Misplaced Guilt in a New Presidency

I don't really subscribe too much to "mommy guilt." I believe my kids are their own people and it's my job to get them ready for adulthood. I think I'm doing a pretty good job, mostly because I really, really give a shit. So even when people mess up, if they care, that counts for a lot, in my opinion. I read. I listen. I care about my kids. I raise them with intention and I try to do right by them.

And then Penny got her first ear infection. She's 3 and a half, so that's actually really good. But, as I said in my Dirty Little Secret post, I'm in the Health and Wellness business. I've grown up in it and am a big proponent of preventative, natural medicine. Don't worry: I go to the doctor, vaccinate, and still feed my children chicken nuggets. I'm not a robot!!! (Love all my gals who don't do those things too - no judgment here ladies!) But one of the problems with having a natural solution to every problem is that you live in a way where you feel more in control. While that sounds awesome (and it is!) it can be easy to forget that none of us have actual, total control. I don't have control over the cold Penny got a week ago that I just cannot shake. That child has been so dosed with nutrients and essential oils and every possible solution and guess what? She got an ear infection. I'm sad.

And I've done a lot to feel in control of the terrible things happening in the world. I've marched. I've gone to racial justice training and meetings. I've advocated for people. I've read. I'm working on dismantling my blind spots (privilege). But, Donald Trump is still president. And he just cut the EPA's budget by $1 billion. Among A LOT of other HORRIFYING things.

I sell green cleaners. It makes the world a better place. I've been doing that for 12 years, helping families lower their carbon footprint, lower their toxic exposure and save money. But in one fell swoop, with one swipe of that pen, I feel like the environment (and all the humans he's targeting specifically in other news) is going to shit anyway. 

There's nothing I can do about that. And I'm grieving. Because I really, really care. I care about the planet. I care about my kids. I care about illegal immigrants. I care about people of color and police brutality. I care. I care. I care. And that pen is killing me. 

Okay. Time to sell some more green cleaners. Who's in?

Maybe Magic is Overrated

It's been a busy last few weeks with hosting my family for Thanksgiving and cramming in as many possible holiday activities in since then. I've written in the past about how my perfectionism comes out during holidays and I'd venture to say I'm not alone in that. It's not that I tell myself "I want everything to be perfect" but I think the massive amount of effort perfectionists put into the holidays has to do with wanting to feel something. I could be wrong. Perfectionism is most definitely about being in control and having things your way. But I think perhaps the obsessive level of activity and wanting everything to be "just so" also relates to our desperate desire for the holidays to make us feel a certain way. For me, I feel a sense of anxiety as the days race towards December 25th because I want to make sure that at some point before it's all over, it actually "feels" like Christmas. If you're too busy, it's not fun. It's stressful and even if the activities seem festive, your heart is hard as a rock. And if you're not busy enough, it doesn't feel magical, like it's any other busy time, but not Christmas. But the streets are crowded and sometimes annual activities are different than last year and suddenly you wake up and just can't do one more thing. And so you stay home and another day passes on the Advent calendar. Tick. Tock.

I want to feel magic. I want my faith to be rekindled in a way that makes everything right and clear and good. I want to be a child again where you could hear a tale woven from fables and it made sense in a way that unicorns and glitter and rainbows just work. I want something to be pure. Compromise is so overrated. I want hope, desperately. I want to believe we are good and can work together and heal this world. I could use some joy. But most of all, I seek peace. The world needs peace in a big way right now. But my adult brain isn't able to get lost from reality, not really. While I was warm in my car this morning with my kids getting our tree, I was thinking about the freezing cold people at Standing Rock. And when I was in a church surrounded by at least a thousand Christians singing about Jesus, I realized there were exactly 3 black people in the room. THREE. Last week my Reverend reminded us that things weren't so tidy in the world when Jesus came either. The Jews were living in occupied territory. Their king was born in a barn to a teenage girl (who is a total bad ass, BTW). There is something glorious about this time of year for sure (the white people Christmas still made me tear up a few times) but there is alongside it a darkness, a reality that refuses to be glossed over. That people are hurting. Some of us are cold and hungry. And a lot of the joy isn't being passed out freely but with strings attached to belief systems and color and class systems. I know that sounds terrible, like I've become a cynic and the magic has died within me. I don't think that's the case. I think the more we become socially aware (and I know I have a long, long road ahead of me - I was still shocked Trump won so that says something for sure), the more we live in the duality of light alongside dark not light against dark. The world is not the binary system we were raised to live in - clear, tidy, with battle lines drawn. The lines are within me and you and everyone around. We are the light and the dark, not just on the outside but on the inside, deep within. Yes there is beauty and glory and life. But there is greed and darkness and pain as well. 

I think my black and white brain has been wrestling with the gray ever since we lost our ministry work 5 years ago. Now I live in the gray all the time. I think I might be better for it. Maybe magic is overrated. I've had magic sneak in the nooks and crannies of heartbreak. I see it in the beautiful music and my crazy children and in a killer conversation I had with my dad last week (more to come). I see it and feel it around me and within me. But if magic seeks to have us sit on our laurels while others aren't given the same level of escape, maybe it's not really the goal. Perhaps the holiday goal isn't to have the perfect table, but to have a full one, a bigger one, with more diversity, fewer rules and a whole lot of grace.

When Perfectionism Meets Sentiment

If you haven't already noticed, I'm a perfectionist. My original blog (www.mutteringsfromaperfectionist.blogspot.com) was completely dedicated to this fact. I am also really sentimental. I have been ever since I was a little kid. I grieved the end of the school year. I grieved the end of the summer. Transition was not impossible, but definitely something I was aware of, even as a young child. 

Fast forward to mothering. I've found that when my perfectionism collides with sentiment around transition, I can get into a kind of beast mode, in the craziness, possibly unhealthy way that you can imagine. This has not been more clear to me than this week. This is Macy's last full week of summer. She starts 3rd grade on Wednesday next week. And Penny starts preschool the following week, so the start of school looms large. So naturally, I'm trying to cram in all the fun things we haven't gotten to do this summer in our final week. That seems almost reasonable. But then you throw in that I'm currently coaching 3 people to do a business alongside me. And I have an event in my home this weekend. And my best friend is coming to town. And another friend had a baby, which involves hospital visits, meals to coordinate and food to cook. And Tim got strep over the weekend so as far as co-parenting goes, has been completely useless (reasonably so). He's absolutely miserable and still working because he has an awesome important job. Oh, and I'M DOING A CLEANSE. Which means for the 5 days of this week, I have completely altered my diet. See the crazy? Yes, I see the crazy. 

I'm hoping as I sift through my perfectionism and learn to give myself grace that just the awareness of crazy counts for something. I can see it. I can feel it rising up. Now, the skill I learned in therapy was to give myself permission to stop and/or lighten the load I place on myself so heavily. And all week I've seen that option waiting in the wings. So far, I've opted not to take it. I don't want to take it. And that is my natural response to the ever-present option to pull back. I don't want to. Here's the thing: I don't want to pull back because I actually want to do what I'm doing. Maybe not all the crazy at the same time (some of the timing was beyond my control) but all the things? Yes. I know it's just this week and I'm not willing to give anything up. And so, I take naps and read my book and put wonderful nutrition in my body and laugh at myself. Perhaps the difference between crazy by choice is that this week, I made a deliberate choice rather than that feeling I used to get, like I was on a merry-go-round I could never stop. I know I can stop the crazy. I'm just happy to be crazy. And I know I'm not better or more loved for being this way. That has been the critical piece and actually what helps me enjoy the process, which I could never do before. Valuing process over product is completely the opposite of how a perfectionist mind evaluates activity. And while I'm still product-focused by nature, I know that I don't have to slug through a process I hate to achieve a perfect product or to be loved and accepted by my community. I get to tackle my life Tazmanian Devil style because that's my preference. So I'm here to tell myself this week: crazy on, solider, crazy on.