The Scarlet Letter

Posted on August 23, 2013 by bonnevivantelife

scarlet letter, slut shaming

No doubt you’ve heard of #Slanegirl. If not, quick recap: a 17 year-old girl is photographed at an outdoor concert in Ireland engaged in oral sex with a young man who has his arms raised in victory while people look on. This photograph quickly becomes viral, as does her name. She is literally slut-shamed throughout the world. Hundreds of strangers are publicly stoning her, making assumptions about the character of her being.

I won’t write about the double standards of how we treat women vs. men. That’s been addressed much more eloquently in other venues. I won’t write about the virtues of public sexual acts, you each have your own views about that. Or behaviors of youth today, lest I sound old. I won’t write about how this is another call to arms for the feminist movement.

Because this is not a feminism issue. It’s a human-being issue. This is not an issue that affects women. It is an issue that affects all of us. Of course I don’t want my daughter to feel shame for being a sexual being, for wanting and enjoying respectful sex. But I also don’t want my son to grow up in a world that tells him he’s a stud for getting sex–it’s not something to give or take, but to be shared. I don’t want him to believe, even for a minute, that it’s OK to witness and ignore,or participate, in shaming ANYONE, for ANYTHING.

What is the point in making anyone feel badly about him or herself? To make the accuser feel better or more superior or more worthy. It’s about the perception of power or worth. Why else would you throw contempt at another human being who could be your friend, sibling, mother, teacher? What good comes out of sending hate out into this world?

If you don’t agree with someone’s actions, does that give you the right to make them feel shame? Unequivocally, no. Should you kindly point out the error of his ways, or gently redirect him? In some circumstances, yes. In others, it’s none of your damned business–nothing to see here, move on.

All these people who cowardly, through the detachment of the internet, shouted mysoginistic insults to a child, all these people–tell me they are virtuous and perfect. Tell me they have not ever made unwise decisions, or behaved poorly intentionally. And I am willing to bet they appreciated the kindness they encountered through life when kindness came.

I won’t overshare, but it’s safe to say I’ve had sex with more than one person in my life and I most certainly enjoy it. It’s also safe to say that is true for the majority of people in this world. Shaming others for your same behaviors–are you projecting your own self-shame? Perhaps you haven’t come to grips with owning your sexuality?

To own our sexuality, we need to be able to talk about sex where it’s not dirty or shameful. I want my children to understand sex is not a commodity to be traded or used between partners. It is not simply a transaction. I want them to understand sex is a beautiful and wonderful and respectful thing. I want them to understand the responsibility that comes with sex. I want them to know a lot about sex and relationships, and to enjoy both.

But just as importantly, I want them to understand shame has no place in our lives. I want them to know they have no right to judge another person. The bottom line is, it’s just not nice. Shaming someone: It’s abuse. It’s bullying. It’s verbal violence. I’ve read some comments where the writers admonishes the girl’s behavior if in fact she was not drugged. And then the writer goes on to say how if she was indeed sober, her parents ought to be ashamed, as should she. No. I don’t accept that premise. Will they be embarrassed? Methinks probably. But there’s nothing inherently wrong with her. Remember, shame=there’s something wrong with you.  Shaming perpetuates the culture that allows disconnecting from each other that leads to vilifying an Other. 

There’s a lot going on with this young woman’s current circumstances–child exploitation, double standards, mysogyny, sex, bullying, and so much more…All of these issues though start with kindness. If you’re kind to others and to yourself, there are no double standards or judging that leads to bullying or slut-shaming or exploitation. Sounds sort of simple, but we know it’s not so easy.

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Girls Gone Wild?

Posted on August 19, 2013 by bonnevivantelife

gratitude

I’m coming off a weekend away with a dear friend I’ve known for over half my life. We’ve been close friends for 22 years. It was a fabulous yet draining weekend–it was supposed to be a typical Girls’ Weekend. It was anything but. She wanted me to write about how Karma bitch-slapped us for all the stupid (and possibly illegal) shit we pulled when we were younger and reckless and invincible–when our skin was taut, our bellies were flat, and consequences didn’t matter as much. We had quite the unexpected weekend that may or may not have involved law enforcement, an impounded car, possible bribery, a girl named Mo, several 7-Elevens, a bowling alley, a lost wallet, a suspended license, and many other things that need not be named. Yet we didn’t do anything wrong! It was the confluence of bad luck and timing. We couldn’t believe that we were actually playing by the rules, but every time we turned around, we became more and more mired in the briar patch. After all the stupid things we pulled so many years ago and never got caught–we, at 40 years old with our creaky knees, were called up to face the music, it seemed, of past foolish decisions.

My friend wanted me to tell you all the details about how crazy this weekend was. It is certainly one of those stories we’ll still talk about in 30 or 40 years. But this morning, I realized the absurdities weren’t what I wanted to share today. Maybe later–it really was a clusterfuck. But today, I’m processing how we got here. And who we were, and who we are now. In one sense, she and I haven’t changed a bit. No matter how much time passes between us, I know who she is, and she knows who I am. I look at her, and we’re still 20 years old.

But through two decades, we’ve seen each other through marriages, children, divorces, career decisions, geographic moves, and a lot of tears and laughter. Each of these changes us. On the flight back home alone, I reflected on the weekend and how wonderful it was to see her and spend time with her again. And I processed all the heavy life issues we caught up on. I wondered, “How did my life come to this moment?”

I met her when life was full of possibilities, when we were young and vibrant and optimistic. We had only just begun writing the stories of our lives. We could do anything in life, and we did do a whole hell of a lot, good and bad–mostly very, very funny. Life, as it’s apt to, put us through the wringer. It has shaken the way we see the world, what we believe to be true, how we thought the world worked. We’ve mourned the loss of what we thought our futures held, of the lives we built before endings and betrayals and disappointments. We’ve questioned some of our decisions, and where to go from here.

I never for a moment thought I would be knocking on the door of 40 as a single Momma of two little ones, living in the suburbs, working a stable and sensible job. Granted, I’m not known for my sensible shoes or clothes, but my suburban lot in life was not something I ever planned, or wanted. Don’t get me wrong, I love the life I’ve built. But who I am today and my life as it looks today was not ever anything I wanted to strive for.

But wait–Who I am today?…I’m so much less anxious, and rigid, and black and white than I ever was. I am more patient and kind and loving. I am more thoughtful and measured and calm. Those struggles in life–I dealt with each of them in ways that brought me to this kinder, gentler, easier version of me. I stumbled into me.

Some moments I lament how un-normal my life is. Well, our Girls’ Weekend (La Femme Hangover??) was certainly not normal. So, par for the course I suppose (speaking of which, if anyone asks, I did not want to commandeer a golf cart). I am reminded there is no such thing as “normal.” Despite how ridiculous the weekend was, at each step of the way, we turned to each other and said how grateful we were to be going through it with each other, and we enjoyed our time together. Such is life. Be grateful for who you’re with at each moment and enjoy your time together. No matter how crazy or not normal or unexpected it is. 

The law enforcement official who may or may not have been part of this adventure kept saying “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.” Yes ma’am. I’ve learned my lesson–of gratitude. 

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I Can Have My Cake and Eat it Too

Posted on August 12, 2013 by bonnevivantelife

2013-08-12 17.02.56

The kids are on vacation with their father this week. A week! An entire week! Seven days! But who’s counting? I made a mental note of all the projects I could finally tackle without interruption–cleaning out the office/guest room/de facto storage room, purging old toys, cleaning out the craft table, yard work, oh and the list goes on. I thought of all my friends I could catch up with over dinner and drinks. I salivated over the thought of being able to run to the store for a quick errand at night without a second thought. I couldn’t wait to not feel the stress of picking them up on time after work–traffic? Bring it on!

This is the first time I’ve gone more than 3 days without the kids–in almost 10 years. I love them–they’re my life. But I’ll be honest, I was stupid giddy with anticipation of tasting just a little bit of freedom.

It’s been two hours. The silence is deafening. I’m not sure what to do with myself. Who do I bark at to take a shower? I’ve already taken mine…There aren’t even any toys to pick up. No lunches to pack. No chunky cheeks to kiss goodnight.

I may change my tune and get used to this mid-week, but right now I’m at a loss. I need to remember this when they come home so that I don’t take their whining and fighting for granted. I need to remember how much I actually love being irritated. Don’t worry about me though, I’m OK. I just had cake for dinner. And a spoonful of Nutella for dessert.

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Shame on You, Shame on Me

Posted on August 10, 2013 by bonnevivantelife

shame

My children’s mental health is very important to me. ‘Cause there’s nothing more shameful than a mental health professional with whacked out kids. Tongues wag behind your back and colleagues wonder about your professional skills if you can’t even get your kids right. Kidding! Of course the reason my children’s mental health is important is because, well, they’re my kids, and I love them and want them to be happy and well-adjusted with good coping skills and resilience. What does this mean exactly?

I want my kids to have a good, solid sense of self. I don’t want them to go through years of pain and inner turmoil to finally be comfortable in their own skin. I want to minimize their self-destruction. I don’t want them to lose years of their lives not believing in themselves. So it breaks my heart when I hear my children mournfully proclaiming “I’m a bad girl…” or “I’m a bad boy…”

Brene Brown, PhD, distinguishes between guilt and shame as this:                                  

Guilt is “I did something bad.”          Shame is “I am bad.”

Guilt is “I made a mistake.”                Shame is “I am a mistake.”

My kids usually end up in this place of Shame after they’ve been caught post-misdeed: lying, hitting a sibling, or exhibiting some other undesirable behavior. I talk with them about how we are not our actions–the action may be bad or wrong, but we are not bad. We are human, and we make mistakes. The important thing is to learn from the mistake (Guilt) and to make amends.

So here’s the deal. The bulk of my psychotherapy patients have been adults for a reason. I can TALK to them. Kids: doesn’t work so well–for me or for them. But I keep trying, I’m nothing if not persistent. So I talk a great deal with my kids about how they’re good people, and their behavior was not nice or desirable–it’s not OK to hurt people with their hands or their words, and it’s not OK to lie. But they’re still good people. They haven’t internalized this yet. They fall down the Shame Hole quickly and their sense of unworthiness is unshakeable.

She loses her water bottle at camp and lies about it, consumed two-fold in shame for not being responsible and for lying. This manifests in a temper tantrum, which adds a third layer of shame. And then comes the slumped shoulders and quiet sobs that she’s a bad girl…This happens in the blink of an eye.

He gets frustrated at something he deems as unfair and lashes out at me. I let him know his approach is not acceptable. Storm clouds appear above his head as he stomps and grunts and yells and hurls things–both objects and hateful words. He is bathed in shame over his dramatic responses. And then the furrowed brow as he can’t make eye contact and proclaims he’s a bad boy…Less than a minute and he’s down the rabbit hole called Shame.

So I’ll keep talking about this, about how no one’s perfect and we’re still all worthy in our imperfections. About how we are not our behaviors. And I’ve also realized these conversations can’t be about the water bottle. Or screaming at me in frustration. Do I want to raise responsible, respectful, honest human beings? Yes, of course. But see, if I focus on the water bottle, the screaming, or the lies about eating candy before dinner, or shoving a sibling in frustration, or whatever the content of the behavior is–if I focus on that, I lose the kid.

I used to implore my daughter to please remember where she placed that water bottle. Please do not lie–lying is worse than the misdeed. Son, please do not throw things. Please do not talk to me in that tone of voice. I tried to focus on the content to raise proper human beings. But I’m losing them. Let’s be honest, anyone who knows me knows my kids won’t be lying, stealing thugs. I’m realizing late in the game that I’ve chosen the wrong battle.

I need to focus on the actual shame that consumes the child. I need this child to know I HEAR her. I need this child to know I SEE him. Hold her feeling of inadequacy that she’s lost the 5th water bottle in one week despite her best efforts. Acknowledge his pain that he can’t hold his shit together for a more measured response, sit with him in his embarrassment that he isn’t coping well with frustration. I need to be with them in that place–when they feel I can see and hear and validate who they are, when I connect with them–that is when they are reminded they are worthy. 

Connecting–it’s the glue that holds us all together. To feel connected with others, to something larger than us. It’s about kindness and empathy and love and belonging and worthiness. It will ultimately be this connection, this feeling seen and heard, this validation, this worthiness that will help my children climb out of the Shame Hole, minimize the times they jump down that hole, and subsequent time spent down in the dark recesses of Shame. I don’t want that water bottle. I want my kids.

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Be Still

Posted on August 8, 2013 by bonnevivantelife

Sit-be-still-and-listen rumi

I haven’t blogged much lately. This is where you tell me “I KNOW! I’ve missed reading you!” That’s OK, I know you feel that way even if you don’t know it yet. I’ve missed you too. And this is where you ask where on earth I’ve been. OK fine, I’ll tell you. I haven’t fallen off the edge of a roof as the quote above alludes to. I just like the quote, and I suppose I’m teetering on the edge of a metaphorical roof.  I’ve been busier than busy. One of my super powers is constant movement. Apparently I’ve missed the memo on Lazy Summers.

The memo that I have received is that we are given ample opportunity to learn each lesson in life until well, we learn it. Sometimes I can be a slow learner. I thought I had balanced my life fairly well–I stopped caring about being prompt, about making sure the house (or children) were always clean, about feeling the need to volunteer. Apparently God, or a Higher Power, or the Universe, or Life, or Whatever/Whomever you believe in, thinks I haven’t learned to be Still and Just Be.

The past couple weeks I’ve been sidelined with Post Concussion Syndrome (PCS), or a mysterious Headache Syndrome. Six doctors cannot agree on what I have, or how to treat it. What I do know is the headaches are debilitating and unrelenting, and the accompanying nausea, stomach pain, fatigue and occasional vomiting have rendered me useless. And very, very irritable.

The brain injury specialists believe this is PCS brought on by the rotary head movement and breathing required with freestyle swimming. That it has messed with my vestibular system and my concussion symptoms are back. They suggest I go back to full brain rest (no reading, no computer or TV, no texting, no exercise) to let the brain repair again and gradually return to normal  life. The neurologist has given me a stack of prescriptions and a follow-up appointment.

In the end, I’ll either find out what was wrong, or I won’t. What really matters now is that I can’t do much. (Yes, I’m well aware I shouldn’t be blogging either, but I am not well-known for my compliance) I can barely power through the day at work. I can’t exercise at all. I don’t have the mental capacity or energy to cook or clean. I shuttle the children to where they need to be, oftentimes late. That’s about all I can do right now.

I used to be a really healthy person. This past year I’ve been hit with recurrent diverticulitis, a chronic pinched nerve, the concussion, and now this. I’ve struggled with the limitations on my life as I coped with each issue. OK, struggled isn’t the right word. I’ve fought being told I need to slow down. Slow learner, I am.

Part of my struggle with these random health issues has been that the past several years, I’ve learned to not let my fears control me. I’ve learned I can do anything.  And I did do anything and everything. And oh, the freedom and excitement and empowerment and pride and joy that came from that. Now I’ve hit a wall this year and it’s all crumbling and crashing down around me–the world is screaming to me that in fact I cannot do anything and everything. I’m well aware it’s the knowledge and belief that I can do anything that matters more than the actual behaviors of doing it. I’m processing it all. I’m trying to figure out how to be more Still and Just Be, while feeding my soul and being true to myself. And most importantly, being kind to myself.

I trust the brain injury specialists more than the neurologist right now. The neurologist has given me several medications to dull the pain and warned me that this may be something I have to cope with for the rest of my life. The brain injury specialists have told me to essentially slow down, and if I do, chances are good I can resume a normal life again. This latter treatment plan resonates with me. I don’t want to go through the rest of my life dulling pain. I’ve learned that’s not really living. I WANT to feel the pain because that’s how I can also fully feel the joy. I know I need to slow down enough to live through the pain. I understand now that the brain injury specialists’ treatment plan is really the lesson I need to embrace in life regardless of what else they discover medically about my brain and etiology of the headaches.

Being still allows me to be thoughtful and mindful instead of reactive. Being still allows me to connect with people with kindness and empathy. Being still allows me to be. And that’s the ultimate treatment goal.

Posted in Health Issues, Meditation, Mindfulness | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

What’s in a Name?

Posted on July 17, 2013 by bonnevivantelife

meaning name

I want my name back. I didn’t lose it. Apparently I inadvertently gave it away.

I recently found out my ex-husband is using my last name in the name of his business. He set up this entity near the end of our marriage, so I knew about its existence. In our separation agreement, I gave up all rights to it because well, I had other issues and two little people to fight for. The name of a business that just started off was not a battle I wanted to fight. I assumed he would take my name out of the business or dissolve it altogether and come up with a new name after the divorce.

So a friend recently showed me a business card he came across–“Funny,” he said, “Look at this! What are the chances of this–it happens to be your name and your ex-husbands name!” Not funny, I said. That IS my ex-husband, and that is MY name.

So what’s in a name? Think about it–it’s a bunch of letters strung together. But it’s more than that. It’s who you are, your legacy, your past, your future. Your family. Your identity. There’s meaning in your name, there’s history, there’s ownership.

Names are a big deal–and not just for people who tried to corner the Twitter handle of Kimye’s baby’s name. People value a son who will pass on the family name.  Women relinquish their maiden names to take on the husband’s family name. Couples spend nine months agonizing over choosing the perfect name for their child. Names connect generations and villages and humanity.

For me, it’s all that and more. When I got married, I chose to add on my ex-husband’s name. I would be Mrs. Ex-Husband’s Last Name socially, and I would remain Ms. Maiden Name professionally. I would also be misplaced in every medical records department known to man–apparently there is no universal agreement on how to categorize a hyphenated last name. When the divorce was finalized, I dropped his last name and was very happy to reclaim my entire personhood.

I had lost myself in my marriage, and I worked hard to rediscover and recreate who I am. I feel violated in a sense that he is continuing to use my name in any format. By using both our names publicly, I feel he is sending a message that we are still partners in a sense. That we have an agreement to be together. But see, I changed my mind. We broke up. It’s disingenuous to pretend to the world that we still have any kind of union. You can’t tell people we’re still together.

So when I see he still owns my name in some sense, I get angry. I won’t lose myself again, any part of me. And I want all of me back. He can’t have me. Intellectually, I know it’s merely a name on a business card that holds no meaning for anyone else. I know there’s nothing I can do about it. I know he really doesn’t own any part of me. I get that. I’m reminding myself that I am more than my name. There are parts of me he no longer knows, parts of me he will never know, parts of me only he knows. If my name is the only part of me he can still claim, I’ll gratefully let him use it because I know I own all of me.

Posted in Empowerment | Tagged , , , , , | 5 Comments

brb

Posted on June 23, 2013 by bonnevivantelife

being present, parenting

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

I snapped my head up, but she was gone already, back down to the ocean splashing in the waves.

Normally I’d have just muttered “Uh-huh” and kept reading my book in my beach chair without even looking up. We were on our annual beach vacation—something we look forward to every year. My daughter had been running back and forth between me and the edge of the ocean all morning–dropping off seashells, rocks, buckets of sand, and any other treasure she could find.

But something hit me when she said those four words this time. It suddenly occurred to me that one day soon, she wouldn’t be right back. First it will be sleepovers, then weekends away. Then semesters away at college, then years punctuated by major holidays. Then…who knows when a job or spouse or children are involved? I was reminded that for now, I still have the Right Backs.

I get too consumed and distracted by the grocery shopping runs, dinner preps, BlackBerry notifications, laundry, yard work, and the 7 billion other things on my to-do list. So she and her brother get a lot of “Uh-huhs” from me. We all get distracted. We all lose perspective of what’s important.

In trying to keep perspective, I’d been trying hard to let go of things that really don’t matter, and trying really hard to not sweat the small stuff. Life has been better, trusting that everything will be OK in the end. Trusting that mistakes are OK, and allowing myself the latitude to make them. Embracing Good Enough instead of Perfect. Well, Good Enough and Not Sweating the Small Stuff resulted in me Messing Up Vacation Plans.

Found out hours after the Right Back moment that I didn’t quite book the nights I told the kids I did…. so when we discovered we were in fact checking out one night earlier, the kids broke down in tears. Not whiny, pouty tears. But broken hearted tears. Our beach vacation is a special time for us. We look forward to this week all year. They’ve grown up counting on the rituals and familiarity of going down the shore year after year. They take comfort in choosing the same ice cream and pizza parlors, the morning bike rides and runs down the boardwalk, greeting the fish in the hotel lobby, catching up with our friends at the hotel, searching for the perfect hermit crab of the season, riding the same amusement park rides…I take comfort in knowing I won’t check my BlackBerry or Facebook, and I essentially unplug for the week. I take comfort in watching the joy in their eyes as they scream at the waves, run down the beach chasing seagulls, and squeal on amusement park rides. I look forward to all of us collapsing into bed too late at night every night after long days in the sun and long nights walking up and down the boardwalk doing nothing but being.

I know I could do a better job with being present with my kids every day; that I shouldn’t wait for one week away to do this. I know. I try. And some days are better than others. So I keep trying. I do. I could do a better job, I know. I don’t beat myself up over it, but I know they deserve better. So I give them better in this one week where it’s much easier for me to succeed in giving them what they deserve–a more present mother. I believe that is what they cherish–sure, the pizza and ice cream and late nights are nothing to sneeze at; but I think they look forward to feeling in every pore of their beings that they matter, and that they’re being seen.

So I gave it to them. Because one day soon they won’t be Right Back. They won’t be right back to give me another chance to show them they matter. They won’t be right back in a moment I’m not distracted. I want one more day here down the shore with them to show them they matter, just as much as they want it. I found another room for our last night.

And the very next morning on our bike ride down the boardwalk, we heard the strains of “Pomp and Circumstance” waft over the boardwalk–it was the local high school graduation ceremony. It seemed so fitting to cap off the decision to stay another night. Too soon my children will walk across the stage towards their futures as well, and they won’t be right back. In the meantime, I’ve renewed my commitment to seeing and being with my children. I’m back, babies.

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Vows or Wows

Posted on June 13, 2013 by bonnevivantelife

relationships, dating, vows

I’ve met someone. OK, I meet a lot of people–even met Bradley Cooper. I will talk to anyone who doesn’t run away from me–Bradley Cooper walked briskly away, thank you very much. But you know what I mean. I’ve met someone who hasn’t contributed to one of my Dating Faux Pas Posts yet. I’ve met someone who I actually like, and am enjoying getting to know. He knows this–we use our words–so I’m OK with sharing him with you.

But alas, this isn’t about him (Sorry, Sweetie). You know I’m pretty self-centered, so it comes as no surprise that this is about me, once again. This is the first person in a really long time that has made me consider what to tell the kids. Up to this point, I had been adamant that the kids not know if I am dating. At all. None of the men I dated were worthy of considering telling the kids.

With this man, I realized I may eventually need to tell them. They started asking where I was going and with whom. I realized I may want to eventually incorporate him into my life–meet my friends, share in activities I enjoy with friends and family, etc. This one was worth thinking about how to do this. The other men I’ve dated–they taught me a lot about myself and life. Some were more fun than others, some taught me how to have firm boundaries, some taught me how to be authentic and vulnerable and kind and gracious. They all taught me what I want at this point in my life.

This one, this one is different. So I’m left with not knowing how to do this. When my marriage ended, I said I wouldn’t date again until the children were young adults (How’s about that for black and white thinking??). I didn’t want to confuse them, or set them up for another important figure in their lives parting ways with them. I know what that does to kids, I know the issues that arise with attachment and security. I am terrified of screwing up my kids.

I’ve realized my anxiety over when/how to tell the kids I am dating stems from my ambivalence of how I feel about relationships, and what I want to teach them about relationships. I want to teach them to value themselves and choose partners who value them as well, and are good to them and good for them, and that there are different levels of relationships like there are different kinds of friendships. They shouldn’t all be uber-serious or engagement-worthy–there is value to dating casually when both parties are respectful and safe. You can learn a lot about yourself and the world around us.

I also recognize that society values that one soul mate, devalues casual dalliances, and shames those who deviate from the one soul mate, happily-ever-after outcome.

I have dated both casually and seriously through my life; some have been good for me, while some have not. I fear my kids seeing me date several men or fail in further relationships will send the message that casual dating is OK, when society says not so much. In some brief moments I still reflexively think marriage is the ultimate goal, what we should strive for, but I know it’s not entirely accurate. I know that I was married and it was not good for me. I know I want to teach and model to my kids that any iteration of a relationship that is supportive and kind and mutually respectful is the goal. I want to teach them that labels are meaningless, and actions between partners are what gives meaning.

I fear that if they believe marriage is the ultimate goal to pursue, they will either see me as a failure, or they will chase a goal for the wrong reasons. Yet I fear if they don’t believe in marriage or in monogamous, committed relationships, they will be left feeling unfulfilled and miss out on the beauty that is love, even when it is fleeting.

“Marriage is a promise until death to be nice to each other and have vows or wows. I can’t remember which one,” my 9-year-old son said. He’s on to something, that one. I’d venture to say we don’t have to call it marriage though. A mutually respectful relationship where we promise to be nice to each other (the vows), and to have fun (the wows!), and to be graceful and gracious to and for each other–it doesn’t have to be a marriage for it to be real and good and goal-worthy. If it turns out to be marriage that’s great, but it doesn’t have to be.

My son also believes dating is when two people kiss, and after they kiss, they get married. So I’m practicing what to tell my kids when they inevitably ask about my friend, because I’m not getting married anytime soon. Wait, did I just kiss and tell? Oh well, not the first time. I will tell them my friend is a special friend whom I like very much, and he likes me. We are kind and respectful to each other. We have fun together. I like who I am with him.

If they ask if I am getting married, I will explain that marriage is a very serious decision to make, one I am not ready for nor am considering at this point in my life. And I will tell them right now, my friend and I are enjoying getting to know each other slowly, over time and experiences. And really, isn’t that goal-worthy too?

Posted in Dating, Mindfulness, Parenting, Relationships | Tagged , , , , | 7 Comments

Cleanliness is Next to Godliness

Posted on June 7, 2013 by bonnevivantelife

unconditional love, acceptance, parenting

We have people coming over this weekend for my daughter’s birthday party. The kids know what that means–time to really tidy up the house. BK (Before-Kids), I used to be a very meticulous neat-freak. Everything had its place–except dust–dust had no place anywhere in my life. Clean clean clean…all the time. Then Baby #2 came along, and Baby #2 got bigger and mobile, and Mommy got more tired and overwhelmed. Mommy threw her hands up one day and accepted that the house would not always be tidy and clean….just when people came over.

Baby #2 is now my almost-7-year-old daughter. She too has her own vision of how everything has its place. Unfortunately for me, we don’t agree on where those places are. We fight over many things–picking up after herself and cleaning her room were big ones. Her room, and the path left in her wake, were always a mess. I sighed several times a day, every day, with accompanying eye rolls, asking her, “How many times do I have to tell you to put this away??”

The clutter. The lack of organization. The haphazard placement of random toys, Pokemon cards, bracelets, lip gloss, socks, light-up shoes, purses, books…all. over. the. house. “I just cannot live like this,” I’d say, as I would feel the anxiety and agita creep up inside me as I eyeballed what looked like a junkyard to me.

And she would look at me with a pained look on her face and say, “But Mommy I tried my best. And look, I put this here because….and I put that there because….. and this, this is my masterpiece, look!…”

And in her world it made sense to her. And in her world she was so proud of how she arranged her surroundings so she was comfortable. Her room is symbolic of our relationship and how we view the world so differently. I cannot live like that, I literally get anxious when I walk past her room. She is at home in it.

She places a quilt in the middle of her room as a rug. She lines up ALL her slippers and dress-up shoes so she can easily see how pretty they all are. She places headbands all over her room to make the room prettier because she loves headbands so much. I am a broken record constantly telling her to put this up, put that away, don’t leave that there…

Until one day a couple months ago, when I looked down at her and saw the pain in her eyes when she realized I was disappointed once again. The sadness was palpable. The room, still a mess. That day, I said “OK. Good job, thanks!” And I hugged her. I realized I had been measuring her worth by how much she agreed to the way I organized my world. And I realized she felt she wasn’t worthy because my eye rolls and sighs told her she wasn’t. I don’t want to do that to my kid. I don’t want to do that to anyone.

And her room’s been a mess since then–to me.  It’s clean and tidy–to her. Let me be clear–there isn’t any food or spilled beverages in her room–it’s not dirty. Just unkempt. And I do remind her to put things back in their place–towels and clothes off the floor, backpack by the door, drumsticks back with the drum kit. I try to remind her gently with kindness instead of frustration. I am trying to love and accept her just the way she is, and let go of my embarrassment when friends come over and just stare at her room and masterpieces with their mouths wide open. I tell them, “That’s the way she likes it, and in the end it really doesn’t matter.”

I will pick my battles with her. But more importantly, I will love her for who she is and how she expresses herself. I will love her without conditions. And I will stop making her feel badly about my own values of what makes sense organizationally.

People may say “Who’s the parent here? You tell your kids to clean their room. You don’t give them the option.” Or people may judge us for our decisions or organizational skills (or lack thereof) or our priorities. I get that. But my priority these days is to try to give my children a solid sense of self-worth. How a bedroom is organized and where certain toys are placed should not factor into the valuation of one’s character. I don’t understand her world, and she clearly doesn’t endorse my world. But we love each other deeply. And if we’re going to have a rift, it won’t be for whether the toys are on a floor or shelf. I want it to be for a good old-fashioned knock down, drag out fight over something like a full back tattoo or something that involves a bail bondsman…make it mean something, you know?

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Time-Out

Posted on June 5, 2013 by bonnevivantelife

time outs, withdrawal of love

I was in a bit of a funk last week because of a little tiff I had with someone I care about. OK, it wasn’t so little–feelings were hurt and that’s never to be minimized. We used our words and talked about it, processed it, and moved forward. Took a few days, but it’s all good now. I don’t take that for granted–I am grateful we are able to use our words to resolve hurts.

In processing it all, I realized that I was feeling better because he was connecting with me again, reaching out to me again, showing affection to me again. It was when I felt he was withholding–for whatever reason: be it hurt, anger, need for space or time to think, whatever–that was when I was feeling uncertain and anxious and scared and sad.

And then I remembered a theory about the use of  time-outs and children that I heard a few years ago (stick with me here–this tangential thought will make sense in a minute): regardless of how time-outs are done, regardless of why they’re done, it is essentially a withholding or withdrawal of love and affection and attention and connection from the child; and it’s terrifying and scary and sad. They don’t learn from the mistake of the tantrum or bad behavior, but instead learn obedience begets love and attention, and disobedience begets a cleaving of love. And that in the end, they’re left with anxiety because of the perceived withholding of love and connection. It’s how they perceive it, even if it’s not true, that matters.

Since hearing this perspective, I’ve considered it at times with my daughter. She has responded better to positive parenting techniques than negative consequences. When I remember to use other management techniques other than time-outs, she responds well. When she’s done something she knows she shouldn’t (throws a tantrum or hits instead of using her words), she’s in a great deal of distress. She climbs into her crazy tree and loses all control of her emotions. In the past when I’d place her in a time-out, she would escalate and it could literally be hours until she could calm down. Now, she comes to me after a transgression, wailing, asking for a hug. She just needs to connect with me, receive some affection, before she can re-ground herself and calm down enough to stop the behavior and rectify it. She just needs reassurance. She just needs to know she’s loved even when she has behaved poorly. Don’t we all?

It occurred to me today that now I really understand how she feels, and I am so very sorry for her feeling like I withheld my love in the past to her. She just wants to be loved after the people she trusts the most sees she is flawed and makes mistakes because she is human. Don’t we all?

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