I've talked about here before), I just have to remind myself that I am raising a special little human being right now; that every unfixed windshield wiper, dusty garage floor "seltzer," and silent car ride is worth it.

Charlie Mae won't remember whether or not the clothes went unfolded for a week or whether or not I could see with my eyes (HAHAHA), but she will remember the quality time we spent together dancing to Hokey Pokey in the kitchen (actually, she probably won't remember that because she's so young but you understand the sentiment). 

And as annoying as all of these undone tasks are, in a weird way, they're also a reminder that my priorities are in the right place right now. And that we're not "failing at life," as Ben keeps saying when he remembers something we've let fall through the cracks (Ben...), but that we're doing our very best and that's all we can do.

At least that's what I keep telling myself. Over and over again. 

But I should probably get my eyes checked and contacts reordered, huh? 

Image above: Charlie Mae sees the path ahead of her and is NOT impressed. If nothing else, we need to change this system to give our daughters another option!
​
On Mother's Day, my social media feeds were filled with sweet posts about moms. They were really beautiful and I loved reading them--especially the ones written by husbands about their wives. You know the posts I'm talking about, right? The husband posts about his amazing wife and how much she does for the family, the household, and the kids. He says how grateful he is for her and her ability to hold everything together despite _____. 

But then Mother's Day passes and the mom featured in said post goes back to grinding it out. Or maybe she doesn't even get a break (not a real one) on Mother's Day--I'm sure lots of mothers were left cleaning up the kitchen after their husbands and kids made them breakfast, or folding laundry and catching up on their own work while their partners napped off their "exhausting" mornings with the kids.  

The conversation about the mental load (often called emotional labor and/or The Invisible Workload) that women and mothers carry around is not a new one, but it feels like it's been everywhere lately and as a new[ish] mom who has just recently started to feel the effects of this phenomenon, it's become increasingly important to me. 

[Note: Many articles about this subject have captured the issue way more succinctly than I ever could, so I've included a couple of my favorite posts about this subject at the bottom of this post.]

Before I go any further into my own experience with this frustrating subject, I should say that this post is not a critique of Ben at all. Ben is an amazing father and husband; he carries quite a mental load himself and does a lot around our house: he cooks all of our dinners, he does almost all of our grocery shopping, he pays all of our bills and maintains our yard, he does his own laundry. Three nights per week, he comes home from work and immediately handles all evening Charlie Mae duties while I head out to teach yoga. 

But what he doesn't understand and will never understand is the hefty mental burden that I carry around at all times as our Full-Time Household and Child Manager. 

[And Historian. And Administrator. And Scheduler. And Organizer. And Decorator.]

Ben has never had to think about what season is coming up and whether or not Charlie Mae has appropriate clothes that fit her for that season. He has never done a single load of her laundry, has never clipped her fingernails, has never even thought about whether or not we have enough diapers or wipes. He doesn't have to worry about her daycare schedule and who will drop her off and pick her up. When she gets a splinter in her foot, he isn't the one researching the best way to get it out and then holding her down while she screams and he tries to remove it. 

Ben has never changed out a roll of toilet paper in our house and when something is missing, he has no idea where to look (duh). He has never changed out a moldy shower curtain or washed a bath mat or cleaned off the base of the electric toothbrush. Every time that Sayde has an accident in our house (which unfortunately, happens more regularly than we'd like), I have to ask him to clean it up and he then asks me how to do so (despite having done it himself many times in the past).

I write the thank you notes and remind Ben to call and thank people who give him gifts. I remind him to make doctor's appointments for himself--or rather, I beg him to make doctor's appointments for himself and often have to research the doctor and give him the name and number of a doctor covered by our insurance before he actually calls.

While I was out of town this past weekend (with our child), Ben called to tell me that Sayde had gotten into some sort of nighttime altercation with a critter when he let her out (yikes!) and that unbeknownst to him, had bled all over our comforter and sheets. When I got home a few days later, I saw that the comforter was still on our bed, that our sheets were still splashed with blood, and that Ben had no intention of handling the situation; he'd rather just sleep on bloody sheets. 

Again, this is not meant to be a bitchfest about Ben, but rather, a comment on what we Household Managers have to handle and think about that the non-Household Managers don't have to handle or think about. It's a post meant to show you that even as a feminist--and as someone who came into my relationship, marriage, and parenting experience focused on equality and sharing the responsibilities--we've fallen into the exact same roles that SO many couples do. Because these roles are ingrained in us since childhood. 

Despite the fact that we both work and my schedule is just as full as his (if not more so!), I am still the de facto CEO of the household, too. I have to remember what has to be done and ask Ben do to it. I have to delegate ("nag"), remind ("nag"), and cajole ("nag"). Often, I end up having to just do it myself rather than have the fight caused by the "nagging" it takes to get him to do the things I ask him to do.  

It's exhausting.

And I can't imagine what it would be like with 3 kids, or a job that required me to be in an office 40+ hours per week, or with a partner who had a much more demanding work schedule. 

So I guess what I'm saying is that it feels like no one is immune to this disease of inequality in the home because it takes GREAT effort to undo what year and years and years of gender inequality have done to our household roles--and ain't no frazzled mom got the time or energy it would take to even things out. It's easier to just do it herself and move on to the next thing. 

BUT! We can try. And I've decided to try harder because it's important to me to model a different way for Charlie Mae as she gets older.

I've sent Ben some Required Reading (he loves when I do this) and fellow Household Managers, if this post speaks to you, you can do the same. If you haven't already, read the following articles and then send them to your partner!

• You Should've Asked: A MUST-READ in comic form. It explains how we got here and offers solutions!
• Women Aren't Nags--We're Just Fed Up: YASSSSSS. 
• The Default Parent: A really funny take on this same subject. 
  
  

And once you've done that, do some of the small things that Emma recommends at the end of her "You Should've Asked" comic:

• Go back and start from the beginning and divide up recurring chores.
• Learn to be okay with things lying around until your partner handles them (if it's one of his duties). 
• When you remember to do so, purposefully leave the house without preparing everything for your partner and make him handle things on his own (this is how we learn!). 
  
  

We can do it, you guys. Household Managers UNITE!

I feel like a new person! I have a new lease on life! With just a few taps of my finger, I took back control of my mental state and low-level anxiety. I know this might sound dramatic, but I'm telling you guys, it's real.

Last week, prompted by a therapy session and a feeling that no matter how hard I was trying, I just wasn't able to be as present as I wanted on my days "off" with my daughter, I decided to try--just for a day--turning off the push notifications on my phone.

[Sidenote for those who don't know: "push notifications" are the alerts that pop-up whenever you get a new message, a like, a new friend or follower, a text, an email, a reminder from an app, etc.] 

I'd turned off my email notifications long ago (I've actually never had them turned on), but was still getting almost all of the Facebook, Facebook Messenger, and Instagram notifications. And if you're as active as I am on social media, that means I was getting A LOT of notifications.

My phone was lighting up all day long and even on days that I was "off," I was feeling the pull of my online biz {via social media} in a big way. I guess it's been like this for a long time, but now that I'm a mother and am trying to have better boundaries between my work-time and my family/Charlie Mae-time, this has become a bigger issue for me. 

Thus, last week, on Thursday morning when Charlie Mae started stirring in her crib, I went into my phone's settings and turned off all of my social media notifications. All of them. Then I put up an Instagram post--knowing that I wouldn't immediately see if someone commented on it or liked it--and then went upstairs to snuggle my girl. 

You guys: the swift relief I felt from making this little change was pretty staggering. Without the reminders popping-up on my screen all day, I stopped feeling the pull of my phone immediately. Of course I still checked my accounts and feeds throughout the day, but now I had to be intentional about it. I had to think, 'Okay, I'm going to go get my phone and check my Instagram account right now,' instead of reacting to my phone when it called out to me. 

It was actually eerie how much of a difference I noticed in just one day.

It's now been 5 full days with no notifications on my phone and I can tell you [with confidence] that I will not go back to that horrible place where I was constantly plagued by notifications (only a slight exaggeration).

I'm done with the constant alerts about things that are happening in the cyberworld; I want to live in the real world. OBVIOUSLY I'm not going anywhere when it comes to social media, but I am going to decide when and how I use it from here on out. 

If you, too, feel any sort of low-lying anxiety, pull, or urgency about what's happening on your phone (or even worse, your watch--eeekkk!), I urge you to try turning off your notifications and see if it makes a difference. Just for a day. And then you can decide where you want to go from there...

There was a day last week when I was feeling pretty frazzled. Mentally, I was being pulled in two different directions: it was a non-daycare day, so Charlie Mae was home with me, but I also had a bunch of client emails coming in about work that needed to be done ASAP.

The two places where I put most of my time + energy were competing in my mind--my work needed me and my daughter needed me. And I needed them both. 

I found myself feeling that familiar sense of anxiety creep in...and a sense of resentment and undirected anger. I never have enough time for all of my work. I hate having to choose between my daughter and my work. I hate feeling like I never get to spend as much time with Charlie Mae as I want to...

And then out of nowhere, I was struck with a thought: but I have chosen this life. And I continue to choose it again and again. I have TOTAL free will when it comes to my situation and I have made all of the choices that have led me to this moment. And I continue to make those same choices. 

We could add another day of daycare if I really wanted to or needed to. Our daycare has the space and we can afford it. Or I could take on less work so that I don't have as much on my plate; of course we need my income, but we could make it work if that's what I wanted.  

But I don't want to put my child into another day of daycare because I would miss her too much and it would make me too sad. And I don't want to scale back my work any more than I already have because I enjoy it too much and I love the sense of purpose and satisfaction that it gives me. 

So I choose this. It's messy and lacks the boundaries and padding that I like, but it's what I want. And I'll continue to choose it until [or unless] there comes a time when it is truly no longer working. But until then, I want to let go of the anger and frustration that I feel towards no one (myself?) around my chosen situation.

There is no perfect balance, or job, or home-life situation. Anyone who makes it look like they've got it all figured out doesn't--not really, not one hundred percent. But maybe what sets me apart from the person who seems to have things more "figured out" is that she has accepted her situation and learned to work with it.

Therefore, this is going to be my new mantra every time I start to feel those negative feelings bubble up: I choose this. I have chosen this. I keep choosing this. If I am not happy with things, I can make another choice and change them.

But for now, I choose this. 

"Don't cling to a mistake just because you spent a lot of time making it." -Unknown

I recently saw the above quote on Instagram (of course) and my brain immediately said, "YES!!!! This is what I've been trying to say for all of these years but have never been able to express [so succinctly]!" It spoke to me on *every* level.

And I would also add: Don't cling to a mistake just because you spent a lot of money making it.

Because if there's one thing that I've learned since joining the workforce and stumbling through the dark trying to create a fulfilling, meaningful adult life for myself it's that we all make a lot of mistakes. Some mistakes are huge, some are small. Some are dumb, some are super disappointing, some are embarrassing, some are expensive, and some are painful or heartbreaking, but all are learning moments. 

Every mistake presents you with a choice: will you cling to that mistake, to the results, to your desired outcome, or will you let go and pivot, make a change, go in a different direction?

I had a conversation once with a student who had been working as a lawyer for a few years and hated it. She had gone to law school, taken out an enormous amount of student loans to make it possible, and was now saddled with debt in a job + field that made her miserable. She was talking about the predicament in which she now found herself and she said, "Yeah, I made a mistake. It was a 100,000 mistake, but it was still a mistake. Should I spend the rest of my life paying for that mistake or should I just give myself permission to cut my losses and get out now?"

I remember being blown away by this wisdom. And thinking about how every mistake has some sort of investment involved with it, whether that investment is time, money, heart, brain-space, energy, or all of the above all at once. Because no one every knowingly sets out to make a mistake, but we all make them ALL the time. 

Your latest mistake might be a big, life-altering mistake--you might have married the wrong person, moved to the wrong place, taken the wrong job, hurt someone you love, knowingly done something really wrong--or it might be a small, day or week-altering one. It might just be a mood-altering mistake and nothing more.

But how can you let that mistake go? Move past it? Pivot? What would happen if you tried? 

Despite being someone who has always hated making mistakes (I want 100% perfection at all times, dammit!), I am learning to love the wisdom that lies just beyond each mistake that I make, and the way that my mistakes make me a more compassionate, more understanding, more open-hearted individual. 

I guess if mistakes are what it takes to get me there, I'll take it. 

The other night, I had a nightmare about a huge poisonous snake that was living in our house. It was enormous--when resting on the floor it curled around the entire perimeter of a big room and it was at least a few feet thick.

In my dream, the snake had been there all along, hiding behind the furniture and just below the surface, but somehow we hadn't known it was there until we did and then it was petrifying trying to contain it.  

I know this sounds ridiculous, but this dream is rooted in a real experience and an old family "joke:" when we were younger, my reptile-obsessed brother, Peter, had a California King Snake that he kept in a cage in his room. He fed it live baby mice (horrifying), took it out and let it coil around his arms, shoulders + neck, and would put it on the floor or bed and watch it slither around.

At some point, Peter's snake escaped out of it's cage and into the house and was never found again. The snake was small-ish when it escaped (a few feet, perhaps?), but it became family lore that it was living under the house, growing bigger every day, and that someday it would reappear... 

I wasn't necessarily scared of Peter's snake--and definitely wasn't scared of it when it was his caged pet--but I became scared of the idea of something uncontrollable living and growing beneath us. It was the idea of the snake, hidden from view and ready to emerge when we least expected it, that scared me the most. 

I also had midnight terrors as a child (I know I've mentioned them here before) and I still vividly remember those recurring waking nightmares. Although Peter's snake didn't appear in any of those dreams (they happened many years before his first reptilian pet entered the picture), they had a similar framework: my midnight terrors were often based on something growing large and overtaking me, my life, my time, my family.

Which brings me to my present day fears, which are quite different than my childhood fears but share some similarities in that they're often related to uncontrollable forces that are bigger than me and growing in power, or lurking just below the surface, waiting to emerge and swallow me and/or my loved ones whole. 

I know that talking about fears is not inspiring or uplifting and I promise you that I'm not trying to be a Debbie Downer; I think it's healthy to put your fears out there so that they don't have as much power over you and I think it's helpful to hear that other people have the same fears that you do--or at least, personally, it makes me feel less crazy + anxiety-ridden to know that I'm not the only one with a given fear.

So, here are some of the fears that lurk in the back of my mind today:

Gun violence in our country. And especially in schools. It's a very scary time to be a student, a parent, a person of color, and/or someone who is in the wrong place at the wrong time in our country. It's especially horrifying to think that kids no longer feel safe at school and I'm already scared of sending Charlie Mae to school one day. 

Salmonella. Somewhere along the way, I became convinced that if you are making food with raw chicken or raw eggs, Salmonella is basically everywhere + on every surface, just waiting to attack. It's funny because I'm not really worried about germs, but when it comes to Salmonella, you cannot wash your hands or surfaces enough to assuage my fear. 

Infidelity. This is one of those things that I just can't imagine having to weather as a couple, but that I know happens in 1/3 of marriages. I can't imagine a life without Ben (and don't want to!) and this is something that I know would end our marriage. Ugh, I hate even typing this/thinking about it. 

Losing a loved one totally unexpectedly. This has gotten worse since becoming a parent, but it's that momentary flash of fear that goes through my mind when my husband and child drive away in a car and I think about what would happen if something happened to them. Again, it's so scary I don't even want to type it. 

Cockroaches. Growing up in GA where they are seemingly everywhere made me *totally petrified* of cockroaches. My biggest nightmare is having one walk across my face while I'm asleep (or eating one accidentally). 

Mental Illness. Terminal Illnesses. Illnesses that eat you from the inside out. Those illnesses that could emerge at any time and take away your life, or your quality of life, or your ability to be there for your loved ones. With every weird ailment my mind immediately jumps to a "What if it's ______" worst-case scenario. 

Donald Trump. I know this might sound like hyperbole to some of you, but our President truly scares me. I'm scared of the things he might do, some of the people he has empowered, and what will happen to our country while he is in power. 

And those are just *some* of my bigger fears...you know I could go on and on (fun-fun!)...

Pretty grim, right? These are not things any of us want to focus on, but there is something real about speaking your fears aloud and then choosing to move through life in a more grounded, present, grateful way despite the fact that they are there. 

Or in the wise words of Pema Chodron (obviously): "When you learn to smile at your fear, to be with your fear, you become an authentic friend to yourself, and thereby develop confidence." 

How can you start making peace with your ever-present fears today? 

Happy Valentine's Day! Happy silly, made-up holiday that I still kind of like to celebrate because I love love! Whether it's romantic love, familial love, friendship love (Hello, Galentine's Day!), or self-love, I'm all about spreading the love these days.

SO: 

I've been reading the following quote/poem/passage in my class all week and since it seems to have resonated with *so* many of my students (and myself, obviously), I wanted to share it with you today...

Love yourself enough to walk into only the rooms and situations that show care and love for you.
Love yourself enough to walk out of the rooms that harm you in any way.
Love yourself enough to express your wants, your needs, and your desires.
Love yourself enough to tell the truth.
Love yourself enough to keep yourself safe.
Love yourself enough to say enough is enough when enough has become enough. 

​-from Heart Talk: Poetic Wisdom for a Better Life by Cleo Wade

I hope this brings you a much-needed reminder to love yourself today.

And lots of love from me to you!

​{xoxo}

Being a blogger who writes about my personal life (and my personal struggles, in particular) can be exhausting.

Every once in a while, after publishing one of my more honest posts, I get a vulnerability hangover and worry that I said or revealed too much about the not-so-pretty parts of my life. And despite wanting to be as open and honest as possible, there are also certain places that I have purposefully not gone in order to protect both myself and my loved ones.

When it comes to the #MeToo movement, I had refrained from joining the conversation for the aforementioned self-preservation reasons, but also because: 

1. I didn't want to come across as an oversharer who was just jumping on another honesty/emotional life story bandwagon.
   
   
2. I have never been violently raped or sexually assaulted in the straightforward way that so many women have, and I didn't want to take away from those kinds of stories.
   
   
3. I was scared to talk about my own experiences because despite my wholehearted belief in this movement, when it comes to sexual assault and sexual harassment, I, like many others, am often fuzzy about where the line is and when it has been crossed. I was afraid that I would be blamed for the things that have happened to me, so I just kept my mouth [er, keyboard] shut.

However, at this point, I've realized that it is important to share at least a little bit about my experience as a 'Woman in the World' in order to add my voice to this important cultural conversation. 

I believe that the more of us who share these stories (in our own time + on our own terms), the better, so that we can continue to remind the world and one another just how prevalent sexual assault and sexual harassment really are.

So, here goes.

............

My most straightforward, this-is-obviously-not-okay experience with sexual harassment: 

I was getting gas at my neighborhood gas station in Washington, DC. When the little gas lever clicked to let me know that my tank was full, I replaced the nozzle, got back in my car, and turned away from the pump to buckle my seatbelt.

When I turned to face forward again, I saw someone very close to my driver side window. I turned my head and was met with a man's genitalia, pulled out of his pants and so close to my window that it was almost pressed up against my car. I screamed and looked away, he ran and got back into his cab (yes, he was a cab driver).

I frantically looked around for something to write down his license plate number with, but I was shaking and fumbling and he drove away quickly; before I knew it, it was all over.

I was left feeling disgusted, creeped out, and violated.  

My most recent, somewhat more hazy, I-was-taken-advantage-of experience with sexual assault: 

I was pregnant and my family was on a ski trip in Whistler, BC. Since everyone else was skiing and I couldn't, my dad offered to treat me to a Prenatal Massage. I found a reputable place online, researched the therapists, read the reviews, and called and made an appointment.

When I arrived for my appointment, I was impressed by the spa. The place was beautiful and the woman working the desk, who I later found out was the owner, was also beautiful and pregnant, too. She raved about the massage therapist I was going to see and said that he gave her massages all throughout her first pregnancy. "He has a gift!" she said.

I felt totally at ease.

When I met the massage therapist he was pretty woo-woo but very nice and warm. Lots of hugs, lots of gentle touching as we talked, lots of love for pregnancy and the miracle of life. I'm a yoga teacher so I'm used to this kind of energy. I didn't get any weird vibes from him at all. I even thought he might be gay.

Fast forward to when he began to massage me: he started by doing a lot of chest massage. And while I felt pretty uncomfortable with where he had his hands on my breasts, he explained all of the many reasons that it was important to massage the breasts of a pregnant woman as he did so, so I swallowed my discomfort and didn't say anything/ I didn't want to make him feel like I was uncomfortable--I had a 60-minute massage to get through with this guy, so why risk making it awkward at the beginning? Plus, he was a professional! I must just be a prude. I would get through it and he would move on to the rest of my body shortly.

However, as the massage continued, he kept coming back to my breasts. He massaged them a lot. A LOT. Waaaaayyy too much. In fact, when I left, I remember making a weird joke to Ben about how I had just had a 90-minute "boob massage."

I tried to laugh it off, but I felt violated. I felt uncomfortable and embarrassed throughout the massage, as he repeatedly (and repeatedly, and repeatedly!) touched every part of my breast but my nipples, and I felt violated when I left. And the embarrassment and feelings of horror at that experience have not lessened with time, they have only grown.

Now, 2 years later, I know I was taken advantage of. I spent the whole massage questioning what was happening but not saying anything because I didn't want to make him feel weird in the off-chance that this wasn't assault and really was his technique; I didn't want to sound like a sicko for thinking that's what he was doing and I didn't want to ruffle any feathers. 

And worst of all? I tipped him when I left. I said thank you. I let him hug me when he said goodbye and wished me luck with the rest of my pregnancy. He kept me 30 minutes over my massage without giving me a heads-up that he was doing so (I mean, why would he let his willing victim go when he could continue to take advantage of her for an additional 30 minutes?) and in the entire 90 minutes of discomfort and embarrassment, I never once spoke up for myself. 

My most blurred-lines, haziest experiences with sexual assault: 

I drank too much in college. I made bad decisions a lot. I put myself in many positions that could have ended really badly, but didn't. I consider myself extremely lucky in this regard.

However, there were two experiences that stick out to me as not okay. 

1. When I was a freshman, I let a senior (who I considered a friend) walk me home one night. Without giving away any details about who this guy is, I'll just say that he had done some really wonderful life favors for me (a lowly freshman with no car on campus), and I trusted him, appreciated him, and knew him well.

On this particular night I was *quuuiiiitteee* drunk and he had offered to walk me home on his way home--with a promise to my friends that he would get me back safely. I don't remember a lot but here's what I do remember: when it got time for me to take the path in the direction of my dorm, he put his arm around me and instead, guided me towards his place. I remember him giving some excuse for why we were going there, and then later, being in his bedroom and being pressured to do something sexual that I didn't want to do.

I was not attracted to this guy and never had been. There was no part of me that wanted to "hook up" with him in any way. And yet, I let things happen the way he wanted them to. Again, I don't remember much but I remember thinking vaguely that I didn't want to be doing what I was doing, that I just wanted it to be over, but also, that I needed to do it because I 'owed him' for the favors that he had done for me.

The lines were blurry, the memory of the night is blurry, but I know that I didn't want to do what I did and somehow, he got me to do it anyway. 

2. Later during freshman year (it was my most challenging year, as it is for many people), I went to a Fraternity "Formal" with an older guy as his platonic date. Again, I was not attracted to him, but we were on the same page about this date being TOTALLY platonic and really just a way for me to join our friend group on a weekend away.

At one point during the weekend when [once again] I had drank too much and had therefore gone to bed to pass out, I woke up to him in my bed with me, attempting to do things to me that I didn't want to do and didn't remember consenting to.

It was scary, it was hard to say no, and there was a part of me that felt like I had to go along with it since he had paid money for me to attend this function with him; again, on some screwed up level I felt like I owed him something, despite making my boundaries clear before leaving town with him.

.........

In almost all of these situations but the first (the cab driver), I place a lot of the blame for what happened on myself for not speaking up. I am embarrassed that I let these things happen to me and I know that many people reading these accounts will just blame me for being weak, or assume I was promiscuous (which I was not, but even if I was, it wouldn't matter). 

But I also know that I am a product of a world that teaches women to be obliging, to feel guilty about everything, to be people-pleasers, and that says to us, "It's your fault because you drank too much, wore revealing clothing, put yourself in that position, let him walk you home, went to that event with this guy in the first place." 

Because in addition to the stories above, there are the many other small experiences that wore me down over the years and set the stage for my being used to being sexualized--the guys in high school who would grab my butt or boobs out of nowhere in the hallways (just to be funny, ha ha),the guys on the subway who would rub up against me or say creepy things when we were smushed together due to a packed car during rush hour, the male clients in NYC who would belittle me or make creepy sexual comments while at work meetings--the many small, daily indignities that eat away at us women and leave us feeling that harassment is just the norm, that it's unavoidable. 

I could probably go on and on, but those are the stories that stick out to me. And while I still feel weird about sharing them here and know that some of you will judge me, I do feel better now that I've joined this movement. 

So yeah, #metoo. 

As you all know, I love a good goal-setting session. I also love planning, list-making, clean slates and fresh starts--everything that goes along with the dawn of a new calendar year.

But this year, for the first time ever, I've been trying my hardest to fight the urge to make changes, make lists, and set goals. I want nothing to do with it. Or I do, but I'm holding myself back.

The reason for this is simple: 2017 was one of the hardest years of my life (forgive the repetition of this statement, I know I've said it here before). It was also one of the very best years of my life, so I'm not complaining, I'm just stating a fact; 2017 was one of the best (the best?) and one of the hardest years of my life, and frankly, I need some time to recover from it. 

As much as the New Year makes me want to create, start new projects, make schedule changes, and get back into a good routine, I know that I'm not quite ready for these things yet. I need to ease into this year as I allow myself the time and space required to continue to "figure out" my new[ish?] life as a working, self-employed mom and wife. I thought that after 16-months I would have it down, but--spoiler alert(!)--I don't. Not even close. 

It's like when you've been really sick and you start to ease back into running for the first time...you need to start slow, give your body time to heal, allow your lungs time to reach capacity again and give your energy time to bounce back. Although I wasn't sick in 2017 (I mean, I was sick more than usual because of the germs Charlie Mae brought home from daycare, but that's not what I mean here), I was more sleep-deprived than ever before, and also pretty stressed, overwhelmed, and anxiety-ridden. Like I said, it was a tough year. 

Things are SO much easier now than they were in January of 2017 (one of my darkest times in recent years), but they're still way harder than they were at this time in 2016, back when the only person I had to worry about getting dressed, fed, and taken care of was yours truly. 

So in 2018, I'm going to do my best to reign myself in. I'm going to continue to eat the way I've been eating (not as healthy as it could be but also not horrible), continue to workout the way I've been working out (not as much as I'd like but pretty good given my childcare situation these days), and continue to practice yoga as much as I can (which is never enough but still better than nothing). I'm not going to slack off, but I'm also not going to put any more pressure on myself, because I think I've had enough internally-inflicted pressure to last a lifetime. 

Thus, as dumb as as it sounds for someone in my position as a self-employed creative solopreneur, I'm going to continue to try and do less, set less personal goals, and begin less "new + exciting" personal projects in 2018--even though my urge is to do the exact opposite.  

I guess what I'm saying is that my resolution is to NOT set any big goals or resolutions for myself. 

{See!??!?! Even when I try not to set any goals for the new year, I still do (in a backwards kind of way)!! I can't help it, this is who I ammmm!!!!}

I hope your 2018 is off to a wonderful start and that you, too, are working on finding peace with your life exactly as it is right now, whatever that may look like.

Currently, we have a sofa and a loveseat in our living room. They're overstuffed, somewhat comfy, and they match, but after 6 years of intense use and a basically rabid dog who has made these couches into her extra large doggy bed, they're trashed.

Three of the main cushions have holes with stuffing literally popping out of them (I find fluffy white pieces on the floor all the time), one cushion had to be thrown out recently after Sayde peed all over it for no apparent reason, and there are a number of dirty paw prints, weird stains, and permanent depressions from dog-and-human butts that have left these couches in their current state of disrepair. 

Oh, and did I mention that we originally got these couches from our building's trash collection area on the day we were moving from one apartment to another in DC? [Should I have led with that?] We saw them sitting next to the dumpsters as the moving people were loading up our moving van, so we asked them to "pick up those two couches and add them to our stuff." We were still working with a futon at the time and these couches looked new and had no issues, so they were a serious upgrade.

Anyways, I didn't realize how bad things had gotten until preparing for my grandmother and great aunt's visit; while straightening-up I went to flip a cushion to hide the big hole in the middle of it and realized that the holey side I was looking at was actually the "prettier" and less holey side of the two. Eek. 

It was then that I thought, okay, enough. These have got to go. So I did what any self-respecting mom of a baby and hot-mess-dog would do and hit the Facebook Marketplace for a used couch. I started messaging people and measuring our space, thinking surely we could find what we needed in a used capacity...but after a little searching I started to realize that most of the "affordable" used couches were as much of a mess as ours, or an ugly color or pattern that wouldn't match our living room.

Ben and I discussed our situation and for once, decided we would get a big, nice, new piece of furniture for our house. We love our house. We want to stay here a long time. We spend all of our time in our living room. We spend a lot of time sitting on the couch, and we plan to continue to do so for years to come. We've bought a lot of wonderful [and beautiful!] furniture used, but we felt like it was time to skip the second-hand route, bypass Ikea, and buy ourselves a couch that was the perfect fit for our needs. 

The whole idea made me nervous, but I agreed to it. 

So this past weekend we went to a furniture store to pick out new couches. It was kind of insane trying to make a huge purchase while chasing a toddler around a furniture store (so many sharp edges and corners and breakable vases!), but we did it: we picked out a sectional that is getting delivered on Tuesday. We got insurance that includes coverage for dog pee, muddy paws, and red wine spills (true story, can you believe they have this kind of insurance?!), and the couch is insanely comfy and pretty. 

But guess what [and no huge surprise here]? Instead of going home excited about our biggest furniture purchase of our lives, I was an anxious wreck. Did we get the right couch? Why did we just go to one place, look at a few couches, and then pull the trigger? Why did I let Ben's thrill over having "the couch of his dreams" take over and lead to such an expensive purchase? Who do we think we are, buying a new couch from a nice store? What makes me think I deserve this or can afford this? 

Growing up, we never bought new furniture. Most of the furniture in our house was either used or a family hand-me-down. I still remember when I was young and we went to pick out a new oversized ottoman to go with our [hand-me-down] couch and it was a HUGE event. I was so proud of that ottoman. Later, my stepmom would buy nice new furniture for my dad's house, but there was always an undertone of my dad's disapproval because we all knew that he didn't really think they could afford it.

It's not like we were super poor or never had anything new, but big purchases were a big deal and new things were an even bigger deal, and I know this rubbed off on me; I feel the same way about buying big things now, despite having way more new things than my parents ever did.

And again, it's not like Ben and I have never made big purchases or bought anything new--I mean, we bought a house for goodness sake (!)--but we've never bought a piece of furniture this expensive. Or a big, brand new piece of furniture. And we've never made such a big purchase so quickly, with a toddler interrupting every question we asked and pulling my attention in another direction throughout the entire purchasing process... 

So that's where we are now. I'm trying to keep in mind that we do deserve this and are two thoughtful, very hard-working adults (parents, no less!), who can make big purchases when we want to and need to as long as we're being smart about our finances. I continue to remind myself that couches are expensive (in general) and investing in something nice and useful for our family is not reckless. I'm learning to let go of my anxiety around money, but it sure is hard when you're a person whose default is to be anxious about E V E R Y T H I N G.  

I'm also sure that I'll feel better once the couch is delivered and we see how well it fits in our new space, how comfortable it is, and how much of a difference it makes in our lives (at least I hope I will!); but also, I just hope Sayde doesn't pee on it the second it gets delivered. Or Charlie Mae doesn't throw up on it. Or I don't spill a glass of red wine right in the middle of it. Not that our insurance won't cover these things, but man, that would just be so us.

...Eats Dark Chocolate in the shower after a long day?

...Refuses to buy dry-clean only clothes?

...Hoards coupons but always forgets to actually use them before they expire? 

...Gets stressed out any time that I take my iPhone out of it's Lifeproof case for more than 10 seconds because I'm convinced that it is going to shatter into 1 million pieces as soon as it's removed? 

...Cannot sleep without a pillow between my knees?

​...Gets actual photographs printed on a monthly basis? 

...Honestly can't tell the difference between cheap and expensive wine?

...Would rather share my house with bugs than take the time to remove the spider or unidentified creepy crawler from the wall or ceiling?

...Thinks that salsa containers at restaurants are *never* big enough? 

...Doesn't like wearing my glasses because they make me feel separate from the rest of the world?

...Just scribbles with practically no rhyme or reason every time I'm asked to sign something? 

...Is constantly committing to fun plans, events, and activities in my head but never actually attending them when they roll around? 

...Still hates mushrooms after all these years but wishes I liked them?

...Never washes my car?

...Always finishes the pickle slice before I finish my sandwich and thus, always wish I had another pickle? 

...Am I? Or can you relate?

{You can read the first installment of this post--from back in 2014!--here.} 

Start where you are. This is very important...You may be the most violent person in the world—that’s a fine place to start. That’s a very rich place to start—juicy, smelly. You might be the most depressed person in the world, the most addicted person in the world, the most jealous person in the world. You might think that there are no others on the planet who hate themselves as much as you do. All of that is a good place to start. Just where you are—that’s the place to start.

―Pema Chödrön, Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living

Yesterday, I had a brief moment of clarity while in a yoga class (isn't that where all moments of clarity happen?). In this moment, for some reason or another, I was able to step outside of myself and look at my current emotional state from a distance. When I did this, I didn't love what I saw, but I was able to admit something that I've been quick to brush off over the past few months: I've been feeling too much anger lately.

I know this doesn't sound yogic (or like what you want to hear from your yoga teacher!? Eek!), but it's true.

When I say anger, I don't mean anger in the dangerous, "anger management" kind of way, where you punch a wall or hurt someone or something when you're mad, but rather, the type of anger that starts as frustration or annoyance and then bubbles up into something more, something less controllable and more all-consuming--emotions that seemingly come out of nowhere and can wreck an otherwise wonderful day or good mood and leave you feeling spent and sour.

This type of anger is just sitting there under the surface, waiting to be ignited by everyday occurrences. It's the anger that comes up when I see that Ben has left his dirty workout clothes in a pile at the bottom of the stairs yet again--despite my asking him EVERY DAY not to. It's the anger that bubbles up when I finally sit down to get some work done during Charlie Mae's nap and see that our wifi is down (and thus, will take 15 precious minutes to reboot). It's the anger that takes a hold of me when Sayde barks her head off at yet another jogger going by the house on a sunny morning, when I'm already dealing with a cranky baby and just can't handle anymore noise. It's the household, everyday life, mom-equivalent of road rage (that obviously doesn't involve a vehicle or a road).  

I've always had a unique form of a quick temper: I can withstand quite a bit for quite a while but then, when I reach my breaking point, my emotions flair up quickly and intensely.

I remember back when I was young and my little brother would be doing something to harass me or make me mad, I could handle it for longer than most might be able to, but when I lost it, I would really lose it, walloping him or screaming/crying uncontrollably, or perhaps throwing something at him and running away in a fit. I would lose control of myself for a moment and then always feel embarrassed and bad about it shortly thereafter.

And while I'd like to say that things have changed and I've grown up and never experience these little anger-driven tantrums anymore, that would be a lie. These days I still experience them, but they're most often directed at my husband (without the childhood violence, of course), who bears the brunt of my frustration-caused anger outburts. And while I do feel that some of this frustration is justified, admittedly, most of the time, the [emotional] punishment doesn't fit the [petty] crime he has committed. 

I think my current anger is the result of overwhelm and too much to think about and so many life changes over the past year (and of course, some legitimate causes of actual frustration, as previously noted), but still, it's real and it's raw and I don't like how it makes me feel or act. 

I want to change.

The good news is that I've admitted that I'm struggling, which, as we all know, is always the first step towards change. Also, I have a therapist and an appointment today, so am already set up to do the hard work that it takes to change, which makes me feel hopeful about where I'm headed. 

So, now it's your turn: since I've admitted this vulnerability and shared this ugly, dark side of my own personality, I challenge you to do some similar self-reflection.

​What part of yourself are you scared to look at and face head-on? What are you hiding from yourself or excusing by blaming others, or by blaming stress and the toll of everyday life? What part of yourself do you really want to change, even if it feels impossible?

I urge you to take a look at your own personality + emotional state and, in the wise words of my very favorite mindfulness teacher, Pema Chodron, think about starting where you are {ASAP!}. It's hard, but you've got to do the work. And if there's anything that our world needs right now, it's more honesty and more open, vulnerable self-reflection with the end goal of better communication and more peaceful interactions among individuals. 

This blog is usually a pretty positive place and I like that about it. I try to keep it positive because not only am I a fairly positive person, but I also find that positivity rubs off on people and I want to be a part of contributing positivity to the world + my community. 

HOWEVER, I also love a good bitchfest every once in a while...I love #firstworldproblems (which you’ll know if you’re an old Starr Struck Radio listener), I love bonding over our annoyances, and I love pinpointing those weird things that make us all crazy and laughing about how much they suck. 

So, that’s what we’re doing today. I’ve compiled a big list of some of my anti-SJOTW below and would love to hear if they resonate with you or if you have similar ones that I’ve left off of this list...

1. When your bank or credit card company sends you a new card and you have to change it on every site/account ever known to man. And even after doing so you get lots of "card declined" emails from the places you forgot about. 
2. Rashes, hives, weird skin irritations with no obvious cause.
3. Built-in zip lock closures that don’t work (like on bags of baby carrots, for example...). Similarly, crappy chip clips that don’t actually work.
4. Being hot while trying to sleep at night (and even worse: waking up in the middle of the night drenched with sweat).
5. Pens that aren't smooth when you write with them. 
6. Stepping into the shower and after getting my hair wet, realizing that we're out of soap or shampoo (or that my lovely husband used the last of it and didn’t get the new bar/bottle and place it in the shower for me. #typical).
7. Seeing the spinning circle of death on my laptop when I just have *one more tiny thing to do* before I'm done for the day.
8. Dirty dishes stacked in the sink (or on counters, which drives me even crazier).  
9. Getting a manicure/pedicure and then chipping one of the nails within the first few hours after leaving the salon. 
10. Workout clothes that get that funky smell on them that never goes away (basically all of my yoga clothes that I’ve worn to teach heated yoga classes over the years).
11. Tortilla chips with too much salt on them. 
12. Restaurants that give you TINY cups of water so you have to keep asking for a refill every 5 seconds (or when you run out of water while eating out and no one comes around to fill it back up for like 10 minutes). Sidenote: if you own a restaurant, put pitchers or jugs of water on the tables so thirsty people like me can serve themselves!!!
13. Shaving my legs. Ughhhhhhhh.​
14. When you purchase an item online and it arrives damaged, or they send the wrong size, or it doesn't work. 
15. Stacks [of papers + junk mail] on the counters that never seem to disappear--no matter how many times you go through them.
16. Cheap, slippery yoga mats.  Or when a yoga mat is falling apart and pieces of it get stuck to your sweaty skin.
17. Leaving doors (or windows) open while the AC is blasting. It's the mom/girl who grew up in Hotlanta in me.
18. People who are oblivious to body language and don't notice when you're in a hurry or don't have the time to talk (and don't take the hint even when you're literally trying to walk away from them while they're still talking to you!).  
19. When one of your favorite pairs of shoes breaks: holes in your TOMS, a broken sandal strap, a rubber sole detaching from the bottom of a comfy moccasin. 
20. Sweating in anything other than workout clothes (like jeans or a nice dress...). 
21. Vaccuuming. Which is why I never do it. But now Charlie Mae is crawling so I have to start and am dreaaadddddiiiinnnggg it. 
    
    

I mean, I could probably go on + on but I'll stop here for now because I feel better already! Wow, I guess that sometimes making lists of things that annoy you can be just as healing as making lists of things for which you're grateful, who knew? ;) 

What drives you bonkers? Post your favorite annoyance below or on social media. 

[And I promise I'll be back to my usual positive outlook for the real SJOTW on Friday...]