To Marie, On Your 9th Birthday

 Dear Marie,

This year, your birthday falls on Mother’s Day, and you are so excited about this.  To be honest, I am glad that you are excited because having your day happen on Mother’s Day feels really special to me.

The day you were born was a sort of a rebirth for me.  If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I would have the courage to figure out what I truly wanted from life and actually make plans to achieve it.

You were the first step in this journey. 

To be a better person. 

To develop healthy personal boundaries. 

To write. 

To stop saying sorry all the time for things I don’t need to be sorry.

It wasn’t until I was responsible for someone else did I realize how poorly I thought of myself.

It didn’t bother me enough to stop associating with people that did not treat me with kindness and respect.

I didn’t realize that perfectionism was just another form of self-loathing, and in fact, NOT one of my most positive personality traits.

It didn’t occur to me that it was not normal to go through life with a general and overwhelming state of malaise.

There was no way I was going to take a beautiful, brand new human down that same road. I knew that you would be watching me, and I wanted so much better for you.  And I if I wanted better for you, I would need to be better. 

If you were truly to know deep down in your bones that you deserved to be happy and treated with kindness not only by others, but from yourself, I would have to lead the way.

So I am learning how and doing my best everyday to be a positive example for you.

But we are all on own paths to happiness, and it breaks my heart to see you struggle with our common thread of anxiety. As much as I want to pave your path to happiness with all the lessons I have learned, I understand that I cannot do it for you.

My birthday wish for you is to find light and love throughout your journey.  I want you to know that you are worthy of true happiness simply because you are you.  You don’t have to earn it.  No one can give it to you, and no one can take it away.  

You are enough, my dear, just as you are.

We both are.

Love always,

Mommy

My first Mother's Day. You were only a few days old.

Love.

Hello, 2015!

Hello, 2015!  Am I glad to see you!  Yes, it’s freezing and snowy, but quiet and refreshing after all of the holiday madness.

Once I had my first quiet moment to myself in over 2 weeks, I was able to focus on what I really wanted for 2015.  Sure, I want to write more and live more in the present moment, but when I really searched for what I needed to make any goals, it all boiled down to one word: boundaries.

My first peaceful moment of 2015.

I  feel like I should have this boundary thing down better by now since it seems that every personal goal I’ve made this decade can be traced down to boundaries.  This year I have noticed that creating boundaries is no longer my struggle: it’s keeping them.

 My inner dialogue goes something like this:

“I want to please everyone!”

“I give 0 F’s about pleasing everyone!”

“Well, maybe a few Fs.”

“Erin, you are strong.  You can have boundaries and still be compassionate and kind.”

The struggle is real.

And come to find out, there is a pattern with all this inner-conflict.  Doubt starts to sneak in when I’m not paying attention and starts to whisper passive-aggressive thoughts.  “Are you sure you want to say no, Erin?  Is that really the right thing to do?  Think of those that will be disappointed.”

When the pressure bears down too much and I start to question my self-worth, I explode!  There is a war being waged on my boundaries, and I must protect them!

This Is my house. I must defend it.

I want to be angry with the people who have little regard for what I find sacred, but when I sit quietly and dig deep, I am really just angry with doubting myself.  Then come the waves of self-loathing.

It reminds me of overindulging during the holidays.  During all of the social gatherings (and my introvert-mandated recovery from said social events), it seems like a good idea to loose myself in a batch of wreath cookies and a bottle of wine.  But the only thing that ever really results in that is a bloated tummy, a headache, and a deep contempt for myself.  

All of the wreath cookies.

So my intention for 2015 is to avoid the emotional hangover of becoming misaligned with my boundaries.

I want to cultivate a peaceful strength that does not need to be forceful to be heard or back down when the pressure becomes to great.

I’ve worked really hard to discover my personal boundaries.   Now I want to settle into them and feel cozy and safe; not standing at the door on defense just waiting for someone to break in.

I think the confidence that comes from being comfortable will help reaching my other goals more of a reality.

What are you hoping for in 2015?

This is exactly what I am feeling for 2015.

On my Thirty-Seventh Birthday

Today I turn thirty-seven years old.  Thirty-seven is not a milestone birthday.  It’s not like 25 or 30 or 40.  But something about thirty-seven feels like a milestone for me.

Maybe it’s because I have turned a corner with both kids in school, and I’m working from home.  Maybe it’s because I can practice yoga twice a week.  I don’t know.  But I do know that I feel more contentment and peace than I have in a long, long time. 

I mean not perfect contentment that I imagine I would feel if I were chanting ohm on a secluded mountaintop.  More like less angst-y and restless.

I remember when I started my third decade, I spend quite a few nights waking up and running to the bathroom to dry heave and cry.  At first I thought I had the flu or maybe pregnant. 

When neither turned out to be true, I decided maybe I was unhappy.  But how could I be unhappy?  I was happily married and had a beautiful daughter who was deliciously adorable at two years old.

When I quieted my mind and clocked some serious time at my therapist’s office, I came to the conclusion that I was just letting in too much – too many opinions of others, too many judgments, too many self-harming comments.  I couldn’t honor these outside forces and still have enough energy to raise Marie.

So I started to say no to things that made me feel bad. I said no to thing that made my gut red hot with dread.  I said no to things that made me feel drained and sad.  This was not easy at all.  I mean, saying no kind of goes again first-born daughter code.  There were times when I think it would have been easier to join the witness protection program than face my fears of letting anyone down as I decided to live life on my terms.

Which is what was the stem of all my itchy, uncomfortable feelings of going with a flow that was not meant for me.  So little by little, I created something I had never before experienced: personal boundaries.

I didn’t have the language to explain this transformation until I heard Elizabeth Gilbert speakat Oprah’s Life You Want Weekend.  She called her journey a Quest and talked about how it started with crying on the bathroom floor, knowing that she was not on her right path.  Which led her on journey to answer the question: What have I come here to do with my life? 

Wait - there was a name for this?  A Quest?!  I thought I was just going about my business trying to find some way to make sure I didn’t implode while raising my daughter.  But yes, when she explained exactly what a Quest is, I was indeed on one of my own.

She talked about how The Quest is filled with self-doubt and uncertainty that there will be trials, but ultimately when finished, fear is shed.

In fact, all the difficulties were inevitable.  Elizabeth shared that she used to pray for changes in her life, but without all the mess and upheaval.

And with that, the past seven years of my life were validated.  I guess I had the preconceived notion that personal transformation would be a blissful journey. Yes, I was making changes that felt like were aligned with who I really was meant to be, but shit, it was hard.  And messy.   And uncomfortable.

But it would have been more uncomfortable to stay and cry and dry heave and live a life on a path that was not for me than to figure out how I fit in this world.

So I am going to celebrate this non-milestone milestone birthday.  With cake.  Champagne.  Family.  Food.

I did it.  I am on My Quest.  And even thought it’s not easy, it feels pretty damn good.

Gift of Presence

Today is my birthday.  I usually love my birthday.  Love. It.  I revel in the celebration.  I eat tons of cake and ice cream and junky carbs as I can.

This year is a little different.  It’s been a difficult six months.  I’ve been closely examining my personalboundaries in regards to bullying.  I’ve been working hard on accepting myself and honoring my limits.  I’ve been putting a lot of effort into creating the best version of myself so I can be good to others.

It’s exhausting, really.

And needless to say, it has not been easy.  I know that one of my gifts from the Babes is the new No Doubt CD.  (Thanks for the not-so-obvious hint, Thomas)!  I am super excited to open it later tonight, but I have to say that my kids have already given me the best gift that has transformed me in each and every way.

The gift of presence. 

I am so incredibly thankful for this gift of living in the moment.  They take this awesome gift for granted because they are constantly living in the moment.  But as a planner, living in the moment has been a challenge.  It means taking the time to be quiet and value what is happening right here, right now.  And because of this, I not only see the beauty of the moment, but I feel it in a way I never had experienced before.

When Thomas wants to cuddle on the couch with me and watch Doc McStuffins or when Marie wants to hold my hand as we walk to the bus stop, I quiet that voice that says laundry needs to get done or we need to hurry before the bus comes.  All these little moments add up to one, big life and I don’t want them to slip away.

But even more than that, living in the moment with my kids has given me strength to protect my priorities with great intensity.  This is not easy, and it’s not like I live in this Zen state all the time (who does with a three year old?), but I can say that my joyful moments are more joyful.

I am thankful to these little teachers for inspiring me to create the life I’ve always wanted.

I can’t say that I *love* the idea of the smile lines that seem a little deeper around my eyes, but I can say with great certainty that I love the sense of strength I get from my gift of presence.

What do you like most about your birthday?

My Story of Being Bullied

Last week, I wrote a post for the Detroit NewsMichMoms blog about the bullying my daughter has faced on the bus.  As a mother, I am outraged.  As I say in my post, I refer to the bucketdipping analogy because it makes sense to me: no one (at least at this young age) is inherently bad and there is a definite cycle to bullying.  It’s really all about the bully’s issues, not so much the victim’s issues.

 My rage runs deep because it brings up my memories of being bullied in school.  I was awkward with my glasses and retainer.  I was self-conscious because, for some reason, I just didn’t feel like I fit in with other kids.

In fourth grade, there was this one girl, Sunny*, and she always seemed to lay into me about something.  I wore glasses.  My hair was too blonde.  I wore a retainer.  I wore age-appropriate clothes.  I got good grades.  I asked too many question in class.  It was always something with her.

The bullying had been going on for a while, and my parents told me to ignore her so she wouldn’t see me upset.  Of course, it continued to escalate, and I could feel the anger my parents had because their daughter was hurting.  And this is when they told me to do the unmentionable.

They told me to hit her. 

Instead of feeling empowered that I could just smack the shit out of this bully, I only felt an extra heap of anxiety.  I wasn’t a fighter, but I felt like I would be letting my parents down if I didn’t get this girl to shut up and leave me alone.

One day, in music class, she said something horrible (which I don’t exactly remember) while the teacher wasn’t paying attention.  Everyone started to laugh at me.

That was it.  I got up out of my seat and tried to smack her.  I can’t remember if I actually smacker her or not.  I pretty much blocked out the whole incident.  I remember crying and running out of the room in the middle of class, but that’s about it.

The next day (or maybe it was later on the same day since everything is blurry), I sat down in the principal’s office while he told her to leave me alone.  In retrospect, I am not quite sure how I did not get in trouble for smacking someone and then leaving class.  Anyway, she got a few more digs in and left me alone, only to have someone else start where she left off.  I felt that something was obviously wrong with me since I was being bullied again.

Looking back, Sunny had family issues that I am sure where the cause of her acting out, and I just happened to be an easy target.  I am pretty sure that her bucket was not being filled at home but at the time, I never considered her story because I was only reacting to her abuse. 

Years later, I have learned that real power and real strength comes from not reacting or even just ignoring the abuse.  The fear and unworthiness that comes with being bullied makes it difficult to sustain the appearance of ambivalence.  The power and strength come from having personal boundaries, of knowing that you deserve to be around people who treat you with kindness.

I try so hard to teach my kids how to maintain personal boundaries and trust their instincts to keeping themselves protected.  It’s so important more than ever with the dawn of social media within in a society that accepts bullying.  I mean look at this story from Today Moms.  Ann Coulter used the word “retarded” in a derogatory way, and a blogger who is a father to a special needs child wrote about how this upset him and wants an apology. 

If this is happening with so called educated adults, it’s for sure going to happen on the school bus and the playground.  A lot of these adults still claim that words are just words, which is maddening because it is taking no ownership for the hurt those words cause and perpetuates the cycle.

I hope that by teaching my kids to respect the power of words and personal boundaries, they can truly move on from a heartless remark with understanding (and maybe a dash of compassion) that the abuser has probably been the subject of the same hurtful behavior.

I want to break the cycle.

But this?  This is not easy. 

Have you been bullied?  How did it affect you?

Just Words

Recently, I have been called a string of expletives.  And not as term of endearment, if you know what I mean.  Not like, “Back off.  That’s my bitch.”  Although that sounds pretty icky, too.  No, this was a personal attack.  And unfortunately, this was not the first time; I have been a target for this kind of behavior since I was a young teenager.

When verbally attacked like this, it takes all my strength to keep my integrity intact.  It goes against my upbringing, really.  See, I grew up in a loud family, and whoever yelled the loudest and the most abrasive usually won.

I usually lost.

Anyway, when this perpetrator has exorcised all the venom, it is quite clear that I am hurt; I am shaky, and I avoid eye contact.  I try to keep my cool by counting until 152 because even though there is an empty space in the conversation which traditionally would be filled with a vicious retaliation, I wait for the final phrase that signifies the end of the “discussion:”

“Why are you so upset?  It’s only words, Erin.”

This final attack outrages me almost more than being called a bitch or a retard.

Words are so important to me.  My love affair with them started at an early age as I devoured any book that I could get my hands on.  I started journaling at age seven.  Blank pages made my eyes twinkle and my heart race with the excitement of endless possibilities.

I try to choose my words very carefully, and not just because I love them as my true medium of expression.  I understand, and maybe more importantly respect, the power of words.  Words express our thoughts, our intentions.  Having said that, I do take responsibility for my tendency to expect others to choose their words wisely.  Sometimes I get hurt when the right words are not used; I think that is called being oversensitive.  That aside, I do understand the importance of practicing patience if someone misspoke.  I have tried not to jump to conclusions and ask questions first if someone is having a difficult time expressing themselves.

But vicious name-calling isn’t a slip of the tongue.  It’s hurtful.  It reopens old wounds.  And it’s downright confusing when the conversation is supposed to be centered around healing and understanding.  And don’t even get me started on the confusion and anxiety I feel when people’s words don’t match up with their actions.

I am trying to teach the importance of words to my kids.  I am trying to show by example that practicing kindness is important.  And the loudest yeller with the meanest thing to say isn’t the winner.  I think the word that describes that person is a bully.  My kids know that bullying is not tolerated.  At all.  Or in the carefully chosen words of Taylor Swift, “Like, ever.”

So, yeah, words are important to me.

How important are words to you?