What do you say to the woman strong enough to stand alone?
Honestly, it doesn’t matter because
She still stands.
Stand
Identity
Dangerous Woman
A dangerous woman.
“I’m not going to lie to you. It’s a little dangerous to live a life in which you do what you want to do, behave in a way that feels authentic, pay attention to things you find of interest, and direct your passions in any way you see fit. You are now a woman who can’t be controlled by mass media and consumer culture. Congratulations, sister.”- Karbo
A dangerous woman, indeed.
It has taken my entire life and the help of this book to become the woman I am today, but I guess that’s the point. There’s no substitute for experience.
I’ve learned to let go of the woulda, coulda shouldas and instead, focus on the here and now.
Instead of regret, I channel my energy into encouraging my daughters to embrace their unique selves, while still pursuing my own.
I wake.
Karbo, Karen. Yea, No. Not Happening. How I found Happiness Swearing Off Self Improvement and Saying F*ck it All- and How You Can Too. 2020.
Three Words
It’s just three words so why are they the hardest to say aloud?
“I. Need. Help.”
Her teachers were shocked: “She is so happy and helpful in class. She has friends and is on honor roll. I never saw this coming.”
How many times have we heard this same story of surprise?
At what point do we not wait until it becomes irreversible regret and start paying attention to the little signs?
Depression is not sudden.
It’s gradual.
We know this but we don’t want to label it so we look for other explanations.
Meanwhile, they continue drowning.
Not my child.
“But if I tell her what’s wrong, I’ll cry!” She laments.
It’s better than crying in the bathroom, I remind her.
School therapists are like life guards; on the side ready to offer help when needed.
Our struggles may be a part of our story but they don’t have to be the end.
But first, we must take the hardest, most important step.
Admit that we are struggling and ask for help.
It’s just three words.
Thankless
Y’all. They cute but let’s be real.
This is the most thankless job I’ve ever signed up for.
I guess this is what the mid-life crisis is? When you’re too far to turn around and make a different choice?
I was almost a screenwriter. An actress. Famous.
Instead, I’m a mom. A coach. A teacher. A writer.
Oh, wait.
My life isn’t over just because I chose differently.
It’s different, yes. Richer, yes. Harder, yes.
But I’m not done.
I’m just getting started.
This is the most thankless job I’ve ever signed up for.
But I’ll be damned if I don’t embrace the choice I made and inspire children to follow their own dreams.
Let’s be real.
They cute, ya’ll.
Love is Love
Subscribe to continue reading
Subscribe to get access to the rest of this post and other subscriber-only content.
The Great Facade
“It’s ok to feel your feelings.” I whispered into her ear as she sobbed.
She’s been so angry lately.
But I knew better.
This had nothing to do with who she is
And everything to do with what she felt.
She was lost and anger was the easiest path.
Let’s be real.
It’s easier to be angry than it is to admit you’re vulnerable and wounded.
The Great Facade.
Smoke
“God-or whoever is in charge of this planet- got drunk on the job one day and decided to give me the gift of writing. The way I see it, I have two choices. I can set that gift high on a shelf so it won’t get dinged up and nobody can make fun of me for playing with it.” He smiled until the crinkles at the corner of his eyes were deep enough to hide state secrets. “Or, I can have fun with it and play with the gift I was given until the engine burns out and the wheels come off. I decided to play. I suggest you do the same, young man. Go paint or draw or collage or whatever you want to do. Come back when there’s smoke coming off the canvas. And for God’s sake, go have some fun. Please?” – Shaffer, 2023 P. 78
I am so. Damn. Proud. Of myself.
I have written, since I could.
Diaries with useless locks and keys.
Journals considered my closest confidant.
“Dear Journal, You are the only one I can talk to.”
Everyone wanted to be Carrie but I knew, I already was Carrie.
It took one high school teacher mentioning, “You are a gifted writer.”
And over a decade later, a neighbor suggesting, “You should start a blog.”
For me to start a blog.
How will I ever properly thank them for the journey they have encouraged me to record?
I keep writing, that’s how.
I play with the gift I was given until there’s smoke coming off my paper.
And for God’s sake.
I have fun.
Special thanks to The Wishing Game by Meg Shaffer
Peace
At first, a thread.
Then, the seam.
Piece by piece,
My unraveling.
Not the sort you might think:
My pretty dress, favorite shirt.
Instead, my knots.
My tension, stress, anxiety.
Bit-by-bit,
Loosening.
Letting go.
They are all off to school.
I said no to volunteering.
And here I am.
Unraveling the last dozen years.
There was a moment when I considered adding to the size of this knot.
More money, more things, more praise.
Instead,
Less.
Unraveling.
Piece to Peace.
Camille Vaughan Photography
Electricity
The crowd gathered round.
Electricity.
You could feel it in the air and we all wanted to witness.
Most didn’t know what for but I knew.
These were my parents.
Illicit lovers so long ago.
Not meant to be forever.
But meant to make and love me.
Years passed but their magnetism never did.
If only we could all be so lucky to love, at least once
Just like that.
Captain
They were my island.
My safe haven from the rushing waters.
In time, the shoreline shrank, leaving me grasping for olive branches.
I had a choice to make.
Do I stay, hoping and praying for the island to return?
Instead, I let go.
Allowing the current to take me.
I built my own boat from the surrounding pieces of my life.
And found myself stronger than ever.
The Captain.
New Leaf Parenting 