The Worst Mother in the World

This blog is supposed to be all about empowering women, to lead their best lives. I try my best to make the best out of everything, to put a positive spin on things, to talk about my struggles and how I overcame them. It brings me great joy to know that someone reading might take my words and have a little hope.

But, this post isn't about that.

I recently told my coach that motherhood has forced me to dig to the deepest parts of me to find the most patience I have. I have dug, and dug and dug. And there isn't any left. I'm all out. I have hit slammed into a wall recently and am wondering when the "God doesn't give you more than you can handle" statement will be flung at me like monkeys throwing poo at the zoo. Which by the way, I don't even want to get into complaining about how much poop I've been dealing with on a literal standpoint in this house.

So, what is this post about? Well, I understand that you, reading this, are not the complaint department. But, I'd like to confess that my gremlin has got the best of me lately. And she's hit be below the belt, right in the uterus. She's laughing hysterically and pointing and saying,

You are the worst mother in the world. 

In the world of, "Keep it together, lady. Don't let them see you sweat, or cry, or fly off the handle," it's next to impossible for me. When my 3 year old son gets in my face and screams, "NOOOOOOOO!" at the top of his lungs I think, "Does this child hate me? This beautiful boy that has my heart in his hands?" And when my 11 month old daughter clings to me and cries when I drop her off at daycare for the 4 hours that she will be away from me 3 times a week, I think, "For pete's sake, she's still nursing! How could I leave her?" 

You are the worst mother in the world.

I mean really, it's the only possible explanation. 

I don't think I ever knew pain until I experienced mommy guilt. No one tells you before you have kids that it's a package deal. No one tells you that the pain of mommy guilt will wreck you from the inside out. I spent all that time before I had kids with my head in the clouds thinking motherhood is about hearts and rainbows. 

Again, 

You are the worst mother in the world.

I type all these words and think, "You know there are people out there that can't have kids. That would give their right arm to have them, all of it, guilt and all." 

So, yet again, 

You are the worst mother in the world.

But, I'm human. And I'm having a really, really hard time. 

One of my favorite scenes from the movie, "Forrest Gump", Forrest is running when a reporter approaches him. Forrest runs through dog shit: 

Reporter: Man! You just ran through a big pile of dog shit! 

Forrest: It happens. 

Reporter: What? Shit? 

Forrest: Sometimes......

The Prize

"All my life I've been searching for something
Something never comes never leads to nothing
Nothing satisfies but I'm getting close
Closer to the prize at the end of the rope" -Foo Fighters

I've been thinking about that a lot lately. The prize at the end of the rope that so many people are after. What is it? Happiness? Love? Beauty? A partner? Losing weight? Organization? Size 2 jeans? A better job? Perfection? A six-figure salary? Everyone's got one. Or two. Or more.

A few weeks back I wrote about the theory of "Go Big or Go Home". In my teens and 20's I thought I had to have it all. If I didn't have it all, or at least be going for it all, and especially look like I had it all, well, that was just unacceptable. I really felt like there was something out there that would bring me all the happiness I ever needed. I planned and planned. Controlled and controlled some more. I was outwardly happy, but inside I was pretty miserable. I lived in the world of "If only..."

What if your "prize" is yourself? Your trueness. I know that sounds really serious, doesn't it? But what if we were all put on this earth so unique from one another for a precise reason? I spent a lot of years trying to fit into a box. What I thought I should be, because I didn't think who I truly was was good enough. Actually, to be honest, I didn't even know who I was. It took me getting dropped on my ass and my heart ripped out  for me to figure out what I was doing wasn't working.

So, maybe if just for a minute, we all looked around and decided that our prize was right now.

This moment.

Ourselves.

Ratting myself out.

Forgive me, blogosphere, for I have sinned.

The last few weeks I've been ranting about taking steps back to re-evaluate ourselves and what we're doing. I wrote about just "being" instead of "doing" all the time, and before that I wrote about perfectionism and the curse of "go big or go home".

And last week, my good friend Jenny Blake wrote a post entitled "My Sandboxed Life" where she confesses that her overachievement is getting to her and she wants to slow down (by the way, the "friend" she mentions that told her she was a "house of cards waiting to crumble"? Yeah, that was me).

So, here I am, blahbidy, blah, blah. Telling all of you in the blogosphere the importance of slowing down for your own sanity and little ol' me has a to-do list 17 miles long. Yes, I said it. I am a....

Hypocrite.

But, in my own defense, and the point of this post, is that I didn't even know it was happening. Let me explain.

I've learned some things about my own negative self talk, or saboteur (remember mine? She's a real bitch). In most cases, this talk is blatantly negative, saying things like, "You can't do this, you suck at that, you're stupid", etc. Since I've done a pretty good job at recognizing these voices and putting a lid on it, my bitch of a gremlin has evolved and gotten smarter. Since she knows she can't trap me that way, she's flipped it around and disguises herself as ambition. She makes ridiculous demands, plays the comparison game and has no patience for compromise. None. (P.S. I talk about her in the third person because it helps me decipher those words from my true self . I know it sounds like I hear voices, but I'm really not schizophrenic. Er, at least I don't think I am). My own coach gave me a homework assignment a couple weeks back that entailed me sitting down and making a list of things not to-do, but what I've done in the last year. I finally did it, and was astounded at how long and kick-ass it was. It made me realize that if I can't sit back and be proud of myself for accomplishing all that I've done, what's the point it wearing myself out for it? It's okay to slow down and celebrate once in a while. To look at how far I've come, and sometimes, to confess that I screw up. So, with that, I pull up my big girl panties and carry on.

I can't tell you what a relief it's been to realize this and put things off. I don't know why I see women entrepreneurs that have been in business for 10+ years and think I need to be that. Tomorrow. How ridiculous! I was reminded this week by Jennifer Powter that moms starting a business with small children live in dog years. What takes most people 1 day may take us a week. It's frustrating, and as a recovering type a/perfectionist person, I can tell you that irritates the shit out of me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go get my professional juggling certification.

The Curse of "Go Big or Go Home"

I saw this bumper sticker the other day and it conjured up many bad memories. I used to live my life by this mantra. No, I mean LIVE MY LIFE. If it wasn't going to be done 150,000,000 percent, then don't do it at all. Isn't that what it means to "Go Big or Go Home"? If you read my blog you know I sometimes write about a nasty thing called Perfectionism. I've struggled with this for years. It's ugly, I hate it, but I've actually come a long way. Perfectionism is black and white. In someone's life who deals with this, everything is or isn't. There's no "in-between". No gray area.

I started playing tennis when I was 3 years old. I practically grew up on the tennis courts. My parents were avid players. I took lessons for years and years and if my parents weren't paying for lessons, my dad was my coach. My freshman year in high school I got up enough courage to try out for the tennis team. The first day of try-outs I sized up the other girls there. Some of them were better than me, but not all. It didn't even occur to me that these girls would be my teammates, not my competition. The anxiety that overtook me was much too overwhelming. I felt sick thinking that I might lose. In front of others. In front of my parents.  So, guess what I did? I went home. The following year I tried out for something much less stressful in my book: Cheerleading. I don't regret being on the cheerleading team, however, I very much regret letting my own perfectionism, my own fear of failure limit me in something that was so important to me. I loved tennis. I was a really good player. But, if I couldn't be the absolute best, if I couldn't "go big", (and in my mind that meant never losing) I would rather go home.

This thought process continued and bled over into other parts of my life. I compared myself constantly to everyone else. I wasn't as thin as this person, my boobs weren't as big as that persons, my grades weren't as good as hers. Compliments fell on deaf ears.

When someone concentrates so hard on looking good, at being the absolute best at any cost, are they really living their life authentically? Are they even living their own life? I didn't even know what "living authentically" meant until I became somewhat comfortable living in the grey.  Years of "go big or go home" had worn on me, and I had no idea who I was, what I wanted, and who I wanted to become. Was it easy to let it all go? Shit, NO! It's still not sometimes. I still have moments of "Oh no, I'm going to look like a complete asshole if I do this or say that". It's slowly becoming easier to be okay with the fact that some people might think I'm an asshole. And on a good day I might even take that as a compliment.

After reading Courtney Martin's "Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters", it was reiterated to me that so many women, especially in my generation suffer from perfectionistic behaviors. The line gets blurry from the ambitious, go-getter, fierce female, to the woman practically killing herself to be perfect in every way. For me, I let my mean and vicious saboteur voice run my life for a lot of years. And she's a real bitch to me, let me tell ya! But, I truly believe that living a life this way, can be crippling.

So, think about times when you might have had this type of thinking. Perhaps you made assumptions ahead of time about something or someone. Or maybe you avoided something because in your mind if you couldn't do it perfectly, it wasn't worth doing. Just notice it.

The Gremlin, The Mannequin and Joan Jett

Warning: Strong language included in this post.

I may have mentioned in my previous posts about what we call in the coaching world as our “saboteur”. AKA "the gremlin". It’s that little (or sometimes not so little) voice in our head that we all have, some more than others. It tells us mean things, negative talk, tells us we can’t do something, that we look stupid, that we’re fat, ugly, etc. Everyone’s is unique. Some people believe theirs more that others. Some people have learned how to squash theirs. But, it’s been my experience, that it never quite goes away and that it evolves, just like we do. It gets smarter, and sneakier too as time goes on.

I’ve started this post a few times, and have never finished or posted about my saboteur. It was a homework assignment from my coach about a year ago; one that I never completed (See, even coaches are bad clients sometimes). I think back then I was afraid to rip the band aid off and show everyone my saboteur. Well, enough hiding, here she is:

My sabotuer is a vicious bitch to me. In my mind she looks like a manequin would, perfect hair, skin, and make up, perfectly thin with no flaws. On display. She is also empty inside. She tells me my world will fall apart at any moment, and to brace myself for it. She wears a smug expression. She tells me I need to be thinner, stronger, younger, in better shape, a better mother, a better wife, a better friend, a better everything. And never, ever, let them see you cry. She used to tell me I'm not good at anything, so why try?





I.
Fucking.
Hate.
Her.

The absolute complete opposite of her, and what in my mind kicks her ass is my alter ego: Joan Jett. She doesn’t give a shit about what anyone thinks of her, doesn’t give a damn about her bad reputation, is exactly who she is and certainly makes no apologies for it. She is a serious ass-kickin' rocker.

In many ways I'm a lot like her, but my gremlin says, "That's not pretty, not lady-like, it's too loud and-your-reputation-IS-so-important-if-it-were-flawed-WE-WOULD-DIE!!!"

Metaphorically speaking, the mean-bitch mannequin lady and Joan Jett have roller derby races. They race, they bump into each other, tell each other to fuck off, sometimes they crash and get it into a knock down cat fight. They go around and around the track, going nowhere.

Do you think I'm totally crazy yet? Okay, good.

But, sometimes they slow down and skate together quietly. Because I am not either of them. I am not perfect at parenting, working out, or anything for that matter. And I don't need to be hard-as-nails tough like Joan Jett either. I can be in the middle. In the grey. My gremlin, the mannequin lady is addicted to suffering. No matter how pretty she presents herself to me, no matter how convincing she is, I still need to remember SHE IS NOT ALLOWED TO LIVE MY LIFE. So, I take my skates back.

And skate away from her to take control of my own life.

So, who is your gremlin, your saboteur? What does he/she say to you? How do you decipher between that voice and your true voice, your true being? 

What being a girl means to me

I have been called a lot of things in my life. Off the top of my head they are: sassy, agressive, obnoxious, loud mouthed, too-smart-for-your-own-good, fiesty, tough and bitch. As I was growing up and trying to find my place in this mad world, being called these things was somewhat devastating. As girls, we are taught and encouraged to NOT be any of these things. That embracing the qualities of femininity is the right thing to do. Soft, quiet, emotional, to be seen and not heard. As a young woman it was all very confusing. I learned very quickly that I could get away with things just for being female, but it really wasn't all that it was cracked up to be.


I remember being in high school and having firm beliefs about certain things. Sadly, most of the time I didn't speak up because I didn't know how to articulate things perfectly and back then I thought everything needed to be perfect, so I shut up. Well, maybe not that I shut up, mostly just channeled my high-strung energy in the wrong direction. But, where I'm going with this is that I can remember always being "shushed". I felt more important if I sat back and was just pretty. Like a Christmas ornament. But when I finally learned to embrace all of those things, to not be ashamed for wanting to speak up, the flood gates opened and I could. Not. Be. Shut. Up.


I get my outspokenness from my mother. However, she looks at it as sticking her foot in her mouth. I believe in her generation, her view of feminism was what was seen on TV or heard about from adults conversations. Bra burning, man hating, hairy arm pitted ladies. Being outspoken was not something that was attractive. Even now, I see her hesitate when she wants to speak her mind. My mom was married at 17 and the mother of 2 by age 20. She is one of the strongest, most powerful women I know. But still, I believe she looks at speaking your mind as a masculine trait, one that is not seen as "right" in others eyes.


I recently watched a moving speech from one of my heros, Eve Ensler. She states:

...the verb that's been enforced on girls, is the verb "to please". Girls are trained to please. I want to change the verb. I want us all to change the verb. I want the verb to be educate. Or activate. Or engage, or confront, or defy. Or create. If we teach girls to change the verb, we will actually enforce the girl inside us, and the girl inside them. 

If I am lucky enough to have you read my blog, even if it's just this post, I want to tell you this: If you have a daughter, or a niece, a sister, mother, aunt, any girl or woman in your life, it is imperative that we teach them to speak up. Teach them to be proud of what they believe in, teach them the power of education, the power that they hold, just by being female. Being female is no better than being male, but it's not our JOB to please everyone. Some things may come out of your mouth that are less than perfect, but don't run and hide under the covers. Vulnerability, honesty, love, compassion, empathy...all of those are beautiful and strong. Yes, strong. 


So don't "shush" girls, and if you see one being "shushed", say something. And if you are a girl or woman reading this, trust me when I tell you again it's not your JOB to please everyone. It's a part of life to piss people off, have people disagree with you and yes, sometimes, someone may not like you (gasp!). It's okay. Speak your mind. It's well worth the effort. 


Photo courtesy of natashalcd

Can we really have it all?

I remember when I was 25 and it was the year 2000. That birthday was hard for me, because I remembered 10 years prior, when I was 15 years old thinking of all things that I wanted for myself when I was 25. I thought I would have it all. I would definitely be married, have at least one child, have gone to college and had an awesome job. I grew up hearing I could be anything I wanted and I believed it! So, at 15 years old thinking of 10 years down the road; I couldn't wait for the new mellenium and my 25th birthday. I would be happy beyond my wildest dreams. So, when 25 rolled around, I had an associates degree in a field I didn't like anymore, I had been in a so-so relationship for 8 years with no engagement ring, no children and was just completely lost. What happened to having it all? Kids, marriage, career? I longed for it because I just knew it was the golden ring to my happiness.

Nine years later I have the great marriage, two beautiful children, the college degree in a field I love and my career is just within reach. This is it! Right? Then why do I lay in bed each night, thinking and feeling guilty about having both? If I put my kids in daycare to work on a career that I love, I miss out on them. If I give up the career to stay home with my kids I miss out on doing something amazing that I know will leave a positive mark on others. If I do both part time I run the risk of making myself crazy which in turn bleeds onto my kids and my husband. A couple of weeks ago as I told this to one of my girlfriends on the phone, I said, "If this means 'having it all', then I don't want it."

And how dare I say that! With all the opportunities I have. A fantastic education, the gift of fertility and healthy children, and a hard-working husband who is an amazing father. Women would give their right arm to have some of the things I have, if not all! But here's the thing: As women who grew up hearing "you can be anything you want" topped with society's pressure of doing it all well, the overwhelmingness of it all can be unbearable.

I recently read an article by Jill Berry where she states,

"The truth is that modern women can't have it all. They may succeed in their careers and they may succeed as mothers, but to do both at the same time? No, that is not possible without making huge sacrifices which many will find simply too much.
The fact is that life is not a level playing field. Men and women may finally have equal opportunities, but that doesn't mean women should make the same choices as men. The sexes are different.
Most women want children and they want to be the principal carer. Encouraging young women to aim for the top at the same time as raising a family is unrealistic and, I would argue, damaging."

I have to agree with Ms. Berry here. But what do we teach young women? I can't imagine telling my daughter, "Honey, let's be realistic. You just can't do both. Choose one. Go to college, but don't go for your dream job because you'll just end up wanting to leave it anyway when you have children. Or, don't bother having kids, they'll just get in the way of your awesome career."

When I had children, I finally understood what it meant to want to give them the world. They smile, and I want to hand it over. But has a disservice been made to my generation? Courtney Martin talks about the "feminists unintended side effect" in that women who were told they could be anything grew up feeling like that had to do so and do it perfectly. Our mothers only wanted the best for us- better than what they had. But they had no idea that they may have been setting us up for disaster.

I am the first person in my family to graduate from college. I'm so proud of that. And I have always wanted to go to grad school and am encouraged by my fellow girlfriends, most of them mothers. But when I really sit down and think about it, it sounds absurd. Grad school, 2 toddlers, a career, a marriage...with a side order of cranial lobotomy, please. When my son turned one, I went back to school to finish my degree. I bought a ticket for the crazy train and took 21 units. That was the hardest 16 weeks of my life. Regardless of how the gap of parental roles has closed (somewhat), mothers are still the primary caregiver. It was difficult to leave him to go to school, study, write papers, be a wife and a mom to a toddler. I have a hard time believing women who say they don't feel guilty leaving their children 40 hours a week. I feel like they are either lying to me, or themselves. Or both.

So, what's your take? I'm curious what other moms think, or even if you're not a mom, do you feel like you were pressured to do one or the other? Or perhaps you have spent so many years on your education or career, now your biological clock is quietly whispering to you?

Hiding behind the notion of control

I’ve recently done some thinking about control. In my “old life” I was a complete control freak. Before my wedding to my first husband I even controlled everything about my bridal shower. I was so picky about the decorations I went out and bought them myself. I wanted everyone to wear pink and only pink. And the wedding itself was even worse with all the details that I was obsessed with.

In the last 10 years or so that I have known someone or known of someone with an eating disorder, I have always thought it was about control. I would think about the persons life and see something going wrong- a dysfunctional relationship, perfectionistic traits or just plain unhappiness. It made perfect sense that someone with disordered eating (weather it be calorie restriction, purging or binge eating) and/or exercise was really the persons way of controlling something in their life. And in this case it was the food they put in their mouth and their weight. For me, I don't think it was something I ever analyzed when it was happening, but it started out as something I thought I could control. I controlled what and when I ate and how much (that was the most important part). I controlled how much I exercised, therefore I controlled how I looked. Unbeknownst to me, my disordered eating and exercise took control of me. Very, very quickly.

I was having a conversation with a friend of mine, Kendra Sebelius and I asked her what she thought of this, having experience in recovery herself. I asked her if she thought that people with disordered eating that tell themselves and others that their issues with food and exercise are their own way of being in control is actually bullshit. I thought it was and wondered if she agreed. She had been doing some reading about this particular topic and told me, "if you have to control something, it is out of control". And I totally agree. She went on to say,

If they [people with disordered eating] only could control the other people in our life, control external stress, control work, control life - THEN our life would be "perfect"... it's once you say you are powerless - over people, things, situations, that is when you recover. The illusion of control is false in all aspects of addictions, and it is often misplaced on external issues versus internal strife. I don't think it ever controlled anything for us - it always controlled us. It became a coping skill to CONTROL the outside things affecting us. A very self centered approach, in my opinion. We care only about ourselves, this illusion of control - thinking if things are in control will mean we are OK. We can not control an eating disorder, just as people can't control drinking - the whys are bullshit. We could be addicts, impulsive by nature, come from shitty pasts etc. It is an illusion - a big fat smokescreen. it becomes the red herring - a way to AVOID the actual issues. A way to place blame & make excuses.

For me, it wasn't until I was well into recovery (in many aspects of my life) that I realized that saying my disordered eating was something I had control of was total BS. The outcome that I wanted- perfection, thinness, beauty, the illusion that I was strong- was all something that controlled me. It had a grip over me that was suffocating and it lied to me. The feeling of power that I had when I could restrict my eating and the feeling of superiority of watching my body change was enormous, but both of those things were very temporary feelings that I constantly had to think about and work for. I've also come to realize the control was something I thought I had over others. My ex would make comments about the way I ate (not how much I ate, just that I should eat healthier), so I would binge just to spite him. Many times he would never even know. It was my way of hating him. The illusion that I had control of my life because I could control my eating and exercise then led me to believe that if I let that go, everything else would fall apart. It would be like falling down a ski slope with no hope of stopping. And there was no way I was going to let that happen.

Years later, through many experiences, therapy and other ways of healing, I have come to know that real life is monumentally better than a life that I thought I had to control. When making plans for my baby shower my mom kept asking me what I wanted at the shower. A theme, colors, etc. I told her I didn't care, that whatever she thought was fine and I would be happy. I said, "Mom, I'm not 'that girl' anymore." She half-jokingly replied, "Thank GOD!". We both got a laugh out of that.

If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, please get help. NEDA can help.


Photo courtesy of Esther_G

Baggage

In early 1994 I sat in a therapists office for the first time. I don't remember how my parents talked me into going, but there I was, 18 years old, a couple of months after I found out my parents were officially getting divorced. I was stone faced, arms crossed over my chest. The therapist was very nice, drinking her tea and her first question was, "Do you know why you're here?" I can't remember how I responded exactly...but casually told her I came because my parents wanted me to and that they wanted to make sure I was "okay". I spent the rest of the hour telling her, "I'm fine", "It doesn't bother me", and "I'm totally okay with it". And I clearly remember never, ever shedding a single tear. I was tough. I was strong. And no one would think otherwise. I had a few more unproductive sessions with her and the only thing I remember (and was very proud of) was that I never cried once. 

The only person that saw any of my inner turmoil about it was my then-boyfriend who later became my husband (then became my ex-husband). He was 19 at the time and did not sign up to be the one to take all of my messiness on. I told no one but him. I guess at the time he was the only one I trusted to still love me even though I was such a mess. I expected so much from him and at 19 years old, he gave me as much as he could, which wasn't a whole lot. And when he didn't provide for me what I needed, I was wrecked. I had no coping skills. I would rather die than have the world see me fall apart, so I stuffed it all away and told everyone "I'm fine". 

Now I know why they call it "baggage". 

I carried that shit around for years. Taking it out on my boyfriend who encouraged me to talk to someone, anyone (besides him) about it all. But instead, I stuffed my bags as full as they would go and carried it around until I was too tired and too weak. Finally, one day I snapped and it all came crashing down in my doctors office in 2003. 

During those teenage years I had no idea what perfectionism was, that I struggled with it or that it was even a bad thing. In my mind I thought if it all looked great on the outside then it had to be okay on the inside, right? I mean, everyone else had it all together, so it was imperative that I did too, whatever the cost. I was disgusted at weak people and thought people that had hang-ups really needed to get over it, and themselves and simply move on. Seriously, I thought that. And now, today I see people that think that way and my heart goes out to them, only because I know they are struggling with their own baggage, their bags are spilling over and they are getting tired. I wonder how much more they can take. How many more times they can roll their eyes at people that have struggles and difficulties and that are simply just human. 

Through my own experiences I've learned that it's okay to ask for help. To say that you're overwhelmed, hurt, afraid or confused. Or tired and need a break. Or whatever. No one is perfect and feels nothing. Transparency is beautiful. It doesn't make you weak or a baby. I don't apologize anymore for it. And my baggage is unpacked. 

Photo courtesy of Noel Zia Lee

Why I decided to not graduate with honors

Yes, you read the title right. I actually made the decision to not graduate with honors. And I'll tell you why. 

Upon returning to college in 2003, it was my goal to get kick-ass grades and graduate with honors. It would be one more reason for everyone to know just how perfect I was. I can honestly say that back then, my main motive was what other people thought and not my own. Life happened and during my journey I got a divorce, got pregnant and got remarried. Not only did my priorities shift, but so did my outlook on life. I understood what self-love was and intended to follow its path. It was still importnat to me to get good grades, but knocking myself out to be the best in my class just wasn't important anymore. 

In my second to last semester one of my classmates asked me, "Why aren't you at Honor Society meetings?" I told him I didn't want to be in the Honor Society, that I couldn't take on another responsibility. He replied, "Oh. I guess you just struck me as an over-acheiver." 

I have to admit I was completely flattered. It was like telling me I was fantastic! My old ghost appeared in my ear and whispered, "See? You're still 'that girl'. What's one more responshibilty? How could you say no to belonging to the Honor Society?" So I went to a meeting. 

I recognized other students there (because they all sat in the front rows of my classes with me) and they were all the other "smarty pants" people that I knew. They talked about all the events coming up and I was completely overwhelmed. I would have to have my son spend more time at his babysitters so I could go listen to speakers or help others present research. Ooooh, but for graduation you get to wear special gold tassels. Well, sign me up!!! 

I went home and thought about it, and decided not to join. I knew how hard I had worked to get there. My family knew too. And that was all that mattered. My legacy and achievements will not care that the "with honors" is on my resume. And that's okay. 

Photo courtesy of rachel_titiriga

"Healthy is the new Skinny: Obsession with body perfection"

Today I had my call with Dr. Andrea Pennington on blog talk radio. My portion is the first few minutes of the show, and you can listen here. 

I wanted to mention something that I briefly touched on. I mentioned the term "Mommy makeover" and realized I may have offended some people by talking about this. This was not my intention, and I apologize if I may have offended anyone who has undergone a tummy tuck and/or breast augmentation after having a baby. My overall point is that after having a baby, many times a woman's body is not the same as it was before. Fat is in places it wasn't before, extra skin may be on the tummy and breasts sag. One of my good friends has even told me her husband calls her breasts "udders". Nice. What I want to emphasize is that if we work on accepting these body changes for what they are: body changes and nothing else, we can learn to live with them instead of relying on plastic surgery to give us back what (we thought) we needed. Whose standards is it that we have to have a flat stomach and perky breasts? That's what I'm asking. That when did it become so important that we all look like Barbie? I'm not ecstatic that my body doesn't look like it did before I had kids, but I'm working on loving it for what it is instead of going under the knife. I'm not better than anyone who does get plastic surgery; I know many smart, beautiful, amazing women that have, but I want all women to know that you can have body peace and happiness without plastic surgery. It is possible. 

Photo courtesy of Angelina :)