Professional mom seeking clarity, balance and a well deserved glass of wine.
You can scroll the shelf using ← and → keys
You can scroll the shelf using ← and → keys
I CONFESS: There are times, as a mother, when I should go directly to the back of the Mother of the Year line ’cause they ain’t callin’ my name anytime soon.
I know you can relate. You’re nodding your head up and down right now.
In the scheme of life, however, I think we’re too hard on ourselves. Being a mother is messy. As far as I know there’s no course or manual that fully prepares you or teaches you how to breeze through the adventure unscathed and without fault or regret. There’s no RIGHT way to parent. There’s your way.
Most likely, you learned how to be a mother from your own mom. This has definitely been my path. I have vivid memories of lessons learned, conversations had, punishments given and many many hugs and kisses and looks of assurance and pride. I speak, now to my kids, and it’s my mother coming out. Again, you’re nodding.
Mostly, I think we get it right. We put our kids first. We make sure they have good food, clothes, a nice home, education and social graces. Hell, some days it feels like every moment of head space and daylight is focused on our kids and what they need. (while working a full-time job) We put all this effort into parenting because we love our kids. We love them so much it hurts. Often, our duties and contributions go unnoticed and unappreciated and, well, at the end of the day, that’s what wine is for. We take a breath and know that we did our best and they’re safe and healthy and not complete brats.
To hear them tell it, however, can be a completely different story. During a family discussion, recently, 9 Going on 19 painted a very different picture of her view of life as my child. According to her, I work ALL the time, NEVER go on any field trips, RARELY talk with her and listen to her, favor her sister over her, RARELY fix anything she likes for dinner, ALWAYS pick places to eat at that she doesn’t like, and on and on. Eyes wide, I was stunned! Seriously, none of those things is true. But, in her mind, apparently, they are.
Ouch! Not a mention of ALL the things I have done and still do for her, with her and because of her on a daily basis. Amazing! I’m sure her teacher thinks I’m not a mother, I’m a monster. To hear her tell it, I’m pretty awful.
Here’s my take: at every age, in every situation, we have varying opinions about our parents. I know I did. Shoot, when I moved away at 18 and drove across the country to live in California, all I could think of was, “So long Mom, you annoy the hell out of me!” Now, at 49, I have never been more grateful for the wonderful mother she has been and the gifts and guidance she instilled in me. I’m the mother I am today, because of her.
Here’s a little list of the ways we mothers are monsters, in the eyes of our kids:
…Please take a shower and brush your teeth (don’t forget to floss).
…Go to bed now, so you’ll get up on time tomorrow.
…No sleepovers, it’s a school night.
…Do your homework, then you can watch TV.
…You are grounded.
…Save some of that money.
…Don’t chew with your mouth open.
…Stop talking and listen.
…Stop complaining and be grateful.
…Help out, you’re a part of this family.
…I don’t care if you didn’t do it. You didn’t do it can still clean it up.
…Respect your grandparents.
…Turn your phone off and be present.
…You may not understand my decision now. You’ll thank me later.
…What was your part? What did you do?
…It’s not the end of the world. Get over it.
…Are you bleeding? Put a BandAid on it and go play.
…Five-second rule. It won’t kill you.
…It’s good for you, eat it.
…I have to work. Do you like food and clothes and vacations and lessons?!
…No. Because I said so and I’m your mom.
Here’s to all you monsters!
Stay sane, my friends.
I confess…sometimes I can diligently and mindfully “self-help” myself all day long and my state of happiness goes to hell in a hand-basket by the time I walk through the door at night. WTH
I can wake up in the morning, workout, meditate, throw in a load of laundry for later, drop the petite ya-ya off at school without meltdown or incident, and have a phenomenal day at work. And after all that zenful goodness, it all goes to shit in a text. Ok, more like a mad string of texts from one or both of my kids:
…when will you be home?
…?????? (if I don’t answer fast enough)
…what’s for dinner? Ew, I don’t like that!
…remember, I need that super rare artifact that we’ll never be able to find on Amazon prime in time for Thursdays presentation at school?
…is my gymnastics leotard clean?
…remember you said you’d help me with my speech?
…are you almost home?
You get the picture. I know they are precious children and I’m grateful to have them. Truly!
I’ve talked about it with them and explained that when I’m at work, I’m concentrating and working hard so I don’t have to bring my work home. Unless you’re bleeding or need something more serious than a laundry question answered, don’t call or text me when I’ve got my work hat on.
My brain spins into a whirling dervish and the pity-me loop starts rolling. Why don’t they respect my time? Why can’t they look and see if their laundry is clean? Why can’t they call and ask me how my day is and if I’m doing ok? And, what I’d like for dinner and can they start fixing it? Why can’t I do anything right for them? I try so damned hard.
Now, this is not a pity me post, to be certain!
I have found a remedy for this problem, that I’ve tested and want to share. It’s a free, immediate, healthy attitude adjustment and it’s even “wine-free!” I know, you’re shocked!
WALK IT OFF AND LOSE THE TUDE
I’ve learned that if I throw on my tennis shoes and take a brisk ten-minute walk (or seventy, depending on the mood) I can “lose the ‘tude and get back to happy!” (now, that’s a tweetable). And the only rule is NO THINKING! Gotta turn the mind off and just walk and breathe. Listen to nature or music, but zero thinking. Plenty of time for that later.
By the time you get back, the loop is on pause, the mind is right and you may even be able to consider three things you’re grateful for as you enter the house. The house, for one. Your beautiful healthy kids. Your own health. The walk. I could go on and on.
It doesn’t have to be a thick, Chicago slice of happy; a thin, New York slice will do!
Stay sane, my friends.
Isn’t it ironic, when you’re a kid you effortlessly and frequently fall into a state of boredom? Any of these sounds familiar?
There’s nothing to watch on TV, I’m bored!
None of my friends can hang out, I’m bored!
This homework is boring!
Why do we have to wait in this line, I’m bored!
Why hasn’t the plane taken off yet? I’m bored!
What’s for dinner? That’s boring!
Why do you have to order another cocktail? Can’t we just go? I’m bored!
There’s nothing to do, I’m bored!
I was the queen of boredom. If I wasn’t being entertained or playing with a friend or had some big plans, I felt bored. Most of us have lived through all of these moments of horrendous boredom and,
fortunately, are now reliving it with our kids. I don’t know about you, but I can honestly say at this point in my life, I am never bored! Ever!
This might sound crazy, but I’m actually grateful for driving in traffic (most of the time) and waiting in line or sitting at home with absolutely nothing to do (oh, wait that last one never happens). In these moments of waiting, I can choose to enjoy the quiet, the time to think or create in my head or ponder a new client project. I can use the time to “not think” and just be quiet. I could choose boredom, instead, but why?
Recently, a retired Google engineer, of all people, (Chade-Meng Tan) has had a profound effect on me and reinforces the way I feel about boredom. In his wonderfully funny and insightful book, Joy on Demand, he suggests that boredom is actually a state of mind. I’d like to add to that…it’s also an excuse.
As a kid, this idea would have been hard to wrap my head around. As an adult, it makes so much sense. However, all adults are not created equal or think alike, so you may completely disagree with me. What does boredom get you?
Effectively, it removes you from any action at all. It freezes you in a holding pattern of numbness, inaction, and unhappiness. Are your kids smiling and laughing and joyful when they’re “bored?” No! They’re sulking, moping about and whipping themselves into a state of “whoa is me!” I get it, though. Their brains are still developing. Their neural pathways are still grooving. They equate not being entertained with boredom. What about adults?
We have so much to do. To think about. To be grateful for. How on earth could we ever feel bored? Are we making an excuse when we feel bored? Are we holding ourselves back from trying something new or appreciating the moment in time that’s right in front of us? Are we avoiding being present? Do we not have enough going on and maybe that’s the problem? Are we whining simply because WE’RE not being entertained?
Meng’s suggestion is this: in those moments of “boredom” (aka—nothing immediate to do because you’re waiting or in between tasks or appointments or plans changed) consider one deep breath of gratitude. He actually suggests a mini meditation, but I don’t want to scare you off completely.
One long deep breath of gratitude can shift your whole state of mind. From boredom and frustration to joy and freedom.
Ironically, no one controls our headspace (a fantastic meditation app BTW) except us. We are in charge of what we think and how we use our mind powers and our thoughts. We can either blow people up with them or wish them happiness and good fortune. I don’t know about you, but sometimes I forget this. I let social media or the radio or “jumping into the way-back machine” to replay that stupid loop take over my headspace and it does nothing but clutter it all up. I feel overwhelmed and unproductive and stuck.
I’m curious — do you find that you’re bored sometimes? All the time? How do you fill that space instead? With activities and productivity or quiet and joy? Or, both?!
Love to hear your thought in the comments below. Is boredom really just a state of mind?
Always in pursuit of sanity, balance and a well-deserved glass of wine.
Stay sane, my friends.
Her car doubles as an office, reading room, cone of silence, diaper-changing station, breakfast nook and therapist’s office.
She completes twenty errands in a single bound.
Believes everyone has a mini-bar in their console.
On the way to school, she pretends to listen to every word her kids say when she’s really laying on a tropical island drinking a mai tai “in her mind.”
Thinks nothing of stopping in the middle of writing a million-dollar proposal to rush to school to fetch a sick kid.
While barreling down the freeway, she makes a sales pitch into her Bluetooth, eats a hamburger and shushes a noisy kid without skipping a beat.
She says “hurry the fuck up” with her car horn.
She may or may not have used her car as a lethal weapon. (V, you know who you are)
Starbuck’s drive-thru baristas know her by name (within a 30-mile radius).
She blows bad drivers up with her mind powers.
She’s got every local dinner place on speed dial.
Has considered having an affair with Siri.
She’s not afraid to have the A/C cranking with all the windows down.
She has seriously considered painting her car taxi-cab yellow.
Her tires never last for 40,000 miles.
She’s listed in the Guinness Book of World Records for visiting every damn sports field from here to the Mississippi.
She has most of her important conversations via text on the family thread.
Is positive her rearview mirror is possessed
Can’t be certain she did or did not see that do not park here sign.
Never lets the tank fall below a quarter tank…in case she needs to make a get-away
Knows it’s illegal to put kids in the trunk…
Rarely knows whether she’s coming or going.
Her version of goodbye is her super-cape waving out of her sunroof.
10-4 good Mama!
Stay sane, my friends.
She believed she had love to share, so she became a mother.
She believed she could commute three hours a day and be the breadwinner, so she did.
She believed she could bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan, so she did.
She believed she could start her own agency, so she did.
She believed she could buy a million-dollar building, so she did.
She believed she could win over George Lucas, so she did.
She believed she could salvage her marriage, so she did.
She believed she could learn to dance, so she did.
She believed she could teach design, so she did.
She believed she could meet and love the mother who gave her away, so she did.
She believed she could save her own mother from abuse, so she did.
She believed she could live through a divorce, so she did.
She believed she could let go of everything, so she did.
She believed she could make a new home for herself and her children, so she did.
She believed she could find love again, so she did.
She believed she could travel across the globe, so she did.
She believed she could adopt a new family, so she did.
She believed she could live through her mother’s death(s), so she did.
She believed she could turn words into art, so she did.
She believed she could write a memoir (or 3), so she did.
She believed she could get published, so she did.
She believed she could learn to love herself, so she did.
She believed she could live the fairy tale, so she did.
She believed she could, so she did.
With love and gratitude for always inspiring me to believe and do, Cheryl!
Stay sane, my friends.
Pretty sure it’s no secret that I am a strong woman. Not always completely confident or fully sane, but equipped and capable of weathering any storm and forever learning something in the process. These skills I attribute to my upbringing. Specifically, my amazing mama.
Recently, I was asked to contribute to a new book that focuses on the strength and wisdom passed on from generation to generation. The first person I thought of was my mom and when I sat down to write, the words poured out of me and onto my laptop screen so fast my fingers could scarcely keep up.
Growing up, I didn’t always appreciate her like I should have. Age and hindsight are wonderful gifts. My intention is to honor her with this essay and share her beauty and love and resilience with future generations. Below is an excerpt:
“Strength Becomes Her – Eight Essays of Resilience, Perseverance & Self-Love” is a colorful collection of 8 essays that shares the timeless wisdom which has passed from mother to daughter for generations. These are true stories of women who, in the midst of life’s toughest decisions, push fear out of the way and face the never-ending challenge of raising a family and forging a career. Then, when the seasons of life transform, they prove that it takes much more strength to let go than it does to hang on. These eight authors celebrate both the femininity and the fortitude of women who not only take a stand, they also rise up, dig deep and live out loud. All proceeds to benefit Women’s Wellness non-profit organizations selected by the publisher and authors. #strengthbecomesher http://amzn.to/2mf8ow8
My earliest memory of you is from high-chair view in our kitchen on Cornbread Road. A country kitchen lined with blue cabinets (what were you and dad thinking), framed with homemade curtains covered in blue and green grapes and you, moving about the kitchen and humming a tune. I remember feeling happy and content.
I also remember feeling creative in our home— playing make-believe, school or office (I was always in charge), finger-painting, Christmas ball making, coloring on my bedroom walls or putting a new spin on my sisters bangs with those “harmless” dull school scissors. (oops) A different memory is of you putting the fear of God in me and pulling me aside every time we entered a store, filled with breakables, and saying, “Don’t touch anything! If you break it, we have to pay for it.” These memories have proven significant in the evolution of my life—as your daughter, as a mom, and as a strong woman. You’ve schooled me in the art of contentment, creativity, and resilience—no matter what life serves up.
Lucky for me, you (and Dad) created a childhood and overall family dynamic free of turmoil, abuse, and drama. In this media-filled world of chaos and dysfunctional Kardashian-type families, I am incredibly grateful that my childhood was, dare I say it, wholesome and pretty darn “normal.” Now, I wouldn’t go so far as to call us the Cleavers. Sure, there was the whole Dad “coming out” thing in 8th grade, but I’ll touch on that in a minute. All in all, I am the woman (wife and mother) I am today because of you. You shaped my life with the perfect blend of discipline, empathy, love, laughter, creativity, and a grand vision. To say you believed in me would be an understatement. From the time I pretended to speak in a foreign language or created 17 letter words (passimalavitation), you were convinced that someday I would work at the United Nations or become the President of the United States. You, dearest Mother, equipped me to believe in myself…http://amzn.to/2mf8ow8
Like Mother, Like Daughter
P.S. The opening photo has always been one of my favorites of mom and me. She still looks at me the same way. It feels like pride and love and amazement and it fills me with confidence and joy and contentment. I only hope I can have the same affect on my daughters. xo
You know that moment when you’re cruising down the freeway with a thousand thoughts racing through your brain and, suddenly, a song comes on the radio that instantly transports you to a different place and time. Those thousand of thoughts turn into one memory or one specific moment in time. Any Carpenter’s song takes me right back to the 70’s, when I was a kid, and my parents would harmonize with Karen and Richard Carpenter, whenever their songs came on the car radio. Or when I hear the Doobie Brothers I’m whisked back to elementary school and a time when life felt simple and carefree.
Do smells ever trigger the same kinds of flashbacks for you? When you smell a particular aroma or fragrance and it reminds you of someone or some past experience? My good friend, Cheryl, reminded me once how our hands have such a significant role in our lives. How many things our hands do, touch and create in our lifetime. For some reason, these two ideas melded and it occurred to me how many times I smell something on my hands and it triggers a memory, reminds me of a person or experience.
After I’ve worked in the yard and get a whiff of fresh cut grass and gasoline from the lawnmower, memories of my dad rush over me and I smile every time. I loved helping him do yard work or admire the beautiful flower beds he planted. That memory immediately parlays into another experience of riding on the lawnmower with my Pappaw and a cousin or two in tow. For some reason, it was always a thrill “helping” him mow their giant backyard off highway 67.
The smell of Johnson’s baby shampoo or baby oil reminds me of bathtime when I was little. I always called the front of the tub (since I was older, of course). Warmer and deeper! And, my mom toweling us off and running a comb through our hair, followed by cozy pj’s and the feeling of being squeaky clean and relaxed and loved.
Aqua Net reminds me of my mom’s beauty shop that was built on to our home in Yorktown, Indiana. All the shampoos and sets she did for ladies from church, great-aunts, and friends of friends. Layers and layers of Aqua Net to hold them over until next weeks appointment. I always wondered how they could go a whole week without washing their hair. This still makes me shudder. Yuk!
An odd one is the smell of grape juice. Always reminds me of communion at church. Every time the tray passed I just wanted to slurp up about ten of those little plastic cups full of Welch’s grape juice. One was such a tease. And never enough to completely wash down the bit of cracker that always seemed to get stuck in my throat.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Heaven Scent powder and cologne. All through jr. high and high school that was my go-to elixir to cover up the disgusting smells of puberty.
The smell of tobacco reminds me of Dad popping a quarter into the cigarette machine as we exited a restaurant in the 70’s. I always wanted to pull the handle and listen for the pack to drop. He’d peel back the clear plastic wrapper and, before pulling a cigarette out, he’d tap the pack twice on a table top or the dashboard in the car. What purpose this had I’ll never know.
Youth Dew, a popular Estee Lauder cologne back in the day, will forever remind me of my Mom and my Aunt Barb. I can always smell them hugging me or the scent wafting past my nose as they breezed by to chase a kid or dash into the bathroom before someone else beat them to it.
Crayons make me think of my sister. All the mad coloring we did in the back seat of whatever Buick we had. Hours and hours of filling coloring books with layers and layers of Crayola. And that one time we left a pile of them in the back window of my mom’s car on a very hot Indiana day and they all melted together. I thought mom would kill us. Oops!
And, ever since that time I was sitting in an important meeting and brushed my hand across my nose and was greeted by the smell of shit! (eyes wide open) “Oh my Lord! Why do my fingers smell like shit?” I immediately traced my steps from the morning and remembered I changed the baby’s diaper in a mad rush to exit stage left, get her to the sitters and make it to this oh so important meeting to impress the hell out of this client. And there I sat wondering if anyone else could smell it. Would they hold it against me that I’m a mom and spend my mornings changing diapers and breastfeeding while they were, most likely, at the gym at 5am, followed by a breakfast meeting and definitely don’t have breast pockets covered in a milk stain.
Our hands have been through a lot! Holding, hugging, creating and changing. Clearly, our noses too. Breathing in the smells of life.
What smells trigger a memory for you—instantly teleporting you to another time or place?
Stay sane, my friends.
(always sniff your hands before a big meeting)
I confess, as a mom, I don’t always know what in the hell I’m doing!
There is no manual (that I’m aware of) and no one pulls you aside during pregnancy and gives you the 411 on the proper protocol for all those situations you’re going to encounter once your baby arrives and hits the terrible 2’s. Your parenting skills will, most likely, be a blend of your parent’s style and your own enlightened approach.
Sure, growing up, you gave your mom some trouble. She didn’t always know what to do with you. But you’re confident that you won’t make the same mistakes she did. You feel absolutely positive that you will do it better. You won’t yell as much or be as critical. You’ll let your kid stay up late and eat breakfast for dinner or dessert first. And you definitely won’t spank them because you’ll be friends with your child and you’ll talk through situations rather than resort to striking them.
Uh huh! Sure!
Child Psychology Schmology
Fast forward seventeen years and two kids later and I’m vexed with the dilemma of a strong-willed 9-year old and child psychology is not working. So, I spank and, well, the effects are the opposite of my intention. My intention is to get her attention and correct the behavior. Ding! Ding! Ding! “Houston, it’s a no-go!” It turns into a knockdown, drag out, anger fest that ends with me throwing her across the room. (ok, that was just in my mind) But, spanking doesn’t work, for either of us, and I’m at a loss as to how to parent this kid when she’s “spinning” (think Linda Blair). Literally, I think I’ve actually seen her head spin.
95% of the time she’s the loveliest little girl you’ve ever met and, in a nano-second, she can spiral into Sybil over the silliest of things. Seriously! Her hair has a “poof” in it and, good God, it’s the end of the world, and she wishes she were dead. I know, it sounds absolutely ridiculous and dramatic and I should be able to put the kibosh on it. Now, if you have no children, I know what you’re thinking. “Take charge woman, you’re the mother! She will mind you because you’re the parent. Ground her and lock her in her room and throw away the key.”
While good in theory, it plays out much differently in the heat of the moment in Parentland and highly dependent on the kid you’re parenting. Complex personalities are the free gift with purchase. And, if you’re really lucky, you also have a teenager who’s at the ready to critique your parenting efforts at every turn. (insert eye rolling and comments here)
It’s perplexing as hell when you take a stand, address the behavior, use some good old child psychology and expect immediate obedience. Then, you spank, to get their attention, and you’re left feeling a bit ridiculous striking them into submission and they’re left angrier, confused and unable to contain themselves. It’s just stupid!
I’m not completely opposed to spanking. I’m just questioning its usefulness and effectiveness as a parenting tool. Looking back, I don’t know that it ever worked well for my mom either. The aftermath of a spanking left me mad and crying in my room, pulling my hair out in frustration, and my sister unphased with her head in my mom’s lap uttering, “I love you, let’s play!”
Oh Lord, maybe my kid is more like me than I care to remember or admit!
I’ll keep experimenting until I find the right mix of discipline, love, and effectiveness for this particular kid. In the meantime, there’s “purse wine!”
Have a strong-willed child? Any tips or tricks you care to share? I’m all ears.
Stay sane, my friends.
With so many Top Ten lists filling up your inbox, inspiring you with the greatest gifts for the foodie or gardener in your life, it’s easy to get lost in the commercial side of giving (and receiving). A little end of the year reflection has reminded me that some of the greatest gifts of all don’t necessarily come in a box or gift bag and they’re the kind of gifts that give back all year long. Bonus — you can even give them to yourself.
Freedom: of speech, to choose, to love, to learn, to vote, to wear Saturday panties on Monday
Time: 24 glorious hours each day to make a difference, try something new, mend a fence, tear down a wall, create, explore, stop and smell the roses, call your mother
Nature: sunshine, trees, animals, fresh air, a great hiking trail, ten-minute walkabout at lunchtime, a walk around the block that turns into 3 hours to keep from killing your family
Smiling: the instant pick-me-up or lift-you-up (and, it’s portable)
Water: free-flowing from a faucet or dispenser or reclycled plastic bottle…and you don’t have to walk five miles to get it
Learning: reading an inspiring email, writing a blog post, thinking about anothers point of view, listening to new ideas, sharing solutions, expanding your mind, creating new neural pathways
Love: (again, portable and always inside you) a wink, a handshake, a giant bear hug, a pinch on the ass (to someone you know, please), a crucial conversation, a pat on the back, an approving nod, a lending hand or a shoulder to cry on, a tender kiss or a passionate caress
Empathy: walk a mile in someone elses shoes, not only listen but hear and understand
Health: waking up each day, eyes to see, ears to hear, a nose to breathe it all in, hands to shape, legs to move about
Reset button: push it any time, anywhere, as many times as you like to start again, start over, keep your outside voice inside, say you’re sorry, ask for forgiveness
It may sound corny, but when you stop and think about all these amazing gifts, it’s really like Christmas every day of the year! Certainly shifts my gifting mindset.
What’s on your greatest gift list?
Stay sane, my friends.
Watching the Country Music Awards is an annual ritual we’ve come to enjoy at the Confessions house — especially betting against 9 Going on 19, whose name will be called when the envelope is opened or who has the biggest penis (just kidding).
After a long day of thinkery and clients and traffic and cooking (or cleaning up), it feels like a small reward to slow down, sink back into the couch with a glass of wine (I know, you’re shocked) and take in all the humor, fashion, performances, acceptance speeches, commemorations of performers past and sizes of country music. BRICK TO THE HEAD
Yes, I said SIZES! It dawned on me that while I was bantering with my kid, laughing at Brad and Carrie and moving to the music of some of my favorite performers, my inner mean girl was on over-drive and judging her ass off. This was the tape rolling in my head:
“Wow, Garth and Trisha have put on some weight; looks like they fell off the diet wagon!”
“Damn, Tim and Faith need to eat a sandwich…somebody has taken fitness a little too far!”
“I think Miranda is heavier…must be from the stress of the divorce. Does she have a tiny double chin?”
“Man, the girls of Little Big Town look fantastic! Weren’t they a little heavier before?”
“Brad’s wife Kim looks a little better than when she was on “Two and a Half Men”; she was a scarecrow with boobs on that show!”
“Brooks and Dunn look good; Ronnie is so skinny! I wonder if it’s his body type or he works at it really hard?!”
Seriously, my inner mean girl is pathetic! Who thinks about stupid stuff like this?! Does size even matter? Obviously, I have body issues of my own. Is that where these thoughts come from — this obsession with size? Does it matter if Miranda Lambert is a size 4 or a size 12? No! She has the most beautiful voice and that is why I love her. So, why do I feel compelled to think about or comment on how big or small she is?
Is this something we all do or am I alone on an island here and going straight to hell in a hand basket?
I teach my daughters to see people for their essence, their heart and their mind — not their skin color or religion or bad fashion choices. (heh heh) So, clearly, I need to practice what I’m preaching.
I believe that society and the media have a huge hand in influencing us when it comes to our beliefs about body image and what’s acceptable and desirable. It starts when we’re little…playing with perfect “unrealistically proportioned” Barbie and perfect “weird plastic penis” Ken put us right on the train to Dysmorphia City. Would it make a difference if kids played with Mike and Molly dolls instead? Maybe. But, shutting out all the other news, magazines, movies and references to the Kardashians is nearly impossible.
Is size an indicator of something important?
If someone is heavy does it mean they are lazy or dumb or indulgent or any other negative thing? When someone is thin are they necessarily active and healthy, smart and conscientious? Pretty sure the answer to both is a resounding NO!
I’m well aware that this obsession with size is not a new question or issue. Major brands have taken a stab at dismantling our dysfunctional belief system, like the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty. And yet there will always be those who see the “glass is half empty”: “the campaign has been called a lot of things, from a “game changer” and “a breath of fresh air”, to “hypocritical”, “sexist”, and “sneaky”. Baby steps!
You know what they say after you’ve had a baby…it took you nine months to put on the weight, so give yourself time to take it off. This size issue feels the same. It’s taken a hundred years (I’m narrowing it down here) to create our current belief system around size and I really hope it doesn’t take that long for us to change our mindset and become more realistic and less judgemental.
I’m committing to practicing what I preach and seeing people for who they are on the inside (myself included). Inner Mean Girl…you’ve been warned! STFU
Are you light years ahead of me or do you ever struggle with judging yourself or others based on size? Does size really matter?
Stay sane, my friends.