Hindsight Is 50/50

The saying is hindsight is 20/20, meaning you can look back down the history of your path and see the choices you made with the clarity of today. It becomes temptingly easy to judge your previous self with the knowledge you have today, picking apart each turn you took because you can see the outcomes waiting for you just around the corner.

“If I would’ve known.”

“I should’ve done better.”

“It could’ve been different.”

These thoughts can haunt us and ultimately erode the trust we have in ourselves to make sound and wise decisions.

So that’s the thing…how can we know for certain we would do anything different even with the eagle eye of hindsight available to us? We can hope that we would practice as Maya Angelou taught us, to do better when we know better. However, if mistakes are our best teachers, then what fun is making the “right” choice every time?

I know I’ve spent far too much of my life worrying about doing it the right way. I practiced caution and made careful choices so I could keep my side of the street clean and with the quiet hope that if I did what I was supposed to do, bad things wouldn’t happen. A superstitious way to live I guess, but it did provide me with comfort in very uncertain times in my life. However, this comforting coping strategy didn’t allow for me to question who determined the “right way” or the possibility of my “right way” not being the only “right way”.

While yes, there are many choices I made along the way that I can now look back with a shaking head in my hands and acknowledge my poor judgement in the moment. Also, many of those poor choices led to lessons I needed to make a better (not right) choice at a later crossroad.

I am a former smoker. I smoked for 14 years and only quit because I wanted to have children. I loved smoking even though I knew how terrible it was for me. When I quit, it was one of the most difficult changes I ever made. It was only then I realized how dumb it was for me to pick up that first cigarette just because everyone else was doing it. Today, I would give that girl a hug and whisper in her ear, “you are enough. Don’t try to make yourself small to fit in. This is gonna be a bitch to quit one day.”

14 years later that choice caused me so much grief as I tried to quit. It took multiple attempts to finally put down my Marlboro Lights for good. Each time I tried, I would get anxiety from the thought I would never have another cigarette. I would never smell the smoke of a freshly lit cigarette or feel the relief from the first exhale. So I would pick up where I left off the day before and light another one. It was only until I adopted a lesson I heard in Al-anon that I was able to finally put down the lung darts and let them go.

Al-anon has a saying “just for today.” It releases me from worrying about never smoking again, because it only requires me to stay in this day. Each morning, I would begin the day with the promise that I would not smoke just for today. I gave myself permission to think that I could possibly smoke tomorrow or even next week if I wanted to, but just for today I would not. After I put together a few independent days, I looked around and realized I was capable of finding relief elsewhere and I no longer required that crutch.

I still tell my daughters that lighting up that first cigarette was the dumbest decision, because it was the most difficult choice to put back down. I am not ashamed of that choice because that choice taught me a lesson I use all the time. Just for today. While I already knew that mantra, I didn’t understand how to use it and I had never let it give me the permission I needed to not be perfect and to give myself some grace.

Al-anon says, “Just for today I will try to live through this day only, and not tackle all my problems at once. I can do something for 12 hours that would appall me if I felt that I had to keep it up for a lifetime.”

There are so many moments in my life that I can examine through the lens of today’s wisdom and question my why or wonder what could’ve been if I would’ve gone left instead of right. However, that doesn’t solidify I would actually do anything different. Maybe hindsight is actually 50/50 on whether one would change their path if they knew they were destined to fall. Maybe there is just as much chance I would continue on the same path and making the same choices even if it would cause me pain. Today, I don’t have to judge myself for that.

So I will continue to try to do more right than wrong, learn from the falls and not judge my past based on what I know to be true, just for today.

Imposture Syndrome

“Who do you think you are?”

“You are not smart enough.”

“Stay in your lane.”

“You are not good enough.”

“No you cannot.”

“You are NOT a writer.”

An actual recreation of the dialogue in my head during a battle of the dreaded imposture syndrome.

            As a therapist, many may think I am immune to some struggles. Maybe you think since I “know better” I do not wrestle with the questioning voice in my head as the rest of the human race. I am here today to bust that myth. I too suffer from imposture syndrome.

            If you are unfamiliar with this expression, let me give you a lesson because I bet your lack of experience with the phrase is less about not suffering from the symptoms and more about not having a term to describe it.

Imposture syndrome begins with a whisper of doubt. Many times this symptom presents itself when one is trying something new or going out on a limb with an innovative idea. The whisper may be easy to shake off at first, however the slightest acknowledgement provides the necessary energy for the whisper of doubt to grow into declarations of uncertainty. Before you know it, one can then find themselves engaged with an internal battle of constant destructive and discouraging narratives that gain enough momentum to have the power to shut down the novel innovation so that the individual remains stuck in their safe comfort zone of the same.

Strike a nerve yet?

I began writing my novel ten years ago. I wrote it because I love to write and I had a story to share. As recent as October 2024, when my novel was published on Amazon, I still struggled to claim the identity of being a writer. I continue to fight imposture syndrome.

I am a therapist (I have no problem letting that roll of my tongue or allowing my fingers to type). I have a degree in social work. I hold a license to practice therapy with multiple states. I have held jobs with title of “therapist”. Therapist is not a self-proclamation. The fact still remains, I am a therapist because I practice therapy. However, it has taken me years to accept that I am also a writer simply because I write.

When I worked nights in the emergency psychiatric unit at University Hospital, I would use downtime to work on my novel. I actually took that job so I would have more time to juggle being a mother, a wife and a social worker so I could write. I remember when one of the nurses, who happens to be the very first person to finish the very first version of my novel and remains a good friend to me today, caught me writing one night when our census was low. She asked what I was working on and I stuttered all over myself trying to come up with a feasible answer other than “I am writing a book.”

Once I professed this secret, there were no imposture police ready at the helm to call me out and no buzzer sounding off alerting everyone that I was not a “real” writer. My friend appeared genuinely excited to learn this about me and wanted to read what I had written. When I was vulnerable, the imposture syndrome symptoms were kept at bay.

Imposture Syndrome is rooted in fear. That fear can stem from fear of judgement from others to fear of failure. Unfortunately, we are all guilty of acting out of fear and the results rarely work out as we intended. Fear is no place to function from.

So what do we do? How do we begin to recover from this sinister syndrome? What is our weapon against this infectious self-doubt?

Radical self-acceptance.

That’s it.

A simple but not easy practice of fully accepting who you are in this moment. The willingness to be vulnerable and the practice of acceptance is the remedy for imposture syndrome.

Acceptance is not reserved for only the good stuff. Acceptance also allows us to acknowledge the flawed parts of us along with the shiny parts we are proud of. We are not required to like something or someone to accept them in their true form. This rule also reigns true for ourselves. 

The act of being vulnerable allows us to show up as our rawest selves. No filters. No explanations. We are fully present and fully us. Though, this does not protect us from criticism or struggle to claim who we are. This does not guarantee we will be fully accepted by anyone other than us. Vulnerability does not require validation from anyone else. (That doesn’t mean it isn’t nice to receive though).

There is no absolute cure for all the symptoms of imposture syndrome. Some may lie dormant for years, but given the right circumstances they can kick into high gear and return to wreak havoc on your thoughts. The maintenance plan of acceptance and vulnerability are the best defense to keeping your thoughts free from doubting yourself. Let’s all take a look at chatter going on in our minds and the words we use especially about ourselves.

I am who I am because I say I am (period).

Three F-words

Fight, Flight or Freeze. All responses to trauma. Three F-words for three distinct buckets of reactions to when we perceive we are in danger. Notice the use of the word “perceive”. It is there for a reason because I do not have to be facing death for my brain to believe I am in danger and act accordingly.

Fighting can mean the literal definition of the word. A use of force to escape death (or perceived death). It can also mean fighting against the truth, being in denial or refusal to accept the reality of your situation.

Flight is leaning into the escape from the pain. Some actually run away from the pain and flee the scene. Some drink (or whatever substance of choice) away the pain. The point of fleeing is avoiding the cards you have been dealt and essentially outrun the pain that is sure to follow.

Freezing is a newer addition to the F-word trio of responses, though it does not mean it is a new reaction. Freezing is playing dead. Flat-faced and disconnected from what is happening. Freezing stops you in your tracks and prevents you from feeling what is happening to you.

I’ve worked with trauma, personally and professionally, for many years. Again, notice my use of the words “worked with”. We do not fix or cure trauma; we work to alleviate the symptoms caused by traumatic experiences. There are many evidenced based interventions that have proven ways to treat reactions to trauma, however trauma is not cured. Trauma becomes a part of us.

I am certified in Accelerated Resolution Therapy (ART), which is an intervention that alleviates the symptoms of trauma. (Yes, actually dissolves the symptoms due to the traumatic experience). ART allows the individual to open up the part of the brain that decides which response has the best chance of survival. (Again, remember our brain has perceived a dangerous situation and self-preservation is the goal). ART allows us to change the emotions attached to the traumatic event. We keep the facts and we change our reaction. Now that we are away from the perceived danger, our brain allows us to change how the story was filed.

For example, when I participated in an ART intervention I used the experience of the night my father died and the emotions attached to that story. The experience, while intense, allowed me to let go of the fear associated with that loss. My father died 30 years ago. I remember every detail of the night when he was rushed to the hospital, even down to the memory of my father’s wedding band being on my mother’s finger when she came home from the hospital, which was the very first indicator he was gone. I remember it all. However, what I no longer carry is the fear associated with not having my father on this earth. Who would protect us? Who would provide for us? What does life look like without a dad?

ART allowed me to release the fear.

I miss my dad every day. There will always be grief in my heart for the man who raised me for fourteen years and taught me so much love. And after all this time, I can find peace with the grief being a part of me instead of the fear controlling me.

As a fourteen-year-old girl, I fought the reality of my father’s death. I fought the fear by trying to control it. I fought all the pain I felt by trying to be perfect in every other aspect of my life. If I could just make everything else be “okay” then I would not have to face the fear of being vulnerable, unprotected and the unknown instability of being down a parent.

Trauma does not need you to beat it. You merely have to learn to live with the trauma, accepting its place in your story. You by no means must accept the negative symptoms of trauma reactions. That is where interventions and treatment can be life-changing measures.

Very recently, I was triggered and experienced a trauma reaction. Not a welcomed experience nor one I have been forced to face for a long time. The experience caused me to freeze this time. My fear paralyzed me. For me, this frozen state looked like lack of emotion, disconnection with those close to me, sleepless nights and the inability to focus.

Because I had the experiences from my past and the knowledge of treating trauma reactions, I was able to identify these symptoms quickly and lean into what I know to be true: this too shall pass. I knew my brain had a perceived threat and chose to freeze as the best course of action for self-preservation. I leaned into the interventions that bring me back to a baseline and filter my thoughts instead of hanging onto the fears I know are not certain truth.

Life continues to happen all around us, all the time. Trauma and the possibility of triggers are not able to be controlled. The symptoms most certainly can be treated and alleviated. It’s not time that heals, it’s our intention to do so that does.

I share this today because trauma is complicated. There are so many interventions available to help. Instead of worrying about what’s the right one, start with your intention to heal. That is the most important decision of all. Trauma takes our control, and we can take it back just as long as we are willing to be vulnerable enough to ask for help.

Best Christmas Picture Ever

Shocking news…The Holidays are Tough

As we approach this week and kick off the holiday season, my stress levels begin to bubble and rise along with the amount of times Mariah Carey is played on the radio. The increase in extended family time with people I love but do not interact with on the regular as well as the search for gifts to simply fill a spot on my shopping list are added to my ruminating thoughts playlist that kicks off around 3am.

With so much to do, who has time to enjoy this most wonderful time of the year? NO ONE!

My unpopular opinion of the desire to fast-forward to January 2nd is on the rise. Many of us are tired of the hurry up, keep buying, smile-and-hug-people-I-haven’t-seen-since-last-year and for-the-love-of-god-take-the-picture themes of the holiday season. We shove so much into these few weeks that we begin the new year exhausted, broke and bloated.

As someone who is not a fan of winter, I am trying to embrace the hibernating bear lifestyle (turn inward and rest). The pressure of the perfect holiday shoves me right out of resting bitch face and directly into elevated anxiety bitch face. Holiday commercials suggest that throwing a bow on anything makes it all better. Well, a bow on a pile of crap is still a pile of crap.

And let’s not forget what the holidays also highlight…those who are not here with us to celebrate. For many of us, there are empty chairs at the dinner table and stockings with no owners. We have a hole in traditions that cannot be filled and that is hard to swallow along with all of the cheer.

What if we turned it down a notch? Maybe there is a little less on the calendar and a little more time to be present. Maybe it is not about the perfect gift, but maybe sharing gratitude that you get to be together. There are many reasons why families spend the holidays apart. Whether by choice or necessity, so many struggle with being present for all the presents. Let’s avoid making asses out of ourselves by assuming everyone is joyfully spending this time of year together.

So maybe this year the theme is cheerful acceptance. Acceptance for the moment and what that entails, the good and even the uncomfortable. Having 25 people in a two-bedroom condo (this was how we did the holidays with my husband’s grandmother years ago) is not comfortable, however today I think back fondly on those sweaty meals because she is gone now and I miss her. She was the happiest person there having all of her people crammed together and celebrating. It wasn’t comfortable, but it did not harm anyone and her home was full of love, good food and laughter.

Acceptance of boundaries. Maybe forcing our kids to sit on the lap of a strange man in a costume, telling him their greatest desires and smiling is not the best lesson. Maybe if they say they are uncomfortable or afraid we can try a new approach. With the same token, maybe we can speak out what we need whether it is excusing ourselves a little early from the festivities or staying home altogether. We do not have to abide by the unwritten rules of the season if those rules do not serve us. This is less about getting our way or not and more about listening to each other respecting the fact that no single person knows best of all.

I vow to be mindful this season. I will be present in the moment. I will respect the wishes and desires of others. I promise to listen to understand rather than to respond. I will ask for what I need. I will prioritize my needs so I can show up when and where I can in the way I want to.

It does not have to be the most wonderful time of the year for me to celebrate and enjoy the time of year. I can survive and advance and relish in the normalcy of today rather than the glitter of unrealistic expectations.

I wish you the holiday season you need!

My Mind’s Highway and How I Travel

I prefer anger over grief. Anger gives me the illusion of control. “I am mad and let me tell you why!”

I have been known to hang on to grudges like tiny little birds. I keep them safely tucked away in their cages preventing the process of acceptance from occurring and letting go of what hurt me.

I am a great scorekeeper. I know who did what to me along with the date and location of injury. If I am angry, you earned it. These grudges were a direct result of me being in control rather than being taken advantage of. It is my god-given right to hold on and be mad. (Unfortunately, I am not referring to a time long, long ago…I am still evolving).

Anger is much easier to feel than grief.

Grief creeps up and tackles me out of nowhere. Grief does not have to give reasons for its presence, it just shows up and takes control over me. Grief is all consuming and irrational and messy.

Try catching a glimpse of yourself after an ugly cry. It’s not my best look.

Grief comes in many forms of feelings…sadness, anger, fear, and even shock. Grief is also not limited to death. Loss produces grief. The loss of someone. The loss of a way of life. The loss of something important to us whether anyone else can understand or not.

So why does it matter which we are experiencing? Grief or Anger? It matters because unless we are honest with ourselves and acknowledge our true emotions it is more difficult to find peace and healing. To go a step further, if we cannot find peace and healing then we will continue to compound each injury and amount of pain until we are ready to unload or implode. Neither of which are great options.

Our thoughts, much like our feelings, run through our minds like a highway. One thought followed by the next with no filter of facts. That is our job. Thoughts do not equal truths. We are responsible for examining our thoughts by holding them up to the light of reality to avoid the hamster wheel of spiraling into the abyss of overthinking and drowning in emotions.

This is NOT to say we are not entitled to our individual thoughts and feelings about everything, however do we really want to walk around with just our perspective? Our way of thinking about a situation is the only way? (Not that it wouldn’t be nice for a while, but how boring for any real length of time).

Acceptance does not require us to like whatever it is. We can be sad or mad or afraid or annoyed AND still accept life on life’s terms. When we can find a place of acceptance, we are better able to trust our thoughts and feelings. It is easier to find the light of reality and hold up whatever comes through our mind’s highway. The best part is finding peace and healing becomes actual options rather than far off lands of enlightenment we believe to be unachievable.

So how do you accept life on life’s terms? Do I have to just lay down and let life happen to me?

Absolutely not!

You can, however, change the things you can and let go of those you cannot. That is accepting life on life’s terms.

If something is bothering you, find a place to take action to change it. I may not have control over the United States Supreme Court and the decisions they make about what I can and cannot do with my body (which I feel anger, sadness, and fear about). I do have control over my response and reactions to their decisions. I have the power and ability to advocate for change and protest what I disagree with. I can educate my daughters on the importance of voting and being an active member in society.

On a smaller scale, I get pissed when people I trust disappoint me. I get angry (and sad) and I do not have control over how other people treat me. I do have control over who I let in my life and who I spend time with. I can find acceptance and even peace with people who have hurt me and grieve that loss as I heal.

When you are feeling overwhelmed and unsure of your emotions and maybe even distrustful of your thoughts, stop and take a moment to examine your mind’s highway. Be honest with yourself.

I would much rather be angry with someone who hurt me and call my girlfriends and tell them all about why I am mad and how I plan to harbor this resentment from now until the end of time. Though, if I am honest about what I am feeling I can acknowledge I grieve what I thought was friendship and the person I trusted. I accept that their behavior, not their words show me who they are, and I have choices on who I let in my life. That is life on life’s terms and that is the path to peace for me. I chose to travel that way.

I’m STILL Not Fine and Neither Are You

I get to train leaders of a large company on trauma. Granted, there aren’t gobs of people lining up to teach trauma, however, I get to. My work-wife (aka colleague) and I have to prepare ourselves before getting up in front of a room of very smart and responsible people to teach them how to allow themselves and their employees to be human. We don’t share our personal traumatic histories and stories, however it takes a lot of energy to make the impact we feel is important to make.

Inevitably, there are head nods in agreement and note taking as we continue through our material making good points that deserve highlighting. However, my favorite part is when we give the group permission to not be okay. We get to see a communal sense of relief roll over the group as shoulders release with a chorus of grateful exhales. By simply giving permission for people to be human we allow people to step into their truth so they can then welcome others along with them. When we all show up a little more honestly, we have a chance to truly live rather than survive.

I said these words in the training we facilitated yesterday, “I’m not fine and neither are you. And who wants to live as fine? I don’t. I have no desire to survive life. I want to live and that requires me to show up in an honest way.”

A harmonious, concurrent head nod occurred from the group. I thought to myself ‘my work here is done.’

I’m Not Fine And Neither Are You (scarymommy.com)

I remain proud of this piece and the positive impact it had on people. It was a giant step into the light of truth and vulnerability in writing that I had not been brave enough to share before. I am so grateful I did and so grateful to continue to be on that path with you all!

Thank you for reading & supporting me!

Peace and Love,

Steph ✌️🧡

mid-life crowning

Midlife Crisis or Crowning?

As a woman of a certain age (somewhere in my mid-thirties) I swore I would never have a mid-life crisis. With images of hysterical females shoving themselves into clothes they aged out of and watching salt & peppered-haired men driving gas-powered penis extensions, I wanted no part of it. The fear of aging we have been spoon-fed has prompted an entire industry of age-defying potions and tricks to stop a process of privilege.

The fact is not everyone gets to grow old.

Even more ironic, this same brand of magic would have gotten us all an early death throughout history.

So why do we continuously, cut on ourselves and cover ourselves with whatever they say will make us appear younger? And who decided that being younger is the ultimate goal?

I have no desire to be 25 again…it was hard enough the first time around and even with the knowledge I have today, 25 wouldn’t be as much fun as it was when that was my actual age.

As we approach “mid-life” I also ask, who the hell determined when “mid-life” actually takes place?

Is there a crystal ball somewhere or a game clock buzzing indicating half-time?

And if this is in fact the mid-point of my life, what is the point of trying to reduce myself to what I have already been?

Isn’t the point, growth? Change? Knowing better, so I can do better?

A couple of years before my 40th birthday, I made a promise to myself – absolutely no mid-life crisis! Instead, I began work on self-discovery. My thought was, “in 40 years I’ve bound to have learned a few things, so instead of seeking out youth, I want to uncover the lessons of aging.”

Great idea, right?

I thought I had tricked the system! ‘Okay society, you want me to long for my younger years, I’m going to celebrate the aging process!’ Haha!

Upon this brilliant journey, I completely lost my mind.

I uncovered so many pieces of myself that were hard to look at. I charted mistake, after mistake doing the same wrong things over & over expecting different results (aka insanity).

I found traumas I thought I had laid to rest, but in reality I just took a giant step over as I passed by, thinking that acknowledgment indicated acceptance.

While I did not dress like a 25-year-old or purchase a mobile penis, my behavior & mindset were in a full-blown crisis.

So there I was, broken.

Broken promises to myself.

Questioning all my life’s choices.

Berating myself for in fact having the mid-life crisis I promised I would not.

I wanted out of that feeling immediately!

The healing began.

Acknowledging my mistakes & traumas was step one. I had to figure out a way to heal.

Therapy. Meditation. Writing. Making amends (to others & myself).

This was not a weekend retreat & all was right in the world (btw…still in process).

This is accepting the lessons of life so far and actually implanting them in my life.

It’s being brave enough to own my shit and start something new.

This crisis became my crowning. My celebration that I get to move to the next round-I get to keep living & learning.

So I’m going to challenge society (or whoever reads this post), to change our mindset of mid-life crisis to mid-life crowning. We are privileged to experience this moment in time, so let’s embrace it rather than run from it. There are so many who do not get the opportunity.

Let’s aim for being grateful rather than grimaced.

Thriving instead of surviving is a much better place to function from so we might as well get a crown out of it instead.

The Switch Has Flipped

I’ve been robbed!

I’m under attack!

I’m taking on water!

My walls have been breached!

The world I carefully constructed for my babies has been destroyed.

My precious cherubs have moved outside my reach. They were in public without parental supervision (pause for dramatic effect).

Go ahead & roll your eyes, teenage parents. Tell me “welcome to the club”.

I do not want to be in your club. Your club is scary AF.

Yes they are equipped with cell phones.

Yes they are VERY aware of stranger danger (I’m a social worker for the love of all that is holy).

Yes I trust them-it’s the rest of this jacked-up world I struggle to trust with my most prized possessions.

(And yes they are mine!)

I grew these humans inside my body. Mother Nature said “hey lady, here are two humans. Keep them safe from everything & teach them how to be decent. Okay, cool? love ya, good luck!”

Okay, Mother Nature…WTAF?!?

Before motherhood, the world was all mine-wide open and ready for me to explore.

I knew the dangers.

I knew the costs.

And I ran and pushed the boundaries as long and far as I could without suffering too many consequences.

I stepped over the line and got my hand smacked a few times.

I said “why not” and later found out the answer.

I did things that would have made my mom clutch her pearls and gasp (hope she skipped this post).

I have a few good stories and scars to prove it. And yes-I lived to tell the tale.

Then Mother Nature gave me these babies…my world shrunk into a circle big enough for my huge pregnant body and I was the omnipotent ruler.

Everything I did directly impacted my girls.

(*side note these babies were after I lost two, so trauma and grief has a major role to play here.)

When they came into this world, my circle was forced open just enough…like when you park too close to car next to you and you hold your breath to squeeze out of your car-just enough.

I controlled what they ate. When they ate. What they wore. Where they went.

I even manipulated their first steps (can’t have one twin out do the other before the age of 1).

I was terrified to do the “wrong thing.”

I remember in the hospital someone told me, “they will never be as safe as they were inside of you.”

I cocked my head with complete panic and rage…seriously?!? You tell me this now!

This illustration is to show for 12.5 years we lived in the same world. Sure I traveled to different places from time to time. Whether it was work, out with my girlfriend or even a vacation with my husband (aka their father) I expanded my world to meet my needs from time to time. I preserved my sanity.

However, now is different.

These babies want to expand their world.

They have friends.

They have places they want to go without me.

They do not require me tucking them in to go to sleep.

They have inside jokes I don’t get.

And they even get embarrassed by my singing in the car.

I am not okay!!

These girls are growing up.

They are running far and pushing hard against boundaries at every turn.

They don’t subscribe to what society tells them to wear.

They don’t make themselves small and accept what is given to them – they take what they want and make things happen.

They ask questions and make up their own rules – sometimes even making the consequences worth it.

So I will be over grieving the knowledge that my babies are no longer babies. That is my right and that is okay.

I earned the right to miss the smell of their sweet heads, the sound of their precious laughter and their tight hugs gripping my soul. That is what no one told me.

About the light switch from babies to badasses.

Watching this instant shift and hearing the lessons I’ve preached roll off their tongues is exciting. It takes just a twinge of the sting away because I realize they are setting the boundaries in their new world and I’m just lucky enough to help.

So send me your sympathy or laugh and shake your head at me. Either way, I’m swimming in the deep end of my new world so allow me some grace while I figure out how to float.

I’m sure you can remember what this push and pull feels like and if not, let me be the first to warn you – You will be filled with terrifying pride.

It is a strange combination.

This is the part no one prepared me for. Watching these girls jump out of the world I created for them and building their own. I’m not okay…but I will be and so will they.

Haunted by Approval

Next week, I will turn 42 (the good Lord willing)!

This is the age my father was when he died. To act as if that has not been weighing on me would be inauthentic.

I love my birthday. I really LOVE my birthday. It may be due to the fact I was born in the armpit of winter and celebrating my birthday gives me something to look forward to. Or, maybe I am a self-centered, egotistical asshole. Either way, I celebrate all month long and I have no intention of stopping.

Turning 42 has haunted me from the day my dad died. I wanted to achieve so much with my life – do so many things that he would never have the chance to do. My unwritten, unrealistic expectation was to turn 42 with the knowledge that my dad was proud of me. The problem with this plan – it’s impossible!

I would never get that validation, because he would not be here to witness my life.

So instead, I sought out approval from every other corner of my life. From grades, to sports, to career choices, outside validation became the measuring stick of my worth.

Am I good enough? Says who…always you, never me.

My desires, my reasons were never enough.

I required the co-signing of other people’s opinions.

I spent so much time worrying about what everyone thought of everything I did, I forgot that the first person I need to be accountable to and approve of is ME!

If you disagreed with how I did things, my first inclination was to question myself. I couldn’t possibly be right, if someone questioned me.

I feel so much empathy for that girl, today.

So rigid. Functioning out of fear. And judging herself constantly.

The girl who never felt secure – in her thoughts, her actions, her dreams and even her own skin. I didn’t want to be liked as much as I wanted to be right, validated for being me.

Along with my birthday celebration, February also brings the anniversary of my dad’s death. I remember every detail of that morning, to my mother’s voice telling me he’s gone to the emptiness that filled our home with the absence of his presence. I remember feeling helpless and a strong desire to do something, anything that made sense because the realization that my father, the strongest person I knew, was not coming home was inconceivable. Not only my brain, but my soul refused to accept it.

I did not want to be a cautionary tale, a girl with daddy issues who sought comfort in all the wrong ways. I channeled my fear into action and the race to perfection began. It was a game of whack-a-mole.

School struggles?? Nope-fixed it!

Typical teenage antics?? Not me!

Grieving correctly?? Sure am!

“Nothing to see here! I’m fine.”

So at the ripe ole age of 14, I set the expectation of perfection. All the while, managing overwhelming grief from the loss of my parent and not processing this with anyone.

The real achievement is that I am alive to tell this tale.

And my career choice…helping people, of course. Because what better way to hide from my troubles than to dive head-first into someone else’s?

For the next 25 years, I spent my life chasing approval from a ghost, setting a bar of achievement to an unreachable level and berating myself along the way for not being what I was “supposed” to be. I did not do this without many failures and much self-inflicted pain.

The theme of not feeling “good enough” has been heavy on my mind recently.

The pressures from work. The failures at home. The lack of peace of mind. These are common struggles I hear during therapy sessions as well as in my own thoughts.

We all are hurting.

We all have failures.

We all need more peace.

Right before COVID hit, I promised myself I would not have a ‘mid-life’ crisis when I turned 40. I would cross that threshold with grace and embrace aging.

Though it may have looked more like a brace-for-landing situation rather than a graceful entrance into my forties, here I am nonetheless.

What I did have was an awakening.

I realized what I had been doing to myself my entire adult life. I looked around and saw no one was keeping score, but me.

No one (that mattered) judged me for my pain or my faults.

I was my own worst enemy standing right in my way.

With no plan, other than change I promised myself I would learn to love and be proud of me. That became my guiding manta – I would trust myself above all else.

Since that birthday, I have made huge strides in that change.

I am more comfortable in my own skin, but there are days I still cover up and fight that shaming voice.

I am confident in my accomplishments, but there are moments I suffer from imposture syndrome.

I find purpose and peace in my day, but I fight storm of chaos to gain perspective.

What I’ve learned is, struggling does not define my life, I do. I write this narrative. I validate my experience.

I have hard days. I cry often because it heals me. I soak in my bathtub to let go of the day. I talk to my therapist to unpack my baggage. I still have hard days, the difference is I don’t live there all the time.

This is not a how-to-post. I do not know a secret. I have not found an “answer”, I found options. When letting go of expectations, some of my rigid ways went also. The more I let go of, the more my mind opened up to opportunities for a more peaceful existence. I blew up the walls that confined the narrow path I traveled for so long, to uncover unlimited choices for where I want to go next. Empathy and intentionality became more comfortable to me. I started to give myself grace and felt lighter. Grace and options are a beautiful combo.

I have rough times, not a rough life. I define my own narrative. Change promises change. My job is to navigate my journey and be accountable to myself.

My life is beautiful chaos, simply because I say so.

So 42, I am ready for you! I embrace this birthday full of gratitude and a ton of grace to give myself as I mess-up, succeed and enjoy all the moments (even the ugly ones because that is part of my story). I miss my dad all the time. There are still moments I pause to look for his nod of approval. However, I no longer chase that impossible expectation. I am learning to be proud of myself, because I am enough.

I am not finished. More to come.