Author: Christa

“Should I be ashamed of my self?”

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

From the time I was a preteen until I was about 24, I was ashamed that I was not the effortlessly shiny, attractive person that other girls seemed to be. When I moved to London to get my master’s, I began coming into my own and stopped being embarrassed. I remember the moment this new reality crystallized for me. I had made a mistake at work, and I thought, “Hmm, I am not embarrassed of my self. I want to do it differently next time, sure. But I’m an alright person regardless.” There are still moments when I hear the internal question, “Should I be ashamed of my self for this?” And from deep within, the answer comes, always, “No. A thousand times, no.”

In that vein, I offer Brene Brown’s Manifesto: “Showing up is our power. We are the brave and brokenhearted.” Oh the beauty in brokenness that is brave enough to show up.

rising-strong-manifesto

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

Some research suggests that being a parent doesn’t make people happier. Parenting is stressful. You have to stay up later and get up earlier and make food for people who don’t want to eat it and spend an inordinate amount of time trying to convince someone to put on socks.

I find meaning in parenting in two ways, though: first, I wanted parenting to be part of the meta of my life. It was always a filter through which I wanted to experience the world. (Not everyone wants to be a parent, and that is totally legitimate, too!) Second, there are some very specific moments of parenting that bring such joy. They are often the most random, simple moments. Like today when I came back home from dropping the kids at school and our van at the repair shop and my husband at work, and I walked through the door, turned to shut it behind me, and saw that little fingers had drawn a smiley face, complete with curled hair, on the screen door.

That’s why I’m a parent: I would not have wanted to miss that.

Smiley face

Christmas Day Survival Guide

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

Christmas-lights-facebook-covers-2

Christmas is my favorite holiday, but let’s be honest: it can be hard.

It’s a loaded day, heavy with expectations. It may be spent around people who know our oldest stories yet are also part of our deepest wounds. It’s one of the days when I like to say something the journalist Connie Schultz wrote, “For those for whom this holiday is difficult, I hope today lands gently.”

Even when we are happy to be with our loved ones and enjoying good memories, expectations of perfection on this one specific day following weeks of extra busyness can really set us up for a fall. I have a few suggestions to pass on (read: remind myself of) to help one get through Christmas, and if you use them, it is 100% guaranteed* you will have a wonderful day.

1.    *How ridiculous. Maybe about 3% guaranteed. My first suggestion is to accordingly lower expectations. Don’t ask much from the day. My expectations for tomorrow are to have a cup of coffee and go for a walk. Anything else that does or doesn’t happen, I’m going to give it a pass for the day. (If it rains tomorrow, walk may be substituted for a few downward dogs.)

2.    Extend these lower expectations to others. Don’t expect them to be nicer, more like you politically, or changed in any way because it’s Christmas. In fact, if anything, some of us – we know who we are – become less nice versions of our selves during these special days.

3.    Be gentle with your self. Give your self lots of room to breathe. If you find your self berating, criticizing, take a moment to think of you as your own child. Draw your self in with compassion. As with children, it’s likely that you need a nap, something healthy to eat, or a quiet time out.

4.    Go outside at some point. If possible, go for a walk, even if it is just 5 minutes around the block.

5.    Wear comfortable clothes. Really, this is most of the battle.

6.    Breathe with me. Big breath in, big breath out. Big breath in, big breath out. Repeat as necessary. Sometimes I also remind my self of something I once heard an instructor say in the middle of yoga class: “Breathe in. Take as much as you need.” When there is not enough food, enough wine, enough presents, enough anything to make us feel less scared, less sad, less hopeless, we can take just as much air as we need. We will not run out. There will be enough.

7.    Know that I pray for each of you:
May you be well. May you be happy. May you be free from mental suffering and distress. May you be free from physical suffering and pain. May you live with ease.

Merry Christmas!

Anxiety and self care

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

Today was my first day at a new job. Having worked from home since I became pregnant with my oldest child, it was also the first day in eight years that I have stepped into an office as an employee. (Not counting my stint as the front desk girl for a yoga studio, when I checked in students and folded towels and sprayed mats clean and wore stretchy yoga pants and tops and long, dangly earrings for fun. Let’s not count that as an office job.)

The day went well – I love my job description and my colleagues are smart and friendly – but I came home feeling anxious. Of course I did. Our brains and bodies are smart. They are evolved to be wary, especially of change, yet it is the ability to adapt to change that allows them to survive.

So how do we get from anxiety to survival and, in time, wellness?

We take good care of ourselves.

After work, we walk with our children to the park, in the sunshine. We take off our shoes and walk in the splash pool. We feel the cool stones beneath our feet, and we breathe. All the while, the kids are talking talking talking, always with the questions, ohmylord so many questions. The toddler looks directly at you, hears your “No!” and throws her new shoes into the pool anyway, giggling. And we breathe again.

We take them home and bathe them and put them to bed. Tired and irritated and with fear in our throats, but we keep breathing. We cry with our spouse, because tears are a form of stress relief. We listen to a favorite album. We call a friend. We make plans to go to yoga class tomorrow. We light candles and break out the special lotion – the one we spent too much on or is hard to find or otherwise reminds us of happiness – and rub it in and feel loved.

And we breathe.

“Our breathing is a stable solid ground that we can take refuge in. Regardless of our internal weather- our thoughts, emotions and perceptions- our breathing is always with us like a faithful friend. Whenever we feel carried away, or sunken in a deep emotion, or scattered in worries and projects, we return to our breathing to collect and anchor our mind.”
~ Thich Nhat Hanh. Read the entire passage here.

Guns in America: A Mother’s Terror

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

The oldest runs back to give me a kiss, the youngest turns and waves. I watch them walk with their daddy, heading to the bus stop. Will that be it – the last time they turn to say good-bye? Will today be the day that someone fires into their school and preschool? If a gunman bursts into their classroom, will they be able to hide in time? Will a patient or visitor at the hospital where my husband works begin shooting in the cafeteria while he eats?

Yesterday morning, while I was groggily pouring cereal and packing lunch, less than two hours away other mothers’ children were gunned down. Mercilessly. I keep thinking of seeing the back of Alison Parker’s wedge heels as she tried to run away.

I bet Alison and Adam Ward’s mothers feel like I do, that their children are the very best of themselves and their fathers, mixed with their own star dust and bright sunshine, shining so brightly.

I live in terror of their light being snuffed out.

“The fact that 20 six year olds were gunned down in the most violent fashion possible, and [Washington, D.C.] couldn’t do anything about it, was stunning to me… A lot of people will say, well this is a mental health problem. It’s not a gun problem. The United States does not have a monopoly on crazy people. It’s not the only country that has psychosis. And yet we kill each other in these mass shootings at rates that are exponentially higher than any place else. What’s the difference? The difference is that these guys can stack up a bunch of ammunition in their houses and that’s par for the course. The country has to do some soul-searching about this. This is becoming the norm.”
– President Barack Obama, June 2014

Please support Mothers Demand Action for Gun Sense in America
http://momsdemandaction.org/
twitter.com/MomsDemand

Everytown for Gun Safety
http://everytown.org/
twitter.com/Everytown

Americans for Responsible Solutions
http://americansforresponsiblesolutions.org/
twitter.com/Resp_Solutions

The beauty of good enough in relationships

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

On a quest to add a challenge to the same workout routine I’ve been doing for years, I decided that this summer I would learn to swim laps. I already knew how to swim, but the kind of swimming you do to play Marco Polo, not the kind that builds muscle and stamina. I started with the breaststroke. It felt so unnatural that I abandoned it after a couple of attempts at laps. It dawned on me that freestyle would be much easier and why didn’t I try that in the first place. Even in freestyle, though, I had one tiny, little problem: I couldn’t figure out how to breathe.

My husband advised, “Don’t worry so much about the technicalities. You just need to get laps in.”

When we were newly married, I probably wouldn’t have handled Mike’s feedback well, to be honest. I might have been exasperated that he didn’t understand the intricacies of the problem (breathing is very complicated). I might have felt defensive.

But in eight years of partnership, I’ve learned to be more trusting of Mike as one of my people.

I’ve also learned that being one of my people doesn’t mean that he will understand or say the right thing 100% of the time. I won’t, either.

That last point tripped me up for a long time. I didn’t know how to resolve differences. The slightest disagreement made me terrified that we were doomed. It might have been a decade after my own parents’ divorce, but I was still tensed for the moment I needed to cut my losses and run. Maybe it would be over an irreconcilable difference of life values previously undetected. Or maybe it would be because he gave me the wrong advice about swimming.

Somewhere along the way, though, I figured out that good enough is… good enough.

A couple of years ago, I ordered a picture from our wedding printed onto a puzzle. I put the puzzle in a frame, leaving out one piece. It is a chunk of leaves from the tree behind us that is missing, nothing that prevents us from seeing me smiling up at Mike and him beaming down on me.

The framed puzzle sits on our dresser, a reminder that one missing piece – the times we don’t get each other, when we disagree, when we are tired and angry and human – doesn’t have to keep us from seeing the big picture.

And sometimes we do get each other. Sometimes we know exactly what to say.

I jumped back in the pool. I slowed down my pace. I circled my arms in and out of the water. I put in laps. My breath grew rhythmic. I swam for 45 minutes.

I once debated against gay marriage

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

Or: An Essay on How Someone Could Look at Jim Obergefell and Not Be Happy for His Love to Be Recognized

Let’s be clear: the Apostle Paul got a lot of things wrong. But one thing I think he got right: “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became an adult, I put the ways of childhood behind me”.

In 1998, I participated in a school debate and chose the side arguing against marriage equality. My premise, I am very sorry to say, was that it would be bad for children. I was 17, and I was regurgitating what I had heard from those around me. I hadn’t actually met anyone who I knew was gay. Within a few years, my intellectual understanding had grown enough that I knew I had been wrong, that regardless of whether I “agreed” with homosexuality (that’s how I heard people around me talking about it. Like being gay was some sort of political stance, a side you chose), equality before the law was an issue of civil rights, and all adults capable of consent should have the right to be married.

As I came to this conclusion, I continued to wrestle with whether homosexuality was a sin. By this time, I had a gay friend. He, too, was a Christian, and he tried to date girls. One night I sat beside him and held his hand and cried as he talked about his internal war. The fight to not be who he was.

He loved God just as much as I did.

By the time I was in my mid-20s, I had opened my heart to the reality that I didn’t know it all. That there were people who called God by a different name or not at all, and they loved and were good and smart and kind. The religion I grew up in didn’t have the corner on knowing God. My world had grown larger, and I had a better understanding of my place in it and the possibility of many different ways of being.

When we are children, the world is me-centric. We think the rest of the world is or should be like us. But we are supposed to grow up. We are supposed to put the ways of childhood behind us.

Of course I am incredibly relieved and encouraged by the Supreme Court’s legalization of same sex marriage this week, but my heart still drops at some of the comments I’ve heard or read from acquaintances and friends. People who I know love their families. Would give their friends the shirt off their backs. But there is a disconnect in their sense of common humanity. I can only hope that as they get to know gay families, as their own children and grandchildren come out, the disconnect will be fused. I know the momentum is there. I see it happening like a river, like a never-failing stream, and yes, sometimes like a thunderbolt.

Why we pray with Charleston

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

Tonight I was thinking of how to explain to my seven-year-old why we were attending a vigil for Charleston. I decided to tell her we were going because that’s what you do when you feel sad, or when others feel sad: you get together, and you love on each other. Second, the families in Charleston would hear about the vigils all over the country, and it would let them know that they are not alone. The third reason, the explanation that I saved for another night, is that decisions are made by those who show up. Tonight it was a vigil, but our attendance was representative to the community that we will show up, not only in words and prayers, but through our votes, which is one of the most powerful tools that we have (yes, government is an oft broken system, but I do believe that our votes can help fix it, and it can pave the way for justice).

This phrase came to my mind, and I think it sums up what I am most passionate about in this life: Justice is a community event.

To the folks at the pool

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

If I was being paid for the number of hours I’ve spent looking for a swimsuit the past month, I’d have enough money for a weekend getaway with my husband. (Only I wouldn’t have a swimsuit to wear once we were there.)

I just wanted you to know I’ve done my best. There are two main requirements to fulfill. I need something that fits well a body that is way different than it was eight years and two kids ago. Without making me look like I’m wearing a muumuu. And oh, there are some muumuus out there. I know, because I’ve tried them on. Second, I’ve always had a larger chest, and now that I’m still nursing a toddler a couple times a day…. Do you know how hard it is to find swimwear with a modest neckline? I was lamenting this to a couple friends, who both told me, separately, that I should just tie the straps tighter, which made me laugh and laugh because, as anyone with a higher bra size knows, those straps are just no match against the force of gravity, no matter how tight you tie them. Bless their hearts.

I’ve done my best and found a still-imperfect suit. I’m going to go to the pool and splash with my kids and bend down to hug them and eat pizza from the snack shop. I am going to TRY, going to PRACTICE, not worrying about what other people think, of my body or my cleavage. If you see me at the pool, please feel free to give me a wink and a high five if this resonates with you. We’re in this together, mamas.

PS And by “mamas” I include all women who labor for greater love and acceptance.

Community Well

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

My words tumbled out in a hurried anxiety. I was young, holding a new baby in my lap, in a circle of other moms. We were a postpartum group of women who had used the same midwife and met once a month. I noticed that several of the others communicated in the same way. It was as if we were desperate to be heard, to voice the stories that had become stuck in our hearts, to free them and have them understood. They were stories about our relationships and our shortcomings, our biggest hopes and deepest fears as we navigated this hardest and most important thing we would ever do. This mothering.Mama

It can be difficult prying those stories loose. They may come out full of anger at being ignored, or confused or afraid. They may come out in long run-on sentences. Our faces may blush and our necks splotch.

Across time and cultures, women have shared their stories as they gathered at community wells. They were their mothers’ support group, their girls’ night out.

As we have industrialized the ability to run water directly into our homes, we’ve lost that daily opportunity to see and be seen and to hear and be heard.

In many developing countries, the well as a meeting place is threatened by violence. In conflict areas, where people have been driven away from their villages into refugee camps, one of the most dangerous things a woman or girl can do is go out for water. She is vulnerable to attack as she ventures outside the camp.

It is crucial to our wellbeing – not just women, but all humans – that we have safe spaces to tell stories. Especially when they are hard to tell. Especially when no one has been willing or able to hear, really hear, them.

Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh teaches that we should listen in order to relieve each other’s suffering. We know how that feels, don’t we? The relief when someone has received our story without judging us, recognizing that our experience is legitimate, regardless of whether they have experienced it, too, and even when our story is tipped with anxiety, anger, or bitterness.

Community Well is a meeting place to share stories and to listen. May our suffering be relieved. May our happiness be shared. May our lives be well.

Well

Have a story you want to tell about your experiences and/or forces that have shaped them? Email Christa at christa@communitywellblog.com.