Mothers Empowered

Join ME this month as we explore RISK. Often, we view risk negatively and see it connected to danger or damage. Shift and RISK becomes a positive and necessary part of growth. Use RISK to accept a challenge or opportunity in order to gain, to progress and to experience the new. We can RISK who we are for who we might become. RISK with ME in person or online. The Movement is US Risking Together!!

How many times have you said “I need to lose weight”; “I need to get this business off of the ground”; “I need to get my kids on schedule?” How many times have you heard, “If I could just get to the gym, I’d…”; “If I could save more, I’d….”; “If I just had the kids on schedule, I’d…” These statements aren’t grounded in goal setting and achievement; they’re sent up into the atmosphere as whispered wishes for magic tied to the end of curly balloon string. Being able to critically examine our lives and speak truth about what’s present and what’s lacking is crucial to us if we are serious in our intent to put in dream work; that is to lend specific energy in creating the lives we want to live, in the places we want to live, doing the work we believe would add value to how we live and being in loving relationships with those who matter.

What most of us do, instead, is to focus on the-what-is-wrong with the expectation that that will somehow get us to the-what- is-right. Clearly, we have to know what the problem is in order to arrive at the solution. When you take your car into the shop, any mechanic worth his/her salt is going to want to know what’s wrong with it. They’ll ask you how the car was driving, if you heard any noises or smelled any odors. They’ll start the car to hear, see, and smell for themselves. And once they find out it’s a cracked motor mount or torn belt, they replace the motor mount or the belt. They don’t use the broken thing to make your vehicle run the way it’s supposed to. But that’s what we do when trying to “fix” what’s wrong. I’m fat so I need to lose 20 pounds. I’m broke so I need to save more. I’m always late so I need to be on a schedule. Many of us have adopted that thinking as a skill set. Remember that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing but expecting different results. People are committed to mental hospitals because they are without the necessary insight as to what will keep them out of trouble. Thus, lack of insight leads to necessity for commitment.

Insight insists that in order to see change happen-and that’s what “I need” and “If I could” sentences are all about, change-we have to change the way we frame our thoughts. In so doing, we will change both our approach and our results. For example, I needed to lose my postpartum weight; my daughter, as she announced this morning, is four months away from seven. No judgments. For the first few years, I would say I needed to lose 15 pounds. Then it was 20, then 30. A few years after that-uh huh, a few years-I started going to boot camp with Aja the Atrocious. And instead of worrying about the weight I had to lose, my focus was first on just making it through the class without going into full cardiac arrest, and then it switched from number of pounds to lose to number of pushups to gain, amount of squats to increase, distance of miles to run. And guess what? Not only did I lose weight, I became stronger, more limber, more flexible, had more energy, a better diet and I looked incredible in my clothes. I became committed to the outcome, the desired result, just like the mechanic.

Consider, then, your finish instead of your start as the place to begin your action plan. Create the steps necessary to move you from where you want to end up to where you are now. You’re not afraid of the pool or beach; you want to learn how to swim. You don’t think your partner is going to reject your request for new and exciting; you want to add some spice to the love mix. You want a life that sees you at your most Power-Full, your most prepared for Shift and for GASP.

Do you need to be committed?

Remember when you were little and you got into an argument with your brother/sister/cousin and he/she would call you a “PooPoo Head?” And you demanded they “take it back!!”? Remember how when you were a teenager and got into an argument with your best friend, then made out with her boyfriend? And how bad you felt immediately afterwards (and even worse when she found out because he told??) that you laid awake in bed the whole night wishing with all your might you could “take it back?” The desire to take it back never goes away. One night of partying hard and waking up in strange bed with a strange bed buddy could find you trying really hard to remember just how much you want to take back. A failed business, a sudden revelation and bad credit could have you stuck deep in The Land of Regret, smack dab in the middle of “ If only I Had” Boulevard and “What Was I Thinking” Avenue. What would happen if you took “it”-meaning the mistake, the error, the lapse in judgment, the lack of experience, and your youth-fueled “wisdom”-back? Consider:

A friend of mine saw her online retail store become a brick and mortar reality. Two years later, due to the slow progress of gentrification in the neighborhood and the bleak economy, she had to close. But her presence on the block saw at least eight new businesses emerge along what had been a desolate strip of urban wasteland AND the rise of a community group whose first collaboration resulted in the demise of the street pharmaceutical trade plaguing the area.

Three years ago, my cousin’s then-boyfriend questioned the paternity of their daughter. When the results came back he immediately cut off all ties to them both after eight years of raising her as his child. She was mortified and horrified and fit-to-be-tied. After a few days of being the only guest at her exclusive pity party, my cousin found a therapist to guide both she and her daughter through the healing process. Through the miracle of Facebook, she also found her daughter’s dad. The daughter, a beautiful junior honor society inductee and rising dance star, has developed a healthy relationship with her father and three new siblings.

My good mom-buddy left her native state and all of her family support to start her new married life in her husband’s childhood home, which he shared with his sister. She was excited about the relationship she was sure to share with her in-law. Three kids, several bombed investments, a depression (the in-law) and one near foreclosure later saw her savings depleted, her former 800 FICO score a thing of the past, and her marriage majorly tested. After taping a divorce lawyer’s number to the fridge, she was able to have a conversation with her husband about the necessity of transparency in communication, fiscal responsibility and the willingness to face some hard truths about family dysfunction. They’re moving into a better school district and she has put all of her amazing creative talent to use in her new and lucrative venture.

If you take “it” back, then you are also taking away the lesson that comes along with “it”. You are taking away your opportunity to experience GASP (Growth, Attitude Shift, Progression). You are taking away the tools you need to be the perfectly imperfect you you were created to be. But if you are determined to take “it” back then make sure it is something you can use for the journey. Take back your sense of self, your feelings of worth. Go get your smile, your laughter, your joy. Find where you left your zest, your passion. Uncover the mystery of how your Divalicious pop, simmer and flame turned to dust and cold ashes. Put out a missing persons report on the you you always wanted to be. Find her and bring her back.

Recently, I shared that I went for a biopsy. I thought I was the first person in my circle to go. That is, until one of my best friends asked me what kind I was getting and then described the procedure performed on her. I didn’t even know there was more than one kind. She talked so matter of factly about it that it didn’t occur to me to wonder why she hadn’t mentioned it before. I learned today that my fave lunch and shopping buddy has to go for further testing because the lump they found in her breast is not cancerous now, but could turn out to be so later. We went for our mammograms together.
I have three other friends who are in the process of getting divorces. One because her husband, an avid athlete, refused to shower before sex, ever. He thought that made the act more spontaneous and romantic. It, along with most things about him, made her nauseas. The second friend is getting divorced because she found out that her husband had been cheating on her since before they were married and everybody knew. The third one is getting divorced because her husband cheated on her with a man, or with other men and nobody knew.
Valentine’s Day began with my film director friend sending-what else?-film of the “allegedly” high end peanut butter truffles she received from her husband, complete with his awkwardly stuttered, utterly ridiculous “defense”. Allegedly because while he insisted the chocolates were boutique expensive, he had neglected to remove the sticker clearly identifying them as A&P merchandise marked at $4.47. Wince. I sent her an email detailing my 2009 and 2010 V-Day experiences. Last year, at approximately 5:58 p.m., I was asked to lend my Valentine $5. A scant few minutes later I received a bouquet of flowers which looked suspiciously like the ones sold in front of the neighborhood hospital. THIS year, though, I received a dozen red and white roses (I don’t like red OR white roses) sprayed with glitter. Exactly. That email went viral through her network prompting others to share their Cupid mishaps as well. One of her friends received a gushing thank you call from her husband, who raved about the hot naughty basket she sent to his job: She hadn’t. Her other friend related the story of how she and her husband had their couple’s counseling appointment scheduled for that day. He stormed out mid-session and she spent the evening staring into the mirror, wondering where he had gone and trying to figure out who the fat, frumpy, unhappy woman was staring back at her from the mirror.
At a recent ME workshop, one Power Mama told a roomful of strangers that her mother was mean and controlling, another said that her mother was cold and distant and yet another related how she struggled against not becoming the judgmental woman both her mother and grandmother continued to be. At that same workshop, a member of the ME team surprised us all when she broke down crying because she realized how angry she had been and still was about too many things to list here.
The point of it all is that as women we have got to begin to share our stories-with one another, with our friends, sisters, the partners and spouses who love us, with our children. WE have to share them with each other. We can get so caught up in feeling ashamed or being embarrassed, we don’t give thought to feeling healed or being free. My ME moment came when I realized that what happens to me does not define me nor can it contain the all of me. My story, then, is a series of ME moments which provide room for GASP (Growth, Attitude Switch, Progression) and space for shift to happen. My story can only be told by me. Yours can only be told by you and hers by her. But it is in the sharing of our stories where our mothers can be forgiven and our daughters can be made of better stuff than we.
What’s your story?
*(Note- I began this post on Saturday March 1st. My dear friend Kimberly Allers posed the same question on MochaManual.com today when she shared the story of her grandmother, Nana Helen, who transitioned yesterday (something about those Nanas!). I tried reading her love letter to her Nana but it got me to thinking about mine and how six years later, there’s so much of my story I want to tell her because I understand so much of hers now. So share your story here to be posted (info@mothersempowered.org) , or on mochamanual.com and help to begin the healing.

Yesterday, I had a core biopsy done on my right breast because there was something on my sonogram. I have to get a mammogram AND an ultrasound because I have dense breasts. If you’ve never had a mammogram, the best way to describe it is the way my good friend mama mogul Kimberly Allers of mochamanual.com does. She says it’s like standing in front of the refrigerator, placing one of your breasts between the door and the fridge itself, and then slamming the door. It is exactly like that. No matter how gentle the technician is. My theory is the pain is necessary so you get over having said technician maneuvering your breasts. This is not about whether or not you’re used to having a woman squeeze and pull on your breasts-no judgments! It’s not even about how spectacular they are. This is about someone doing their job to get the clearest picture they can. Truth be told, Pamela Anderson and I look just about the same squeezed between the plates. Just about. Thank goodness the gentle technician I had was good at doing her job because I would rather she saw something that may be something than not see anything. The other thing I’m thankful for is that I have insurance coverage so I don’t have to choose between a medical exam and feeding my family.

I’m hugely grateful that my gynecologist is pretty damned amazing. The best. Naturally, she referred me to the best. HE is exactly who you want to be in an exam room with when your find your girls may be in a bit of a pickle. He was jovial, affable, and exuded an experienced confidence. And, yes, good looking in that rugged-cool-old-guy kind of way, like Robert Redford. I was insta-fan when he pronounced my name correctly, which rarely happens. He asked me if I was named after Motown Diva Dionne Warrick. I told him that my mom did name me after her favorite singer and how glad I was that my dad lost the argument because Aretha was his. He conducted the exam and scheduled me for the procedure. I was frazzled, fried and freaked out despite his assurances that he probably wouldn’t find anything. I spent the next week and a half going over all of my worst case scenarios. I thought that not being here for my three children was the absolute worst. ME Moment!! The absolute worst thing that could happen was the realization that I had not spent enough time putting work into my dream. I’m 43 and feel like I’m just getting up to speed. I believe that my best lies just ahead. To consider losing the opportunity to write my book, have dinner with Oprah, dance to a Stevie Wonder song with the love of my life in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower on a spring night and run my first 5K was unthinkable. To finally get IT and be close to seeing IT changed into something else was the absolute worst. The exam itself was uncomfortable but not unbearable and given the worst, it’s one of the best tools in the fight to keep women alive. Thankfully, it was just a cyst.

I am not trying to trivialize anyone’s experience. I shared a waiting room with women from all walks of life and the room was filled with their hope, joy, and fears. From my grandmother I learned how to make light of my darkest moments. This moment has shown me the power of dream work and how we have to make it as much a part of our days as waking, eating, loving. I’m off to begin drafting my book’s outline, planning the Marcus Samuelsson menu for me and O, narrowing my playlist down to my fave five Wonder tunes and putting my daughter’s sparkly pink laces in my running shoes.

Are you dreaming?

Mothers Empowered on Momtourage. Because no mom can do it alone.
http://www.momtourage.com/mom-up-against-violence

As much as the tragedy in Tucson is about the dangers of extremism, vitriolic political rhetoric, homegrown terrorism, and media outlets challenged by the notion of unbiased, accurate, objective and informed news, it is also about the plague of violence in this country; specifically, gun violence.

This is not about amending the second amendment; lay back down, Charlton Heston. This is about:We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

This is about a congressional member doing her part to form a more perfect union by bringing the government to the people at their local supermarket. This is about justice for and the loss of domestic tranquility by a third grader, a community outreach worker and an elderly church leader. This is about the notion that common defense should be prescribed by those who shout the loudest (and sound the stupidest), and by those who have turned the word welfare into a privilege abused by those who they say are not the people. This is about liberty being for all and our collective legacy as a nation. Not the one we wished we had by whitewashing classic literature or by not reading aloud the three-fifths compromise in the constitution to present a blemish-free America, but the story of a nation that when confronted with its worst rises to the challenge of making it better.

This is about mothers having to Mom Up and say enough. Enough. We have been given the greatest responsibility on the planet—the care of life. And no matter our journey to motherhood, here we all are. From Tucson to Toledo, New York City to New Orleans, Daytona to Denver we all want our children to be happy, healthy and safe. And where Sarah Palin and I have about as much in common as The Queen of England and Snookie from The Jersey Shore, with her being a hockey mom and me being a football mom, even Sarah, in all her maverick magnificence, agrees that moms stand in the gap: “I’m just one of many moms who’ll say an extra prayer each night for our sons and daughters going into harm’s way,” she said, when discussing her son’s deployment to Iraq during her speech in the 2008 vice presidential debate. Sadly, though, for too many mothers just the very act of their children leaving the house is going into harm’s way.

Enough.

We, as a community of mothers, have to begin to dialogue with each other on the presence of violence in our children’s lives and its resulting impact, so that we can begin to shape a much needed national discussion. As a community, we have to examine our own desensitization to what has become commonplace. Finally, we have to collectively hold those we vote into office accountable for the culture of fear that has become so pervasive that gun stores across the country saw their inventory sold out in the immediate wake of the incident in Tuscon. Whether through prayer, petition or organized protest—which is the first amendment- now is the time for moms to stand up together and say enough. Now is the time to Mom Up.

Are you Mom enough?

For two months, three weeks and one day, I have become extremely adept at creating very “legitimate” reasons for why it was okay to put me at the bottom of my To Do list: School, dance, football, Daylight Savings. Because I was busy. Very busy. Extremely busy. Way too busy to put in dream work, body work or soul work. Much too busy to breathe life into plan, or goal, or thought. I would think about getting something started, and then think about how to get it going but it all came back as me being too busy to get anything. And whenever one of my friends would call me on it and they called me on it plenty because I have amazing friends, or even when I would call my own self on it, I created the best excuse of all; perfect. I was waiting for things to be perfect. I waited for the perfect time to post. I waited for the perfect time to respond to emails, to make phone calls. I became perfect at waiting on perfect. People make perfection seem so hard to accomplish. Pish posh. Like that, I had mastered the art and was executing perfection at levels not previously seen in the pursuit of perfect. And what followed is sheer perfection. I remained perfectly rooted to October 9th. I gained back a near perfect ten of the almost twenty pounds I had spent all summer losing. Deadlines and timetables were perfectly ignored; connections and contacts were perfectly (and conveniently) dismissed. I mean, it was all so perfect. I did not have to show up for me, or ME, until it was perfect to do so. And now here I am, two months, three weeks and one day later a product of perfection procrastination. And it’s now perfectly clear that the end goal should not have been waiting for perfection but working towards perfection. The operative word being working. As in action. As in doing. As in the very conscious act of performing a task. Because there can be no perfection without performance and there can be no performance without the work.
So for 2011, let us all resolve to make no resolutions save one: Put the work in. I’m beginning today, right now with this. And I’ll be looking to you to help hold me accountable. And I fully expect for you to do the same. I want you to think about where you need to put the work in and then tell me about it so I can help hold you accountable. Post your comments right here or email me, info@mothersempowered.org. No excuses.

Get Your Family Health & Wellness Questions Answered, Live by a Pediatrician!

It’s the beginning of the school year. And there’s jittery excitement in the air for both kids and parents. A new year brings new challenges. There’s also a return to the familiar, the sense of routine. The morning dash for cell phones, unsigned permission slips. The lunch lady who has been the lunch lady since man acquired the ability to walk upright. The small talk in the lobby of the school or in the coffee shop next to the school.

Small talk. Most try to avoid it at all costs because having small talk usually involves talking to people we would prefer not to, not so much. It’s the egomaniacal PTA president who lends as much weight to placement of the muffin platter as President Obama does in establishing this next round of Middle East peace talks. It’s the relative stranger at the playground who divulges in all reality show detail how she hasn’t been able to achieve orgasm since her husband’s “operation”-her finger quotes.

It is inane and senseless. Exactly why are we discussing how much this cuppa Joe costs since we are drinking fair trade, organically grown, indingenous people owned java? (WE are, right?) My friend Julie hates it. She is about vibing with a person- being able to pick up on their positivity. It’s all about intimacy, she says. And not that “Desperate Kardashian Plus 8” kind, either. For her, as with most of us, conversation is about connection. It’s about being able to delight in the common and it’s about the discovery of the unique. It’s about compassion for life’s fragility and appreciation for climbing out of the valley. It’s about conveying optimism in the wake of divorce, expressing enthusiasm about opportunites in a sluggish economy, sharing sympathy over an ailing parent.

Small talk is the exact opposite. It’s about how big the talker wants the listener to think he or she is. It’s about how much they have, how fast it is, how much it costs. It’s about competition, it’s about conflict, it’s about constriction. It’s about “ME” and not about “you” unless you are about “ME”, too. It’s about getting US to believe the hype. It’s about their attempts to convince themselves through us that they are bigger than they actually are. It’s about that fool of a wanna-be preacher in Florida who thinks the Christian way to honor the memory of those who lost their lives on September 11, 2001 is to burn the holy guide of the Islamic faith. (And that is exactly the right amount of energy to lend to any fool.)

Really, though, it’s about the pithiness of ‘like a dull knife/that just ain’t cuttin’ from that wise and sagacious song prophet James Brown on “Talkin’ Loud and Sayin’ Nothing”-short on lyric, but long on message. It’s about realizing that small talk comes from small people with small notions and limited vision. It’s the realization that the big idea is to fill yourself with things that will cause you to expand, to develop, to shift, to grow beyond where you are now.

Yes, less is more. And we are learning to do more with less. Less of what we don’t need and can’t use-like a dull knife.