Why I am afraid of the "F" word

The fear of failure has haunted me most of my life. It has even  kept me from attempting countless things. Yet I came to a realization yesterday that was almost as scary as my fear of failing, and that is the fear of success. The question could be asked "How is it possible that I can simultaneously be afraid of both things?"

 I am afraid of putting myself out there, of submitting my writing to an online journal, or taking a feeding program I developed at work to the next level. Honestly, I am even afraid of publishing this blog post. I am petrified of not only failure but of letting others down, of letting myself down. I am scared that if I fall short in some way that the impact I want to make in the world will cease to exist. The people I want to help through my writing, or the children I want to feed through my program will somehow end up in a place that is worse than before I inserted myself into their lives. 

As it turns out, I am equally afraid of succeeding. What if I am published? What if I am able to gather the resources to feed all the children in the county? Can I sustain it? Will people then have even higher expectations of me? There it is again, the fear of failing. It is a cycle, and now that I am aware of it, I want it to STOP!

You see, there lives within me, this little demon of self doubt. She is a tiny terrorist that creeps in when I am feeling the most on track. She pops up her terrifying little head to mock me and make certain I know my place. She is the one who tells me I shouldn't even try. She is the one who makes sure I know that even though 300 children were fed, that there are hundreds, no thousands, more in the community that are hungry. She convinces me it is because I didn't do enough. For being such a vile little creature she sure does think the world of herself. She believes she is all powerful and that the world is propped on her shoulders. She has taken up residence, and I want her gone.

In her place I desire strength, confidence and fortitude. Instead of seeing what isn't, I choose to see what is. To know that there are bellies that are full because I chose to care. To realize there are others that feel the same way I do and need the encouragement to put themselves out there, to try what they fear the most and do so with a spirit of hope. Others with their own little demons, who will read this and know they are not alone.

What are you afraid of? Is failure your arch nemesis? Do you have a crazy little critter trying to thwart your every move? Let's decide today, right now, to send her packing. Let's gather up our doubts and our fears and stuff them in her teeny tiny backpack and send her on her way. Who's with me?

The 10 things my kids do that drive me crazy and why I have decided to let them go

1.    Leaving their wet towel on the bathroom floor
2.    Granola bar wrappers left on the floor (noticing a theme?)
3.    Jelly stuck on the table (from 2 weeks ago)
4.    Backpack and homework all over the kitchen island (and floor)
5.    Lost coat "coat.. um, it's at school"
6.    Clean clothes in the laundry bin (I wore jeans 3 times before declaring them dirty!)
7.    What's for dinner (as if knowing will change the fact that they have to eat it!)
8.    Bathrooms trips when it's time to do chores
9.    Hats and hoody's on in the house (who are they trying to hide from anyway?)
10.  Request for more main entrée when veggies are still visible on the plate(The answer is No, duh)


As I made this list I could feel my blood pressure rising. Seriously I have allowed these 10 things (and many more) to physically have an impact on my life. I have allowed these things literally make me feel (and act) crazy. So last night, I made a decision, a silent pact with myself, that I would breathe and attempt to let these things go.


Let me clarify, when I say let them go, I do not mean that I will not remind my son that he needs to clean his space up after eating a pancake with his jelly. Or that I will be the one to pick up the snack wrapper instead of reminding my daughter that it needs to be done. What I mean by letting these things go is simply this, I have decided they will no longer have a significant impact on me. They are minor in the big picture and not at all worth my stress or anxiety. They certainly aren't worth a rise in my blood pressure. My children are making memories, they are enjoying life, doing homework, bathing and keeping their heads warm. They aren't going to die from not having a coat and the towel that is wet won't damage the bathroom floor made of tile.


In fact as I review this list I have come to realize that life is pretty wonderful. My children have a home with an island, jelly, hats and hoody's, clean clothes (most of the time) and a mom who cares enough to provide steamed veggies with their "out of the box" pizza. So don't mind me, I am just a mom who sometimes allows the little things to make me crazy. But not anymore, because like I said I made a pact to relax and


BREATHE


Who's with me?!

I'm a recovering people pleaser, is that okay?

All of my life I have been a people pleaser. If there was a group, called people pleasers anonymous I would be the president. When asked for help with just about anything I will reply with "of course, no problem!" it's like a disorder where the words just fly out of my mouth before I have even truly processed the request. As you can guess, I have helped a lot of people move, done my fair share of painting (not the artistic type) and stepped in more times than I can count to help a co-worker out. I did so much people pleasing in my first marriage that I turned myself into what I believed was my ex-husbands ideal woman. The sad thing is in doing so not only did I lose myself, he lost the woman he fell in love with.


 As you can imagine, having a blended family lends itself to a lot of compromising. The question is when is it a healthy compromise, and when is it one that ultimately causes more harm than good. When I have a yoga class scheduled and I am asked to step in to help take care of picking up the kids, do I say yes (of course, I can't say no) or do I put my self care first? The thing is, the question is just that, it doesn't have strings or expectations and "NO" is always a completely okay response. If I say no, the kids will still be picked up, but the person asking might have to change their schedule around to accommodate for what they had already planned to do in the first place. If there is fault to be blamed here, it's mine.


I have a really hard time setting boundaries and/or simply saying "NO." So the question I have for you is this, When is setting a boundary, like telling the kids not to speak to me til I have had my coffee okay, and when is it simply bad parenting? When is it okay to say, I really can't get the kids, I am sorry, and when should I drop everything and go running? I have a book called boundaries, I read the first page and had a mini anxiety attack. I couldn't continue because I wasn't sure I could heed the words written within. What if I say no, and people think I am a *%$#^? What if I set a boundary, like asking that communications about scheduling or any important nature, not occur first thing in the morning? Again before my coffee. Would that be rude, would it come across as not accommodating and unkind? More importantly why do I care so much about how I appear to others? Why can't I go with my gut knowing that at the heart of things I am good natured loving person? I would love to hear your thoughts, and to find out if I am alone in all of this. There have to be others out there right? Maybe we could form a group.. but for now I need to call a friend, to see what time she needs me on Saturday, I am helping her move.

12 Reasons not to run, and why I do it anyway

Reasons Not To Run:

1.Its raining
2.It's cold
3.It's hot
4.I just ate
5.I just took a shower
6.I'm exhausted
7.It's too early
8.It's too late
9.I can't find my..pants, shoes, bra
10.It's hard
11.It hurts
12.I hate it

While making this list the last 3 should have been the first, for they are the root of all the other reasons.. er um I mean EXCUSES. The better questions is why do I hate running, but go anyway? Because everything worthwhile takes effort, pain and commitment. If it came easily everyone would do it. The truth is, for me it's hard, painfully woefully tough. Within the first few blocks even, my breathing becomes labored and self doubt starts up with its litany of just why I should quit, start walking, preferably back in the direction of the warm well lit house, grab a glass of wine and forget this nonsense. After all I'm short, curvy and not at all built to be a runner anyway (or so the small voice says). By this time, luckily (or not) I'm half way through my run and it's the same distance to go forward as it is to go back. This is the place where something else kicks in, the feeling that I deserve this, the gentle and loving reminder from that same voice within that says, "you can do this, you deserve this" reminding me yet again that nothing amazing ever comes easy.

For me, it's running. I've always known it was,. It's the thing I desire to love (the feeling when I am finished can only be topped by a select few things) and yet it hurts EVERY SINGLE TIME, so much so that I have never (yet) been on a run without contemplating giving up. What is it for you? Is it going for that work promotion? Making the leap and taking up yoga? Entering the dating scene after a brutal divorce? Giving up dairy, finally, after all, you are allergic! Just remember, you're not alone, everyone has something (or several somethings) and the best, hardest things will always be painful. So get up and get to it, there's no time like the present. I promise it'll be hard and that in the end you will not regret it.

"Are you Special or something?"

As a Mom of four it can be very easy to get caught up in the taking care of everyone but myself. It can even get to that place where I simply snap. This happened to me recently, and my son was the recipient of my not finding time for yoga and self care. It came in the form of a very sarcastic question..
 "Are you special or something?"
it packed such a punch that as the words flew out of my mouth, I instantly wished I could reel them back in, like a fat slippery fish on a line. He had been arguing with his siblings and I had asked them all numerous times to stop pestering one another. When I finally told them that I was done, that I had simply "had enough!" He looked at me and said "repeat, repeat, repeat, blah, blah blah" and that's when it happened. When I asked him the question that turned the room silent. He burst into tears and ran from the room. His siblings who had been in a full out fight only moments before were aghast at what I had said. "Mom, that was soooo mean, I can't believe you said that, you never say things like that!!" They were right, weren't they, what kind of mom says this to their child? How could I say such a thing? But, I had, it was out and there was no taking it back. Why as mom's do we set such high expectations for ourselves. We try to present this super human façade to our children, and when we slip up, when we say that one terrible thing our children are in shock. Only to be disappointed time and again at the inability to live up to this impossible expectation. I can't deny that if I could take it back I would, but I think something good also came from it. My children learned that I too can lose my temper, that I am human, fallible and most importantly responsible for my own actions. the fact is, as much as I would like to say it will never happen again, we all know that it will. I apologized to him, profusely and expressed that I shouldn't have ever spoken to him in that way. I also learned that my children are forgiving and understanding, and ironically enough they have not forgotten what I said. They remind me every once in a while. Just when I have almost forgotten, they're there for me, to remind me of the time I said something TERRIBLE. It's funny because they can't seem to remember to put their laundry away, or to clean their rooms, or to remove that wet towel from the bathroom floor. Now that the bubble has been burst, and my children know I am not a saint, I am able to relax around them, to be a little more me. This doesn't mean I am calling them names, or swearing or asking them if they are special, but it does mean that I am more comfortable expressing my true feelings. For their benefit and my own, I will be making yoga a regular part of my schedule once again. But one thing I can promise, I will no longer strive for perfection, instead I will try to become the best possible version of me. After all, I do believe that I too am special.

The Animal Room

The search for the perfect house, or rather the perfect home for us, within the area we wanted, price range etc. was a more difficult undertaking that I had expected. When we found the home in which we now reside, I was thrilled at the fact that it had a beautiful sun room. I could envision my husband and I sitting with a cup of coffee, writing together. Each of us deep in thought as we allow our creative juices to flow. You can probably guess this EXPECTATION (yep there's that word again) was not only not met, it was shattered. Or so I believed. We moved in and quickly realized while the house had 5 bedrooms, well 4 and a family room we converted to a master, with no bathroom and a tiny closet not worth mentioning (we'll save that one for another day) there was no real place for the animals to be. With 2 guinea pigs and 2 parakeets needing there own special space, the room I had dreamed of writing in quickly became occupied, and clearly not by me. Every time my husband or children would refer to the sun room as the ANIMAL ROOM, I would cringe, and state loudly

 "IT'S THE SUN ROOM"

The ironic thing was, the smellier the animal room became the more I wished it was clean, and mine, I could picture doing sun salutations, with my yoga mat laid out, candles lit, soft music playing as I greeted the day. This isn't something I had ever done, in any part of the house, ever, but somehow I could see it in this space... if only.. and then Christmas eve came and changed everything. In the last moments before all of the stores were closed we made a decision to add to our family. She was a sweet baby Ferret and her name would be Mocha, she was a gift for my youngest son (who had been overly into video games as of late) and she would be the perfect surprise. Mocha turned out to be such a sweet soul, and the idea of her being alone while we were gone during the day led us back to the pet store to get her a little sister. Her name would be Kahlua, because.. what goes better with a Mocha really?

Mocha, on the table as I write, drinking out of the water while my candle floats

I write this with laughter bubbling up, as I watch Mocha play with our cat Raven, The rain coming down on the glass roof above as Kaluha watches, clearly contemplating joining the fun. I have candles lit, scented ones of course, and the bird and guinea pig cages have been recently cleaned, but to tell the truth I am not sure how much I would care because I have found my space, and this room that I pictured is full of light and warmth and it is more than I ever imagined. Each day I am growing, and trying to let go so I can experience and appreciate more of life. This might come in taking constructive criticism for just that, constructive, and well meaning. Or realizing that you truly don't have all the answers, and in my case it came in the realization that what might be is often not nearly as beautiful as what truly is.

That FOUR letter word

I've been contemplating removing the word S-T-E-P from my household, now I have to admit this isn't something that I have run by my husband yet but I am all but certain he will agree with this new rule. I guess I should make something clear first before I go into my rant about this four letter word. I brought 2 children to the marriage and my husband did as well. To say that it was smooth would be an understatement but looking back I can't think of one single serious incident that still resides in any way for me. That being said, I know that I will never replace my "step" children's mom, nor do I want to. She gave birth to them and has experienced every bit of life with them up until this point. There is a bond there like no other and I know this because I too am a mom. When we first got married I tried to treat them all exactly the same, but one thing I realized is that they aren't the same. I have no memories with my "step" children from before the point in which I met them and started dating their dad. I cannot equally reminisce with them about that terrible, or funny, or crazy thing that happen back in 2007. With this knowledge and acceptance came a bit of peace. Why would I treat them the same as my own when I don't even treat the two of mine the same? They are individuals and what might work when one is feeling down and out, surely will not work with another.

The one thing I do want to create and maintain in our family is unity and this word, this four letter word, S-T-E-P creates a division, a feeling of lesser than, or not completely belonging. I have even seen my children use it as a way to hurt one another. When introducing siblings to a friend at a band concert, "this is my brother, this is my STEP brother." The look on the one labeled as step could only be described as crushed. After this I spoke with them about the idea of omitting the word step from our vocabulary, more of a topic for discussion than a rule being handed down. The littles (this is what I call our two 9 year olds) found this hilarious, "how will we get into the house, without using the Steps?" This is 9 year old humor at its best. In this moment I came to a realization, it isn't the word that creates the division, it is the way we treat one another every single day, in small and big ways. If I create a space of unity, a life filled with family game nights, trips to the bay, encouraging words as they root for one another at sporting events, high fives when they win, and hugs followed by "you'll do even better next time" when they lose. In time this word will be more of a simple definition of lineage and less a way of defining our roles in the family. Everyday, in so many ways we are creating our own memories, our own family, things in years to come that we will look back on and say, remember when "Claire laughed so hard at Jake's joke that strawberry lemonade came out her nose and ended up all over her burrito in 2015?" Families are not born, they are made in every single moment, filled with intention, making us the good, the bad, the ugly and the wonderful too. So for now, the word step will remain, as a simple place holder, and more importantly so we can continue to get into our house.