The Things I Can't Say

You're wondering what it's like to be sad? Really, really sad?

It's gonna be a long journey, are you ready? If this important to you, stick with it. If you're really patient and you don't say a word. If you dig way down, farther than you've ever gone. If it gets a little dark but you're not afraid. If you wait there and you can just be. There you'll find, carefully tucked away, the things I can't say.

There are things I can't say because I promised I wouldn't. There are things I can't say because they're wrong. There are things I can't say because they would hurt other people. And there are things I can't say because they would hurt me. That's what you've come here for, right? The peeling of the last layer, the peeling off the deepest layer of skin. Raw, exposed, vulnerable, irreparable.

Unprotected, the things I can't say unravel into darkness and silence and aching and nightmares. The dark so bright you'll shield your eyes. The silence so loud you cover your ears. The ache in my heart will shatter the ground you stand on. Your nightmares will keep you awake. The reality of dark will beg for sleep. The reveal will break me and I will crumble. My protective layer dissolving and pooling around the remains of what was. 

And once the protective layer is off, it can't be put back on. You won't look at me the same. You want want to touch me. The sight of me will terrify you. I won't be safe to take around your friends. So you'll leave me here in the dark, with the things I can't say, trying to put back all the raw little parts of me that I carelessly revealed to you. 

The pain is familiar and the darkness is soothing. The aloneness has a predictable ache. I want to call your name but when I speak, sadness fills me and I choke. I want to find my way out but I am numb.  I also know I can't stay. I will drown here. So I will wait, alone, while it burns and I struggle to cover up the parts that hurt. It may take days or it may take weeks but when the raw stings less and I feel less naked, I'll crawl my way back out. I will feel the sun on my face and I will take one tiny step forward. 

With each step forward, I might remember the dark and I might not. But the next time someone asks what it feels like to be sad, really, really sad. I'll just smile. Because there are things I can't say. 

For 21 days

For 21 days, I thought about you nonstop. Imagined our life together and all of things I couldn't wait to show you.

For 21 days, I imagined introducing you to my family and friends. They would admire how connected and in love we were. The perfect pair. 

For 21 days, I made my decisions based around you: what I ate, what I wore, plans I made. You were my guide in everything I did. 

For 21 days, my senses absorbed the amplified world around me: smells were stronger and tastes were bolder. 

For 21 days, I dreamed about you when I was sleeping and daydreamed about you when I was awake. 

For 21 days, I bought you small gifts, and hung your picture in my room, and made space for you in every corner of my life. 

And by the time you were gone, though there was no way to make sense of it,  I already knew it was over. 

21 days seems so short but I know no amount of time with you would have ever been enough. 

And I know this, my short 21 days with you growing inside my body will ensure I never take for granted a single second I am holding my next sweet baby in my arms. 

Like a Girl

I have a vivid memory from sometime in my early preteen years of having a desire to mow my family's lawn. My dad (sorry, Dad!) responded that I was too young and then asked my brother to do it - my brother who is three years younger than I. 

One year I asked for free weights for Christmas. I got them. Mine were pink. 

I've been required by more than one employer to wear dresses to look like a woman. 

I've been told I need to smile more. 

More than once at work a coworker searched for a man to carry something for her. I was right there. 

I've been told I throw like a girl. I run like a girl. These aren't compliments. 

At some point "female" began to mean "weak", "incapable", "less than". 

If a woman can't do something, surely a man can do it for her. If a woman can something, surely a man can do it better. 

Laurel Ulrich Thatcher, well-known for her quote and book entitled "Well-behaved Women Seldom Make History", paints a picture of women through history and around the world. It is both devastating and inspiring to read of women whose words were suppressed and undocumented in Shakespearean times, women who disguised themselves as men to enter into battle, women who were raped and forced into marriage, and woman who had enough of being the lesser sex. These women are wise yet sensitive, strong yet soft, and independent yet altruistic. Women possess the ability to embody characteristics that appear contradictory when embodied by men. This provokes in men feelings of both intimidation and strong desire. Causing the reader to wonder, why have women often felt the need to disguise their identity, bite their tongue, or submit to misogynistic laws and norms? 

I'm grateful to the trail blazing women around the world that haven't always been well-behaved and instead have made some pretty incredible strides and a history of women worth telling. 

The details of the lives of these women and my life as a priveliged woman in the 21st century are drastically different but issues surrounding the treatment and attitudes toward women continue to run rampant. 

In many ways I'm grateful to my dad, men I've dated, people I've worked with, society in general. Because these messages of inferiority and incapability haven't subsided as I've gotten older, these messages became stronger. And the feelings of being underestimated, marginalized, and undervalued motivated me to try harder, to prove they were wrong, and to surround myself with people who know my strength and of how much I'm capable. 

I'm confident like a girl. 

I speak my mind like a girl. 

I stand up for what's right like a girl. 

I'm strong like a girl. 

I'm smart like a girl. 

And sometimes I'm not so well-behaved. 

And I'm proud of it. 

Holding my mistakes

One of the most remarkable aspects of the work I do is engaging with teachers of three- and four-year-olds and observing their growth as educators over time – recognizing their passion, reflecting on their work, and always committing to doing better. One of the really painful parts of this that I remember well through my own training is coming to terms with who you used to be. Maya Angelou said it best, “when you know better, you do better”. But the hard part can be forgiving yourself for when you didn’t know better. But that’s just it, you didn’t know. Now, as a reflective, knowledgeable person committed to doing better, you look back and wish you had known sooner, wish you could undo the mistakes that you made. But those little mistakes are the gifts that hold you committed to doing better in the future.

Today was a particularly powerful day in training as we learn new strategies for engaging with children in difficult, emotional situations. We learn new skills but also remember the times and the outcomes when we didn’t have these skills and we feel guilty.  I shared with them that as a parent of a four-year-old, I get it. I can vividly recount every time I feel like I failed him as a parent. But I’ve never counted the times I succeeded; I carry around the mistakes. And sometimes they are heavy. But I also know they help me to do better every time.

After the day had ended, I spent a lot of time reflecting on the emotions of the women in my training room today and remembering the countless times when I had felt the exact same way as both a parent and a teacher. Always wishing I had known better and carrying around these little mistakes I had made that help me move forward as a wiser person committed to reflecting and adjusting my behavior.

Here is one of the mistakes that I carry as a parent:

Reading is really important in my family. For knowledge, for enjoyment, for bonding with others, for life success. We read as a family, we read alone, and there are books in every room of the house. So like many families, reading books with our son is part of our bedtime routine. Our son can be a bit pokey around bedtime and it is indescribably frustrating. He be-bops around, being silly, constantly in motion, but never really towards the goal of getting ready for bed. Surely, it seems that if one moves that much, clothes should easily slip off and one could wiggle into pajamas. But that’s not the case. My husband and I spend a significant amount of time reminding him to focus on his task. We let him choose the order: potty, teeth then jams, or jams, potty, then teeth. No amount of reminders or shared control will speed this little guy along.

So we impose a logical consequence and we bargain with our only token: books. We gently remind him that if it takes too long to get ready, there may only be time for two books instead of three. Or if things are going really slow, there may only be time for one book instead of two. He loves to read so on most days, this is enough.  Well, one night out of pure frustration and eagerness to get to my adult, post-child-bedtime agenda, I threatened no books. He tested my threat and needless to say, we didn’t read any books that night. He cried. My heart ached. And I was immediately filled with regret for taking away something so simple, for compromising something so integral to our family values, for sacrificing our precious opportunity to spend a few minutes rocking and snuggling, for putting my agenda and frustration above his limited attention and understanding of time. 

This never happened again. We start earlier, we give more reminders, we whittle down from three to two to one book, we're honest about our feelings of frustration when the process is taking too long, but we always, ALWAYS read one book together. 

So here’s the thing, not really a big deal, right? I missed one night of reading to my kid, he’ll probably still pass 4^th grade, right? My son is 1,526 days old. I didn’t read to him on 1 day of his life. I’m not focused on the other 1,525 days when I did read to him. I’m holding the mistake of the 1. But gently carrying that one around reminds me of the time that I compromised my values out of momentary frustration and imposed a consequence that hurt all of us. So I carry this around, I adjust my behavior, I remember how that experience felt for all of us, I prioritize my values over moments of frustration. And I think this is good. Now, I know better and I do better. 

Those mistakes you're holding? They're there to help you. 

Hold these gifts gently, be grateful for them, and give yourself a little grace. 

On loss and being IN sadness.

This past fall, my family experienced devastating loss of people we loved.  First, the unexpected death of my husband's 30-yr-old sister. If it were even possible to get over this kind of loss, we certainly weren't when my maternal grandma went into the hospital, followed by my paternal grandma a few hours later. They both died later that week - an incredibly difficult and emotional week for all of us. Even as I type this several months later, it's hard to believe they're all gone. It's almost as if I haven't processed the individual loss of each because it happened all at once. 

I have the incredible blessing of a large and kind support system. I was so moved by the outpouring of love from the people around me. Despite that, my heart was broken, I cried a lot, and sometimes I struggled to keep my shit together. My tribe loved me anyway. 

In a moment where grief and gratitude tangled, I wrote this down for my people:

So this is it, right? This is life. We get older, people we love leave us. It hurts because it mattered. It hurts because we loved. 

This week has been sad and painful and hard. But, I heard your kind words. I'm comforted by your thoughts and prayers. I'm encouraged by your strength and generosity to take care of the things I can't right now. 

As much as my heart is breaking in this moment, I can feel how it is been held together by your kindness and love. 

I've not been waiting for this day or this week to pass and become a distant memory. Because this is life right here. All of it right at once. The really hard stuff but also the really good stuff. Thanks for showing up for both. #tribe 

Often as time passes, the rawness of emotions begins to fade. I periodically reread this message I wrote and remember how much I needed the people that held me up during that time - and how they didn't hesitate to show up. 

"Watch Where You're Being"

My four-year-old is creative, inquisitive, independent, and social. He loves to engage in painting, puzzles, or putting together legos. He also has a wild streak and will run laps around the house, giggling and whooshing by us calling out "watch where you're being!"

I'm certain he simply meant that I was in the way but there's a deeper message here about our presence, where we linger, and our awareness of those things. 

For me, this year is about really being in the moment, living my values, and minimizing life clutter - toxic relationships, unhealthy choices, and physical "stuff" that takes up space in my life. In the months that I've been working on this I've spent more face-to-face time and voice time in relationships that are really valuable to me. I've spent more time reading and growing my range of knowledge. I've also become increasingly aware of my presence (though I'm certain at times, not quite aware enough). And by paying attention to this, I've come to realize that there are some changes I need to make. Both in where I'm being but also how I'm being. There are places in my life I need to spend less time (as a consumer, reliving events of the past, blaming, judging, to name a few!) and there are places in my life where I need to spend more time (with people I love, on self care, on generosity and compassion). But most importantly I need to focus on my affect, my responses to other people, taking into consideration what people need from me - and whether or not I'm truly able to give it. 

Beyond that, there are places and moments in my life in which I linger too long, beyond what is useful to others and maybe beyond what is healthy for me. My inability to avoid developing attachment to people, situations, and feelings as if they could be unchanging has caused a fair amount of grief for me and the result is physical and emotionally lingering - taking away from my awareness of my presence and truly being in the moment. 

The sound advice of my sweet son, delivered in a blur of four-year-old energy, is a much needed reminder to pay closer attention to my presence. In addition to this gleeful warning from my son, I'm grateful for all the people in my life that periodically, lovingly offer gentle guidance when I need it: watch where you're being!

15 things

My eyes dart quickly around the space. I absent-mindedly  touch my face. I focus on my breathing but the breaths come and go and they are quick and shallow. My mind jumps from my work email, to my dentist appointment, to Christmas, to  the girl on the bus I made fun of in seventh grade, to the abrupt end to a phone call with a friend this week. My shoulders tense and my hands get clammy. 

I know I am experiencing the symptoms of anxiety. I know that no one around me knows this is happening to me. I can spend time rationalizing every worry that jumps through my mind but I know I can't keep up and I know they will keep jumping up provoking a physical reaction in me and begging for undue attention. 

This happens to me on a regular basis. I'm guessing this happens to a lot of people. I have a lot of strategies that I can use proactively to prevent the frequency and severity of these experiences. I don't consume caffeine as it triggers and magnifies my anxious feelings. I exercise regularly because it helps me work off the jittery feelings and clears my mind. I meditate regularly because it calms me and strengthens the connection between my mind and body. I pay attention to my breathing and remind myself that feelings come and go. 

But when the wave of irrational panic sets in, it's too late. I can go for a walk, I can breath thru it, I can talk to someone I trust. Sometimes these things work and sometimes they don't. And I don't know how long it will last or how bad it will get. 

I found this grounding exercise from Mommy Chat:

In the moment of experiencing anxiety, identify: 

5 things you can see

4 things you can touch

3 things you can hear

2 things you can smell

1 thing you can taste

I'm trying this and it's working. 

It's quick. It reconnects my mind and body. I can do this grounding exercise without drawing attention to what is happening to me - physically, mentally, or emotionally. 

Maybe you can relate to the feelings of anxiety or maybe you're one of the lucky ones. 

This can also work when you're stressed, when you're disoriented, or when you can't stay focused on the moment. 

And if it's not a strategy you need, it may be worth sharing with a friend. Anxiety can be silent but it can also be crippling.