The grief no one talks about

It seems we’ve covered just about everything this month, talking about lost dreams with kiddos who have special needs and/or learning disabilities and lost babies through miscarriage. It’s been a tough month, but a great month. How wonderful that we have built a forum here where women can feel comfortable talking about our loss and grief and fears and moments of joy. This is what we wanted when we started this blog, but I can honestly say I never expected the kinds of responses we’ve received so thank you all for that.

But I wanted to talk about something today that it seems us women are seriously reluctant to talk about and in truth, I thought (when I was in the midst of the feelings) that it was just me, but I’ve come to learn that my feelings were all too common and it’s time for us to open up that can of proverbial worms. So I’m gonna be brutally honest with y’all, open up all the ugliness and it makes me nervous, but I have faith that you’ll all get it.

Now some of this I can’t speak to with any kind of authority because I’m an adoptive mom, I’ve never carried a child to term. But I’m going make a bold suggestion and say that those baby blues that people talk about…they’re not exclusively caused from hormones.

Let me explain. If you’ve followed the blog for long, you know that I literally became a mother over night. We had exactly 7 days to prepare our home for our two little girls and then suddenly they were there are my house, an infant and a toddler. We’d been through extensive training, I knew what to expect as far as possible problems with the girls, their adjustment, medical issues they could have, etc. I was as prepared as you can possibly be for all of the parenting issues, even the unique ones specific to our (then) foster-care situation. What I was not prepared for though was me and my own yuck coming to the surface.

I spent my entire adult life (and frankly some of my pre-adult life) wanting to get married and be a mom. Everyone who knew me knew that I wanted three things in life: be a wife, be a mother, be a writer. Two of those happened at nearly the same time, but as I mentioned in my previous blog, motherhood seemed an elusive dream, a butterfly I simply couldn’t catch. So imagine my shock when I didn’t settle into motherhood with grace and patience and well, joy. The fact was I’m not nearly as good at this as I thought I’d be. I’m more impatient, less tolerant, and less gentle than I expected. I love children and I especially love my children, but those early days (months) were dark – primarily for me.

I woke up in the mornings cringing and literally would look at the clock and count how many hours until naptime. I was terrified of being alone with them. And I was just miserable. Of course I was exhausted, emotionally and physically, but what the hell? I wanted these kids, why was I so damn unhappy? And the tears, Good Lord, the tears, my poor husband didn’t know what the hell was going on. My mother was a life-saver because she would come over and let me nap and she helped so much with just the day-to-day care of the girls while I found my footing. I didn’t know what was going on, all I knew was that I was unhappy and the guilt because of that ate at me day and night.

And I was plagued with questions…had I made a huge mistake? I couldn’t give them back, my goodness those precious babies had already been through too much. But I didn’t feel like I was providing a better life for them, I felt like I was fumbling in the dark, trying to find the light switch. I took care of their basic needs and I cuddled them and then I would have to sneak away to the bathroom so I could cry. I felt like I had ruined our lives. My husband and I fought like crazy – something we just don’t do. He was miserable and had no idea what was going on with me.

It wasn’t until I came through all of that darkness that I could sit back and analyze it and call it for what it was. Grief. Nothing sexier than that, it was just plain old grief and I for one, suspect all parents go through it no matter how they make their families. I resented the girls and the fact that my husband and I couldn’t just go to the movies or even run to Target. I resented them because my writing life all but dried up and I felt like my career was over. It wasn’t really resentment though, I know that now, it was merely me going through the stages of grieving my old life, my old marriage, the old me. Life changes, as the saying goes and nothing changes it more than children. But no body talks about the fact that it’s okay to be sad about letting go of what was. It doesn’t make you love your kids any less to be irritated that you have to consider them and you can’t just run an errand on your own. It’s a huge adjustment and it takes a while to settle into the new you.

Now I’m not saying that post-pardum depression isn’t real, that’s a whole ‘nother ball of wax. What I am saying is that we all get those “baby blues” let’s just stop trying to think of cute terms to cover the feelings and talk about what it really is. Why should we have to silently feel guilty and wretched because we’re feeling something normal. Going through all of that didn’t make me a bad mom and it doesn’t make any of you a bad mom either.

So let’s talk about mommy grief. How was it for you? How did you get out of it? And did you recognize what it was when you were in the midst of it? 

What One Mother Has Learned About Grief and Loss

This month at Peanut Butter on the Keyboard, we’re talking about moms and loss and the grief that comes with it. But that’s not a bad thing or a sad thing.

It’s ironic, really, that talking about loss and grief can actually be uplifting. After reading Ellie’s poignant posts about her miscarriages, I felt so inspired. I want to be a coffee bean like Ellie. How can I give? How can I change the world through what I’ve learned? And same with Robyn’s post on having polycystic ovarian syndrome…she’s created such a good life in spite of her infertility. She’s an awesome mom, and she won’t let any sense of loss or grief deny her the joy she finds in her family.

As I was contemplating my own journey as a mom who’s experienced loss, I sat and tried to hold it close so I could write about it easier. But I’m having a hard time doing that…reliving the intensity of the anguish of expectations that didn’t come true. And I’m kind of glad. I’ve experienced a ton of loss as a mom–and terrible, wretched grief about it. But I’m at a new place. And it’s a place with a lot less fear because I already know the ending. That’s the beauty of becoming an older mom, I suppose. I already know that whatever happens to my children and to me as their mother, the love is there. It won’t die. It will be stronger than ever. Good will win.

In the long, long run, good always wins. I think that’s the most profound thing a person can learn, and I learned it through my experience as a mother.

I think back on the last 21 years—that’s how long I’ve had my son with mild Asperger’s Syndrome–and it’s been a real odyssey. I was afraid Nighthawk (that’s what I call him on this forum) would be ostracized as a child and a teen. Well, sometimes he was. I was afraid he’d be depressed about that. Yep—occasionally, he was! And I was afraid he’d be lonely, confused, and scared. Well, gosh darn it, he certainly was all three, many times.

The grief you feel as a mom to see your child hurting is excruciating, and I hid the depth of mine from everyone for so many years. What else can you do but move past all the incidents of hurt? You have to keep going. But I remember one particularly bad time when we were visiting friends in Spain. It was our last night there. Nighthawk was a teenager and his American cousin, a boy the same age as Nighthawk, was quietly invited over to a Spanish girl’s house—probably for a romantic goodbye–and Nighthawk was not, although he was her friend, too. He was visibly upset, both sad and angry. Usually, you hide when you’re hurt, especially in front of people you don’t know well, but Nighthawk didn’t. My brother took him aside and tried to explain to him the concept of being a “wingman:” yes, guys stick together, but if a special girl one of them likes enters the picture, the other guy understands and gladly steps back.

I tried to intervene, too, but there’s only so much a mom can do. It’s really up to your child to figure it out for himself. So while I watched Nighthawk try to process what had happened, I got through the rest of the awkward dinner with our Spanish friends with dignity and good cheer. I was a guest in this country, and I owed them that.

Even as I went back to my hotel with my sister, who was my roomie, I acted as if the hurt hadn’t happened. I pretended along with her that it was a beautiful night in a charming town in Spain. How often would experiences like this come along? She thought it was a kindness to me to forget the incident at dinner, so we tried for normalcy back at the room, laughing and talking, happy to be two sisters having a European adventure.

But I couldn’t sleep. I remember sitting up in bed and saying something like this to her: “What happened to Nighthawk was so painful to watch. And I’m tired of everyone just acting as if everything’s okay around me for the sake of moving on. My grief is real. I’ve been pretending for 17 years that I’m okay. But I’m not. And I’m scared that the hurt will never stop, for him or for me. I wonder how we’ll endure.”

That moment was a turning point for me. My despair, my sadness, all had its roots in being afraid. I wasn’t sure that I could handle the truth.

But here is that truth: my son wears his heart on his sleeve. He doesn’t have the instinctive social filter he needs to protect himself. He’s not sophisticated and never will be. He’s smart, though, and through a lot of practice, he can learn to navigate the world. He’s come such a long way already—he’s a junior in college now, he speaks several languages, he has friends and a part-time job. Embittered people sometimes use his vulnerability to entertain themselves. The kind ones are wonderful—helpful, friendly, and loving. But Nighthawk won’t always be around kind people. Perhaps more than the average Joe, he may get hurt, over and over, for the rest of his life.

This is not what I wanted for my boy when I birthed him.

When you’re low—truly low—you have two choices: to actually embrace what scares you or to hide from it. If you choose the former, you choose to live. If you choose the latter, you die inside.

And when you choose to live your truth, the big miracle is that strength and peace just come. In abundance! Some people call it grace. Some call it God. All I know is that since that night in Spain, I am living wholly. And those fears I faced—aloud in the presence of my sister—lost their power.

Those damned expectations I had the day I held Nighthawk in my arms for the first time as a newborn baby…well, they were phantom dreams that held me back from living my real life. They kept me from seeing vividly, every day, that I can celebrate the fact that my son is living his truth with courage, humor, and compassion. He’s a walking testament to the power of love and what it can do in a person’s life.

So this is why I’m in a new place. Sure, I know bad things can happen to Nighthawk, to me, to my family, my friends, and to the world. But I’ve experienced utter despair. I have used that power in me—whatever you want to call it–to stare down the fear, to somehow turn myself, despite all odds—like a rusty, stripped screw–from denial to reality.

And each day, I remind myself that the power that turned me is there. I call it Love. It’s truth and grace and God…it’s all that’s left in us when we think we’re empty. So in a way, I’m glad I’ve been reduced. I’m glad I know pain. I’m blessed to be the mother of Nighthawk, and I wouldn’t change a single bit of our path. To be fully alive, you have to be where you are. Not settling—no, indeed, we must fight hard sometimes to make things right—but having faith that truth will lead us to the place of peace and power inside us that allows us not only to survive but thrive.

That’s all I have to offer the world. That’s me being a coffee bean. I hope I’ve brought you hope—the way Ellie and Robyn have brought me hope. We’re meant to share it.

Every mom has had to witness her child’s pain. We tend to make it our own, don’t we? And every mother deals with expectations that didn’t come true. I’d love to know how you handle yours, if you’re willing to share. XOXO

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Hi, I’m Kieran. My family loves music and anything that makes us laugh out loud. Along with Chuck, my husband of 23 years, I try to teach our kids that we have to actively choose happiness–and if I accomplish nothing else as a mom but pass that one lesson along to them, then I think I’ve done my job.

My oldest guy, Nighthawk, was diagnosed in kindergarten with Asperger’s syndrome, and now he’s a junior in college; his sister Indie Girl, who’s younger by 16 months, is a college sophomore; and my youngest, Dragon, is in ninth grade. For our family, it’s about managing your weaknesses and wringing everything you can get out of your strengths. And along the way, finding joy.

www.kierankramerbooks.com

A Letter To My Daughter

You are beautiful. Not just on the outside, but on all your sides. And there will be a lot of people who say you aren’t. That’s because they feel bad about themselves. Or maybe because their mom didn’t tell them they were beautiful. I don’t know. But I know that what they say doesn’t change the truth. And that is that you’re fearfully and wonderfully made. That God took great delight in fashioning you, and that you are utter perfection, to him and to me.

You don’t have to fit into a box. You don’t have to be one thing. Be a superhero. And be a princess.

You were made to be great. You’ve been given dreams and talents so that you’ll follow them, use them. Your gifts are yours alone, and if you don’t use them, no one else in the world can, not quite like you. So make a splash with them. Share them. Spread them all over like glitter that the world will never be able to wash off (you know how glitter is.)

Friends are wonderful gifts. Some of your friends will last all of your life, and some of them for only a short time. That’s okay. It’s part of life. It’s part of growing. Losing friends is hard, especially to those Jr High and High School type situations. The ones where they say mean things and make you feel like you fail at life all because they won’t be your friend anymore. But you’ll make new friends. Better friends.

You’ll worry about boys for the rest of your life. So start as late as you can. Play with dolls. Play with stuffed animals. Play in the dirt with your brothers. Play fetch with your dog. Wear striped leggings and a polka dot dress because you want to, and don’t worry about what anyone thinks.

Speaking of boys, the boys in high school aren’t worth your time. Trust me on this. I know you’re going to waste time on them anyway, but I consider it my duty to tell you: they aren’t done baking yet. They’re going to be frogs for a few more years, no matter how many times you kiss them. My advice is to just hold off on kissing them. Make them come to you a prince already. Because heaven knows, you’re a princess.

Confidence is beautiful, don’t let insecure people tell you differently. Believe in yourself. And when you can’t, know that me, and your dad, and your brothers, and uncle and grandparents, will be behind you believing in you for you.

Stand firm in your convictions. Your friends might make fun of you, but that’s okay. If you know who you are, and what you want. Don’t let other people change you into the version of you they’re most comfortable with. Be the you that you want to be, and blaze the trail down your own path.

Tell me everything. I promise not to get mad. Well, I promise to keep my blow-up short and sweet, and then have a meaningful conversation with you. But I’d rather know what you’re doing, than be kept in the dark. I’d rather be able to support you, than let you go through something alone. Even if I don’t agree with your choices. Because no matter what, I’m on your side.

Toilet papering houses is great. Filling a boy’s car with balloons and saran wrapping it shut is better. (because no matter what I say, you’ll like those dumb high school boys. So you might as well torment them a little. I’ll probably drive the getaway car. My mom did it for me.) Learn to laugh at yourself. Spin around in open fields of grass. Look at the stars. Read books under the covers with a flashlight.

Be fierce. Be independent. Be whatever you want to be. As someone once said: Don’t be like the rest of them, darling.

And know that when I look at you, I’ll always see the baby you were. The girl you are. The woman you’ll be. And that I love you.

Let’s get crafty!

So here we are upon another holiday and if your kiddos are in school or some daycare or Mother’s Day Out program, it’s time for Valentine’s Day parties. Last year when I did this, I ended up buying 2 boxes for each girl even though there are only 10 kids (total) in their classes. The girls wanted the princess and fairy ones, but I didn’t feel right about giving those to the boys in their classes so we got boy stuff to hand out as well. And many of the Valentine’s come with temporary tattoos – I’m not sure how y’all feel about this, but I’d rather not introduce my children to tattoos just yet.

Needless to say, this year I decided we’d make our own and hand those out. The girls would get to participate and it would mean more than me sitting down one night and addressing all of them for their friends. This way they’d know what they were giving away and they could say they helped to make it. And I thought it would be a fun project for us and for reasons I can’t explain I thought it would be cheaper.

First it was not cheaper. BUT I will say that all of the supplies I bought can be used/eaten at at later date so nothing will go wasted. And we did have a great time. They loved it. I don’t know if those of you with small children have played with the foam stickers, but my girls love them. Even Babybee is quite adept at peeling off the back paper and sticking them on whatever they’re decorating. Busybee even got to write her own name on each of her Valentine, she was quite proud of herself for that.

One of the things I like most about doing crafts with my girls is to see their personalities come out. Babybee is very methodical and precise (pretty amazing for a 2.5 yr old) and Busybee likes to over-do, so her stuff always comes out very decorated. It’s great to see how they create and use their imaginations.

I found the recipe for the “trail” mix on Pinterest, so I can’t take credit for it, but I used Cheerios, Goldfish Pretzels, Yogurt-covered raisins, Valentine M&M’s and Chocolate Teddy Grahams. I think they came out cute and I hope their classmates enjoy them.

So do y’all craft with your kiddos? Do they enjoy doing arts & crafts?

Keeping Things Romantic

Romance is a hard thing to squeeze in around kids. And romance is my day job, so that’s saying quite a lot if I, who spends hours a day contemplating shirtless rakes and blistering love scenes, suffer from the same romance BLERGH that every parent feels.

Granted, my job helps with that. I have excuses to focus on love, and why the relationship between you and that one special person is something to be treasured.

But even romance writers get the THERE ARE CHILDREN EVERYWHERE blues. My husband and I haven’t been on a date since The Hobbit came out. Before that it was in July. I know Robyn was blogging about this the other day. I share her pain. Time alone is a luxury. And we have out special needs boy, which compounds the problem of us being able to find someone to watch our children so we can escape for a bit.

Of course, my husband and I are also both home during the day which means we DO see each other a lot, but in passing. And if he comes into the office TOO many times during an afternoon I start to get that cranky, resentful hunch at my keyboard, which lasts through out the day and is like a big neon DON’T TOUCH ME sign, I am sure.

But we all know what the obstacles are. Dirty diapers, shrieking kids, opposing schedules, etc. But what about how to combat them? I think I’m the ‘newlywed’ of the blog group, at a shy seven years (no itch, shockingly), but we’ve been through a lot of rapid life changes and challenges and we’ve always managed to come through it clinging tighter to each other.

Plus, I write romance. Trust me.

This is my Maisey List of Things That Have Helped My Marriage Stay Romantic:

1. I read romance. Really, that does help. I discovered romance novels while pregnant with our 2nd child. In addition to them being sexy, that didn’t hurt, they also reminded me of why romance is so great. They made me truly appreciative of what I had in my husband, and that was a very helpful thing.

2. We laugh. About stupid things. Last night we were awake at 1:30 in the morning, cracking up over my incredibly immature jokes.

3. We are honest. He knows what’s up with me, I know what’s up with him. He knows me, more than anyone else on earth knows me. And I know him.

4. Without TMIing…we don’t let intimacy slip. We don’t do the scheduling per se, though I think that’s a great idea, but we have rules. And we follow them.

5. We get mad at each other. This took a while. We both used to hold it in because we didn’t want to have any waves or admit that we’d FAILED and disagreed. Now we just let it out and I think we’re much healthier for it. And it’s sort of a part of…

6. We share things. Bless my husband he shares technical details of music engineering that I do not understand, and I bless my heart, I will summarize a romance novel for him. Or read him an excerpt. I know neither of us REALLY get it. But we share it. And the other one at least tries to pay attention.

7. My husband is awesome.

8. We do things together. *awkward segue*

Oh look, we did this together! We combined his music (he wrote the music, the lyrics, did the recording, the engineering and played all the instruments) and a little of mine (I showed up and sang into a mic) and my romance novels and made something that I’m really proud of. One way we stay in harmony (ha) and your husband writing you a song really does help keep things romantic.

I hope you enjoy the song! And I would so appreciate if you would share your tips on how you keep things romantic in the comments.

Edit to include book info: Unbuttoned is the first book in my Silver Creek series, and it’s a novella with Berkley’s new InterMix imprint! It’s out June 18th and here is the cover blurb:

Carly Denton has learned to keep her buttons and emotions firmly fastened. Her parents’ constant drama, and an unrequited crush on her brother’s best friend, taught her to keep her passion beneath the surface. But she can no longer avoid the one man with the ability to bring that passion to a boil…

Lucas remembers Carly as a freckle-faced tomboy—not a frosty woman who treats him like a burr under her saddle. But when they have to work together on a charity project, Lucas is shocked to find their bickering melt into some serious mutual attraction. He’s determined to show Carly that he’s the man for her, if only she’d learn to let loose.

Lucas is the last man on earth Carly should give in to. The freedom she finds in his arms has her feeling happier than ever, but is it enough to make her realize that the greatest risk isn’t losing your heart, but losing the chance at happiness?

 

My Family Doesn’t Look Like Your Family

Or hey, maybe it does! But it doesn’t look like everyone’s. It’s not normal. But then, what is normal, right?

This idea of normal and the fact that I don’t seem to fit into it, used to bother me a little bit. I mean, I didn’t think it did, but…what other people thought was more of a concern than it should be.

January 1st marks the beginning of a new chapter in my family. My husband is quitting his job. I’m going to be the primary earner. Well…basically the sole earner.

We reached the point a few months ago where we saw this coming. The fact of the matter is, it makes sense for us. With two jobs, our schedule is insane. Neither of us are ever caught up, we never see each other. One of us is always working. A nanny or babysitter, while not simple for anyone, is especially complicated for us because we have one boy with autism and one with ADHD. And of the two jobs, mine is the better job.

So, we came to this point. And as we were discussing it, what other people might thing came up. Heck, there were people who offered opinions. People who were concerned my husband wouldn’t feel valuable. That we wouldn’t be portraying a good family model for our kids.

That kind of stuff is a little demoralizing, and yeah, you start to question your decisions.

And then we both kind of went: Wait…WHAT?

Our situation is not everyone else’s situation. No one else has to deal with our schedule, no one else has our kids. We’ve been blessed, I think exceedingly so, with the things we have. And one of those blessings is my career.

There came a point when I realized, I think part of the reason life is so insane, part of the reason we we’re keeping it this way, is for the sake of other people. That makes…no sense.

My family is mine. They are different. Our situation is different. But truly, isn’t everyone’s?

Ultimately the happiness and health of your family is SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT than looking normal (whatever that is).

I know it’s hard for some people to understand. I know I’ll feel the need to justify the fact that my husband is a stay at home dad. I know sometimes people will make me feel like I’m not doing ‘my job’ and he’s not doing his. But hey, don’t people do that no matter what you do?

I can’t express how much freedom I’ve found over the past month or two just embracing the fact that my family isn’t normal. My family is the Yates family. We only have to look like us. We only have to function for us.

I mean, for heaven’s sake, we’re a bi-racial couple with three kids, two with special needs, my husband was raised on a school bus and I’m a romance writer. We never had much hope of looking normal, but we have every hope of being happy.

And that’s all that matters.

So, this is my battle cry, for you and for everyone: Be happy. Don’t worry about what anyone else things. Make your family work for you.

I’m really looking forward to this next phase of our adventure. Our family doesn’t look like everyone else’s family, but it looks pretty perfect to me.

The Soundtracks of Our Lives

So we’re driving along, on our way to run some critical errand. It’s the usual setup. I’m in the front seat, thinking about a thousand different things while driving: what should I fix for dinner? Where did I put that bill? Do I still have stamps? What time does the dance store close? What exactly does occult involve? And secret societies, what exactly do they involve? Should there be something wrong with my new YA character? Does she have a sister? Is her sister dead? Oh, crap, when is that school project due?

Yeah. That’s y mind. It’s not always a pretty place.

Anyway. We’re driving along. I’m in front. The kids are in the back.  My third grade daughter, a speed talker with a newly installed orthodontic device, is going on about something. But I can’t hear her over her brother, and even if I could, I couldn’t understand a word she was saying. Said brother, my four year old, is ranting about a vampire that attacked his zombie brother before Darth Vadar and his storm troopers could get there and scare them away. Yeah. His imagination is nuts (occupational hazard). I may well be raising the next Stephen King.

And then it happens. A song comes on the radio. It’s soft at first. I barely hear over the daily chaos. But then a note registers, and some place inside me tunes in, and without even thinking I’m reaching for the stereo and turning up the volume—turning it way up. Cranking it. And the music starts blasting, right over the kids.  And suddenly my scowl or frown or whatever that stressed out mom look is melts away, replaced by a smile. Not just a mouth smile, either. But the kind that sweeps through your entire body, that brightens your eyes and lightens your heart.  And I start singing—loudly.

I was born to run,

I was born to dream,

The craziest boy you ever seen,

I gotta do it my way,

Or no way at all….

Loverboy. “Turn Me Loose.” And with the remembered lyrics, for that moment, I’m not a mom anymore. I’m not worried about deadlines or meals or groceries. I’m not worried about refereeing a fight or not losing my temper. I’m sixteen. I’m carefree. And I’m so, so happy.

The scientists can spout off all sorts of scientific reasons why this happens, why it’s a well-documented phenomenon, but I’m not really interested in the reasons. I just know it’s real, and it’s awesome. It’s also powerful. With nothing more than  a song, I can take a quick, mini vacation from the present day to another point in my life:

• “Good Morning Starshine” by Andy Williams (with the Osmond Brothers) and I’m back in the backseat of my parents car, wedged between my brother and sister on a family vacation.
• “Open Arms” by Journey and I’m getting my first kiss.
• “Total Eclipse of the Heart” by Bonnie Tyler and I’m totally sixteen again, falling in love for the first time.
• “Faithfully” by Journey, and we’re on the verge of breaking up.
• “1999” by Prince and I’m in the gym at my high school, watching the varsity basketball team take the court.
• “And We Danced” by The Hooters and I’m back in college, at LSU, living on my own for the first time.
• Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling In Love” and I’m dancing with my husband for the first time after saying “I do.”
• Bagpipes wailing “Amazing Grace” and I’m standing in a sheep pasture at the base of a grassy green hill in Scotland, at sunset, holding my husband’s hand while some unknown, unseen, musician plays.
• “Take Me Home Country Roads”, as sung by Iz, and we’re in a helicopter on Christmas Eve flying low over a Hawaiian volcano.
• “Silent Night” and I’m in church on Christmas Eve the following year, standing next to my weeping mother after her own mother passed just a few hours before.
• “Lullaby and Goodnight” and I’m in the rocking chair of the dimly lit nursery in the middle night, gazing into my newborn daughter’s sweet eyes.
• “Thula Mtwana,” an African lullaby, and I’m back in the NICU, sitting next to my son’s isolette…

When I do author interviews, I’m frequently asked about playlists. What’s on the playlist for my current release? What’s on the playlist for each character?  And then one day the thought hit me: what about me? What’s the playlist for my life? Somehow I’d never consciously thought about it like that. Once I started, however, I ended up having so much fun, I created more playlists, playlists for me, my life. I created a Childhood playlist and a High School playlist, a collection of songs, many of which have long faded into obscurity, which take me back to cruising with my girlfriends along the boulevard, dancing all smashed together in the hot, sweaty gym, making-out, broken hearts, spring break, you name it. But I didn’t stop there. I created a Feel Good playlist. And a Mellow playlist. I created a Running playlist, songs that somehow have the power to make me forget about pounding the pavement. And all I have to do when I need a brief time-out, when I need to step away from the craziness of the moment, is pull up one of these playlists, and for that brief sliver in time, I’m somewhere else. Sometime else. Someone else.  It doesn’t matter if my kids look at me like I’m crazy. Sometimes you have to go back to who you were, to remember who you are.

What about you? What’s the playlist of your life?  Don’t have one? Go ahead and give it a try. Jot down songs that have touched you, moved you. Songs that make you laugh, maybe because they’re so silly (Convoy, anyone? The Streak?) or maybe because they take you back to something utterly ridiculous. Think about the songs that lighten your heart, and fill your heart. The songs that remind you of love and happiness and hope. Of good times. Of the girl (or guy!) you used to be. Of special times, special memories. It’s one of the nicest things you can do for yourself—and the cheapest vacations you can take J

You are what you…think?

“I’m so stupid.”

“I’m such a loser.”

“No one would want me.”

“Bad stuff always happens to me….”

Do you know someone who talks like this? A friend? Your child? Maybe…yourself? I do. I hear things like this all the time from lovely, smart, talented young ladies–and not so young, too. And it makes me so sad, because what we think, what we believe, shapes every aspect of our lives. We get what we ask for, even when we don’t realize we’re asking

Maybe you’ve heard the sayings before: Thoughts become things. You are what you think. Like attracts like. And yeah, it can all sound a bit out there. But they’re true, every single one of them. THAT is the secret, why some people seem to have all the good luck, and others have all the bad luck. It’s not luck. It’s cause and effect.

Thoughts have power. They create feelings, and feelings create behavior. Behavior leads to outcomes. The girl who constantly thinks she’s stupid is, in effect, giving everyone else permission to treat her that way, as well.  Conversely, the girl who thinks she deserves better won’t let anyone treat her like a doormat.

Think of it in terms of each of us being our personal cell tower, broadcasting our thoughts to the world around us. Those thoughts are received, processed, and acted upon. If you walk into a room feeling inferior, that’s what you project to others. They “receive” the inferior message (through your body language, your facial expression, your words, everything) and THAT is how they will begin to think of/treat you.  If, however, you walk into a room smiling and confident, others will notice someone smiling and confident, and THAT is how they will begin to think of/treat you.

You see, once you have a clear picture of something in your mind (I am smart. I am worthy. I am beautiful.), there is an instant transformation within every cell of your body. You project. You create who you are.

Here’s a few examples:

Self-Defeating Thought	Resulting Behavior
I always lose	I don’t try as hard
I’ll never be good enough	I don’t go out for the team
I’ll never make an A	Studying is a waste of time
I’m so ugly	What is there to smile about?
I’m not good at anything	I don’t do anything

And yet by taking those same negative thoughts and turning them to something positive, your feelings about yourself change, resulting in your behavior changing. And when you behavior changes, new outcomes begin to occur

 

Self-Defeating Thought	Restructured Thought	Resulting Behavior
I always lose	I’m perfectly capable of winning.	I try to win.
I’ll never be good enough	I am good enough.	I practice.
I’ll never make an A	I’m going to ace the test	I study.
I’m so ugly	I am beautiful	I smile.
I’m not good at anything	I am talented	I follow my dreams

Do you think Michael Jordan went into any game of basketball saying, “I’ll never make the winning shot?” Do you think (pre scandal) Tiger Woods went into any golf tournament thinking “There’s no way I’ll win.”?  Back then, no. However, after his life crumbled around him, I bet that’s EXACTLY what he now thinks. (And he’s not winning anymore, is he?)

Over the years, I’ve experienced my share of negative messages, both from myself as well as others. After college, I caught the guy I thought I was going to marry cheating on me. He promptly did that guy-thing where he turned it on me, saying that if I hadn’t been so horrible to him all the time, he wouldn’t have ended up with someone else, and that I needed to be careful, because if I broke up with him, I’d never find anyone who’d put up with me and my  #%@ like he did. Whoa. I mean…whoa. Those were hard words. They hurt. And once I would have believed them. Internalized them. But that time some little voice inside me whispered…no. I wasn’t horrible, and I could find someone else. Someone who loved me, who didn’t hurt me. THAT was what I deserved. So, with those thoughts firmly implanted, I took an action I would never have taken before. I moved. To live with my sister. 500 miles away.

Two months later I met this awesome guy. Two years later I married him. Two kids later we are happier than ever. He’s never once called me horrible

Your thoughts are everything. This is something I repeat over and over and over to my daughter and my nieces. It’s SO important. You have to keep them on what you want. You have to believe. YOU are your strongest advocate. You are the captain of your own ship, your life. You are the creator.

Here’s how:

1. Start with the end in mind. Identify what you want.
2. Frame it in the positive, not the negative. (I AM smart, I AM a good friend, I DESERVE to be treated well, I’m CAPABLE of  making good grades.)
3. Write it down. Think about it. A lot.
4. Let yourself imagine what it will feel like when you experience your vision for your life. What will being smart feel like? Being a good friend? Being treated well? Let yourself feel the happiness and joy, the sense of satisfaction.
5. Then, physically move in that direction. Take baby steps at first, it doesn’t matter. Just move in the direction you want to go. That you deserve.

When you believe, when you take those first steps, the world around you responds, and you’re that much closer to who–or where–you want to be.

 

picture credit: HappinessInYourLife.com

Mike Dooley, author of “Notes from the Universe” says it best:

What if it was true that you could make your own reality, and that your thoughts become the things and events of your life?

What would you do different in the next five minutes?  The next five days? Five weeks?

The world is ours–yours, mine, our kids. Ours. We’re here to live, and to thrive. This is one of the most powerful lessons we can teach our kids, and the thought, the REALITY, that, when I’m at my lowest, always has the power to pull me forward.

Kinda cool to think about, huh?

The Man Behind the Curtain

You’re going to have to excuse me for being sappy today. I blame my husband. It was his birthday yesterday. This is what made me all sappy and schmoopy and thinking about what a great guy he is. Because he is.

I have a reputation of being a sort of prolific writer, and I get asked a lot: HOW DO YOU DO IT ALL? The simple answer is, I don’t. The other answer is: Look at the man behind the curtain. My husband has a job. He, in fact, has two jobs. And somehow he still manages to help do the household stuff, take care of the kids when I need him too and generally just look hot.

Haven and I got married seven years ago. Not that long, really. But I feel like we’ve been through several lifetimes. I will never forget, just two months after getting married, sitting in the camp trailer we were living in in my parents driveway (to save money to buy a house!) and snot crying with a pregnancy test and saying: I’M SORRY! I RUINED ALL OUR PLANS. And he was so calm. Better than calm, he was happy. I remember when, a month after that, we both lost our jobs and our temporary living situation started to look a lot more permanent. I remember when we had to just move into my parents’ house because I needed a working bathroom in the middle of the night.

I remember him spending his severance check from that job on a laptop so I could finally write that book I kept talking about.

I remember him showing up to my first ultrasound with roses.

And I remember when, after living in a room no bigger than some walk in closets, with us and a baby, all our clothes hanging in my parents’ hallway, we were able to finally buy a house. A single wide mobile home that looked like a piece of heaven. And I remember applying for food stamps, because, no matter how hard he worked, it was hard to keep our heads above water.

I remember telling him, after I read a few Harlequin Presents: Honey, this is what I want to write! And him telling me to do it.

And then he spent two years working two to three jobs, taking care of our two boys at night so that I could go sit in the coffee shop for a few hours and write.

I remember the day I sold to Harlequin, early in the morning. He had to go to work before my call came in, but I remember how happy he sounded over the phone. And then later that day we met up to get our second son started on autism evaluations. Three weeks later, our daughter was born.

From living with my parents, to special needs, to bestseller lists, we’ve been through a lot. Everything in life has changed around us. When we married, we worked at our church together. We had no kids, I had never read a romance novel. Everything looks different now. But the one thing that’s never changed is the way he looked at me. The way he smiles when I have another crazy idea. We’ve weathered a lot of storms, a lot of changing landscapes, and I know we’ll weather a whole lot more.

We moved at the end of August, got a house that’s actually big enough to fit all of us. And our landscape changed again. I also have a lot more work to do this year. A lot more books contracted, a lot more deadlines to hit. But whatever happens, I know one thing for sure: we’re in it together.

But he’s the man behind the curtain. He keeps me going. He keeps us going.

So that’s how I do it. With incredible support, a partner in cooking, in parenting. And he’s easy on the eyes too.

They say behind every great man is a woman. Well, beside me is the world’s greatest man.

Silly Saturday

Here area few fun pictures from our last week.

As you can see, one day Baby Galen is a princess.

And the next she’s a construction worker.

And then other days she’s a very dedicated doctor.

But most days, she’s just silly.

And that’s as it should be, right?

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Shana Galen, Multitasker Mama
I’m Shana Galen, AKA Multitasker Mama (and aren’t we all?). I’m a wife, mom to a two-year-old daughter I call Baby Galen. My parenting motto is, “Keep moving. Don’t pass out. Don’t throw up.” Or maybe that’s my fitness motto? www.shanagalen.com