What's Missing From The Story

I mentioned in a recent newsletter that I wanted to "dare bigger" and that I'm caring less about what people think. I've also publicly shared that "uncomfortable" is one of my 2016 power words. So, in that spirit...here goes.

A few weeks ago I posted about my own discovery of personal values through my first coach training class on Facebook. Good story but no "meat": the trajectory went from awareness of an idea to a completed act. But that's not how stories really happen, is it? The post was "successful, "reaching" hundreds of folks so I "promoted" it into an ad, as a way to tell people about The Pandora Passport, my group coaching program that helps women discover and use their own five personal values. I don't know if that story was "enough" to prompt women to register. What I do know is that the meat of the story was missing. And that matters. Because I'm not being "all in", in Brene Brown's language or in my language, "truly authentic", if I leave the meat out.

So, let me give a personal values story another try-

I went back to school in 2006. Working alone, without mentorship or even colleagues really, led me to Southern Connecticut State University's Masters of Arts program in Women's Studies with no greater goal than credibility for a future book on women and self-esteem. A week into the program, I was being taught to ask "which women?" and that not all "women's experiences" were the same. My book idea suddenly seemed embarrassingly naive.

It was at this time that I recognized that one of my five personal values, "Restorative Home", was operating in the red and had been for a while. I knew what "Restorative Home" was supposed to be and how important it was for me to have a home that at the very minimum felt safe, healthy and stable. But my home hadn't felt like that in years. My long-time partner was an alcoholic whose drinking had gotten worse after a horrible fire in our home. To say he was unreliable is an understatement. And worse, when he drank he was abusive. So my home became a place of anxiety, worry and fear. Home should be calm, where your most meaningful relationships happen, where vulnerabilities are exchanged, where safety is expected. None of those things were true for my home. Things had been good between my partner and I once but five years in, there was nothing restorative about my home, or our relationship.

By May 2008, my program was done and so was I. I swallowed my pride and at age 35, I called my mother to ask for help. And money. She sent both. Along with my dad, I moved from Connecticut to North Carolina Labor Day weekend 2008 with a POD and five greyhounds who everyone had told me to separate or give away. Once there, I lived with my parents after the rental house I had secured fell through. It wasn't my fault but it was still another blow. I felt ashamed to be in another situation of needing help as an adult from my parents. When I finally did find a house, (my first "Restorative Home" of my own!) my parents paid my rent for six months (more embarrassment) while I worked part-time in retail before I found a full-time job.

My mother always said that home has to be safe, a haven. That's "Restorative Home" and so much more today. My husband is calm, kind and very predictable. Bills are paid on time, the house is organized, clean and well-managed. Neighbors are closeby and I love it. When I come home late at night, the front porch light is on. When I started working for myself again, I knew I needed an outside office, in part, so I could keep my home, a truly "Restorative Home".

Brene Brown writes in her new book, Rising Strong, "embracing failure without acknowledging the real hurt or fear that it can cause, or the complex journey that underlies rising strong is gold-plating grit" aka making "failure look fashionable". After reading that last week, I realized that I have been doing this...for years. With some stories more than others, with some people less than others. But still doing it. That stops now. It's at the core of what I believe with Outside The Mom Box: that we must step out of the categories that we are placed in and own our unique story. With my story above, from here on out, the stories I tell will be different. They will include the emotions and the details of that complex journey because I need them to be spoken. For me, it's just a better way. You being here helps. Thank you for that.

PS. Someone I know needs to hear this story now. If you know someone else who does too, would you forward and share it with them? Thanks.

Gaining more than just weight

I knew I'd gained weight before I knew it. But when I arrived home Sunday afternoon and tried on my favorite pair of orange pants, the truth was confirmed. I'd worked hard to lose that weight and gaining it back sucked for the obvious reasons but also because it was a failure. I'm super competitive (most obviously with myself) and I take failure seriously. Admitting failure out loud is also hard but more than that, it's a wake-up call that in addition to weight gain, I'd also gained complacency. I'd become used to not offering out my own vulnerability in my work the way that I have in the past. And that hits just as hard.

For some women, vulnerability is their platform, like Glennon over at Monastery for example. Everything about Glennon is an act of vulnerability. She brings it all, all the time. But for me, I live and work from a place of empathetic authenticity. For me that means showing up (as much for me as for you) + offering my vulnerability + speaking my truth in hopes that it helps or gives permission. I've been showing up and speaking but offering my vulnerability faded, unnoticed. Not by you, though. You notice the difference because you resonate less with the post/update/Tweet. Rants can be entertaining but watch the "likes", shares or comments when you post a photo of yourself in a bikini for the world to see. Or share your c-section scar. Or talk about the river of grief in which you are still treading water.

Habits that are hard to maintain are easy to lose sight of...whether that's living healthily or being vulnerable. I know where I went off the path (half the battle, so yay) but now I need to make the changes so I don't veer off again. One way to do that is to bring me into it. To ask myself before I write or post if my experience, my story, is in there. Brene Brown says, "Story is our way home." in _Manifesto of the Brave and Brokenhearted_. For starters, I'll use that as my compass. Telling our own story is always a vulnerable act. It's not practical to always have me in there but it can be a double-check where there wasn't one before.

The practice, where I'm starting now (again) is the most important part of becoming who I want to be, Seth Godin says here. So, I'll do better. That practice (and the promise in it) is as much for my own growth and business as it is for you, on whatever end of the life seesaw you're balancing now. Because I want to be the woman who owns her story and in doing so, help others listen to and own theirs. Thank you for reading.

Psst! Do you get my weekly e-newsletter? It contains short thought pieces on personal growth and losing the fear as well as ideas for inspiration and news about upcoming programs. Click here to subscribe. 

Lessons from The Bird (no, not that one)

The Moa was a large, flightless bird that lived in New Zealand in the 1300's with only a massive species of eagle as their natural predator until an indigenous group of people arrived on their island. Within one hundred years the Moa were extinct. So were the eagles. It's not that different today.

Image courtesy of Sci-News here

We don't become extinct the way the Moa did but it can be just as painful. Extinct for you and I means that "we" are gone. Our self has been lost. But that doesn't happen all at once. And it doesn't have to happen. Below are a few lessons from the Moa that feel especially appropriate at this time of year:

1) Protect your mind. Like the Moa, your feared predators are the interlopers in your life who don't really belong there but who works hard to keep you in a neat box that fits their needs. That may be your work or a relationship. Keep contact with those entities at a minimum or cut them out entirely.

2) Protect your body. Run away from anyone or anything that tries to get uncomfortably close or don't respect your boundaries. Find communities of support (whether virtual or in person) that help you stay strong and focused. 

3) Protect your soul. Reserve sacred time for yourself, alone. That can be as simple as a trip to the grocery story by yourself or as intentional as a weekly yoga class. Throw things out or donate. Remember to breathe. Your soul needs that oxygen flow like your body. 

You are one of the things that I am most grateful for this year. You feed my mind, body and soul and keep me accountable. With your support, I'll be around for a while..unlike the poor Moa. I hope you stick around too. Happy Thanksgiving.