A Year in Review: Peace and Purpose

So here we are at the end of another year. Do you find yourself fighting back the urge to “get your life together” in 2025? Are you ready to begin that “new year, new you” plan? (I gag as I write this).

We follow the same pattern each December and early January, which is fueled by judgement and regret. Why are we ready to throw out each year with the thought of the new one coming? We nod to each other in agreement over “good riddance (insert current year)”. However, is it possible that every year is total garbage? Can we be excited for what the new year brings and be grateful for what the past year has given us?

Just like each day is a new chance for good, so is each minute in every day. One struggle or bump in the road, does not mean the entire road needs to be replaced. Maybe it has been smooth sailing, but a squall comes in out of nowhere to cause some ruckus. (You get the picture).

This year brought massive changes in my life. I left a stable job to become self-employed for the first time in my life. I finished my first novel and dove into the uncharted waters of self-publishing. I lost friendships that no longer served me and leaned into saying no to things that were not helpful to me (still working on that one).

I’ve had a year full of growth and that did not come without struggle and pain. Would I have forgone the growth to avoid the pain? I hope not, but that’s the point isn’t it? We do not know what waits for us around the corner. We do not know the pain that achievement requires until we are in it. I am thankful for that, because I do enjoy being comfortable. I enjoy predictability and structure which actually leads me to stagnation.

I read something the other day that suggested when we get comfortable, we slowly begin to die. I completely agree! The same piece suggested that we are all at our best when we create. Creating does not have to be a painting, writing music or crafting a sculpture. Creating is connection with others, and finding ways to make an impact. This resonates with me so deeply.

I love to create Killin It Life posts. I guarantee that writing these posts benefit me more than they could anyone else. The thought of making even the smallest positive impact on someone else gives me peace and purpose in my day. When I think about the impact my favorite writers have on me, knowing that not a single one of them know me or their impact on me makes me smile. Knowing that there are people out there who have no idea I exist, yet their creations have made my life better and even more so have encouraged me to create. My creations do not begin when I am comfortable. It is when I am in my comfort zone, that I am also comfortable with consuming rather than creating. It’s the struggle and the pain that prompt my creating.

Creating can simply be taking the opportunity to have a positive impact on someone. Maybe sharing my experience gives someone else the knowledge of how to ask for help or a road map of what not to do. Maybe when I struggle and I am brave enough to be vulnerable I give someone else the moment to show me a kindness and find a way to relate. We were not promised a life without struggle and strife, and when we find ourselves uncomfortable maybe that’s nudge we need for growth.

I challenge each of you to a look at your year in review. Look for moments of peace and purpose. Examine the times you were uncomfortable and look for what came after. Did the pain serve a purpose? Did you grow from it?

*I will set this as a side note: I do not believe everything happens for a reason, because sometimes life happens and it kicks us in the teeth for no apparent reason. Sometimes pain is just that, pain. And it sucks and it’s not fair. There isn’t always an explanation or a silver lining. You get to determine that for yourself.

I do welcome 2025. There are a lot of things I look forward to this year: my birthday, spring, vacation, time on the lake, floating in the pool and the moments of growth (even with the pain that comes with them).

I do not want to toss 2024 in the dumpster and light the match. I want to thank 2024 for the lessons, because without the discomfort, I would not have successes and without the failures I would not have the wins. I can find gratitude at any turn, if I am open to it. The benefit of gratitude only came with intentional practice and effort to find a successful day and even a successful year: one that includes peace and purpose.

Thank you, 2024 and bring it on, 2025!

Lessons of 2020

Well, here we are…at the end of December 2020. Looking back on beginning this year I remember feeling full of hope. My family spent the New Year at our favorite place – the beach! This was the year I turn 40, my daughters begin middle school and 2020 just sounded like a good year with so many possibilities. And you know what? All of that happened in spite of 2020 being 2020.

I turned 40. I had my Mardi Gras-style birthday celebration, fully equipped with a night out with my husband, a family dinner, a night out with my girlfriends and even a weekend girls trip. I got to laugh with and hug my people. I love to celebrate birthdays and mine specifically because birthdays signify time spent living. We are not promised time. We don’t have a set amount owed to us, so it only makes sense to celebrate when we have time to spend.  I got to celebrate in all the ways I love right before our world went on lockdown. Those special memories with my family and friends helped me find peace during the times of isolation.

My daughters did begin middle school. Their middle school is currently located in their bedrooms, however begin they did. While I solidified my lack of teaching skills and highlighted my lack of patience when it comes to middle school math, my girls have been challenged in ways they never were before. I’ve been quoted many times making a statement that sounded something like this, “I will never homeschool my kids – not in a million years.”

Though during this crazy year, these girls have learned to manage time and a daily schedule better than some adults. They learned that feeling anxious and depressed are part of living life. They have learned that life is not joyful 24/7 and while their pain and frustration is real, there is always someone else struggling too. And being human also means helping out someone else, maybe not even someone you know. Your actions affect others and that means something. It’s critical to listen to other people’s perspective to open your eyes to their experience, because other people’s experience matters. Just because it’s not your experience doesn’t mean it’s not important.

While 2020 feels like a total shit-show-dumpster-fire (which seems very valid), the lessons I have learned (some willingly and some forced) have changed my landscape, my outlook and in my opinion, our future as humans.

It is our responsibility to actively speak out when we see injustice.

Even our darkest days appear light to someone else.

Asking for help is a requirement for survival, not just an option.

Never say never, ever. (See homeschool statement above).

The purpose of conversation is learning, not agreement.

Perspective is an individual lens that does not require correction. The goals is to add more lenses to your collection.

I have judged other people this year (yes – I wrote it). Maybe you voted different from me, made school choices I didn’t agree with and didn’t find Schitts Creek as funny as I did. The difference in 2020-me and Years-Previous-Me, is I did not remain in my black robe with gavel in hand. My good sense reminded me that other people feel as passionately about their perspectives as I do mine. They feel as right about their opinion, as I do mine. And, while I still disagree on many things, I have an opportunity to learn about their truth and maybe add lenses to my perspective.

I once met a woman who had never been loved before. She endorsed feeling love from a force of a fist and the steel of a blade. I explained, that is not love. She asked me about her dad, explaining he did the same, “could he not love me either?”

I told the woman, “they did not love you, not because you aren’t worthy, but because they did not know how to love.”

She asked me then, “what does it feel like to be loved?”

I replied, “safe.”

“Does love ever hurt?”

“No, never. It never hurts.”

Her lens gave me a new perspective and grew my gratitude for the simple fact that I know love feels safe and it never hurts. I am grateful for that brave woman for changing me and how I see the world around me. And maybe never is useful in defining some things like love.

So as I wave goodbye to this year of firsts, nevers and can’ts, I do so with gratitude. I am grateful for the lessons and experiences throughout this year. Given a choice in the matter, I would have said “no thank you” and kept going with my plan for 2020 including all the concerts I had tickets for (and how I miss live music so very much). However, I did not have control over 2020 only how I dealt with what 2020 handed out.

I am grateful for all the healthcare workers, environmental staff at medical facilities, teachers, social workers, restaurant workers, delivery folks, police, firefighters, and everyone who continued on and kept life going while others stayed safe at home. I see you. I know you and I am thankful.

I send peace and love to those grieving a loss this year. I do know the feeling of loss highlighted during the holidays. Please know you are not alone.

Wishing you Happy Holidays and a New Year full of gratitude, peace, health, concerts, in-person school and hugs!

Rainbow Connection

On the last day of PRIDE month, I want to pause and acknowledge the peacefulness of the rainbow.
We rarely get to witness its beauty, and it only stays around for a brief time. Rainbows only show themselves in the mixture of moments between darkness and light.
I love rainbows. They make me smile while I wonder what lies ahead as the light comes through.
We ALL deserve the light to shine through on us.
We ALL deserve the peaceful promise of the rainbow.
We ALL deserve the beauty of love.
If you can find the beauty and peace of love in this world, grab on to it with whoever it may be.
Celebrate Love for All! 🌈❤🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤
👑🧡

When Today is Tough

Within a tick of the clock, this became a day of dread instead of celebration in my family.

A day to remind me of my father-less status. A day to miss him even more than the rest of the 364 days on the calendar.

A day to miss all the times I never got with a man I thought would live forever.

It’s a devastatingly lonely place to be.

Father’s Day became a day of celebration minus the man of honor. It was status quo for my family, while everyone around us had a holiday.

Then I got tired of being sad and missing out on celebrating. I found some gratitude and decided to celebrate while we honored my dad even without him present.

We celebrated my mother, who had to be both mom and dad after he was gone. There are never enough days to celebrate her and her amazingness, so we started by adding Father’s Day to the list.

Then, we met my step-father who deserves our celebration and gratitude for his wonderful part in our family. A man who honors the void that was left in our hearts, never trying to fill it.

Eventually, I got to celebrate the father of my daughters who gives selflessly to our family and loves us with all that he is. I found a new level of gratitude for a man I share my life with and raise children with.

Father’s Day, for me, has changed a lot over the years. It still holds a void in my heart. There is a section of cards at Target which I do not get to shop from anymore. However, I always have something to be grateful for and someone to celebrate with. On Father’s Day, I honor the man I lost and I celebrate with people who make my life better.

You never know what someone is struggling with, so always start with kindness. If today is a struggle for you, know you are not alone. I understand and I honor your story.

Holding Space for the Voices of Others

As a mother, wife, daughter, friend, social worker and human being I use my voice for to uplift others and raise awareness from my perspective. With all of my good intentions and passion for justice, my perspective is laced with privilege.

My vision, like the rest of the human race, is filtered through my experiences. So, it becomes my responsibility to remove the veil in order to listen to the voices of others so I can learn what I cannot comprehend on my own. I need other people to teach me so my perspective doesn’t operate independently. My perspective can become part of a collective solution.

The next seven days I will hold space for the voices of women of color. Each, who have removed veils for me to hear and see more clearly. Though, I have lengthy stories on each woman and how their words and lives changed me, my words are not the point.

There is no need to explain any further what their perspectives and voices are able to accomplish on their own.

I stand with justice and black lives matter.

midlife crisis

Like a fine wine, I get better with age. Well, unlike a fine wine it takes a lot of work to get better with age. I haven’t been chillin in a bottle in a cellar waiting to be uncorked. In my younger years, the words “midlife crisis” caused my eyes to roll. I swore at that time, I would not be one of those people who freak out and completely change their lives just because of their age. So, as I approached this trigger for life-altering activity, I began to feel a need for my own change. I had no desire to dress like a 20-year-old or go skydiving, but there was twinge in my heart for something more. The unavoidable cliché of soul-searching began, and I took a look back to see what lessons I learned so I could figure out where I wanted to go.

As a young girl, I learned the power of play. I spent hours in make-believe lands being someone other than me. It was my world. My rules. My story. However, on occasion I would allow my brother to enter and cast him a role with script in hand. I loved the illusion of control I felt over the story because in the end everything worked out. My way was the best way.

As I got older, I was introduced to the world of sports and belonging to a team. It was no longer my world or my rules, but what was best for the whole. Sacrifice for the team was the most important rule because we played as one. I played softball for years with the same girls, some of whom are my friends today. We spent all summer traveling, practicing and playing a game we loved and learning how to be a girl during the most awkward time to be a girl. I did not have to like someone to want good for them. Differences didn’t matter, because we needed each other’s strengths to get what we all wanted. We were girls competing, not with each other but together. I learned how to be another girl’s cheerleader and how good it feels to celebrate a win as one.

Oh the teenage years…just wow! So many words come to mind with so many stories and lessons attached. Evolution is the only common thread woven throughout these years of growth. I lost my dad during this time, and my idea of what family should be evolved. The grunge revolution hit and my taste in music and fashion evolved along with it. As I entered into high school and left the safety-net of childhood behind, the faces of my friends evolved. I met a boy who would become my husband, and with that my plans for the future began to evolve. These new faces, this new boy and eventually me, began driving and the boundaries of my world grew exponentially in an instant. The evolution of this girl into a legal adult was messy and hard and beautiful and fun.

I theoretically became an adult before turning 20, but I remember the first time I felt like a real adult out in the real world – when I got on my own health insurance and then paid my first electric bill. My 20’s brought with it boundaries by society and by me. I learned early on, that ending the night at 4:00am did not negate the fact I was due at work by 6:30am. I learned that I could still be broke on payday because bills being due wait for no one. Early in my career, I learned that being a qualified, intelligent, educated woman, did not guarantee me fair pay or an opportunity over an underqualified, less educated man. I learned the wedding is the easiest part of marriage. I learned that even when you follow all the rules, there are things you don’t have control over. Just when I felt the lesson of loss again, I was taught the joy of true love in not one but two tiny humans. My 20’s let me learn which rules to follow and how to write my own.  

Confession time – turning 30 was ROUGH! Looking back, it was probably in combination with becoming a mother that caused this painful transition. I learned more in this last decade than any other time in my life. Learning how to manage being a woman and a mother and a wife and an employee and a friend and all the other hats I had to wear was a constant juggling act I failed at over and over again. I learned I could love these little girls more than my own life, and because of that they could push me to dark places I didn’t know existed. Again, loss taught me that nothing last forever. I learned that tattoos hurt worse than they say. I learned that you cannot hate someone without loving them. I learned the true power of forgiveness is freedom and forgiving myself is an action to take not an abstract concept or a quote on a pillow. I learned how to be a real friend and how to recognize real friendship in others. I learned I can define what love and marriage is for us and no one else has to understand it for it to be real. I learned the power of vulnerability and I cannot go wrong when I share my truth with others. As the last days of my 30’s are upon me, the theme of acceptance for living life on life’s terms seems a good fit for this decade.

Tomorrow I turn 40. I am not in the best shape of my life, but I do have a shape. I have lived too much life to have the body of a 22-year-old and I am grateful for that! I want to live, not preserve myself like that fine wine waiting for a special occasion.  I do take care of myself, but I also love ice cream and pizza. I have a body of a 40-year-old and I celebrate that opportunity! I am more comfortable in my own skin than I have ever been, but there are days of embarrassing-awkward- struggle.

So, here is my midlife crisis spread out on this page. My lessons and soul-searching lead me to write and share this because I know I am not alone. I am no better or worse than the woman next to me. We are all just trying to figure out how to keep the party going and enjoy the ride. I love sharing my story with you all and I only hope you can relate to something that makes you realize we are all connected. This beautiful life I have been given is full of tears from laughter as much as pain. Each day I have a choice to be grateful and keep learning. All the lessons have gotten me this far – bring on the next 40!

Trauma

I’m Not Fine & Neither Are You

I am so proud to announce Scary Mommy has published another piece I wrote!

Scary Mommy Link

As personal as it was to write, I know this topic has a necessary message that needs to be brought to light.

Please SHARE for others to read and comment below to give feedback or continue the conversation.

Thank you for all your support and for reading!

colorful clouds

Finding the Words

Do you have trouble finding the words sometimes? It’s a funny question, because we aren’t actually searching for words. We have the words, what we are searching for are is how to insert the words into the conversation at the exact right moment to convey our message in the exact way we feel it needs to be articulated. That’s exhausting!

On the flipside of that coin, when we are careless with our insertion of words, we run the risk of getting lost in translation. An emotional response can cause the recipient to put earmuffs on, change the focus of the conversation and our message is entirely lost. Getting your point across is almost impossible! You can’t win for losing, right?

Or what if there is a different, less exhausting way to communicate? What if we pause, take a breath, pull the words together, and present them to another without fear of rejection or reaction? How, you ask? Let’s take a look.

Ruby was up all night waiting for her seventeen-year-old daughter to come home after she could not reach her daughter on the phone. For added fun, her daughter came home drunk. Take a minute to imagine the whirlwind of emotions swirling around. As much as she would have loved to scream out the list of thoughts running through her mind, Ruby decided to send her daughter to bed. She decided to take a breath and take a minute.

The next morning, Ruby peacefully watched the sunrise on her back porch and with no yelling involved she had a conversation with her daughter. A conversation being one of listening and sharing. A conversation is not sharing then drafting your next response. They ended with a hug and a threat of violence if the behavior continued. Bottom line, each part was heard, love was shared and boundaries were identified. A winning combination!

Ruby did a lot of good things here – she took a minute, not reacting immediately. She took a breath and focused her thoughts. She meditated sitting in nature, interacting with her higher power. She used “I statements” when expressing herself. And most important, she LISTENED.

Communication does not have to be exhausting, though it should be thoughtful. Be mindful of your words, but there is no perfect way to say it. There is no perfect time to express it. You cannot control how others receive you, because they too have a whole process and agenda going on in their mind when you are trying to get them to see it your way. Take a breath. Use your words. Then toss out your message and be ready to listen. Imperfect practitioners of self-care are effective communicators (full circle moment). Have a great day!

Ruby Dives In

Sitting upright with my legs crossed, attempting to watch the next episode of Grey’s Anatomy Season 2, which I have seen 15,000 times, because I can’t focus on any new information right now. This may be my favorite season because they are all so young. Meredith and McDreamy are still flirty and new. There lives are not laid out in front of them. They may be cardio gods, or neuro geniuses or pedis heroes, the opportunities are endless. They are only responsible for themselves and only answer to the “Nazi” (AKA Dr. Bailey). They get to walk around and say “seriously” all the time without anyone blinking an eye.

Well, I am no brain surgeon, though I’m sure I could play one of TV. This parenting gig, has me up all hours of the day and night, I’m in pajamas which could double as scrubs, walking around screaming “seriously” constantly and I may turn into Dr. Bailey by the time I get my hands on my first born. In the most uncomfortable chair in our home, I watch season 2 episode 17, which has the infamous “code black”, and I think to myself, this is the only excuse she has right now. There must be a bomb in a body cavity at the hospital she was brought to tonight because she was attacked by a pack of werewolves or vampires and she is cannot use her phone or any phone in sight to call me because the bomb squad forbid it. That must be the explanation.

While Izzy and Cristina wash the blood off Meredith after the bomb explodes in bomb-squad-guys hands, I decide now is the time to begin to call hospitals. I hit my home button to request Siri’s assistance with searching phone numbers, when there is a thump at the front door. I hop to my feet like I am ready to receive a trauma case coming in and I think to myself, oh good she is alive, now I can kill her myself. The front door falls open to reveal my baby girl stumbling around like a stampede of buffalo, believing she is scurrying like a tiny undetected mouse. She is drunk. Paging Dr. Bailey!

“Miranda. Rae. Errore.” I spit out each syllable of her given name.

She freezes. I watch her mind turn as the internal debate ensues. She can’t decide if she should begin spilling the ridiculous explanation she concocted to fight with me or retreat to her room and flee the situation. Though, it appears she is choosing door number three while she remains frozen in this moment waiting for further action from me.

I too am still. Inside I feel this red rage of emotions flowing through my veins. I have the urge to scream out, but I cannot find the words to express all the feelings running through my mind. I struggle to pinpoint where to begin my motherly assault. Do I commence with my anger at her lack of respect for me by rolling in at this hour? Or should I start by telling her how disappointed I am with her choices? I could list the possible outcomes of this evening ending with her on the operating table with Chief Webber calling her time of death.

However, I remain frozen. We look at each other, speechless. Then my mouth involuntarily moves and releases, “go to bed, Andi. We will talk in the morning.” Without a word she quietly withdraws to her room.

I fall onto the couch and lay my head in my hands. I softly release the emotional tidal wave that has ravaged through my body waiting until I laid my eyes on her again.

Yes, I am angry!

Yes, I am disappointed!

Yes, I am relieved. However, as the flood of emotions roll from my mind, fear is strongest of all. I am afraid of what I saw tonight. I was afraid of what could have happened to my child. I actually thought she could have been dead. That is unthinkable, but I invited the thought in like a vampire and let it attack my mind. The tears washed me clean of these infectious thoughts. Andi is home and she is alive. I can exhale.

I sit on the back porch and watch the sunrise. I thank the higher power I bargained with earlier this morning for delivering her home to me.

I ask that power for one more favor – the words to say to her. I hear the back door open behind me. I do not move. I stay wrapped in my blanket on the swing. She quietly approaches, head down, and sits next to me on the swing. I want to shake the shit out of her and squeeze her at the same time, but instead I offer her part of my blanket. I feel the space between us shrink and I take her hand the collapse the rest.

“Mom, I am so sorry.” Miranda almost whispers in my direction.

I hope that higher power starts speaking through me and I chose my words carefully. “What exactly are you sorry for, Andi?”

She turns my way and I see the shameful pain in her face. “All of it.”

I have a choice. I can just say okay and move on without diving into this sea of uncomfortableness leaving so much unspoken and closing the door on my daughter letting me in. Instead, I suit-up and take a running start. I dive in head-first.

“Andi, I was afraid. I couldn’t get you on the phone and I was so scared at what could have happened to you.” I am turned and looking at the side of her face. “And I am sorry too.” She looks up from the floor for the first time. “I should have done a better job of talking to you about this already, so we are going to do it now.”

Miranda nods her head with acceptance.

I tell her about my deepest, darkest fears of her being sexually assaulted, not because she asked for it or deserved it but because there are bad people in this world that I cannot protect her from. With tears falling down my face, I express the pain I had already imagined if she were killed in drunk driving accident. I decided to share with her stories of my mistakes as young girl who’s mother never said anything accept “do as I say not as I do.”

Miranda shares with me the stress of being seventeen. And a girl. And an honor roll student. And a swimmer. And the oldest of four. Her tears shared a story of the pressure she had bottled up and stuffed down so deep she thought a little alcohol couldn’t hurt in the fight to keep it all together. I watched her pour out her soul to me and I saw my baby girl image of Andi fade away and the young woman, Miranda take form. She was no longer a child who’s hand I could smack to stop her from touching the electric sockets. Right before my eyes, she had turned into a woman and my job had transformed into consultant instead of manager. That morning we talked. I didn’t preach (much). She didn’t roll her eyes (except twice).

We had a discussion and we both listened. Instead of holding on to the illusion of control with both hands on the reins, I loosened my grip and let go just a little and Miranda showed me how great of a mom I am. I (with the help of her dad) raised this miraculous female sitting in front of me. I am transitioning into a new roll with her, and I am going to try to show a little freaking grace as I do it.

We stand up and I squeeze this girl who stole my heart, seventeen years ago. The first person to call me “Mommy” and the first one who will send out into the world as an adult, theoretically.

“I love you more than you know, Miranda Rae.”

“I love you too, Momma.”

“But if you ever come in this house like that again I will beat the hell out of you like a grown woman. Got it?”