Communication

Though I have learned to be less so over the years, I am, for the most part, an open book and a gal who wears her heart on her sleeve. I will make friends with a wall if we’re standing in line together, and I’ll give pretty much anyone a hug even if it comes as a surprise to him/her. In psychological parlance, I’m sure I’d be classified as an extroverted giver. I love to laugh, I can be loud, I curse a lot, I listen and help as much as I can. I like loads of different personalities. My only real beefs are BS, which I hate, and affected behavior and those who only take- that all just makes me tired.Despite all that extroversion, I’m also quite sensitive, I internalize a lot, tend to blame myself first or at least initially wonder if the fault lies with me in times of conflict with loved ones, colleagues or peers. In most situations, I feel I’ve got to be quite careful with how I say things, how I act. Back to the psych parlance: I know I’d be considered very Type A, perfectionistic, hard on myself. God, I’m such a first child.

That this was OK with T is one of the reasons I fell for him. He has always loved the whole me despite the faults and things I’ve surely had to work on. He’s never judged, never made me feel that part of my personality wasn’t OK, just helped me see that certain aspects need work and refining. Our relationship has encouraged me to be my best self, but that has come from love and support only. What a gift. What we didn’t really know was how to communicate during times of discord. We could laugh and love till the cows came home, but arguing was another matter. I’m a pleaser, he hates confrontation, and so we’d both retreat and things would fester. This is not an uncommon problem in relationships, and we sought guidance and figured out how to express ourselves and listen without (much) defensiveness or anger. Again, what a gift.

As we learned from each other, I simultaneously became more aware of how cautious I was with most others, how cautious most women are with most others in fact. That realization saddened me because it seems to suggest that there’s a wall, subconscious or very conscious, in many relationships -partners, friends, etc- that keeps some degree of real knowing and closeness at bay. If people are afraid to broach points of disagreement, disappointment or upset, doesn’t that preclude the kind of communication and resultant understanding that takes relationships to levels deeper than the surface? If we try to be perky and positive all the time, aren’t we imposing enormous burdens on ourselves while concurrently keeping others at a distance? And those of us who are parents, teachers or who work with younger individuals, what do we teach by not talking through things even when they’re tough, painful, scary?

I’ve written about this before in ways more specific to the cult of silence that makes motherhood so lonely and hard for so many women. If you don’t have anyone to confide in about all the myriad ways in which parenthood is not fun, then you’re left doubting yourself and your experiences, you’re left feeling isolated. It’s not a stretch to map this paradigm of non-communication to other relationships, like marriages, friendships, and those between parents and children.

Life is really experienced in the shades of gray that fall between the black and white bookends of time. In that regard, we should not fear respectful talk about difficult subjects and disagreements when they arise but embrace it, invite it in as an opportunity to grow closer, to enlarge our own perspectives, to learn something new, to become clearer about positions we’ve already taken, about the people we know ourselves and others to be. That is what allows true connection, and that is a gift.

-originally published on 15 January 2012

Gratitude — for health, my children, pedicures and personal growth

Round about 4:30 this afternoon, I started to feel quite on the mend. My babysitter had arrived several hours before, and I’d immediately jumped into bed and fallen asleep as she and O started playing. After I woke, I looked around my room which was in some sort of terrifying state and then organized what I could while in a seated position: folding not a few loads of laundry, finally (successfully!) throwing away half the publications that were taunting me from their “will you ever read me?” piles. I swear y’all, there is some power in writing things down. It’s like the universe now holds you accountable. As you might recall, just last night I pondered to you about my complete inability to winnow through my stacks. And then today, done! Pow! I’ve heard this directive from two people now: my friend, Caroline, and acclaimed cultural/food/cookbook writer, Monica Bhide (whom I was lucky to hear speak and inspire at last weekend’s Eat, Write Retreat). Write down your goals, what you hope and want to accomplish, and in doing so, you keep tabs on, inspire and challenge yourself. When Caroline suggested last fall that I do this on behalf of Em-i-lis, I wrote down 4 goals that seemed of various shades of possibility. Right before my family and I left for Italy in late March, I crossed #4 off the list. Did it feel good? It felt better than that, and I’m looking forward to thinking about what might constitute my next list of aspirations.

Last weekend, Monica took it a step further and pushed us to distill down to a single word, the voice/identity/sense-of-self we want to best define our work, and then assess whether or not our work and our word were complementary or missing one another. As the conference was geared towards bloggers, we were, unsurprisingly, focused on our blogs, but you could easily apply this exercise to any facet of life. My word is authentic which is what I feel (hope!) resonates throughout Em-i-lis. No bullshit, no fakiness, just honest thoughts on motherhood, things political, and loads of good food.

You might already know how much I value openness and honesty, and perhaps this is why it didn’t take me too terribly long to decide on my word. It did take me years to really get to know myself, years more to pare away the layers of identity I’d accrued but no longer wanted or which never or no longer fit. The result has been a real sense-of-self, an honest appraisal and knowledge of who I am at my innermost core. As is most all serious growth, this introduction to ME was painful at times, with loss and failure and disappointment and rejection all swirling around just daring me to stay strong and true to what I felt I believed and wanted. Other moments were blissful or terrifying or thrilling- aha! Finally! Yes! And today, that I can say I think I really know myself -with all the weaknesses and foibles and strengths and hopes and still-to-dos therein- is one of the things about which I feel most grateful. It wouldn’t have been possible without asking and answering difficult questions and it won’t continue to be thus unless I keep challenging myself.

Which brings up another sense of gratitude I feel today: a profound sense of fortune for the children I am privileged to be raising. Some of my greatest growth has come in the crucible of parenthood; its challenges bring most of us to our knees on a regular basis. It is damn difficult to base your plan for facilitating the growth of totally dependent, relatively uncivilized beings into functional, happy, productive adults on your gut instincts and some reading you might have done while pregnant. Raising kids is like trying to play Quidditch while blind, deaf and mute. Good luck catching the golden snitch, folks.

Yet for those of us lucky enough to get through each day with no major injury, insult or issue, you realize that as much as you might be teaching your little ones, they are even more so teaching you. The unconditional love a child has for his mother regardless of how bad her (my) hair looks and breath smells and how sorry she (I) is at making up stories on the fly, takes my breath away at times. We could all learn from this utter lack of care about another’s appearance, the generosity towards our weaknesses they often extend. If you weren’t already, you will probably become infinitely more patient (or need to jump aboard the anti-anxiety medication train) and totally inured to poop/pee/boogers and so forth. You’ll become an ace negotiator (or a complete pushover; I opt for the former, thank you!) and creative at all manner of distraction. Your thoughts about a good night of sleep will change dramatically and you might, during all this, become infinitely kinder to yourself even if it doesn’t always feel that way.

About 5p, I felt like my nausea was at bay enough that I just might take myself out for a pedicure (another thing for which I am enormously grateful today). Traffic was the pits on the way home, and when I got here, both boys were fast asleep. When they sleep, they sleep like mummified trees, so going in and hugging, kissing, cooing over them and fixing their blankets is not a risk. That really makes the whole experience even more enjoyable! Anyway, Jack was in his regular position: white polar bear (once named Princess; now named Polar Bear) laying atop him, face to face, quilt pulled up chest-high (this seems claustrophobic to me, but who am I to judge). And Oliver in his: tucked into the corner of his crib he calls “my special sleep spot” and from which he rarely moves, fingers often wrapped around “my ties”, the ties clasping the bumper to the crib rails.

And I just felt my heart pound with pride and joy and love for these precious little boys who often make me nuts but who just as often make me laugh and smile. Through them and my dear husband (huge feeling of gratitude for that guy), I have come into my own, a late bloomer who long sought the kind of confidence that comes through self-knowledge and who now has a real sense of what gets me up in the morning; I’m lucky to have the latter in spades!

Originally published on 8 May 2012

Mother’s Day

I got to sleep until almost 9am!!!!! It is nearly impossible to articulate both the rarity and enormity of this gift. Coffee, homemade cards and love all around greeted me when I awoke, and I felt, and continue to feel, incredibly grateful. Then a dear friend, whom I see way too infrequently, and I got to go to the farmers market ALONE, putzing lazily, chatting deeply, able to make well-considered purchases rather than the usual harried ones due to one or more monkey-like children hanging from our legs or attempting to shimmy up the purveyor’s tent poles, totally to their chagrin. Suffice it to say, this was a lovely morning. I’m soon going to make a strawberry-rhubarb pie with some of the gorgeous bounty. Mother’s Day reminds me of New Year’s Eve in some ways. There is a lot of external hullabaloo- “what are your plans? go out for brunch! a big family day in store? don’t forget the card!”- surrounding the expectations of this DAY FOR (?) MOMS. But most moms I know simply want some time to rest, the chance to shift the multitude of parental responsibilities to someone else’s shoulders, a few hours by themselves with a good book, a trashy magazine, a trip to the gym, whatever. In other words, time to not be a mom. For many of us, a day completely contrary to the other 364 per year sounds positively dreamy.

But that desire isn’t really reflected in the Hallmarkian image of Mother’s Day- one spent all together, well-behaved, perfectly content. This past week, as in previous years, mothers all around were quietly admitting our daydream of peaceful solitude to our nearest and dearest gal pals. By and large, this pretty consistently elicited giggles of understanding, responses of “me too!” I think the ‘quiet admission’ aspect is another example of the way mothers feel guilt for not quite matching the purported ideal of a endlessly patient, totally enthusiastic bottomless vessel of I-love-mommy’ness. I love my children with a primal ferociousness, but I am neither endlessly patient nor in possession of bottomless reserve.

Over the past few years, I’ve tried all manner of reconciling these feelings, but what I’ve realized is that you can simultaneously feel intensely in love with your children and with motherhood itself AND an acute, essential need to spend some time away from them. To acknowledge and respect the latter makes the former even more meaningful. By owning my real need to have time for myself and my interests, I am much more able to return to my boys, fully present and enthusiastic. To be the kind of mom I want to be.

Happy Mother’s Day and thank you to all of you out there who are moms in any way. Maternalism makes the world go round.