#METOO- Using Your Voice to Conquer Shame.

**This post contains potential triggers.

I am that semi-obnoxious (maybe all the way obnoxious but I just can’t own that label completely) person who almost always sits in the first or second row. Most of the time, when I listen to a speaker, attend a class, sit in a workshop, I intentionally choose to sit in the first or second row. Despite what has often been assumed of me, it (usually) isn’t because I need attention or because I want to be the teacher’s pet. The truth of it is I have such a hard time ignoring distractions of any sort. A baby cries, a parent shushes, the heater kicks on, the guy two rows behind me relentlessly taps his pen against his notepad. All of the things. So, I sit in the front so there is less to distract me from whatever it is I am trying to learn from whoever it is that is speaking.  I have done this for as long as I can remember.

Unfortunately for me, that is precisely where I was sitting in a room full of 14-18 year-old girls the moment I quite suddenly “remembered” the account of my experience as a victim of sexual abuse.  In the second row.

“You are all valuable. Precious,” she said.  

“You don’t have to give any more of yourself to the world than you want to. Anyone who tells you otherwise…” Fade to black.

Well first, grey, then black, then full technicolor panic.

My lungs seemed to have collapsed under what felt like the weight of a boulder suddenly pressing down on my chest. I was dying. I was certain I would never breathe again. And my stomach. Was it trying to crawl out of my body through my mouth? Or had it just dropped into my toes? There was this sensation in my head; like someone had taken a sheet of metal and sliced through my forehead and then left it there. That feeling you get if you bite on a piece of aluminum foil, or miss the food on your fork and clamp down on the metal instead of the food. But in my temples.

I hadn’t ever had a panic attack or an anxiety attack so I couldn’t make sense of all of these sensations. I just knew I had to get out of the room. I couldn’t ever make sense of the image that had just flashed in my mind while I was sitting in that room. I stumbled out into the foyer of the building and was soon met by one of the adult chaperones of our group whose name I don’t remember but the sensation of her hand stroking my back and the comfort of her presence I will never ever ever forget.

I was 16.

When I was seven, I was a victim of sexual abuse. While staying with family, my cousin and his girlfriend invited themselves into my bed and molested me; forced me to perform sexual acts with each of them. The strongest evidence I’ve ever experienced of the ferocious power of the mind, it’s ability to protect us from things we dare not face-for whatever reason, is this: I was so afraid that the words and my voice would fail me so that I couldn’t tell anyone what had happened. I was so deeply convinced that I could not ever speak about what had happened that I managed to even persuade myself to believe that this never happened. I repressed this memory for nine years.

It is important for me to tell this story. To speak it out. To use my voice. For myself and possibly for someone else. Also, it is most imperative that I tell you this: I can only share this story because I am now free from the grip of shame.

I am free from it and now I know...I know that every damn dollar spent on therapy and exercise and learning how to breathe again- These were the beginning of loving myself. Knowing myself and loving me, and loving the little girl whose youthful innocence and bright shiny goodness were spoiled with the taste of narcissism and the stench of strength misused. These were the beginning of learning how to listen to her. To me. Now I know… I recognize what it sounds like and how to use it freely to shout to myself, to the world, to anyone who cares to listen that I am worth knowing and loving. Without feeling small or ashamed or unworthy, I get to take up space in the world that has been gifted to me.

And you too. Just in case you need a gentle reminder, can I say this? Encourage you with this hard-won truth…?

You get to take up space in the world.

No one has the right to enter that space without your permission.

You get to use your voice to say, “No” or “Yes” or “Me too” or if you want, to say nothing at all until you are ready.

I hope this is not your story.

But, there is a one in four chance that it is.

This reality breaks my heart. That so many of us have been violated in a way that strips the soul’s soil of nutrients; uproots the potential of life, of self-love, of hope and worth. This thought brings me to the deepest sadness and the hottest of rages I think I am capable of feeling.

And yet…

There is HOPE.

Can you hear it? It's a growing army-choir of truth-telling hope angels. Amongst the clamor of the worst the world has to offer, there is a crescendo of voices being found and raised. In every shouting, whispering, squeaking out through fear and tears, “ME TOO.”

There is HOPE.

Because my story is still being written. Your story. Our collective story. We are writing them now. The middles, the ends, the beginnings, we are the authors. The thieves, the violators, they stole a page, a chapter even. But WE write the next page. We decide when it is written and where and with whom.

Have you ever noticed that the moment we say the thing out loud, call it what it is, that it loses power? The thing we could never say because “How could I even?”  But then we do. In the moment it's strange to even hear ourselves saying the words, but then it's done and we get to move on to the next part. The healing of the wound. The moving through to moving passed to moving on. All because we SAY THE THING.

So, yes. #METOO

-Tawni

HOMESCHOOLING AND THE HUNGER GAMES

On a whim, I checked out The Hunger Games audiobook at my local library. It was a last-second decision. I plucked it from the “teen” shelf and plopped it down onto my pile of books already being processed. I recently had success with engaging the bulk of my kids' attention with a free audio version of Les Miserables (my favorite book) on YouTube. Before you guffaw over the age appropriateness of this decision, I will regress; parental guidance starts waaaaay before the age of 13.

Think about it; rated “G” means the material presented is suitable for a general audience. But as long as that general audience is exposed to half naked women plastered on magazines at the grocery store checkout line, as long as violence is marketed as heroism in the form of little boy’s toys, as long as our leadership is disproportionately represented by privileged white males (some who still have their jobs regardless of the recent ‘sexual-harassment’ shake-down) … I will be openly discussing things with my kids aged (5-11) that are considered outside acceptable guidelines.

Just to be clear, I didn’t pop the Hunger Games in and check out: firstly because it's dang entertaining, and secondly, because it's a brutal story. I will say that the brutality is on par with a popular history curriculum that is used at my charter school, The Story of the World by Susan Wise Bauer. The descriptions in the Hunger Games of people killing one another was even mild in comparison, given that this particular history curriculum geared toward ages 8-12, gives coloring pages for the plagues of Egypt, along with full details about heads being thrust onto spikes.

Honestly, violence is the least of my concerns in the Hunger Game series. What I pause and reflect on most is the heroine’s “responsibility” to placate The Capital with her feigned desire and sexuality. These are some of the best conversations with my growing daughters, who view Katniss Everdeen as a bad-ass female, quick and accurate with a bow, who single-handedly bread wins for her entire family, and has enough energy at the end of the day to selflessly exchange her own life for that of her little sister’s. Suzanne Collins’ character is an idol by those definitions. But Katniss also comes packaged as an average sexually conceptualized woman; her worth and power are marred by how well she displays her physical sensuality.

These abstract ideas that our children pick up from movies and TV shows, conversations, clothing, characters from books, and real-life people moving around in their world, these salvaged pieces of life fabricate the world that our kids sew together. It’s like Maya Angelou said:

"You are the sum total of everything you've ever seen, heard, eaten, smelled, been told, forgot - it's all there. Everything influences each of us, and because of that I try to make sure that my experiences are positive."

This admirable quote may seem to smack my ideals in the face. I would just like to add to it that we are influenced by so many unaccountable things, and try as you might to present to your children only those influences that are positive, you still won’t be able to shield them from the “everything” else. The other option is to open up those ideas; unpack what they mean, explore what makes a human susceptible to negative thoughts or behaviors. What other option is there?

In defense of the Hunger Games, I will also add that this dystopian series has invoked feelings and conversations about many other things: our current climate, the effects of food waste, the plundering of the earth’s resources, and the counter effects of taking advantage of a comfortable 21st century life, just to name a few.

Reading aloud, or sharing an audiobook can become a bonafide, cross-curricular lesson. By following an interesting character like Katniss through an exciting plot, we have yielded discussions about our own government, what we know about United States geography, and even questioned what choices a person has when told to be obedient to an authority that doesn’t hold true to their individual morals.  

If Hunger Games still sounds a bit too edgy for your 5-year-old, (I kid! Her attention span doesn’t sit for audiobooks just yet) there are so many other options for gleaning the benefits I’ve mentioned here. Reading aloud (and independently where content is held to stricter guidelines) is the cement that holds our homeschooling together. It is time-consuming, of course, but so valuable, I don’t see that we could spend our time as wisely doing anything else.

Here are some excellent read alouds that we have currently shared, and have sparked an emphasis on some of those “influential everythings” that are hard to find a segue into on a normal day to day basis:

The Giver Quartet by Lois Lowry.

Hatchet by Gary Paulsen

The Breadwinner series by Deborah Ellis Pam Munoz Ryan

Harry Potter series by JK Rowling

Les Miserable Victor Hugo

-Emily

LEARNING AND HEALING THROUGH THE MOTHER-DAUGHTER RELATIONSHIP.

As women, our relationships with our mothers will be among the most important of our lifetimes. Good or bad, getting to know your mother, and who she is as a woman, will offer tremendous insight into who you are. The relationship starts in the womb and never ends. My love for my children, which I learned through observing my mother’s love for me, will continue for generations to come.  

I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on my relationship with my mom. As a therapist and an instructor, I learned early on the importance of dissecting, understanding, and feeling the emotions that come from looking at such significant relationships. My mother and I have been through life together and I have learned much along the way. For the most part, there are general phases in the evolution of the mother-daughter relationship. Each is complicated, holding much truth to learn and grow from.

Phase one- Mom the superhero. She can do all, be all, and is seemingly perfect while doing so. No matter what your relationship is like, good or bad, there have been times when she was and is a superhero. My mother left a very privileged life in India, casting off her role as a stay at home mom with domestic help, to working full time by day and attending paralegal school by night. She cooked every evening and cleaned each weekend, trying to manage all of our (my two siblings, myself, and my father) temperaments and life events. She gave us the most comfortable life she could so we wouldn’t ever feel sad about leaving our home and lifestyle in India. It wasn’t until long after this phase that I finally realized the magnitude of the sacrifices she made for our family.

Individuation is imperative for young women. It usually begins during the angst of our teenage years, continuing until we isolate our own identities, outside of our mothers. It’s often turbulent and rife with resentment. We aren’t eager to own our similarities during this phase.

Simultaneous to individuation, we experience the inevitable moment of realization that our moms are flawed. I recall feeling crushed the first time I comprehended that my mom was human and thus imperfect. I was older, yet still unable to process the feelings that came with the harshness of that reality. I then did what I think a lot of us are guilty of- laid blame. It’s easy to judge during this stage because it offers a sense of control. I was trying to find a balance between knowing that my mom is amazing and imperfect, at once. Eventually, I realized that we share many of the same issues. At some point during this stage, we may realize that our mothers are often right, especially when it comes to judging other people’s characters. We learn very quickly that she knows what she is talking about, yet we need to experience this in our own time and our own way so that we can have first-hand knowledge to pass down to the next generation. Who in turn will ignore all of our wisdom, too? This phase is confusing, to say the least, but the phase that follows, for some of us, brings a lot of clarity.

Most of us eventually have our own children. Talk about realizing very quickly how valuable Mom is! I remember the first night home from the hospital after having my son, sitting in a rocking chair, feeding him for the third time that evening. My thoughts were not on this tiny little miracle in front of me, or the lack of sleep, but instead with my mother, appreciating everything she had to go through with all of us. The years of not really getting it came together, the sacrifices she made were realized through my own. Finally, I understood why she had to be a superhero and why she was imperfect while trying.

There is a final phase, one that I am terrified to dwell on; the loss of my mother, my first love. I am still very blessed to have her here with me and hope that you are too. For those who have experienced that loss, all of my love to you. I can only imagine the devastation that comes with losing the one person (assuming you had a healthy relationship) you know will always put your well being first.

Whether your mom is with you or you meet elsewhere one day, it is never too late to learn more about her, and in doing so, yourself. No matter where your relationship is at this time, I encourage you to explore, dissect, understand, and feel all of the emotions that come from such a valuable dynamic.

Every mother has moments of breaking down or doubting herself, experiencing darkness and pulling through for her children. Her coping with vulnerabilities may not have been perfect, but she tried and still tries. You can learn so much about who you are through her. How do you cope with darkness? What are your vulnerabilities? How do you handle them? Do you consider vulnerability to be an imperfection? If you are truly honest with yourself you will find parallels, maybe even your reflection in the mirror of your own mother. Learning, accepting, and working through these parallels and reflections will offer empowerment and healing, making you a better version of yourself. Another catalyst for healing is forgiveness.

As flawed beings, our mothers will continue to make mistakes. Now, as a mother myself, the ease of parenting mistakes is ever so real. I am imperfect, and I hope my children grant me the forgiveness, grace, and understanding that I am learning to give my own mother. I encourage you to work toward forgiveness for your mother. How can we forgive ourselves if we cannot forgive those whom we are a part of? Forgiveness doesn’t have to mean forgetting, just letting go of the pain that may haunt your mind, body, and soul; no matter how small or how big the pain feels, releasing it offers healing. When we heal ourselves, we invariably heal future generations.

Those feelings of being unappreciated and overlooked are known intimately by your mother. I am guilty of doing this to my Mom even now. I try to take the time to thank her for all of the sacrifices she has made- past, present, and future. It’s easy to take for granted that she will always be there, forgetting to extend our constant love, appreciation, and kindness. There is another great lesson here for us as well- to be proud of everything we go through as mamas. We need to raise our heads high and say, “Yes! We did that, and that, and that, and that!” We often make ourselves invisible, putting our heads down and pushing through. We love our families, put forth so much effort, and would die for them. Even when we feel that we are doing everything wrong, we have to remind ourselves of that perseverance and unconditional love. So much is right. So, raise your glasses mamas and toast your mom and yourself, celebrating one another, the good, the bad, and everything in-between.

P.S. Mom, my love for you will transcend time, space, and everything else in-between. Thank you for teaching me, for being the best role model and superhero a girl could wish for

-Nayantara

HOW TO TEACH KIDS SELF-REGULATION WITHOUT SHAME.

A bit about today's guest blogger, Michelle Carlson:

Michelle lives in Los Angeles with her two girls, 8 and 11. Before becoming a Hand in Hand certified instructor in 2015, she worked for 12 years in public schools as a teacher and counselor. She also served as an adjunct professor, in the Department of Education, instructing in the teacher credentialing program, none of which prepared her to be a mom. After years of consequences, bribes, and star charts she found Hand in Hand parenting, created by Patty Wipfler. It reshaped her relationships with her daughters, and she credits it with changing her life.

She is passionate about helping others find their way through the murky business of being a connected parent. She loves leading groups and finds the dynamic transformative. Michelle also strongly believes that listening partnerships are the cornerstone to moving through difficulties. 

Michelle has helped herself and others make meaningful connections, work on sibling rivalry, and alleviate school problems. Aggression, fears, withdrawnness, and sleep are just some of the struggles she has shared and helped others rectify.

She holds a Master’s Degree in Education, speaks fluent Spanish, has been trained as a Council in Schools Facilitator and an ADL Trainer fighting against bias of all types on school campuses. Michelle offers phone, Skype, and in person consultations to parents and caregivers.

Check out Michelle's website: peaceandparentingla.com

There is much talk about teaching our kids to self-regulate, use impulse control, and learn to react calmly to adversity. This is all well and good but talking about it and wanting it to happen certainly don't ensure that our children will move through adverse situations with ease, merely because we want them to. We can tell them to calm down and take deep breaths, use their words, and make good choices but, again, will they magically internalize this way to "be" just because we’ve told them that's what’s best?

When we don't react with yelling, anger, threats, bribes, or consequences, which are not models of self-regulation, we often engage in the "talking to"- code words for "lecturing". We explain things ad nauseam with the expectation that our children will look at us with adoration while agreeing with how much sense we are making, thereby choosing to alter their behavior to be more acceptable. When has that ever happened? Do they appease us by agreeing and nodding because they are dying for the lecture to stop and counting the moments until they can move on and away from the shame? I guess it's a step better or perhaps just different than our own parents, who would often tell us what to do, "no ifs, ands or buts about it".

 What does happen after a lecture is really anything but productive. I’ve heard parents say, "We had a long discussion about "x" and now I think he really understands". This is probably not the case. What likely has happened is you have spoken at great length about how you think things "should" be. You have explained every facet of the occurrence and told them just how wrong they are, leaving no place for them to save face. Moreover, this type of interaction erodes your connection, leaving your child feeling judged and scolded, even though there has been no punishment or consequence. It’s been made plainly obvious that they are wrong and you are right. We know from experience how that feels.

 So, how do you teach your children to self-regulate? I love using the statistic from a group of researchers on learning: It has been said that 80% of what children learn is what is modeled to them. I became about 80% like my parents without having them tell me a thing. Merely by watching, I learned to yell, scold, and belittle. I wasn't instructed to be this kind of parent, nor did I study this type of behavior as my guide to parenting. I'll tell you what though, it was modeled to me and that modeling became instinctual, almost second nature. My default.

 We teach self-regulation by regulating ourselves. In adverse times, when things get crazy in our worlds, we show our kids how to be calm and relaxed. When Pia tries to kick me, Esme says she hates me, the water boils over on the stove, I trip over the cat and dinner is an hour late, I remain calm. I come with love and kindness, and I take really deep breaths, talking to myself with mantras of serenity. I remind myself that these things are normal, that my child is not "bad" or "wrong" but rather having a hard time, which has nothing to do with me. Dinner can be late and water is easily cleaned. Over time, lots of time...perhaps their entire childhood, they will learn self-regulation. Will it happen the first time you chose not to lose your temper? No, but with consistency, it will happen, slowly but surely.

 -Michelle Carlson

FOR CRYING OUT LOUD- Sometimes you need to lose it to find it.

In the movies, a woman gets her feelings slightly hurt. She lets her sullen lips quiver and her large doe eyes fill with tears and that’s all it takes to trigger a response of complete remorse from her lover. He’d gladly right all the wrongs that led to this point if she would only not cry. Embracing her, he begs for her not to shed such sad tears, and she is comforted and pretty music plays.

In the real world, a woman cries every time she tries to convey a thought of displeasure about her predicament as housewife/mother/teacher. She knows damn well she has cried over this same topic before and feels like a fucking lunatic because in her mind if she could just communicate it the right way this time, maybe her lover will see that she isn’t just a huge bitch face, and understand that she does get to the end of her rope some days, even when she isn’t premenstrual, and all the emotion packed behind a response to that one, little, unintended, negative comment, leads to a performance of anguish, where she surrenders herself to the tears at hand and ugly sobs face down on the bed like a toddler throwing a tantrum, completely warranting the demeanor of her husband, who patiently sits back and waits for her to work through it. No pretty music, just the gurgle of snot as it is wiped away on the sleeve of the pajamas that she’s worn all day.

So what did you gals do this weekend?...

I am not proud to admit that I did the above. I wish like hell that I didn’t take the heavy of the household and throw it at my husband’s feet like a whiney wretch. I try to look back through the week and see where things started to go wrong but it all feels like a bad Alice and Wonderland remake at that point: a collection of sharp words exchanged over shirked responsibilities, the pieces left over from whatever consistency unraveled, resulting in the proliferation of child-rearing-mayhem, the dark descent into spouts of spousal silence, and then it’s off with her head cry-fest.

I make solid attempts to set my family up for success; we plan, and list, and dream, and then John and I pump the kids up with whatever viable enthusiasm they can muster, and make a pretty good run of things. You know the list: studies, chores, responsibilities, hobbies, extracurricular activities, social lives, family time; It’s an all-in kind of life around here. And that is just the kids. John and I make every attempt to lead by example; bettering ourselves and enjoying our lives. After taking care of four kids though, sometimes what we have left for ourselves feels measly.

Inevitably, we both fall prey to the inconvenience of continued effort; bad choices made in an attempt to secure selfish time to one’s self, or simply to relish in a moment of immobility, face to the phone, a “fuck Y'all, all y’all, Y'all don’t like me, blow me” aura descends. My own inability to champion all the things that I think I can, sours into resentment. And if I leave it unchecked, I stop communicating. I stop reaping what diligence manifests; extra time, rest, relationship growth, individual growth, and instead scramble to get the bare minimum done, still half-assing all those other goals. I absolutely can not get back to even without asking for John’s help. And that’s usually all I needed to do to begin with.

When I hit rock bottom, I realize he isn’t there with me. And I get so fucking sad because I know that I haven’t trusted him to carry the weight that I am feeling. I think he won’t last carrying around resentments or being burdened by all the needs of this household, but I clearly cannot do it either. Then I just miss him so bad, I cry. And I’m such an ass, what I want to say is “I need you more right now than I usually do.” but instead I blubber, and incoherently try to pass the blame.

Earlier that day, the quote on Mindful + Mama’s Instagram, by Jen Sincero, had me all ‘resigned woman-emoji’, hand over her face in despair: “So often we pretend we’ve made a decision when what we’ve really done is signed up to try until it gets too uncomfortable.” Angi!! I felt like you could see my self-loathing, victim induced, bleeding heart!

So how do we make our endeavors last? Well, after taking the long way around to get there, I communicated. The “responsibility chart” that had been mostly ignored for the past weeks, got revamped. We acknowledged that there is no guarantee that we will successfully enforce all these color-coordinated intentions without a separate clause holding the enforcers themselves accountable. I tuned it up a bit before drawing everyone’s attention back to it. We had a family meeting so we could praise the little-beings for what they had done right, before slaying them for all that needed improvement. Here’s what went down:

John and I humbly took our fair share of the fault for the family’s combined reluctance to toe the responsibility line. Clearly, we are fooling ourselves if we expect a chore list to parent for us.

Each family member has been assigned a day of the week to maintain the area in our home that accumulates the most mess. For us, this is the backyard. Deciphering who created what mess is a headache in and of itself. We’re striving for an alternative to the fights that occur between siblings when asked to clean up. Our goal is to have them realize there is less work involved for all of them when they regularly clean up after themselves. Fingers crossed it’s not a complete crash and burn.

We also committed to an allotment of 90 minutes of face-to-phone time per weekday. This is for all of us and begins anytime after 4:30 pm. Chores and studies have been completed by midday, and the intention is to provide them with ample free time, void of any expectation to have internet access. A healthy portion of time before bed will be available for us to act as a family; maybe spread the joy of words over a game of Scrabble, or work on my personal patience affirmations over a lengthy game of Life.  

Before enjoying dessert and a movie on Monday night, we will check in with how everyone is feeling in regards to the new rules of the house. This will give us a forum to correct behaviors and give gratitude to those making an effort. And then we can end on a high note by stuffing our faces with Ben and Jerry’s.

Ultimately, I just need to know that I have John’s support. Shit can get real uncomfortable, as long as he is right there with me. This is the guy that supported my body and choices through four homebirths; he knows a lot about uncomfortable women. I have complete faith that we will continue to maneuver the adventures of family life, even if it is done one ugly cry at a time.

-Emily