Minimalist Monday - What's In A Name?

Yup, it's not Monday... but what's in a name? ;) Feels like Monday to me!

Minimalist... what does that mean?

My definition of minimalism is thoughtfully designing my life so that everything/everyone I interact with brings me joy. Does that mean I'm always happy? Hellz no! However, when something/someone is consistently adding anything other than joy to my life (stress, anger, frustration, depression, anxiety, stinky farts) I change my world so that I interact with that thing/person less and eventually remove it/them from my life completely.

Of course there are parts of my life that I don't truly love... and I've decided that removing them from my life would cause as much stress as keeping them. In those instances I've decided to change my perspective so at I can find a way to appreciate that part of my life. And that appreciation gives me joy.

It's always changing. I'm always reassessing, asking questions, and seeking answers that often yield new questions. All in the pursuit of equilibrium. It's kind of like limits in calculus... something I'm always reaching towards, and I can get infinitesimally close to, yet never meet. THIS realization used to cause me much stress... until I changed my perspective. 

Life is a journey... once you reach the destination, life is over. Enjoy the journey... all the bumps, twists and turns. Choose your road wisely... though you can only see it's beginning... be prepared to change course when things aren't right. If you can't find a crossroad, make your own! That's my new perspective.

Here are some minimalist inspired blog posts that have helped me find the road that brings me the most joy.

Zen Habits - The Elements Of Living Lightly

The Minimalists - Consumption Is Not The Problem 

Living Well Spending Less - Why I Took My Kids' Toys Away

The Life-Changing Magic Of Picking Up

Becoming Minimalist - Don't Just Declutter, De-Own

Why I'm Not Skinny Enough

Girls like me aren't supposed to have issues like this. I'm supposed to look at my size 10 jeans and think, "It's okay, I'm five foot nine, and it's mostly muscle..."

This is me, doing my favorite thing. A couple weeks ago, I started running again... 3 times a week. My friends are planning to participate in a race in January and I'm hoping to run with them. And yet, every time I finish my run I end up in the bathroom, naked and disappointed. I mean I just ran THREE MILES! The fat should melt off!...

sigh...

And then I'm ashamed that I am such an ass. I should not be complaining about my body. I should not have such a negative opinion about my body. I should just wake up and enjoy this body because one day I won't have it anymore.

should, should, should... so yeah, I beat myself up because I hate how I feel. I hate the way the world has programed me to feel. 

Some background.

This is me, five years ago. I weigh nearly 30 pounds less in this picture. I had just been through some difficult stuff that lasted for several years. I went to the doctor one day, convinced there was something horribly wrong with me, convinced I was probably dying. My doctor told me I was having panic attacks, some that lasted for days. (Thinking about this makes me nauseous... makes me want to lay down and hide... pushing publish, I hope will be liberating) They put me on lorazepam and scheduled me to see a psychiatrist. 

I couldn't handle the drug... the side effects were awful, so I stopped taking them. I needed a different way to cope.

As a vegetarian I often need to defend my diet and prove that I get enough protein... I started tracking everything I ate so I could post on days I ate 115 grams of all veggie protein and smile :) Of course, I also had the chance to see all of the 700 calorie days. I noticed that if I ate, I was more likely to have panic attacks. So I ate less. And when times got rough, I ate A LOT less. 

More background.

Me and my "date" for senior prom :) 

I grew up surrounded by women who struggled with their weight. Two memories always stick out when I reflect on my body image.

I remember a day at the beach with some of the women in my family and their friends. There was also a large woman in a bathing suit enjoying a day at the beach. I listened as the adults in my party remarked on the other woman's bathing suit choice:

"Does she even know what she looks like?"

"Ewww, I don't want to look at that!"

"This is just indecent."

Oh, and laughter... 

I was young. I couldn't really understand why the women I was with would say such things about another woman... one who looked much like them. It became one of many memories that I filed away to figure out later.

I was much younger for this other memory. I drew a picture at school of my mother and myself cuddling. Under the picture I wrote, "I like cuddling with my mom, she is squishy."

We used to laugh about this... I think I spelled "squishy" without vowels ;) 

But now it makes me want to cry.

As a kid, I knew my mom was perfect. Even the parts of her that she wanted to change, the parts of her that the world rejected. Though my mom was a full figured woman I saw nothing but love in her. I accepted every inch of her and found value in every part of her.

So, to hear my mother criticize her own body or talk negatively of the bodies of others confused me.

Over time that confusion slipped away and I accepted that this is how things are. We should not accept our bodies. If there is any fat on my body, then I am eating too much and not exercising enough. Fat makes me unattractive, unworthy and unlovable. And anyone else who doesn't feel this way should be ridiculed.

Well, that kind of thinking just caused more anxiety. I know it was wrong, but everything I look at screams that it is right! TV, commercials, my friends who beat themselves up over their weight, fitness programs promising to "fix" me... 

This is the thing.

I want to be done with not being skinny enough. And I know losing weight isn't the answer. In the running picture I weighed 134 pounds and wore size 4 pants. And I kept thinking about how cool it would be if I could get down to 130, or 128...

I want this to stop, but I don't think I can do it alone. 

I read this book called A Complaint Free World. Author Will Bowen writes about the hurtful power of complaining, sarcasm and criticism. And the healing powers of silence.

Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit... I will be brief.

I think we should all read this book. I think it will help us all heal our inner wounds. Which might help us to stop wounding others. 

It's a cycle. And it is up to us if we want it to be a cycle of love or a cycle of hurt.

I love you all, thank you for your acceptance.

Errands With Children = ADVENTURE!

Disclaimer: I have never had my own children. Though I want to be a parent, my parenting knowledge is new and limited. I have only been taking care of tiny humans for about a year.

...

Today I had the opportunity to spend about two hours running errands with a couple of my friends' children. Before we start we need to get the elephant in the room out of the way. These were't just any kids... They are two of the sweetest and most charismatic kids in existence!

I've wanted to try an errand day for a while now. Twice a week I only have two kids to watch, and I liked the idea of getting things done during the day, so I could play more video games once the kids go home ;) I finally got up the courage to ask the kids' parents if I could do this, and after a quick car seat tutorial we were on our way!

We made four stops today: The post office in a plaza, the small animal hospital with it's own small parking lot, the HUGE grocery store, and the small pet shop with on-street parking. All of these venues provided their own unique hurdles as well as useful perks.

Actually, before we really get going I need to mention the true elephant in the room: privilege. White privilege has been making it's way around the Internet arousing much vibrant discourse of late. One thing I am often conscious of, as I walk around the neighborhood on my way to the park, playground or library with 2-6 children in tow, is my privilege. Most strangers we meet assume I'm the mother of all of the children I care for. As the strangers smile at me and say nice things to us, I wonder how my experience would differ if my skin were darker. Would the kind people in the park whisper something about welfare queens as we walked past each other? Could this thought be just the product of all the news I'm trying to avoid these days? Or is it evidence of my own private prejudice? Or is it me coming to grips with our self-imposed segregated reality? Regardless, I feel it is important to be conscious of these thoughts... and perhaps they will come to fruition in a future post.

Tangent inventoried.

Figuring how to safely remove two children under the age of two from a car is a challenge! In the small parking lots I felt a lot safer. There wasn't much traffic and I could put the slightly older kid in the unused front seat with a stern, "stay here" request while I unbuckled the smaller kid. It worked really well. The BIG lot at the HUGE grocery store caused me to be overcautious in an attempt to reduce my anxiety. I found three empty spots together and parked in the middle... and opened both front doors as to say, "Please don't
park in those other spots just yet." Until this experience I thought it was silly that some large parking lots have spots up front reserved for families with small children. It's not just about the kid's safety... but the parent's sanity! Double whammy here! Or maybe I'm just suffering from first-year-with-children syndrome. :)

None of those parking lots came close to how terrifying it was to park on the street and get a kid out of a carseat from behind the driver's seat. I just stood there waiting for the light down the road to turn red... then waited again as the remaining traffic passed. Then, it was a race!! I'm glad this was my last stop. I'm relieved that the child seat wasn't confusing this time. I'm also lucky this kid has a lot of experience pulling his arms out of the straps with ease. For the first time, I questioned my hatred of parking lots in the city.

Wearing a baby-carrying contraption kept the tiny-tiny human safe, which allowed me to focus most
of my attention on the free range tiny human. I'm glad I didn't take the stroller... I really didn't want to take-out/put-in an additional item that also had buttons and straps. However, inside the pet shop I understood why a stroller is useful. There is just so much AWESOME STUFF TO GRAB!

Navigating the insides of the shops was a challenge, but once I was done I had to get my new wares back to the car... and that, I thought, would be the real problem.

I was pleasantly surprised how wrong I was.

As I pushed my cart of groceries through the large grocery store parking lot, tiny toddler secured in the cart and tiny-tiny toddler attached to me, I debated the best position for the cart to rest while I unloaded the children and the bags. I held an internal dispute about stowing the humans or the products first. But, before I had time to come to a conclusion, an employee was close at had to load my items into the trunk, watch the cart while I loaded child number one, and take the cart back for me as I loaded child number two. @.@

THEN, at the pet store where I bought many cans of food and two large bags of cat litter the man delivering the shop's latest products was standing and waiting. I thought I was in his way, and when I offered to move he said, "oh, I'm just waiting here so I can carry your stuff to the car for you." @.@

Today I just couldn't help but think, the world must really like me! Then I realised.. I really like the world! Was the world just returning the favor, or is it all just about perspective?

Or Maybe We're On The Wrong Path

Do you feel stressed?
...overweight?
...depressed?
...unfulfilled?
...unattractive?
...under-appreciated?
...confused?
...lost?

That's GREAT! We have just what you NEED?
How about a relaxing meditation vacation?
Or this new fitness routine at this new gym?
Or a new anti-anxiety medication?
Or a stimulating career certification course?
Or a sale at THE fashion store?
Or this new method that well teach YOU how to win them over?
Or this new thing... don't worry what it is, but we promise you can't live without it!

Or... Or... Well, come on... just tell us your symptoms, and we will find some way to numb them so you can get back to "enjoying" life just the way we want you to.

It seems that no matter your distress, someone has the answer for you. And they are almost always selling that answer. But does the answer provide an effective solution, or does it just help us carry our burdens longer by distracting us from the root of the problem?

I've been thinking about this for a while. Every year we have more and more fitness centers opening, and yet the obesity rate is rising. More people are depressed even though anti-depression use has skyrocketed. Even industry based mindfulness training meant to treat stress is perhaps a misguided effort.

Recently one of my new friends posted this question online:
"Dear Feelings, WHERE'S THE "OFF" BUTTON TO THESE THINGS."

Nearly half of the comments suggested some sort of distraction, from sports to coffee. Concerned not only for my friend's longterm well being, but also wanting to give a nugget of advice to others watching her status, I gave this answer:
"The off button is there... but it's dangerous to use... instead, turn up the volume, allow yourself to feel and know you are loved and everything is okay.  hugs."

This comes from my new favorite book, Daring Greatly. The author, Brene Brown, discusses the dangers of numbing ourselves and gives alternative solutions. Basically, the problem is when you are in pain, or sad, or angry you can't just numb those injured emotions. If you numb one, you numb them all. Numbing sadness numbs joy as well.

I wanted my friend to know that her emotions are valid. Though they may hurt, fighting them or hiding them will only injure or mask her beauty from our world. I also wanted her to know that she doesn't have to face that struggle alone, that she has many people who love her and that we are always there for her.

And I guess I am writing this because I want you to know that you too are not alone. Though I am afraid some of you may feel like you are. I am here for you, just as you are here for me. I sincerely believe that our connections bring us strength. They can give us the strength to go out and be ourselves.

I was a teacher at a school that forced children to sit still and be quiet for 10 hours a day as we drilled the students on skills that would raise their test scores. I felt stifled, then saddened, then crushed. I didn't have the courage to quit my job and fortunately at the end of the year they let me go because, "This place isn't the right fit for you."

While I worked there I was depressed and suffered from massive anxiety attacks that occurred with frightening frequency. Once I mourned the loss of my job I felt peace. I didn't need medication or new training ... I was pushing my non-square self into that school's square shaped ideology and I'm happy that I refused to conform for as long as I did.

I think if things feel wrong, they probably are. That chances are, it's not you... but the place you've put yourself that is causing you strife. This belief of mine exposes my faith in humanity, and I am happy to share that with you.

So, next time you feel wrong... maybe you just need a different path. :)

Why I Write: Walking the Path to Me

"It's okay, I'll be strong for you." Said my wonderful girlfriend to me earlier this week (and many times throughout our relationship) as I sat, crying in a ball on the kitchen floor earlier this week. Those who know me will wonder, "Jeez... what happened... what did I miss?" The answer is simple... Nothing.

Nothing happened. Nothing terrible. No one died. No one was horrible to me. No one left me. I still have my job, my house, my family, my friends, all my cool things... I still have everything... Except my sense of self.

I've been in love with David Sedaris since I discovered his book, Holidays on Ice over ten years ago. I loved how he told stories about life that were honest, funny and complex. From there I became a fan of This American Life... and listening to people tell their stories and witnessing as the narrators come to grips with their experiences had a powerful effect on me. Initially, it made me jealous. I wanted to be that honest. I wanted to stop hiding. I wanted to be me and just be okay with that. I wanted to like me... but I didn't even know who I was.

I like to write. I love reading the journals I wrote as a teenager. It gives me the chance to take a step back and appreciate the journey.

Writing a blog offers the same benefits as journaling with the added perk of practicing being me in front of an audience.

I dance in my living room, sing loud when I'm alone, and have lively, opinionated conversations with myself when I'm the only one in my truck. But, put me in a room with other people and I can't stop wondering what you all think of every little thing I do... How vain... I know. I know you are not even remotely interested in 99.9% of what I do, but to convince myself otherwise feels like a lie.

My therapist calls this characteristic of mine social anxiety disorder. I hate that phrase. I hate the term disorder. It makes me feel broken... And yet, I need a way to except my damaged self image. The Japanese tradition of kintsugi is the art of fixing a broken pot by using gold to hold the pieces together so the pot becomes more beautiful and lets people embrace it's traumatic history. This speaks to me. The gold that holds me together are the wonderful people in my life... and sometimes, I even make my own gold.

So, I'm starting to think maybe I just won't call it a disorder... Perhaps I'm just still learning how to use my fingers and toes with confidence. We all have different paths, and some are longer and twistier than others (that's what she said!;)

Lately I've been reading this awesome book called Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way we Live, Love, Parent and Lead. I've only read a third of the book and have already broken down crying at least three times. This book is bringing me face to face with things that I brush under the rug and stow away in the dark corners of my psyche. I just need to share some of the quotes.

"It's crazy how much energy we spend trying to avoid these hard topics when they're really the only ones that can set us free."

Wow... that one hit me hard... I can't even begin to tell you how much my mental health and life in general improved when I finally told my current girlfriend (a.k.a. fiancée) that I like her. And with every other person we told, life became easier.

"We can't let ourselves be seen if we are terrified by what people may think."

My problem in a nutshell. Yet rather than come to terms with that, and learn to move past it... I just tell myself that I'm broken... that there is something wrong with me. I beat myself up... I become ashamed of myself.

"Yes, shame is tough to talk about. But the conversation isn't nearly as dangerous as what we're creating with our silence! We all experience shame. We're all afraid to talk about it. And, the less we talk about it, the more we have it."

And THIS is why I feel I must write this blog. Talking about my feelings and being vulnerable enough to connect with you is hard... I need to practice. I need to spend a couple of days a week, crafting a thoughtful entry, and then practice the courage to push the publish button.

Of course, I could just stand up and say, "This is who I am! If you don't like it, that's your problem!" Which kinda defined my adolescence... Talk about psychological projection! I didn't like me. And I tried to blame my self hate on everyone around me. I struggled struggle with anger... you should see my teenage current journals!

Throughout my life bits of myself have cracked... but I'm putting the pieces together and filling the cracks with kindness and acceptance. Now I practice saying, "I love the person I am, and have always been. My self worth does not wait for anyone's approval."

 

If I Hit Your Child, Would He Respect Me Too?

This post has been living in my head for a while. It's really hard to write... but I also think it is very important to write it.

I was spanked when I was a child.

My parents never left physical marks. They never hit me in anger. And there was always a great deal of warning before I was hit.

Some parents beat their children. My parents did not, and would have never beat me or my sister.

I guess that makes us lucky...

...

Recently, I saw a meme on the Internet that reads:

This has caused me to think a lot about why I respect people. Was it due to the fact that my parents hit me? Was it something else? Was it some combination of the two?

Let me reflect on how I felt when I was spanked. My mother would give many warnings before we were spanked... to the extent that I never really knew when the threat was real. So I didn't really take her seriously until she told me to go get the paddle. My mom was smart. She knew that by the time she had decided to spank us she would be angry! In the time it took me to cry my way to where the paddle was kept and back she would be calm enough to hit me without hurting me too much.

When she warned me, I felt silly... it was just part of the game.

When she asked me to get the paddle, I felt afraid... The game was over.

When she hit me, I felt sad and hurt... I had lost.

When it was over, I felt ashamed... Everything was my fault.

I would tell myself, "It wasn't that bad... I can take it... I'm tough." The woman I love most in the world just hit me... for my own good... and I was trying to convince myself I was strong enough to take it.

Let me be clear. I never once thought, "Well, I guess I won't do that anymore." Which would be obvious to if you knew how many parent-teacher conferences my parents had to attend due to my unruly behavior. I never once considered whether or not I should do something based on if I thought I would be spanked. I always thought I could get away with it.

When I was seven my grandmother died and right around that time I started walking to school. Eventually, I was walking unsupervised with my sister and a friend... and we used to swear like sailors! At one point it occurred to me that my grandmother was watching me from above, and how disappointed she was to hear what I was saying... I rarely cursed again until after college.

I don't think my grandmother ever spanked me... But I know I didn't want to disappoint her.

Currently, I care for children between the ages of zero and five in my home. I provide them with a caring, safe, structured home away from home while their parents work. Even if New York state would allow it, I am ethically opposed to striking children for any reason. And yet, I don't spend ten hours of my day coping with uncontrollable children. We play, learn, eat, sleep and clean up in relative peace.

However, It was not always this way.

When I started my daycare business nearly a year ago I had no idea what I was doing. There were tantrums and defiance... even throwing and hitting! And I just didn't know what to do. I tried so many different things. But I was starting to think I had made a huge mistake in my career choice.

So, I did what I do. I went to the library.

Two books stick out in my memory. Have a New Kid by Friday and Parent Effectiveness Training.

In my opinion, a self-help book is intended to change the reader... at least that is what the name implies. And of course, the only person I have any control over changing is myself.  Just by looking at the titles I should have known one would help, while the other would be a disaster.

Have a New Kid by Friday wants you to change your children. It is a book on authoritative parenting. They even suggest spanking... You would think that would have finally convinced me to put the book down... But I was desperate. I needed to make this new job work. So I tried all the non-spanking suggestions. What a disaster! I was upset. The kids I was watching were upset... even a friend who I suggested this book to was upset because it backfired with her child as well.

On my Christmas vacation I found Parent Effectiveness Training. I was reading the book during a week without children, and I didn't believe anything they suggested would work. To my surprise, EVERY SINGLE SUGGESTION HELPED! PET teaches parents how to model good communication so that their children can express themselves effectively. And, lo and behold, when people can express themselves to someone who's main goal is to understand them, conflicts float away.

I'm not saying everything is perfect. I still have rough moments and terrible days. But the overall change is remarkable.

I've suggested this book to so many people. In fact, I want the author to write a new book called, People Effectiveness Training that focuses on teaching people how to interact successfully with everyone in their life. I think we all need a little of that.... At least I know I do :)

The thing I remember helping me the most, when I was a kid, was the numerous times my dad sat up with me at night, talking for HOURS about something that was distressing me. He was there to answer my questions, share his experiences and let me know that my feelings are valid. Those talks made me who I am today, those talks taught me the importance of respecting another person... Because those talks showed me that my dad respected me.

One more point. A point of shame as a matter of fact. Sometimes... and it isn't easy to admit this... sometimes, I want to hit a child. This week I was walking into a store as a mother was walking out with a screaming child. The child was being rude and disrespectful and my very first thought was, "That child needs a spanking!" Immediately I felt horrible. I remember how much I hated being hit... and yet, my gut reaction is still sometimes to inflict physical pain. This scares me because I know my parents did not hit me as often as I'm sure they thought they should... and even that taught me, in some small way, that violence is a solution.

So, in conclusion, I believe there is no need to hit a child. I can change the environment, I can strengthen my communication skills, I can get stress relief training, I can reach out for help, I can smile more.

I believe there is no reason to hit a child... unless if you want to.

P.S.

I'd love to see comments, so I know what you are thinking as you read this. :)

The Accumulative Effect of Repressed Loss

I'm selling my truck. Ruby is a 2003 Dodge Dakota I named after Ruby Rhod from the film The Fifth Element. They are both loud, black, sexy and have a stick they aren't afraid to use ;)

Last night a friend contacted me with news that her sister is interested in buying Ruby! I was excited, and then, slowly, sadness overcame me. And had no idea what was wrong with me. I wasn't connecting this sadness to my truck. I don't even drive my truck anymore! I put gas in him two months ago and still have 3/4 of a tank. 

When my girlfriend came home, I went through the normal motions of telling her about my day. When I mentioned I had an interested buyer, the tears just started rolling. I was surprised, and even more surprised as I continued to talk about every loss that was still hurting me.

About a year and a half ago my girlfriend and I took some classes to become foster parents in the hopes of finding a child to adopt. One of the things we discussed at length in the class was that children in foster care are coping with massive losses. They have lost their families, their friends, their school, their neighborhood and often most (if not all) of their belongings. Then they get moved from home to home, compounding the effect of all previous losses. These kids just don't get the time to fully deal with their losses. At the time I thought I understood this phenomenon.

Last night I was mad at myself for being so over sensitive. Why am I crying over a truck? Yeah, it's the first vehicle I ever bought all on my own. Yeah, it symbolizes independence. Yeah, it's useful (in the rare moments I (or my friends) actually need a truck.) But it's still just a thing... A thing that will bring us a great deal of financial security if we don't own it any more. So I should be happy...

And then I jumped in the deep end.

I thought about my best friend's wedding that I'm not invited to because I became too distant (I am sure I did other things that contributed to the dissolution of our close friendship... but my "gift" of oblivion has dwarfed those happenings.) And then I thought about my own wedding, and how my HUGE family means that many of my chosen family, my friends, won't be in attendance because we just can't afford that... And I just don't want to make someone feel what I am feeling.

I thought about Xander, our kitty that we put asleep a year ago, after trying so hard to save him, we still had to let him go. And then I looked to the three cats we have left, and I know their time will come... as will mine. And when I go, someone will cry, they will feel loss and hurt.

I thought about the fight with my family where I lost my mind because they didn't share my opinions about the importance of helping the refugee children at our southern boarders. And I thought about how uncomfortable I feel being around them now, but that I can't come out and say that, because it will hurt them... I don't want them to hurt the way I hurt. I don't want them to feel the loss of comfort I feel.

I thought about all of the foster children... Children who lost their families, their moms, their beds, their homes. And I thought about the foster child we almost had... And how she now has another loss to add to her list. And I to mine. And every day we don't look again is another day a child needs to wait in limbo, needs to feel unloved... And can't take the time to heal yet... But to look again is scary! I don't want to hurt someone else, I don't want to feel that pain again, and I don't want to see my girlfriend cry because we have to do what is right for all involved... There is just too much pain.

I can never understand what children in foster care are feeling. Even with all the accumulative loss I cried over last night... A comparison is not justifiable. But knowing what just a tiny fraction of that loss feels like, makes it much more real... brings me to the edge of understanding.

When I feel loss I go to bad places. When I get to bad places I remember that I don't want to be there anymore. Sometimes I pull myself out, sometimes I wait for help.

I'm lucky. I have help. I have wonderful friends, who I know will forgive me if I can't afford to have them at my wedding. I have a loving family who, even though we may never understand each other, is always there when I need to call. 

Not everyone is this lucky.

<3