She doesn’t need a savior
Whenever I talk about my passion for working with young women on releasing perfectionism, there’s one response I hear that has a way of crawling under my skin. “Oh that is so needed,” people say. The tone they use to deliver the sentence makes it sound like I’m a hero stepping up to rescue young women. “Oh that is so needed…” the subtext being young women are constantly at risk of some type of peril. Over and over I hear it, and over and over I say “yes, it is” because I have nothing better with which to respond. How do you respond to someone implying there’s a fire constantly burning and you’re the one coming along with a bucket to try to calm it? You’d think I would have come up with a better response after a decade in this work, but, alas, I have not. Something about it is always irksome to me. What they’re saying, is they’re aware young women are suffering and they’re happy to hear someone is doing something about it. They know being a woman in a society determined to make them second-class citizens is really freaking hard. They know the early decades of life, spanning anywhere…
Heart Sinking, Hurt Growing
She’s staring back at me. A pretty face, short brown hair, white skin with pink splotches painted across her face. Her eyes are a soft blue set above bold cheek bones and a sharp jawline. When I look at her, I see the scar from the surgery on her lip in middle school and the contacts laying atop her cornea. I see the weight of…. something, I’m not sure what, but I see it laying on her shoulders. She looks tired. She looks sad and tired and disappointed. She’s waiting for me to give her clear direction, to tell her what to do. She’s staring back at me, waiting for the words, but I’m not sure what to say. So, if that girl staring at me was my best friend, what would I say to her? I use a question similar to that frequently in calls with my clients. What would I say to dry the tears welling in her eyes? What wisdom can I give her to help release the weight on her shoulders?. I look at her, offer a soft but welcoming smile, and ask her the question. She responds, “I’d tell her to take a breath and…
A little less of “her” for a whole lot more ME!
I just sat down to write and set my timer for 15 minutes. I’m not entirely sure what message will unfold, but I know there’s something to be written in this time. I want writing to be a bigger part of my life, so I’m being intentional about creating time to simply put fingers on keys. I’m sitting at my new dining room table, writing. Just for the hell of it. Just for the word count. Just so I can look myself in the mirror and be proud of myself. Fact: I’ve fallen into a cycle of hoping things will happen without a plan to make them happen. Tyler reminds me of this pretty consistently when he has to be my shoulder to cry on when I’m feeling disappointed. I am not good and not doing. I am always thinking of a goal, always thinking of that vision of the life I want to live… and I always find myself feeling guilty or disappointed when another week has flown by and I haven’t taken even a little time to bring me closer to my own vision. At some point recently, I got tired of feeling guilty. I got tired of…
Consistency: A Daily Practice
If you follow me on Instagram and have been watching my stories recently, you’ll know I’ve gotten into a habit of something called “morning pages”. This morning ritual was recommended to me years ago when I was reading a book called “The Artist’s Way.” At the time, I started incorporating the habit and, when it got hard and I didn’t “feel” like it, I fell off track. Sound familiar? Years have passed since I initially read about the practice. Since then, one of my favorite authors, Hannah Brencher, reiterated a simple fact: Writers write. Period. If I want to produce more work, share more with my readers, and practice writing, all I have to do is write. So, I decided to incorporate morning pages back into my day. Yay, how fun! I romanticized the thing, dreaming of the profound thoughts I would have each morning and the powerful content I would be able to produce. The idea was exciting and I was committed to really making it last. Being a perfectionist, “really making it last” went from 0 to 100 in one romanticized decision. That’s the thing about being a perfectionist – expectations are always at the extreme. Isn’t that…
Goodbye, my old friend.
There was a time, a stretch of time in fact, when I thought no person or circumstance could ever separate us. We were two peas in a pod. We could read each other’s facial expressions, moods, and emojis without the need for all the extra words. We talked about our dreams together and made travel plans over coffee dates. We held each other through heartbreak and spent countless nights falling asleep in the same bed. Our inside jokes were infinite and we referred to each other as “my person”. You were the Christina to my Meredith. Until…. you weren’t. It didn’t happen all at once. It was a growing number of texts that went something like “We should get together soon”, but it never happened. Sending the invite without receiving a response was tiring and disappointing. My family would ask how you were doing and what you were up to, but I honestly didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know anymore. The friendship felt forced in ways it never did before. The resentment was growing, and it didn’t feel good. “What am I even fighting for?” I asked myself that question frequently. “It’s supposed to be a two way…
Mind the Drudgery
“First forget inspiration. Habit is more dependable. Habit will sustain you whether you’re inspired or not. Habit will help you finish and polish your stories. Inspiration won’t. Habit is persistence in practice.” – Octavia Butler Three specific words have been floating around my mind lately. All week last week, I kept coming back to this single phrase. Mind the drudgery The definition of drudgery is “hard, menial, or dull work”. The word itself sounds heavy, boring, and requiring strength to overcome. Whenever the phrase crossed my mind over the last week, I kept picturing a thick swamp filled with mud, overgrowth, and an uneven bottom. It takes effort to wade through it all and the journey seems never-ending. It’s physically challenging, but the body is strong enough to make it to the other side. The real fight is in the mind. It’s a battle we’re in right now. COVID has rocked our country and the light at the end of the tunnel has only just appeared. We’re still in the thick of it, waiting to see the shore on the other side of this terrible journey. Patience is wearing thin and our spirits are weary. This is the time to…
A Bigger Meaning Behind Mario Tennis
For our first Thanksgiving together, Tyler and I decided to spend the day with his sister and her wife. We decided to do something outside of Thanksgiving traditions in a Mediterranean theme. We had an amazing charcuterie board filled with various veggies, crackers, and dips with a delicious salmon for dinner. We spent the entire day drinking warm mulled wine, playing trivia games, and strengthening a beautiful relationship. Towards the end of our evening, Tyler brought out his new Mario Tennis game. As a kid, I spent time watching my brother play video games but never felt the desire to do so myself. Every once in a while I’d take control of a crazy taxi, but nothing much beyond that. Thanksgiving also revealed the fact that gaming consoles have changed A LOT since the days of my brother’s game cube. Tyler has a nintendo switch which, evidently, means one controller can rapidly transform into about seven (not literally, but DANG, that little thing has options). Eventually, we selected our characters (I was Toadette because she’s cute) and we began playing. The game was doubles tennis. Allow me to emphasize the “doubles” portion of that sentence. This implies partnership, teamwork, and…
Like Glennon and Abby
I made a mistake tonight. After a long day of work, I sat down and opened Instagram. My husband, seated next to me, was still working. As soon as I opened the app, the mindless scrolling started. The scrolling that’s meant to be relaxing but rarely ends up relaxing my mind. After double-tapping a post or two, my eyes fell upon a video shared by Abby Wambach and Glennon Doyle. If you’re unaware of who these two rockstar women are, I encourage you to do a little research. One is an Olympian and former professional athlete (along with other really cool things), both are bestselling authors, both are incredible activists. They’re also a married couple. Like I said, rockstars. Really relatable couple for comparison, right? HA! The sound wasn’t even playing on my phone, but I watched their talking heads bob around my screen for a moment. Before I could even catch myself, a single thought shot across my mind.. “I wish we had an Abby Wambach and Glennon Doyle marriage”. Insane, I KNOW. Then, I did something I immediately regretted. I looked at my husband of 5 weeks and said, “I wish we had an Abby Wambach and Glennon Doyle…
Staring Into The Big Grey Abyss
No, you don’t have to have everything figured out. It was April of 2013. I was weeks shy of walking across that big stage to accept a diploma and celebrate the completion of my undergraduate journey. Graduate school was definitely not part of my plan come fall. All I wanted was to read a book for my own pleasure, hang out with my friends on a beach, go to some new bars, and chill for the summer. I was a college graduate. My plan up to that point was complete and the big grey abyss would cause significant anxiety if I thought about it too much. I was terrified and excited and so very ready to be DONE. Your early twenties are a strange and beautiful time. You’re kind of an adult but still kind of a kid, mostly trying to figure out who you want to be. You’ll watch your friends begin their first “grown-up” jobs and get married. You’ll use words like adulting to describe the steps you’re taking to full independence and think about things like a 401K and benefits packages. You’ll be making plans to travel the world and get a few more years out of…
Why did I decide to go to grad school?
To be blunt, I decided to go to grad school for all the wrong reasons. My inner-critic was very loud at the time and the life-changing effects of anxiety medication and therapy had not yet entered my life. I was one year out of undergrad, living with my parents, and desperately searching for a recognizable path to success. Basically, I was in my early twenties and tired of feeling like I was frolicking around with no real direction. Acquaintances would regularly ask me “where are you working and living now?” and I hated my lack-of an answer. So, why not go back to school? Honestly, I wouldn’t trade my graduate experience. It was damn hard, but that was mostly the pressure I put on myself, not the actual program. However, if you’re coming to the end of your junior year of college or, like I was, trying to find the easy path after a few years away from school, I’d like to offer some advice: Do not go to grad school just because it’s the next step in the educational process. Grad school is like 4 years of college squished into 2 years with very little of the fun. Your…
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