“What’s up this week?”- How to quick plan to reduce stress and anxiety

Amidst my toddler yelling incoherent jargon, mental fog from pre-coffee wake up, and a sink full of dishes, a lightbulb went off. No, not the one in the ceiling light—that happened last week and is still burnt out—it was the light that flickers when one has a moment of brilliance.

Holding so many things inside my head was taking up so much mental space, and Lord knows I don’t have much of that left anymore since having a baby. Mommy brain is real.

My mind is always so busy spinning in circles, trying to remember events, appointments, and lists that I find my anxiety is frequently running high. But this morning was different. Today I decided to try something new. After my kid was settled in his high chair with breakfast and the Keurig was heating up, I pulled one of the rarely used magnetic note pads off the fridge and grabbed a pen.

I named the page the first thing that came to mind: What’s up this week?

Then I began to make bullet points. Things like Go to Costco and Put away laundry were things I wanted to get done, while Schedule dr appointment and Clean bathrooms were things that needed to get done. At first I didn’t differentiate between need and want, I just transferred the swirling thoughts from my head onto the paper to get them out.

The list wasn’t that long or life-changing, but it gave me a sense of direction for the week and could guide what I would do next. It helped me feel organized, clear-headed, and, most of all, sane. That’s huge for any busy woman.

Feeling in control of your day and week is never easy, and what I do find to be very easy is to let things get out of control pretty quickly. Sometimes it feels like everyone else but us is dictating our lives. For me, a little basic organization reigns the control back in. A few minutes of tidying in the morning and evening, basic lists, and a paper calendar with everything going that sits open on the counter top are a few ways that I’ve found to keep sane.

These methods work for me, but might not work for you. What other basic organizing could you do? Chore charts assign a specific cleaning task to a specific day, ensuring everything gets done in a timely fashion. Family calendars on the fridge with color codes to each person may let you plan ahead so that your life isn’t a last minute rush. One mom I know writes everything on sticky notes and creates an orderly grid on her fridge that allows her to quickly find important things to do, appointments, and future scheduling. So easy, but something I never would have thought of myself.

Making lists or charts might seems like the last thing you want to do on a hectic Monday morning, but planning the week ahead before it starts is guaranteed to make you feel in control and capable of taking it on. With a cup (or two, or three) of coffee in hand, of course.

 

What are some ways you’ve found to help keep yourself organized?

On aging and grace

“You look great for your age!…. Whatever, um, age you might be.”

Did you just call me old?

I stared at the teen something girl in the clothing resale shop, perplexed for the first time as the reality that I wasn’t in the “20-something” category anymore sunk in.

Up until this point, I didn’t really see myself that differently from any other 20-year old. And now, unintentionally (I hope), this girl was basically telling me that my style isn’t “teen” enough to buy, my clothes bought too long ago to purchase and resell to today’s discerning youth.

Why was I so rattled? I don’t particularly want to dress as a teenager—those crop tops and printed pants aren’t really my thing anyway—nor do I want to behave as a 20-something year old anymore. At night, I’m too tired to start getting ready at 9 pm to go out. By that time I’m getting ready for one thing only: bedtime. I don’t recover the same way after a night out of drinking (not that those kinds of nights happen much anymore). I don’t really get Coachella, or any summer festival in the blazing hot sun.

I think what this experience really showed me was who I am becoming. A little over a year ago I became a mother, and a few months after that I turned 30. With these changes brought so many other things, from postpartum depression, self-reinvention, blogging, and a self-confidence and security that I never had as a teen or 20 year old. So much has changed in my life.

I take my belly ring out for the last time, it’s pink jewel catching the sunlight as I put it away in my dresser drawer, the glint almost seeming like it is winking at me as I shut it away, another chapter in my life closed.

I smile to myself. I don’t dress the same or wear the same size I used to. I spend a lot of the day crawling after a toddler and wiping dirty hands, doing laundry and dishes repeatedly. My favorite scene isn’t at a bar, but instead is watching my son and husband play. My favorite activity isn’t very social; it’s the quiet moments when my baby boy—although not so baby anymore—grins at me and flings his arms around my neck for a big hug that warms me to my very core.

Change is good. Change is healing. Change is revealing to who we really are, what is important to us, and who we want to be. Bring on the changes. I am ready for them.

On being lost– and finding myself– over and over again

Okay, so I’m a little lost. I just finished watching Kung Fu Panda 3 with my toddler to try to pass the hours in between naps because I’m sick and feeling like hell and needed some help from an electronic babysitter (yeah, yeah, bad parent, I know). Have you seen that movie? It was actually really good, and I mean in an enlightening kind of way. That fat, dumpling eating panda finally found the answer to the question he’s been searching in three movies for: Who am I? I can relate on all of these…although I guess I’m not a panda, but maybe the rest are true.

I’ve been on a personal quest for a while now. Years maybe. I’ve written about finding my path and my calling, about being lost and finding myself again. Many times I’ve been really close or think I’ve found who my true self is, but then she slips away and my future plans are illusive and out of reach yet again. Maybe it’s just all the changing hormones talking, but motherhood has changed a lot about how I view life. One thing I’m realizing is that even though I love to completely immerse myself in motherhood and be satisfied in that alone as my calling, there’s still something that feels uncompleted. The last puzzle piece is still missing.

Why is it so hard to figure out how to combine what you love with your future calling? I keep seeing all these other women put something together and then watch it take off as an enormous success. In reality I’m sure that doesn’t happen for a lot of people, but seeing the successful ones sometimes inspire me, but also can inspire feelings of being…well…a loser. Why can’t I do that? I think to myself, What do they have that I don’t?

It’s not about what I’m lacking, though, it’s about my own journey. This is what I keep telling myself. I thought there was one destined path, but maybe there are many options, and the way that the end looks keeps changing. Why? Because we keep changing. I’m undoubtedly not the same person I was 2, 5, and definitely not 10 years ago. My priorities have changed. My viewpoints have changed. My relationships have changed. So why would it make sense that my destiny would still be the same?

Instead of focusing on making my future successful, I should focus on how to make the now successful. Granted, both types of success are important, but wishing and wanting one over the other is leaving me feeling me depleted, and defeated. What are things I can do right now—or what am I already doing—that make me a success? Focusing on future goals is okay, but not laying the foundation in the present is like trying to win a gold medal in the Olympics without ever training. It ain’t gonna happen.

I’m going to work on things in the present in order to make my future a success. Who I want to be relies entirely on working on the person I am becoming from day to day. What might be helpful in shaping my “self” right now, the woman that will be the present in the future? It’s hard to know, exactly, but these five steps sound like a great start…

1. Make a list.

I love lists. Not everyone does. But a good list making session gets me all giddy inside. This list is different though. This list contains successes in day to day life right now. What am I doing well? What am I proud of? What makes me happy? It’s important to mark accomplishments and start seeing patterns of what brings joy.

2. Create vision

I can’t get somewhere if I have no idea how to get there. There are two elements to record here. The big picture (goals) and action steps (how to get there). If I say I want to be a writer as my goal, that’s great, but then what? By saying I want to be a writer so I will write three times a week and submit my work to online publishers twice a month, I can have accountability and a reliable tracking method to chart my progress.

3. Learn from the past.

There are no mistakes in life, only learning moments. The good thing about the past is that that is where it stays: behind us. It may be really difficult to learn from, but going through things for a reason can help shape the person we become. What are the teachable moments from the past that are important? What are things to never repeat? What are things that really worked out in the end? Don’t repeat what didn’t help personal growth, and do repeat what did.

4. Don’t obsess.

I sweat the small stuff. I make every minor detail major. These aren’t traits that I am proud of. The outcome is that I ruminate over and over again about not only every [perceived] failure, but also every potential opportunity. I plan and plan and plan, but never actually start. I find enough viable ways to go wrong that I never allow anything to get started off right. There’s a difference between being thorough and obsessing. Being thoroughly prepared allows for being thoroughly ready, while obsessing just creates a lot of static that never forms a complete picture.

5. The “That’s not it” approach.

My friend Debbie has a fantastic approach that she has been following her whole life. She calls it the “Nope, that’s not it” approach. Instead of picking one direction and forcing herself to fit its mold no matter what the cost, she tries many things until one suits her. Pottery? Nope, that’s not it. Grant writing? Nope, that’s not it. Tutoring? Nope, that’s not it. There’s nothing wrong with finding out that something may not be a right fit and moving onto the next, but it’s silly to waste time forcing something to fit.

I might never find that exact thing out there that will my “it” thing, but there are so many possibilities of what I could be, what I could create, and who I can help in the world.  By focusing on what I love and what brings light and joy to my life, I am okay with going along for the ride.

The art of mastering kindness (Especially when you want to drop kick that son of a…)

Why is it so hard to be nice?

I am not sure that human kindness is an innate feature. After all, way back when, if you were too kind you might get eaten. Being nice and favorable isn’t a survival mechanism. Selfishness is. And no I’m not talking about when you were back in middle or high school, I’m taking about early human evolution. Still, some kind of bonding must have occurred between these early humans, lest we wouldn’t have sociability or the innate need for companionship.

I read an article recently about a mom who is trying to teach her child about kindness and friendship. She tried to explain to her daughter that not being mean, or being indifferent, isn’t the same as being nice. I really started to think about this. Being indifferent to someone isn’t the same as being nice, or kind, to them.

So what is it, then, that makes kindness…kindness?

Kindness takes an extra degree of effort. It takes those extra few seconds to hold open a door, to ask a crying stranger if they are okay, or to organize a donation event for a food bank. So often we hurry through our day and, usually selfishly, just try to get to quittin’ time so that we can retreat back to our caves for food and quiet. I get it, though. The last thing I want to do after caring for my baby all day is to do more. I want to be alone and cherish my solitude. But I try to include small acts of kindness in my day and evening, because it is good for the heart. Do you ever do something for someone else and just feel good about it? That good feeling must be why the cavemen continued to be kind even though it could have meant a detriment to their survival. Maybe we haven’t really changed all that much, after all.

Kindness takes caring. In this crazy day and age that we live in, self-preservation is the name of the game. A lot of people have the mindset of “me, me, me,” and, I hate to say it, that the younger generations are even more so. It seems like they never grow out of that MINE stage—a never ending parents’ nightmare. Are we losing the art of caring for one another? Possibly. The number of individuals who volunteer has been declining for over a decade. Why? Some suggest that the emergence of the social culture online takes place of personal interaction, thus cutting off our exposure to seeing those who may need help most. Whatever the cause, it is a trend that I believe will decrease our empathy for others and foster selfishness and isolation in younger generations.

Kindness takes patience. Living near a big city, I experience my fair share of major traffic. Even on days when there really shouldn’t be traffic, there can be major backups that make a short drive into an unnecessarily long one. Before, I had no qualms about letting some choice words fly, or honking my horn to ensure that the moron going under the speed limit knew of my ire. Lately, when I let the f-bomb fly, I look in my rearview mirror and see my little baby looking back at me. I instantly feed guilty, even though he can’t understand such vocabulary yet. I imagine, though, that he understands tone, and I find myself apologizing for my bad behavior. If I want to set a good example for him, how can I have such a short fuse for something so insignificant as someone who didn’t merge properly? If my baby has taught me one thing, he has taught me to have the patience of a saint. The more patience I have, the calmer I feel, and the less angry outbursts [that raise my blood pressure a few notches] I have.

Kindness doesn’t expect reciprocation. Have you ever held the door open for someone or let someone cut in front of you on the road, and when they didn’t say thank you or give you the “thank you” wave you found yourself saying “You’re welcome!” in the most sarcastic tone you can muster? True kindness doesn’t mean getting something back. It requires giving because giving is good and the right thing to do. It doesn’t matter on what scale we give, we should act because it feels right. Granted, if you are on the receiving end then puh-lease wave a thank you; kindness is expressing gratitude, too, ya know!

Being nice is not indifference. Being nice takes more.

Think about one act of kindness that you can do today. Maybe if we had more people who were willing to take a few minutes to do good, we wouldn’t have as many problems as we do. Maybe you can be that one that helps change things, even for just one person for just a minute. You never know how far your good deed goes.

So yes, I’ll hold the door open for that person who walks by without a second glance, and still smile and say “You’re welcome!”, and mean it.

STOP explaining yourself!

“No, but because I just…”

“Yes, because I thought…”

“I didn’t know, I was trying to…”

What do all of these phrases have in common? All of these sentences are not giving a definitive answer, begin an explanation, and are the beginning of the unraveling of your confidence. They are statements we often use when trying to explain ourselves. Have you ever said something similar?

Why is explaining yourself such a bad thing? Typically, it is because we lack confidence in our answers or actions, and feel like we have to explain why we behaved the way we did, or why we chose or said something. We have to validate to an outside party why what we did was the right (or wrong) thing, instead of just saying a yes or no. We are so afraid of being judged by what we did or said, we often explain ourselves—unrequested, I might add—to another person or group to ensure that they know why we are right. Explain why we are smart. Explain why we hurt someone’s feelings. Explain why I made the decision to be a stay-at-home-mom. Oh, oops, that’s just me?

I notice myself explaining even in the most simplest of situations. “Would you like to make a donation of $1 to blah-blah charity?” “No,” I say, then ramble on about how this is actually my third time at the grocery store this week and assuredly I have already donated more than $1 earlier this week. What I should say is a simple “No” and leave it at that. I’m sure the cashier actually doesn’t care if I donate or not, or make judgements about the customers that don’t donate when they probably could afford it. Or maybe they do. Either way, it’s not my problem. Right or wrong, my choice is my choice.

I’ll give you another example, a tougher one. Have you ever RSVPed “no” to a wedding? Super awkward. One year, we elected not to go to an out of town—out of state, actually—wedding. The reason shouldn’t matter, but I’ll explain it to you anyway and completely contradict the point I’m trying to make. Like many 20-somethings, we went to a lot of weddings. A LOT. While great fun, they are usually greatly expensive. Especially when the weddings were rarely held near us. When another invite came in through the mail, we decided that financially, and just exhausted-ly, that we couldn’t do it. We declined. But we sent a gift!

I felt even worse when that thank you note for the gift came in, and the friend had written “Wish you could have been there! We missed you!”. While I doubt they actually noticed our absence on the most stressful/blissful day of their lives, I internally recoiled at the words. I felt so bad. I wanted to call and explain myself, lest their good feelings towards us remain permanently scarred! But I didn’t. We had made our choice, and I’m sure the friend was just being kind in his note.

If I actually stop and think about why I explain myself so much, it is because I feel worried about being judged and criticized. Surely if they understand my thinking, they will agree with me. The bottom line is that it doesn’t matter what someone else thinks of my decision. Lest I sound like your mom, it is “Because I said so, that’s why!” You definitely don’t have to be so blunt, but next time you give a “yes” or “no,” listen to yourself say what comes next. Is it an explanation? How do you feel? Insecure? Uncomfortable? These kinds of situations may happen most while we are at work or talking to family or friends. Any strife in these relationships cause even more self-doubt and anxiety, prompting even further self-explanation.

This year we elected not to travel for Christmas, and celebrate our baby’s first Christmas at home. Instead of just saying “No” when asked if we were traveling, I found myself explaining (again) why I wasn’t coming, citing the most rational of reasons (cost, crying baby, stress, crying baby, lack of crib/car seat/stroller, crying baby…). It turned out that it didn’t matter what I said, my family would still be disappointed I wasn’t there. And that’s okay! I was disappointed I wouldn’t see them, too, but our choice was our choice. End of story. Period. Fin. And, gulp, they would just have to deal with it.

At the end of the day, we have to live with our decisions and as long as we can do that, the responses of others really don’t matter. If you’re like me, you really really hate causing hurt feelings or conflict, so you bend over backwards to avoid it. It turns out that when I do this, I end up being the one with the hurt feelings or anxiety. So pointless.

You are strong, smart, and capable. You make the right choices. Own your actions. If you always do and say what is right and what you believe, you won’t have to explain yourself. Your words, or lack of them, will speak for themselves.

Why I’m actually happy to be turning 30

I never thought I’d actually say I am happy to be turning 30. But here I am, days away, and I can’t help but feeling at peace about the number.

I’d always imagined what my 30 would look like. A couple kids that weren’t under the age of 1, successful career, and a big house with lots of money (can you tell I was a little materialistic in my teenage years?). Once I turned 21, however, I started dreading the next decade marker. Thirty meant old. Thirty meant my days of partying were over. I was so in love with my 20’s and being young that I couldn’t foresee anything good from getting older. The years crept on, as they tend to do, and 30 was getting closer, and my apprehension grew.

I spent my 20’s with my loving husband by my side, partying, traveling, and trying to figure out who I thought I was, and what I thought I wanted to be. I just couldn’t capture that all-important (at the time) career I was lusting after. Still, I loved 20’s and didn’t want him to leave, so I clung to him desperately.

But then something miraculous happened. I had a baby. Much later than I thought, I might add. I say miraculous because conceiving, growing a human, and birthing him is truly a miracle. I didn’t realize all of these things until I was in the midst of it and reading everything I could get my hands on. The timing had to be just right, the bodily conditions perfect, and then the 8 weeks after conception were a time of prayers of please please stay. The “oops” baby mothers made it look so easy to achieve; I didn’t know that it wasn’t. As it turns out, all my husband had to do was sneeze and I was pregnant. Okay, the second sneeze worked. We were #blessed that way (did I really just #? Ugh okay I did).

Now that my little guy isn’t so little anymore—I mean he is, but growing so fast!—and I have almost completed my 30^th trip around the sun, I’ve made a few realizations I wasn’t expecting, like that

I am much more able to live in the present. When I was in my 20’s, I loved myself. My anthem was that little known song that goes kinda like “I’m a badass bitch, bitch, bitch.” But for some reason, I was still insecure. I longed for the past. I couldn’t live in the present, let alone create my future. All of that has changed. That girl in her 20’s was still good, but this woman is great. Mostly because

I know who I am and I like her. A lot. The anthem may not have changed, but my self-confidence sure has. And not just in my view of my new mom body (rolls anyone?) but also who I am as a person. I like who I am. I like that I am strong. I like that I don’t take any shit anymore. I like that I am done with making excuses. This is who I am, and I’m happy to report that people seem to be responding (positively!) to her. It’s not just that, but there is also this brand new part of me that was birthed with my son. It turns out that

I love that I am a mother. Motherhood was never really on my career agenda. I wasn’t even sure that I wanted kids. Maybe getting closer to 30 also activated that little ticking clock that some women have—baby baby baby BABY. Now that I’m a mama, I’m a little obsessed! I’ve written about how motherhood has changed me, and how I get a little lost in motherhood. I said it before and I’ll say it again, I love who I found there. Motherhood has a way of changing people. For me,

I’m a kinder, gentler, and more patient woman. And that’s not half bad! I think it allows for better bonds with everyone in my life. I’m also able to see a lot more clearly. If someone or something isn’t worth the time and energy, I am prepared to put some distance there, whereas before, I just held on and couldn’t let go. I’m just realizing as I’m writing this, that that statement is a pretty good metaphor for my 20’s. I just couldn’t let go. The past, the old friends who I’ve since outgrown (and vice versa), the relationships, and most importantly, the ideals of what I thought my life would be. As it turns out, my life isn’t at all what I imagined it would be,

My life is better than I’d ever imagined. I didn’t know I could be capable of so much love—I’m basically shooting rainbows and sparkly hearts out of my eyeballs! I didn’t know I would find my passion for helping women in my experience of pregnancy, birth, postpartum, and motherhood. I didn’t know I could be this happy. I didn’t know I could just be. But I still realize that

I’m still not perfect. Life is about growing and changing and getting stronger, much like the maple in my back yard. It’s not much fun to be like the rocks that are always the same shape, color, and hardness (bor-ing!). But I’m okay with that. I can now look forward to the changes instead of trying to keep everything the same.

I’m turning 30, but that doesn’t mean anything does it? It’s more about turning into the person I’d always dreamed I could be but didn’t know how to find. Hello, you, you’re a badass bitch….

Why wait on January 1? An action guide to enact your resolutions.

It’s a few days into the new year. The Christmas lights are down, decorations put away, and holiday magic now lies dormant for another year. There is almost something peaceful and restorative once everything is over. As a Christmas fanatic, I can assure you I’m one of the first to turn on the Christmas music the day after Thanksgiving and play it until the songs are tired of even themselves. But after the stockings are neatly folded and the ornaments carefully wrapped and put away, I find the end of the holiday season almost cathartic. A fresh start to a fresh year.

I always tend to laugh at all the people making resolutions on January 1. They have such big plans for the year ahead. Inevitably there is always “eat healthy”, “exercise”, and a “be more”/”be less” on the list. Don’t get me wrong, I love goal setting. I think it is an important thing to do for yourself, and evaluating and revising our goals is how we grow and see evidence of that growth as a person. However, setting these arbitrary goals that tend to only last a month or so seems like an ineffective use of our energy. Lord knows there isn’t enough of that around to waste!

What is it about the new year that drives us to, sometimes desperately, try to change ourselves? Maybe it is because there is nothing like the feeling of that fresh first day of the first month on a brand spankin’ new calendar, especially if the year behind you was difficult or long. Maybe it’s because now feels like the right time to become someone else, especially if we don’t like who we have been. Maybe it is because of a birthday, marriage, divorce, baby, or some other catastrophically good or bad life event.

Whatever the drive is, it is great to set goals. I think it is important, though, to recognize that goals are a work in progress, and need continuous evaluation, changes, and restarts through the year. We cannot just rely on a date on a calendar to set and work towards goals (although it’s a great place to start if you haven’t yet!). We also need to rely on our ability to constantly change, improve, and refocus.

How do we set these goals? When goal setting, it is important to differentiate goals from action steps. “I want to be happier this year” is a great goal, but what does that look like? What does that feel like? How will you measure this? It can change from person to person. Some action steps might look like this:

Goal: Be happier in 2017

Measure: Less stress, more inner peace, accomplish three personal projects

Action steps:

1. Sign up for (and attend!) yoga class to learn how to meditate and control physical stress.
2. Set aside one hour both Saturday and Sunday for personal projects (writing one day, painting the other).
3. Set aside 20 minutes on Monday, Wednesday, Friday to pick up the house (less clutter and mess = less stress).

Here we can see several things. We can see the actual goal in mind for the year. We can see how movement towards this goal will make us feel (calmer and more tranquil in mind and body), and we can see specifically how this goal will be accomplished.

I have a bad habit of making lofty goals for myself—Painting! Writing! Exercising!—but end up getting so overwhelmed by my goals that I don’t know where to start and quit before I even begin. My failure is not because I tried and it didn’t work out, it was because I didn’t even begin! What is that cliché phrase? You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take?

Look, no one is perfect. Life is hectic, and things happen. To be really honest, I (and maybe you, too) won’t accomplish every single step and every single goal this year. Or you might discover that downward dog really sucks and you hate your ass in yoga pants and drop the class. That’s totally fine, too. As we change, goals change. The more I try to force something to be resolute, the more I get angry and resentful at it. Instead of aiming for perfection, aim for just starting. Begin the process. Frequently, I find that once I get started my motivation increases and I accomplish, and follow through with, a lot more.

My first goal I’m making a relatively easy one. I hope it is, anyway. I want to live in the moment more, and primarily I plan to accomplish this by putting my phone down more and not living through social media. I don’t want to miss a moment with my handsome son or that wonderful big guy that married messy ol’ me. I’ll be the first to admit, I’m addicted to technology. I have a zillion other goals, so I should probably follow my own advice and start making those pesky action steps.

Step 1: Walk awaaaaayyyy from the computer…

Why you should never purchase a precooked holiday dinner (unless you know it will, like, actually be good)

With a 6-month old who is teething and family arriving for the rapidly approaching holidays, my husband and I decided that this year would be a really good year to try ordering holiday dinner. A few local grocery stores offer the purchase of a complete holiday meal including a cooked ham or turkey and an array of sides—including a pie! Can’t beat that, right? Since we were having seven adults for dinner, we figured we would order a turkey dinner and a ham dinner. Since each fed 4-6, we assumed that in holiday math that meant it would feed more like 3-4.

So after putting the baby to bed one night, instead of going to bed like we should have done and instead of ordering dinner weeks ago like we should have done, we pulled up the website and prepared to order dinner. The ham dinner was sold out. The turkey dinner was now not available until January 1. Good gravy—pardon the pun.

So we went to our backup store’s website—the turkey dinner was still available. Thank God. The food might be a little subpar but fuck it, it’s free food so everyone can be grateful, right? We placed our order, agreed to make one extra side to feed the masses, and went to bed to un-blissfully sleep with a wakeful baby.

Christmas Eve day arrived faster than we expected. Since I had my husband take an extra shift with the baby the night before, I had to wake my tired AF ass up to feed and change the baby and let the neighbor’s dogs out (Since we had also decided that we could handle dog sitting the neighbor’s dogs while trying to wrangle a 6-month old, in-laws, family, and the holidays. Brilliant fucking idea.).

Baby fed, dogs settled, and other boob pumped, I handed my son off to my mom to get back into bed and try to catch some extra zzz’s before everyone arrived. No sooner had my head hit the pillow than my husband groggily asks, “Did you pick up the dinner?” FUCK. I tear off the sheets, throw on yesterday’s clothes (which pass the smell test) and head out in the rain for the grocery store. It’s like a scene from a bad movie. Rain—not snow for Christmas—pouring. Headlights lighting my way like a cheap Rudolph imitation. I check my rearview mirror and notice my wayfarer frame glasses are crooked on my face. I’m a literal mess from head to sockless toe.

I fight my way through the hordes of morons who decided to wait and do their holiday food shopping on Christmas Eve day, while ignoring the fact that I myself am now part of that crowd. I throw some avocadoes in my cart for good measure. Who doesn’t love guacamole? How festive.

I make my way to the deli counter where I ask for my prize possession—my fully cooked, no work needed, holiday dinner. The guy responds with “Uh…you ordered it already?” Why yes, I told him, I ordered online and was due to pick it up 36 minutes ago. He shuffles off to the back while images of cooked dancing turkeys and zero dish washing start to fade from my eyes. He brings out a giant Butterball cooked, air suctioned, packaged bird, and a bag of sides. I fish through the back to make sure that everything is there, my stomach sinking to my knees when I process how fucking tiny each of the sides are.

I call my mom (of course) in a panic, and relay the ludicrous size of the sides. “It’s okay,” she assures me, “we have plenty of food.” I throw some sweet potatoes, russet potatoes, kielbasa, chips, and a lot more wine in the cart for good measure. This cheap and easy holiday meal is getting to be really expensive.

I finally make it home, glasses fogging from the combination of rain, cool air, and body heat. As I make my way inside my house with the last of the bags I grab a Straw-Ber-Rita beer from the garage. Is there such a thing as “too early” to drink? Not on motha’ fuckin’ Christmas Eve it’s not. I proceed to unpack and colorfully review the dinner for my wide-eyed mom.

“So we start with the miniature size pumpkin pie that Barbie must have cooked in her fucking dream house kitchen. No dreams left here,” I say, “And what the fuck is this? The tiniest tray of mashed potatoes I’ve ever seen! At least there’s butter on it. THIS SERVES 4-6?! Where the fuck are we, the North Pole? Does this serve 4-6 Christmas elves?! How many humans does it feed, two?! These green beans look disgusting, what the hell is poured over it? Last year’s gravy pan scrapings? Oh look, they gave us a gallon each of gravy and cranberry relish, well thank God for that because we know everybody is always like ‘Oh, me! I want the cranberry relish first!’ What else is in here? Oh right, this miniature cubed sweet potato and potato oddity. And they even put in three cranberries for color! The forethought of preparation here amazes me. Look at this turkey! I thought it would be a fresh rotisserie bird! Not a water injected bird on steroids that is shrink wrapped for shipping. I could have bought that myself! Where is my drink?”

I may have continued on in this manner for another few minutes. It was not my proudest moment. As it turns out, my poor mother ended up slaving away in the kitchen all day anyway, making more dishes because of the paltry amount our purchased dinner had provided us. What I should have done is said politely, “This is not adequate for our needs” and handed everything back and cooked everything ourselves. Instead, I spend the day hovering—and not really being much help—in the kitchen, while making sure the baby ate enough, but also having to strap him on in the baby carrier because he was so overwhelmed by the people, while also trying to make sure the needs of our family guests were met. And that our dogs and the neighbor’s dogs were let out, fed, and watered. Merry fucking Christmas.

I think there are several important lessons here. The first is that I should have just let it go. Accepted what is for what it is. Instead of worrying about it, I should have made it the minor detail and not a major focus like I did.

The second lesson is to let enough be enough. The reality is we had plenty of food (as was evidenced by all the leftovers) and even if we hadn’t, people would deal with it. We tend to get so caught up in the gluttony of the holidays—food, presents, decorations, more, more, MORE—that we forget about the important things like being lucky enough to have food, lucky enough to have the money to buy gifts, and lucky enough to have family around us.

The third lesson is to realize what is truly important. Did it really matter how the sweet potatoes were cut or how shrivel-y that fucking turkey skin was? No. The truly important moments of Christmas were spending time with my precious family and loving on my new beautiful baby boy. Enjoying the fleeting moments of togetherness is what I should have been focusing on.

All good lessons to be remembered for next year, right? Oh, and of course, the last lesson: don’t order a fucking precooked holiday dinner.

Taking ownership of our outcomes

Quite often I find myself excluded or sad because I wasn’t invited somewhere. A group of girls would be planning to go out or go off to a winery day, and I would lament about how I wasn’t invited. Recently I watched this kind of situation unfold as a third party. I had already invited the person to join me, but the answer was “maybe.” However, as the event got closer, I watched as the people she thought might take her with them made their own plans, get excited about the upcoming day, and I could picture her shrinking and shrinking further away. From this vantage point I gained some clarity. The girls were not intentionally leaving her out, she had to but ask to be included. This completely changed my experiences going forward.

She had but ask. I had to but ask to be included. People are social creatures by nature—ever noticed how close another person will sit to you in an empty theater? Inclusion is habit. I realized that I needed to take ownership of the outcome I wanted to see, and assert myself. If I want to go, I should ask if I can. If I want a piece of the pizza, I have to just ask (and offer some dollars, of course). I’ve found that frequently people don’t even realize the oversight, and the response is overwhelming positive. And if it isn’t…well that says something about the person, too.

Taking ownership of our own outcomes is just one thing we can do to start regaining control of our own lives. I have often left it up to chance—God, the universe, or whatever—and haven’t seen the results I was looking for. What is that saying? God helps those who help themselves? I’ve found that once I start being proactive, I not only feel empowered and encouraged, but also start seeing the pieces coming together. If I wait, I see nothing. If I act, I see movement.

Now that I’m pushing 30, I’m able to see myself more clearly. Strong but kind, with lots to offer in friendship and helping others walk their path. If I want something, I am more apt to articulate it.

Be apt. Start the changes to see the outcomes you want. Be proactive. Take the lead in your own play. I assure you the applause will be tremendous.

How to not let anxiety rule your life

When I was little, I thought I was awesome. I had the most confidence of anyone I’ve ever seen. I would go up to other little girls and ask if they wanted to be friends and go play, because of course the answer would be yes and yes. Why wouldn’t it be? Of course I would win a tennis tournament after just having learned to play the sport, why wouldn’t I? Of course I would be a marine biologist or paleontologist, or maybe both. I was that awesome. I was on top of the world at all times.

When I hit double digits—and middle school—I started to get bullied. Making fun of my name, being called a lesbian, and losing my group of friends took its toll. My confidence faltered. I was never the same.

When I got to high school I made up for my insecurities and lack of confidence by being overly loud. I had a lot of friends freshman year, but they dropped down to just a few good friends by my senior year. I was overweight and extremely insecure about who I was.

When I entered college, I had a great time. I found the love of my life, which helped my self-esteem. I was able to choose my friends, classes, and lifestyle, and my confidence grew. For some reason, though, as I reached the end of college and was contemplating graduate school, I started suffering with anxiety. When I would get bouts of anxiety it felt like extreme nervousness; I would even get body trembles sometimes. I was so frustrated that it was something beyond my control. By the time I was finished with graduate school and out into the real world, anxiety was something I dealt with several times a week.

When I started working, I didn’t know who I was or who I wanted to be, and I also had a hard time finding a career. I took jobs just so that I could be making some money, and for some reason I always got into work environments that were unhealthy. Gossip, immaturity, or adults acting like high school girls were the name of the game. I am still not sure that this doesn’t exist in all work places in some shape or form. My anxiety fed on the drama like a professional eater at a hot dog eating contest. It grew. And grew. And grew. It was debilitating.

One summer, something just clicked in my brain. I lost almost 30 pounds, ate healthy, and finally landed a career I was passionate about. I felt on top of the world. Soon after my husband and I became pregnant. I also finally stopped taking people’s bullshit. I was happy, direct, and confident for the first time in years. I had tried many strategies in my life to address my anxiety, and some were more successful than others. It took until the sunset of my 20’s to figure myself out and reclaim my life.

These are the best methods I found for coping with anxiety:

1. Find a creative outlet.

My thoughtful husband bought me an art easel for my birthday one year, and I started painting again. I loved smearing, sometimes aggressively, colorful paints across the canvas. I would put on soothing music and sail away. You do not have to be an intensely creative person, but creating allows you to channel emotions outward. This release activates a different part of the brain, creating a different pattern than your day to day routine. Try your hand at cooking, take an art class at your local community center, creating a garden with colorful perennials, or even pick up an adult coloring book and some colored pencils.

2. Meditate.

When my anxiety would peak and I wasn’t able to function at work, I would put on a meditation music channel and take five minutes to close my eyes and breathe deeply. Long breath in, long breath out. I imagined breathing in pure white light, and exhaling the dark energy out of my body. I am not new-agey by any means, but this simple exercise was enough to calm me down and allow me to continue with my day.

3. Create a list of your accomplishments.

I would often get worked up about my failures thus far in my life, and spiral downward with negative thoughts. Writing things down not only refocused my train of thought, but allowed me to see clearly that I was doing great and am very blessed. I always realized that I was doing way better than I thought I was.

4. Exercise.

To this day, nothing helps me more than exercising. Pre-baby I would go running and do toning workouts, feeling every muscle burn. Post-baby I am still in recovery mode and go walking almost every day. If I miss a day of exercise I feel it mentally and physically; the exhaustion and anxiety begin to cloud my day. Eating well, drinking water, and not drinking a lot are also key elements to feeling amazing.

5. Recognize your limitations.

Now more than ever, I am able to realize that I cannot be everything to everyone. My mom always told me to do my best, and that was all I could do. I repeat this mantra to myself often. Society calls us to do more than is humanly possible in any given day. I used to feel a tremendous strain trying to juggle a career, marriage, family, friendship, motherhood, blog, all while maintaining a physically and mentally fit body. In the end, something gives. We are human beings, not human doers. Sometimes we need to just “be.”

And finally,

6. Get help.

I didn’t end up needing to seek professional help. The universe had other things in mind for me. But I was a few days away from booking myself with a shrink. Sometimes the chemicals in the brain are just something that cannot be addressed solely by external coping strategies. Sometimes a professional and counseling is the helping hand to pull you up and put you back on the road. And that is okay. It is not a sign of weakness. No one is defined by depression or anxiety. There is no shame in getting help to get yourself back on your feet to take that first step.

I found my road. I have never felt better. There is a path for all of us, we have to but find it to start walking.