I recently learned that my kids see all that I am. They’ve known about my many flaws for some time now, but I am just starting to get okay with this fact. My hope is that I can use their truths about me as a learning tool for personal, parental and professional growth. Continue reading “The Practice for the Panicky Parent”
ESCAPE ROUTE: Make it less private.
Ask for help.
Tell the truth. Continue reading “Directions on Escaping Your Private Hell”
The original letter I wrote to Juliette four years ago can be found here – “For Juliette: A Love Letter You’ll Hate (For Now)”. I write my daughters fairly often, but this one stands out and serves as a sort of unspoken grading tool for how I am doing as a mother. I give myself a “C” grade as a mother, but the important lesson here is that I don’t accept my own “C” grade. I trust the trustworthy people in my life instead. Continue reading “A Love Letter Redux to Juliette”
The stabbing pressure of barometric pressure leaves me a cranky-puss.
I’ve heard a lot of complaining about the weather here in Chicago, and some of the complaints, even came from my own head: Continue reading “The Wrath, the Dagger & the Mistake”
I never wonder if I, or anyone else has “the right to be depressed.” I think the very idea seems way off. Throughout my life, I have heard others validate or invalidate individuals (and sometimes, me), on whether enduring depression is acceptable,“ridiculous,” or to be expected. It seems to me, these opinions appear to be based almost solely on measurable logistics. For example, Continue reading “Depression Has Nothing to do with Rights”
I’ve had this headache behind my left eye. I get this from time to time and periodically, it becomes more than an annoyance. It doesn’t literally or figuratively impact my vision but puts a physical boundary on how long I work, which I mostly appreciate. (If my Mom is reading this, she’s wondering if it’s a migraine. If my Dad is reading this, he’s thinking I need to go to the eye doctor.) Continue reading “Charity Begins at Home. How is your Staff’s Home?”
I don’t believe I’ve ever been officially diagnosed as obsessive compulsive, or maybe I’ve been diagnosed, but I don’t remember. Wouldn’t someone with OCD, remember a diagnosis like that?
I have always preferred even numbers over odd. I can’t explain why, but in 2006, (a nice, even year), I was scheduled to deliver my second daughter via cesarean section on December 13th. I decided it was time for me to stop worrying about odd numbers, let alone the “unlucky” number 13. Now, thanks to Charlotte, my second born, I have mostly embraced the number 13. Just don’t ask me to live on a 13th floor. Continue reading “13”