SAVED BY FEAR: A THOUGHT PROVOKING PERSPECTIVE ON RAISING YOUR CHILDREN WITH RELIGION.

My mom helped me maneuver the scary parts of life by teaching me to rely on the magic of faith. I called on Jesus whenever fears arose. A familiar four foot tall painting in my grandma's family-room depicted a gentle, Caucasian man with auburn hair cascading around his strong shoulders, his neatly trimmed beard, arms cradling a helpless lamb; this was my go-to image whenever fear got its grip on me. The evils in the darkness of the basement always provided ample opportunities to practice the shielding phrase, “I rebuke you Satan, in the name of Jesus Christ!” I repeatedly glanced over my shoulder while pulling laundry out of the dryer. I booked it back up the stairs singing ‘Jesus Loves the Little Children’ and was just barely delivered from the clutches of the sweaty, red Devil from the fantasy movie Legend. I was taught to pray to Him; the Father, the Son, the spirit-god, when I felt scared about anything, and that hansom, lamb-wrangler, would fill me up and protect me. As an adult I had a hard time sorting through all those different layers of God. I never felt secure in my prayers, because I couldn’t quite figure out who it was that I was asking help from. I didn’t have real faith that my reality was altered by pleading for extra favors. The only time that God felt right was when I experienced deep gratitude for my circumstance, a feeling that still fills me up when I am surrounded by nature. “Thank you, God” seems a true statement. “Help me, God,” not so much. This last year, I overheard a fellow mother express pity when she learned that a mutual friend’s child wasn't raised as a “believer”. She assumed this kid led a tragic life, in fear of death. I considered what my own children’s perspective of death was. I don’t promote the idea of heaven. That doesn’t mean we haven’t discussed death and the different beliefs about life after. We have had numerous field trips to the local cemetery, where we meandered around and I answered questions (to the best of my ability) about decomposition. We talked about the dates on the tombstones, depicting people of all ages leaving their remains behind. But this woman’s pity made me question if there was a benefit at an early age to filing hopes and fears away in an almighty. Do they need the thought of a bearded man standing vigil over them when they get up in the night for a drink of water. Or relying on unseen angels to guide them when they momentarily lose sight of me in a department store? Come to think of it, my kids must have it pretty good, because I really can't compare my personal fears as a kid, to the ones I imagine that they have. I don't think they are praying for protection in any way that I was, seven years old in my bottom bunk, hearing my mom leave the house after tucking me in and not returning until the bars closed. But there is a good chance my children have their own fears, which are every bit as real and as intense to them. Where do they go mentally under such stress? I have never been as explicit as telling my children that Jesus, the capitalized ‘he’ will “save” them. First of all I know too much about the power of words. If our society refuses to wrap its head around the idea that feminism means equal rights for women, I’m sure as heck not going to perpetuate the power of the patriarch and teach that God is a dude. I cringe in the same way over Disney Princesses that used to wait for a masculine savior to rescue them from their complicated lives. Ugh. Secondly, I feel that being saved is so much more about “I’ve got the golden ticket!” And not enough about “I practice the golden rule.” I understand that it is possible to teach both, and I admiringly respect the humans with kids that are doing so. For me personally, eternal life sounds like sort of bribe; one that may cause us to think less of the here and now. I cannot be sure that this isn’t our only shot at life, so I want to raise up my kids to identify where fear originates and teach them to conquer those inner demons, like fear of failure, or negative self talk,  and not waste time inventing mythical beasts to conquer in the basement. Attempting to teach my children to have an empathetic investment in the earth and its very people, is already a challenge. I don’t want to separate us further from the people we know little about, by religion. I understand that for some families, spreading the “good news” is what gets them in touch with the proverbial neighbors of earth. As an individual family, we will continue learning to respect and value the cultures and beliefs of other people and even enjoy celebrating our differences. I am comfortable exploring the scary parts of life with my children. Ancient history is full of terrible things. And, delving into American history has led to many discussions about morality and why humans treat other humans bad. There are current ‘what ifs’ about countries blowing other countries up. They are part of the discussion and will someday (I hope) be part of the solution. Not existing is a weird thing to imagine, but it is not a vague concept to my kids. People have died in their own lives already (Nana, Papa John), and parts of their world have and are ending, (native Americans, human rights, butterflies, coral reefs, pine trees) and how much of that will they become invested in if I teach them to believe that a He-man-God is coming to reinvent the world, make it new and carry us all to Perfect-vile? Life is brutal and I don’t intend to rub my kids noses in it, but I don’t believe that all fear leads to the dark side. Some of that fear leads to curiosity. It might be possible that I am letting my kids eat fruit from the “tree of knowledge”, and perhaps there will be consequences, like fearing an episode of the Cosmos where Neil deGrasse Tyson narrates the history of lead and its effect on the earth (pandemic worry for a week straight from my 10 year old). But, they can find peace by researching why something causes fear. I will be right there beside them. We are the only hands that God has, and I intend to lead an example using those hands to probe, explore, and wonder at every marvelous (and frightening) part of our existence.

-Emily

PERMISSION TO CRY: THE HEALING BEAUTY OF TEARS

I was very emotional as a child. Crying came easy, as did sulking, wallowing and sighing heavily. I didn’t like that I cried. Although my parents welcomed my tears with open arms, I wished I could be a little less sensitive…and a little more in control. Crying was a weakness in my tear-stained eyes.

Carrying around so many emotions, and knowing the floodgates might open at an inopportune time was burdensome. Why couldn’t I watch the freaking Clydesdale commercial without tearing up? Why did the fictional Air Force pilot in my book have to suffer so much that I was wiping my eyes on the elliptical (yeah, I’m that girl who reads a book on an elliptical machine at the gym)?Why did I well up whenever my husband used an exasperated tone? But worst of all, why did I want to cry from the pain of my autoimmune life, the pain that struck me nearly every day?

Somewhere along the way the tears slowed and then stopped. I can’t pinpoint the exact day, but I recall reaching a point where I no longer cried. A couple of years ago I went to a movie with two girlfriends. It was an emotional, faith-driven movie that convicted a lot of people. On a scale of one to five tissues, it got the full five snotty tissues. Sandwiched between my friends, I was the dry-eyed tissue-bearer. They shook their heads in disbelief. It’s not that it wasn’t a touching movie – I knew in my mind it was something the former me would have cried about. But I couldn’t really feel it. In fact, I couldn’t feel much of anything.

As I explained recently to another friend, I was in a phase where I felt emotionally dead most of the time. My health was suffering and I was just trying to survive. I didn’t think I was depressed. I could feel anger and happiness. I just didn’t feel sad. If happiness was the key to life and depression exacerbated illness, then it stood to reason that by not feeling sad, I would become healthier.

Except it’s not that easy. Shutting off my feelings meant that I didn’t deal with them appropriately. Buried somewhere underneath the physical pain was a lot of emotional pain that only caused more pain and stress each time the feelings would try to resurface. I felt very tense inside, like a bottle of pop shaken so hard it was ready to explode, but I didn’t dare remove the lid.

Eventually, I began feeling pain and suffering for others as a way to cope. With this new perspective, I even cried. Not for me, but for them. I was proud of myself, like it was a sign of emotional and even spiritual maturity. I kept a list on my phone of these people, the ones who needed my thoughts, prayers, good vibes or what have you. But as I took on their burdens, I only felt myself getting more stressed. What was to become of the troubled child who lost his main care-taker, his nana, to cancer? What about the man who had such horrible neurological symptoms that he feared for his life? Or the complete stranger who asked me to pray for the infection she was battling while trying to care for a young child? I could hardly manage my own life, and I was called the strong one.

I’m not suggesting we stop caring for others and wishing them healing. However, we cannot assume the pain of others to minimize our own pain, and that’s exactly what I was doing. I never felt

that my pain was worthy. I never allowed myself to have my moments.

In talking with my friend, I realized just how many feelings I had forced away. And that’s not okay. Ignoring those feelings only allows them to plant themselves deeper within. The roots take hold and grow like viney weeds, twisting around one’s insides and stifling new life.

As I strive for physical healing, I am allowing myself to heal emotionally, too. It’s a detox of mind and body. Now, when I have those moments where the tears well up, I stop what I am doing and encourage the tears. It doesn’t come naturally for me. What a strange sensation, knowing as I am in the midst of crying that I can stop the tears at any moment. Losing control is an uncomfortable prospect, but my goal is to get to the point where I no longer need the encouragement to cry, where I can get so lost in the act that I don’t think about controlling my emotions but rather release them with unashamed abandon.

Last night, my husband and children stared at me, dumbfounded, as I began crying while trying to navigate the kitchen on a very sore foot. They tried to halt my tears in an attempt to “fix” me. But I didn’t need fixing. I needed healing. So I simply walked away and said, “Give me a few minutes to myself.” Although the timing felt inopportune, life was giving me a chance to have my moment, and I wanted to seize it. I walked into the bathroom, bent over at the waist and cried so hard my chest heaved. I looked in the mirror at the blotchy, scrunched up face of a girl in pain, and I cried some more. I cried ugly, loud tears, marveling at the paradoxical beauty I saw in my tortured face.

When it was all said and done, I felt better. The physical pain lingered, but I felt connected and refreshed. I felt a little more like me.

-Suzy

HOW TO FIND THE MIRACLE IN THE MUNDANE.

"Stop acting so small, you are the universe in ecstatic motion." -Rumi

I love this quote. It rings true in my everyday (what seems to be mundane) life. I'm pretty normal (kinda). I wake up, make myself coffee, make the kids breakfasts, lunches, snacks, blend myself and my honey a healthy shake, and then take at least ten minutes to figure out what I FEEL like wearing. When you get older, it's not about what you want to wear, it's what you feel like wearing, depending on how your body is treating you that day. Pretty basic, boring stuff. And, on most days, I find it dull as well. Yet, there are times when I marvel at my life; days where being blessed with this beautiful existence brings me to tears. I tend, like most of us, to focus on the "mundane" more often than not.

I know that the small tasks, day in and day out, do matter. I have the Universe/God within me. I am living, breathing, and taking care of two precious souls. I am a wife, daughter, sister, healer, friend, educator, yogi and so much more. Yet, that vanishes from my psyche as I vacuum my bedroom, wash the dishes, make dinner, or do laundry.

I get overwhelmed, irritable, anxious. My brain can't keep up with my thoughts, and my heart can't keep up with my emotions. I always feel behind, then self pity sets in. I forget why I'm doing all of this in the first place and begin to keep a scorecard of tasks from the day; acting as if I am a victim of my own life.

My intention is to spend more energy marveling at the small things in life, to remind myself that the whole universe is within me, that people rely upon me, and that’s not a burden but an honor. How do I get there?

Be grateful- Usually, we wait for something tragic or amazing to happen before we find gratitude, before we take a step back and appreciate our gifts or what someone means to us. I want to start being grateful for having arms to clean my house, for even having a house to clean. When my children are whining and I feel like they aren't thankful for a meal I've prepared, I want to remind myself that they are healthy enough to whine and fortunate enough to have the choice of what to eat. In the midst of my exhaustion and irritation, I want to be able to take a deep breath and find the gratitude that I know exists within me. Don't get me wrong, I encourage being in your feelings, and I know I will never be Mother Theresa, but I can always strive to be better than I am today.

Be still- My mother has repeatedly told me, "you seem like you're always chasing something." She's right. When I was young I never took this comment seriously. Now, as I get older, I recognize that I am always chasing something. In my mind, I find myself searching for excitement, an escape from what seems to be the "mundane," yet if I am just still and focus on what is in front of me, I see miracles. Being still helps us to acknowledge what we already have. We can start with our bodies; we have skin, blood, veins, organs, bones, muscles, that's just the beginning. There are so many miracles happening within us. Let's start to marvel at that!

Be spiritual- Why are you here? What is your purpose? Who are you? Are we alone? Are we the aliens? I could go on and on. Spirituality can mean something different for many. For me it means to continually recognize and search for who I am, and why I am here. I still haven't figured out exactly what this whole Universe thing is about, but I do know that I am connected. When my heart beats, when I breathe, when my feet touch the earth, when I'm pregnant, when I hold my children, I am connected to something greater than myself. Sometimes, I wonder if we’re akin to an ant farm belonging to some genius kid alien; but hey, even if we are, those are some damn cool ants. We have a beautiful ant farm called Earth, and if that's not a miracle, I don't know what is. We weren't meant to understand our existence, only to learn from and enjoy it.

I want to leave you with my Yoga Instructor's words:

“It never ceases to amaze me the time we spend chasing the squirrels around our brains, playing out our dramas, dissecting our lives, complaining about traffic or slow internet, when we are sitting in the middle of a full blown Miracle that is happening right here, right now. We are on a planet that somehow knows to rotate on its axis, and follow a defined path as it hurdles through space. Our hearts beat, we can see, we have a love, laughter, language, living rooms, compassion, cars, fire, fingernails, flowers, music, medicine mountains, muffins. ALL IS A MIRACLE.

-Crystal Uyeno

I encourage you, as I encourage myself. Let's recognize our miracles and marvel at our lives!

-Nayantara

"WHEN WOMEN SUPPORT EACH OTHER, INCREDIBLE THINGS HAPPEN."

A few days ago, I posted a quote that read, "When women support each other, incredible things happen." Author, unknown.

It generated a lot of likes, but it got me thinking, when it comes down to it, I wonder how many of us are practicing what we preach? We live in an era of alleged “girl power.” We’re all marching for it and buying the t-shirts, but where’s the beef, so to speak, of this sentiment? In day to day life, are we holding one another up? Are we celebrating one another's successes?

Aside from a very select group of self assured friends, I'm not feeling it. I don't even know if I'm doing it.

What I'm seeing, in my world, are a lot of women going it alone, afraid to share their inner demons, not wanting to be a burden, and therefore not having the energy to be supportive to others, except through a sporadic thumbs up to an Instagram or Facebook post. There’s an unprecedented independence amongst our generation. Are we afraid of being perceived as weak or inept? Do we just plain not know how to reach out?

A friend can act as a caliper by which to measure our own challenges. Someone in your tribe has suffered similar strife or been privy to others who have, and their outside, dispassionate perspective can often be the clearest. Looking to peers for judgment and guidance, or allowing help when I'm ready to throw my hands up in the air, has proven to be incredibly instrumental for me. I tend towards self-reliance, but in recent years, I’ve allowed the personal vulnerability of asking for help or opinions, or just someone to vent to. My life operates more smoothly because of it. My marriage is stronger, because I have people to help me gauge the fine line of my own bullshit.

When we’re lost in our own worlds, alone and grappling with life stressors, can we even feel joy for other women’s accomplishments? Does the mirror that holds up reflect back an uncomfortable inadequacy? When we see another woman tapping into her own personal power and purpose, how do we feel about ourselves? Get real for a minute. Realize that there are times when your own perceived deficits are keeping you from being truly supportive. Allow yourself to notice that exists within you. It's there for most of us. Don’t shame it away; it's normal, human. We relate other’s experiences back to our own, and if there is an emotion of lacking within us, it may be inhibitory to our ability to truly extol others. When I'm suffering a scarcity in the fulfillment department, seeing others thriving can sometimes create a twinge of jealousy. That's a subtle tap on the shoulder for me, a reminder that it's time to search out more purpose in my life.

On paper, we’re all hardcore feminists, but it's time to ante up and legitimate those claims in our day to day dealings with one another.

-Do for others, even when you don't feel like it, or don't think you have the time. I've come to realize that being “busy” is a bullshit excuse that lends itself to a feeling of importance. I've used it plenty. But really, it’s just a matter of priorities. We’ve got the time, how do we want to spend it. 

-Ask questions. Really get in there. Border on being nosy. If you've pushed too far, it will be immediately apparent, but there's a good chance you'll open up a dialogue that needed to be spoken. Women need to talk. We need to share, it’s cathartic. It's how we learn about ourselves. Saying words aloud is so much more powerful than just thinking them. Not only does asking pointed questions lend itself to intimate communication, but it sends the message that you care, and you're willing to be there when they do need to talk. 

-If your friend is looking particularly lovely one day, tell her! Every. Damn. Time. Don't hold praise in. It may seem trivial, but no one is immune to the power of flattery. We can ride the wave of an off handed, seemingly minuscule compliment, for weeks or sometimes years to come. I still have little one liners, from decades ago, tucked away in my brain, that bring a smile to my face.

-If a friend or acquaintance has pulled off something that you know was a challenge, bask in their glory with them! Celebrate them, and use it as inspiration for yourself, instead of as a means for self judgment.

-Chances are, your peers have more insight than you think they do. Don't be obtuse and believe that you're the end all, be all for every obstacle in your life. Ask for help, ask for guidance, ask to talk. Humans want to feel useful. It bonds us to one another. We’re losing our sense of community in this digital world full of cyber friends. Work on cultivating your tribe and becoming part of other’s tribes. The seeds you plant will grow into trees with roots that bind and commingle in ways that hold firm in the strongest of storms.

-Angi

SHOULD-ING AND SHEDD-ING: THE STRUGGLE OF PRIORITIZING YOURSELF WHILE PARENTING.

My inner monologue seems to be in conflict with itself tonight. I’ve tackled the bare minimum in the kitchen after tucking the kids into bed. Now a voice urges me on: ‘Make a list’ it says one moment, followed by, ‘You’ve done enough, go watch a movie and fall asleep on yourself’ and then there’s ‘You never found Ozlynn’s shoes for the recital tomorrow, and you committed to bringing a savory item, and you'd better get up at 5 A.M. tomorrow so you can do all the things!’ Those aren’t the words that are controlling my actions though, because what I NEED to do, right now, is write. I don’t “need” to change the filter on the turtle’s cage at 11:30 at night. I mean, I did anyway, and it’s done now, but not because I am some ambivalent animal-tender, more so because the gurgling noise interrupts my nightly routine of mentally noting my failed goals. And if I can cross the gurgling noise off of the list (that I should be making), at least that’s one small victory and one less detail that might keep me from falling back to sleep. Gah! After all that, it’s clear that I did “need” to change the turtle filter. Good choices. But screw the list, and I mean it this time. I really just want to write. I want to remove the rambling symbols rolling around in my mind and allow my fingers tips to release each one as I punch them onto the screen. Nah, I’ll just keep ‘should-ing’ myself instead: I should wrap it up and go to bed. Or I should finish that whiskey that I poured myself, knowing full well that I wouldn’t drink all of it, take a jacket and the dog and go spy that caramel-colored moon, waning through the silhouette of trees in the back yard. I should sit in the dark and imagine this last month, and all the things (literal and proverbial) that I am currently shedding. I allow my heart to be weighted down by these things when I should have been letting them go, like a tiny crimson river poured from my fem-cup into the toilet bowl. Whoosh, I flush its startling color away from the stark, white side of the toilet. I’m just going to go to bed, and try to focus on what I know to be true; I am beyond privileged, and blessed. I wake up grumpy, but hopeful, every day. I love this fiasco of raising children and getting old, and learning about myself, and learning about this man that I share a bed with. It’s a beautiful chaos and a stagnant world the day I don’t have moments to overcome and triumph. I could literally make a list of all the shit I need to triumph over right now… Argh! Okay, okay! Morning To-Do list:

-Kids must shower.

-Go to store.

-Make a cracker and cheese spread.

-Find Ozlynn’s fucking shoes.

-Put the laundry in the dryer.

-Support Haven as she fulfills her agreement to play ‘Part of Your World’ on the piano nine more times before the recital.

-Do the girls' hair.

-Oh shit, do I have time to put on mascara?

-Don’t forget all four of the kids' sheet music.

-Try not to get in a fight with John while doing all the things.

-Be nice to in-laws when they meander up stairs to chat as I’m only one shoe deep and realizing that I forgot to put on a panty liner.

-Make it to the recital, and smile at people.

-Emily