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”
DISCLAIMER: I have been on a writing strike. Bear with me. Thanks.
When I was a child, I couldn’t fathom the idea that anyone was a Tom Petty fan. I disliked his singing style so much, I balked at listening to the meaningful music. Of course, I felt the same way about Bob Dylan and Janis Joplin. Now that I’m older, (and CLEARLY wiser,) I’ve grown to fall in love with and appreciate extraordinary talents that transcend a “purdy” or lyrical vocal quality. All of these artists’ songs strike deep chords inside of me and are among my very favorites.
Beginning on April 4th of this year, I celebrated spring, by springing free from a job that resulted in deep pain and angst in me. Once I left that position, I couldn’t help but notice that I was hearing a ton of Tom Petty songs. Perhaps I was just listening for them. It seemed that almost daily, I’d hear, I Won’t Back Down, The Waiting, Free Falling, and Learning to Fly.
I didn’t understand the meaning, or if there was any meaning for me. I just knew that feeling trapped and waiting to leave that job was the hardest part. I had to learn to fly again and while I was free falling, I was not going to back down or retreat.
Continue reading “Loving the Petty Moments, Truly.”
Every so often, I don’t want to post or go public with the truth about myself. Right now, I’d prefer to post a comparative analysis of my body measurements, weight and BMI from age 18 to present day, or even post a daily food intake journal that demonstrates my consumption of three pieces of cake, more than I want to publish a post that states that I had, over the past several days, been feeling pretty down. I was stricken with fear, self-doubt and partial paralysis of my left brain, which in Pam-speak, translates to, “Quit now because you’ll never do or be anything you can actually feel good about. You’ve already failed, and when push comes to shove, you are wholly unlovable.”
Now, where’s the rest of that cake? Continue reading “A Bout of Doubt is not the Death of Breath”