One of my goals for this year is to take off all the school holidays with my kids. It’s been my goal for several years, actually. But I always seem to find one reason or another not to do it.
My sons recently had a winter break, which gave them a five-day weekend. Not even a month later, they have Spring Break. And as Spring Break hurtles toward us, I find myself thinking, Maybe I can just do a few things. They just have so many days off! And I just spent three whole days with them!
There are so many days off…and there’s always so much to do.
I start with such good intentions. And then the work starts creeping into those days off. And before I know it, I’m right back where I was when I found myself thinking, These days aren’t gonna last forever. I really should enjoy them. I should take off all the holidays with the kids.
Round and round we go.
It’s very hard for me to just…do nothing. Part of it is my personality; I feel most comfortable keeping myself busy. Dividing up my time into segmented activities, even if one of those activities is rest. I write it on my calendar. It says, “Rest,” and usually has a time limit. How regimented, right?
Sometimes I think I need to learn how to chill. How does someone learn how to chill?
My kids can sit and chill out on their phones or relax watching a Netflix show or playing a video game (which is probably a little more productive than just watching something or phone scrolling) for hours. If I sit still for a few minutes, I start to feel itchy. My brain pitches a hundred other things I could be doing. And then I start thinking, I’m taking time off to hang out with my kids and they’re looking at their phones. Why am I even here?
My husband and I used to take my sons out on individual dates when they were younger. It gave us one-on-one time with each of them—precious in a house of so many. But even when we went out on dates, we had to be doing something or it didn’t feel productive.
Why am I like this?! I ask myself that many times a day.
Lollygagging is not a natural state of being for me.
Several people in my home have ADHD. Every Saturday morning we have family council meetings to talk about our schedules, issues in the family, and how each member is feeling. Do you know what meetings are like with people who have ADHD? My husband is one of them; every Sunday we have a budget meeting to go over finances. And sometimes it’s excruciating. Back when we were in a band there was so much downtime during rehearsals, when he’d chase rabbits down trails, that I started bringing a book with me so I could read in the gaps and at least make progress on my “To-be-read” shelf.
I like my time to feel productive. My time is meticulously scheduled, by choice; even days off have a bit of a routine. It’s unclear if that routine is part of my personality or a result of trauma. Routine feels like a form of control, and there’s so much of life that’s out of control.
I’d like to get better at lollygagging, though.
When my kids were young, they were really good at it. They’d waste so much time and I’d try to hurry them along. We had places to be, things to do. But I got better at it back then. They were good at teaching and challenging me.
Now things happen at the speed of light, so it feels like I have to do everything fast, right this minute, don’t waste any time. Maybe that’s also a result of getting older. You realize your time isn’t infinite. There are real consequences for what we choose to spend our time on.
My husband has been picking up music again; he asked me if I would be in a band with him again. I love music…but there’s only so much time, and I don’t know if I love it enough. So I told him maybe. If he can figure out how to practice efficiently, if I get all the details I need. It’s the same answer for the podcast he asked me to join him in starting up again.
The reality is I don’t have all the time in the world; none of us do. We can’t say yes to everything. We have to assess what we’ll trade and what we’ll give up and get really good at saying no.
That’s how we can slow down the speed of life, maybe get back to a little lollygagging…even if it makes us itchy.
The more we practice lollygagging the better at it we get.
Here are some of my favorite suggestions for slowing down the speed of life:
1. Learn to say no.
Every time I’m asked to do something I think: What will I have to give up to do this? And am I willing to give that up?
The reality is, we’ll always be giving something up, trading our time. It might be time with our kids or partner or progress on a work project or time to ourselves. But we can’t endlessly add without taking something away. I always try to keep that in mind and assess my priorities accordingly. It would be nice if we had endless time…but we don’t.
2. Embrace (or schedule downtime for) the unexpected.
The thing about a routine is it doesn’t leave much room for the unexpected. It’s good to be spontaneous; it keeps us fresh and on our toes. It can spark creativity.
Not everyone exists on a schedule. Plus: emergencies.
If you have to schedule your down time, do it. Lollygagging is good. I like time to just sit and think…or sit and do absolutely nothing. I overhear the funniest conversations when I actually take the time to do nothing.
3. Learn to lollygag.
This is the hardest part for me, as I’ve said. What is a moment if it’s not productive?
Sit. Be. Observe. Have a nothing conversation with your kids or your partner. Laugh, play a game, do some improv, do nothing that seems terribly productive. Forget about the to-do list. (I know…easier said than done. But I’ll try if you will.)
Our brains love this kind of open freedom, to just wander and turn over things.
Make no plans for a day and see how it turns out. And if you fail, try again. You’ll never really know if lollygagging works for you until you give it a good shot.
When my kids were young, we identified some family values and spent a few years examining them. It was a way for us to frame our family lives, a way of living with integrity. We chose values like listening well, embracing creativity, honoring all people, believing in ourselves and others, loving all people and creatures.
It’s important to me to live with integrity. So of course that was one of our values, too. But that’s a hard concept to teach kids. Integrity is not just honesty, it’s also being who we are. Living from our values.
It’s not easy to be who we are all the time. Some days we feel grumpy, some days we feel sad, some days we carry a thousand hurts.
Living with integrity, to me, means asking the best of ourselves and others. Not asking perfection, but asking the best we have to give today.
Every day is different, right? Some days I think, I’m not sure I gave it my all today. I could have done better. That’s why we can’t expect perfection.
Integrity also means carrying our values and the things that are important to us into every part of our lives—work, relationships, play. Meryl Streep says, “Integrate what you believe in every single area of your life. Take your heart to work and ask the most and best of everybody else, too.”
Take your heart to work—that’s my favorite part. Because taking our hearts to work is integrity. Carrying our hearts everywhere, living from that wellspring of light and life and love—that is being who we are. Choosing to live with integrity.
One of my personal values is honesty. I believe we shouldn’t make promises we can’t keep. Part of that springs from my experiences as a child—I had to sort through all kinds of empty promises, and sometimes I believed them. The disappointment of an unkept promise forged this value. It makes me hesitant to promise anything to my kids that I can’t absolutely deliver.
I carry that everywhere. And sometimes it causes tension in relationships, because not everyone feels the same about promises. For some, they’re no big deal. Just words. I get that. I have to adjust my expectations of other people sometimes, because not all of us share the same values. We can’t possibly—we’re different people with different backgrounds and experiences. That’s okay. We all have different things that are important to us, different things we believe.
Another value for my family is love. I believe we should treat everyone with love, regardless of who they are or what they believe or how they live. That’s one I don’t let slide—I ask the most and best of myself and everyone else around me. I carry my heart to work and to meetings with friends and gatherings with my family and out into the world. I try to love the best I can.
Of course I don’t always succeed. I’m an imperfect human—not always generous, not always kind and compassionate (at least in my thoughts…I try to be kind and compassionate in my speech and actions, or I take myself on a break).
When we carry our hearts everywhere we go and we incorporate what we believe into all areas of our lives, we shine. We live with integrity.
I hope you have a radiant month of living with integrity.
How to live with integrity—and ask the most and best of yourself and everyone else:
1. Know what you believe
We can’t bring what we believe into all areas of our lives if we don’t even know what we believe. Spend some times connecting with your beliefs. Schedule some time to sit down and assess the things that matter to you. Honesty? Listening well? Encouraging others? Generosity? Gratitude? Love?
Conversations help. Facilitate some discussions with your friends or your partner or other family members. Write down some values that stick out to you. Think, If I wanted to leave a legacy, what would it be?
2. Find places in your life to incorporate your values more intentionally.
When my family and I were discussing our values, we came up with some specific actions for each value. Things like writing each other love notes. Sharing one gratitude around the table every night. Doing one generous thing for each other or someone else every week. Specific actions help us incorporate our values into our daily lives.
Make a habit chart. Reward yourself for acting with integrity. Do it with someone else so you can share your progress.
Or journal about it. I journaled about our family value journey. Keeping a record of your values can help you adjust and refine, which means it’s more likely you’ll keep living with integrity.
3. Remember today is today.
Wait. What do I mean by that?
Doing your best work, being the best version of yourself, is living with integrity. But we won’t be able to do it all the time. Sometimes we forget who we are. But values and beliefs give us an important framework to get back to. Living with integrity is also calling it like it is—this will not be easy. We may live with integrity today but miss the mark by a long shot tomorrow. Today is today. Tomorrow is…whatever comes.
Also, we’ll grow and change. We’ll refine our values. We’ll evolve. We don’t leave room for that if we expect perfection.
We may do it consciously or unconsciously, but there’s something about a new year that encourages reflection. All those things that have passed and happened in the year before. Or all the years before. Everything we hope for this next year.
It’s kind of arbitrary timing, turning over from December to January (although it was wonderfully symmetrical this year, beginning a new year on a Monday, wasn’t it?). Reflection, after all, can happen at any time—and probably should, if we want to make real progress toward our goals and personal growth.
January is also the month of my birthday, when I start thinking, What exactly have I done in the last year? Other questions follow. Have I been intentional? Did I meet my goals? How many? (Definitely not all of them. But that’s okay, I tell myself. They’re goals, something you work toward.)
And perhaps the biggest question: What can I do differently in the next year, using what I learned last year?
And there it is—reflection.
During this reflection time, I have to remind myself, often, that I’m a work in progress. We all are. A work in progress isn’t perfect. So we can’t expect perfection of ourselves (or others, as it happens).
There are things I want to get better at—things I’ve wanted to get better at for years (and no, it’s not knowing where to place prepositions to speak and write properly. I already know that. I just break the rules). Maybe I’m making progress toward these self-improvement goals…but how do we really know unless we look at things honestly and evaluate?
What have I done? Well, maybe I didn’t write as much; I finished fewer drafts last year than I have in previous years. But I visited several schools and had some great conversations with students and made some new friends. And I published some books. And I did finish drafts—several. I hung out with my family and my kids and their friends. I wrote some notes, encouraged people, helped out where I could.
I’m beginning to learn that what matters more than what we’ve done is the mark we’ve made. What have we left behind us?
I’d like to change my question “What exactly have I done” to “How has what I did this year made the world better?” It’s a perspective of purpose.
I want to make the world better. I want to make people think and believe in the magnificence of their whole selves. It may not shift the world in a dramatic, easily quantifiable way, but someone somewhere might be changed by one of my books or words I share or an encounter with me. And a little bit goes a long way, doesn’t it?
We don’t always see the full impact of our work and our existence. So much of what we do and the marks we make happen underground. We plant seeds or we water seeds or we clear the ground for a seed to be planted later. Our marks aren’t always obvious.
As I make my goals for the new year, I try to remember they can shift, much like I hope to do throughout the year. What’s important now may not be important in six months. I’m not the most flexible person, and I want to work on that. Sometimes that’s the way to make the world better, too: realize we’re not done growing and learning and changing, too.
I hope I’ve done work that has made the world better. I also hope it’s made humanity better. And me better. I may not be able to measure whether my work has made its mark or how spectacular a mark it’s made.
But maybe it’s enough to know, for all of us to know, that we’ve done our part—ushered good books into the world, impacted children—our own or others—and influenced the circle of people in our care.
Let’s keep doing our little bit.
Have a magical month of making your mark.
Some things to remember when reflecting on your year:
1. We’ve come a long way.
It’s easy to discount how far we’ve come when we feel we should have done more in a year…or five years…or ten…
But don’t forget to look at what you have done and how you’ve grown. I may not have written as many drafts in 2023 as I did in 2022—but I wrote several. And that’s something to celebrate.
Even one step forward is progress. Keep moving.
2. We have a long way to go.
A year is a long time (well, theoretically…my years seem to fly by now). We have another wide-open opportunity to grow and change.
I don’t want to be stagnant. I want to understand that I don’t know everything—not even half of it. I want to learn all I can and listen all I can.
All of life is an opportunity to become ourselves. Remember: We’re works in progress and always will be. Never stop growing.
3. A blank slate is available any time we need it.
It’s easy to use a new year as that time for change and reflection—but the truth is, we can do that at any point of the year. The beginning of a quarter or the beginning of a month, the beginning of a week, the beginning of a day. Reflection is a state of mind.
We can create our own blank slate any time we need it.
I write all kinds of books, but my favorites include books for children and teens. I spend the bulk of my time writing those. And some people like to know why.
There are several reasons. But one of the biggest is to “lift as I climb,” as poet Angela Davis says. (The actual quote is, “We must learn to lift as we climb.”)
I put a lot of myself into my books for children and teens. I try to bravely (and sometimes not-so-bravely) explore childhood experiences and traumas, which, in my eyes, has a dual purpose: It helps the child in me process through them and it also, I hope, lifts other children out of the dark places I’ve been. Helps them feel less alone. Shows them a way out. Reminds them that what’s going on in their lives is not their fault.
I hope they realize all of those things sooner than I did.
Although I believe therapy is beneficial to everyone, if only to give us a sense of being deeply listened to—which can’t be underestimated—I often tell people if I can save children and teens from the years of intense therapy I’ve had to undergo to (sometimes) believe I’m magnificent, I’ll pour all my secrets out.
Well, I’m not sure about all my secrets—but at least the ones I’m moved to share because of the lives and wellbeing of my readers.
I always like to think of this as a kind of generosity. One of my family’s values is to be generous—with our time, with our resources (whenever possible), with ourselves, with our hearts, with words, with kindness, with love. My husband and I have tried to teach our sons that.
Generosity is good for others, of course, but it’s also good for us. Studies show it reduces stress and boosts our physical health. It fosters joy and helps us hold tight to our sense of purpose. It combats depression. And guess what else? It increases our lifespan. Generous people live longer.
Studies also show it deepens our social connection and improves our relationships. And it makes us feel better about ourselves. When someone benefits from our generosity, it’s practically impossible to see ourselves as worthless.
When I think about generosity, I naturally think about money. But that’s not the only way to be generous and give to others. Generosity can also look like inviting the couple down the road to a dinner at our house, because they don’t seem to have much family around and this time of year is hard when we don’t have family around. It can look like spending a few extra minutes mowing the neighbor’s yard because they’re getting older and don’t have much time and energy to do it. It can look like spending a few extra minutes chatting with a parent in the pickup line and getting beyond the surface-level conversation, down to something deeper and more meaningful.
Talk to the homeless on the streets of your city. Bake some holiday treats to share. Donate things you don’t need anymore. Be generous in your attitudes and assumptions about others.
You can be as creative with your generosity as you want to be.
And here’s the thing, too: We should accept the generosity of others. This is often hard for us (or at least for me). But if we don’t accept another’s generosity or we say, “You don’t have to do that” or we minimize it, we rob them of the joy of giving. Accepting someone’s generosity can be a form of generosity, too.
Every year, starting the Friday after Thanksgiving, my family reads together A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens—one of the best books about the power of generosity, as Scrooge moves from miserly to generous. We uphold this tradition, because I want my sons to know what it means to be generous. I want to build in them, in me, in all of us, a practice of generosity—not so it’s a one-time, once-a-year thing but so we do it all the time. I want my sons to understand that “generous” is a way of being and existing in the world.
And I hope I lead them by example. I hope we all do.
May you have a beautiful month of choosing generosity.
What are some ways you can be generous in your daily life?
Here are some of my favorite generous practices (that don’t require money—or much, anyway):
1. Be there for someone.
My sons get chatty every so often, usually in the car. My brain is such that I often have a million things going on at once—to-do lists scrolling like a Star Wars intro, worries humming along in the background, stories begging for attention. My sons don’t always talk about important things—at least, not important things to me.
But offering them undivided attention is generous. Offering anyone our undivided attention in a world that tries to steal our attention everywhere, at every turn, is generous. During gatherings with friends and family, put phones away and focus on the conversation. Everyone feels loved when they’re listened to, and all it takes is a little time.
Related to that, be generous with your words. Compliment, encourage, leave positive reviews, be kind online. Talking to people without judging is generous. Showing them mercy and forgiveness and love is generous. We could use a lot more of that in our world.
2. Volunteer your time or expertise.
Choose an organization you care about and donate your time to them. Offer your services for free. Give something away. Teach a valuable skill to someone, or give away some of your knowledge. Spend time with people in need.
When I go downtown in my city, I try to engage with at least one homeless person. They don’t get many people who look them in the eyes, you know? I want them to know they still have dignity and worth. I want them to know they’re still worth being loved and listened to. And their stories are heartbreaking and illuminating.
Listening and empathizing feels generous to me.
3. “Random” (but intentional) acts of kindness.
Deliver cookies to a neighbor. Write a letter to a grandparent. Cook a meal for someone. Offer to babysit for a couple with young children. Let someone merge, send a care package, pick up trash in your neighborhood during your walk.
And be generous with your attitude, extending thank yous and appreciation for people. Send someone a text to let them know how much you’re grateful for their presence in your life.
There are lots of ways to be generous. We’re all in this together, and we all deserve the best in life. Let’s remember that we all belong to each other, and generosity will come easy for us.
Nearly every weekday morning, I log onto zoom, where I meet with a group of authors to first write and then discuss our writing time or whatever’s going on in our lives.
Recently, we’ve begun adding a time of naming our gratitude, before diving into talks about the writing we did in that 1.5-hour slot.
My sons and I call the little “I’m-gratefuls” thankfuls. Every Thanksgiving season, when they were younger, we’d search the wilderness behind our house for the perfect discarded branch, which we’d place in a terra cotta pot and surround with marbles to hold it in place. We’d pin our own paper leaves onto it—each leaf scrawled with one of our thankfuls. We’d bring a dying branch back to life and fill it with color, gratitude, and hope.
Gratitude can turn whole gloomy days around. It can change our attitude. It can help us see more clearly.
Sōkō Morinaga, a Japanese Buddhist spiritual teacher, says, “If you all just let the scales drop from your eyes, you realize that everything everywhere is filled with truth…everything everywhere is to be appreciated.”
Sometimes we have scales covering our eyes. We’ve been through a hard time, we’ve seen some disappointments. Our vision gets a little clouded when all we seem to experience is frustration, sadness, fear, anger, trial and tribulation. The dark gets darker, and the light gets dimmer.
And add to that mental illnesses like Major Depressive Disorder and anxiety disorders and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and the host of others that can make light so very hard to see.
I’m not one to say that gratitude solves everything. If you’ve been around me long enough, you’ve probably picked up on how much I believe in therapy, how much I want to see everyone, no matter their economic situation, have access to proper mental health care. When I’m in the midst of my depression, gratitude becomes rote. Something I do. Maybe it makes the dark days a little less dark, but it certainly doesn’t take them away.
It is a tool we can use, though.
Lately I’ve found myself using gratitude on my children more and more—like I used to do when they were little.
Three of the six are teenagers. Life is tough for teenagers. Puberty, school demands, trying to figure out who they are and what they can contribute to the world. It’s a lot to balance emotionally. A couple of my sons focus more on what’s fair (and especially what’s not) than what’s good.
I know what it’s like to focus on what’s not fair. I get caught there occasionally in my life, still. If only I hadn’t experienced this trauma as a 12-year-old. If only I’d grown up with a family that had money. If only I’d gotten these educational opportunities…
The list can go on and on and on if I let it.
Gratitude helps peel from our eyes the scales that sink into place when we’re too caught up in the if-onlys.
I know as well as anyone how difficult it is to see past the scales. This time of year is especially hard for me. I’m making pies and treats for my family, but my relationship with food has always been shaky—really, it’s a relationship with my body.
If only I hadn’t grown up with a person in my life who criticized the way I looked…
(It’s much more complicated than that, of course.)
Times like these I fall into self-deprecation. I don’t like my body. I wish I could be different. I wish I didn’t get so overwhelmed all the time. I wish I could be a better mother. I wish…
But if everything everywhere is to be appreciated and everything everywhere is filled with truth, what does that mean? I got out for a run—the air, the trees, time is filled with truth. I sit down to dinner with my family—the room is filled with truth. I meditate in my room while my husband noodles on the piano downstairs—the entire house, music, love is filled with truth.
The solar eclipse is filled with truth…my kids’ shoes all over the floor—filled with truth…the music of our lives, filled with truth.
Here’s the truth I glean from my life when I see with the right kind of eyes:
1. I am loved. 2. I am magnificent just the way I am. 3. Everyone has bad days or needs some extra help sometimes—I’m not alone.
Everything everywhere is to be appreciated—the good days and the bad days. The dark and the light. The disappointing and the victorious.
Every time one of my sons celebrates a birthday we end the day gathered around our table (and a homemade cake), telling the birthday boy why we’re grateful for him. And he has to list however many thankfuls correspond to his age—so it gets more and more challenging as the years march on.
But I hope, by doing this simple ritual, they’re learning to see the good everywhere. I hope they’re learning to focus on what they have instead of what they don’t have. I hope they’re learning to peel the scales from their eyes and see the world clearly.
There are days I definitely don’t feel like being grateful. It wasn’t a productive writing day, a project is giving me trouble, I’m just down in the dumps, no explanation necessary. Gratitude helps turn my attitude around. It reminds me that this is a blip, nothing lasts forever, and sometimes that can be a good thing. Maybe it sounds Pollyanna-ish, finding the silver lining in all the bad. But if it makes us happier? If it helps us recognize the good in our lives? If it changes the way we see? Why not try?
It won’t solve everything, but practicing gratitude will remind you what you have: People who love you; a mind and body that work wonders for you, no matter what it looks like; a future filled with hope and magnificence.
I hope you have a marvelous month of appreciation.
Here are some of my favorite ways to incorporate gratitude in life:
1. Meditate on gratitude.
I know I’ve mentioned it before, but Apple Fitness+ has some fantastic gratitude meditations, from five minutes to 20. I highly recommend practicing them.
When we focus our minds on gratitude and clear away other distractions for even five minutes, we flex the muscle of gratitude. We stretch it longer and make it stronger. And the more we do that, the better at it we get.
2. Keep a gratitude journal.
At the end of every day I record in my schedule three things I’m grateful for. They can be as small as finding a pen that still had ink in it when I got an idea I didn’t want to lose to as big as “I had a great conversation with the 14-year-old about friendship and love.”
This is yet another way of building the muscle of gratitude. Oftentimes we’re so busy in the midst of a day that we don’t even think about these things we’re grateful for; it’s only in looking back that we clearly see how much we have.
3. Share your appreciation with others in your life.
Write notes of appreciation or send a text or call to tell someone in your life how much you value and appreciate them. Gratitude can be shared…in fact, sometimes sharing it has a multiplication effect. Think how you feel when someone shares their appreciation for you. You want to pass that feeling along. Imagine if we all did that, spread rings of positivity into the world. It would be a world of light. And that would be a beautiful thing.
“Do you think it’s becoming a problem again?” he said.
No. But yes. Maybe. Probably. No.
Thus began my husband’s gentle reminder not to fall into my self-destructive patterns.
We celebrate twenty years of marriage this month. He’s known me more than half my life. There’s not much I can hide from him. It’s like having eyeballs on the inside, sorting through all your secrets.
He recognizes the signs when I start slipping back into disordered eating and getting tripped up by body dysmorphia.
My depression of late has felt a little…wild. Seasons come and seasons go, some longer than others. Some have deeper waters than others. Some spiral out of control.
When things are out of control, I spiral (just like the depression). When I spiral I grasp for control of anything and everything. Most things can’t be controlled, so they slide right through my hands.
Not everything slides, though. What I always convince myself I can control is diet and exercise. I’ll fast for longer, I tell myself. It’s a healthy form of eating, a buzz word in today’s culture (conveniently). I’ll exercise more. I’m doing something good for myself. I’m not doing anything wrong.
My eyes and heart and mind sweep right over the problem, pretending it doesn’t exist. And therein lies the problem.
I know where things can go from here. I’ve lived that story.
So maybe I acknowledge the problem and maybe I don’t, but the reality is, it’s always there, staring me right in the face. Reminding me that this is yet another personal failure.
What a dirty phrase: personal failure.
The people closest to me know I’m hard on myself. My self-talk isn’t always productive. I’m a hopeful person who avoids hoping for the good things I want and desire—because it’s easier and better for my heart not to be disappointed when those things don’t happen. I don’t always practice mercy on myself when I make a mistake.
Maybe this is why I’ve always loved the journals of Sylvia Plath. She was hard on herself, too. And her self-talk was unproductive a lot of the time. And she hoped only tentatively. Mercy was a foreign concept when applied to herself.
I’ve revisited these journals multiple times over the years, ever since my mom gifted me with them for Christmas when I was in high school. And in the last two years I’ve been revisiting them because I’ve been writing a biography in verse about her last years in high school and her years at Smith College in Massachusetts.
We’re so similar I almost feel like I’m writing about my own years of young adulthood. Up down up down moods, one moment feeling like I’m good at what I do, the next feeling like I’m quite possibly the worst writer who ever lived.
And then there are the mistakes.
I’ve made a lot of them in my life. I’ve tried to forget them as well as I can (but you never really do, do you?), because for a long time, it felt like my mistakes said something about me. They were personal failures. Evidence that I was broken. Incapable. Wrong.
Sometimes they still feel like that.
Viewing mistakes like this kept me—sometimes still keeps me—from examining my weaknesses. It keeps me ignoring my problems. Pretending they don’t exist but are simply things I can’t fix.
That doesn’t solve anything, though. As Margaret Haffernan, an entrepreneur in the UK, says, “You cannot fix a problem you refuse to acknowledge.”
We can’t fix problems we sweep under the bed, hide to our best ability, ignore like if we ignore them long enough they’ll go away. Problems are sticky. They hang around. And they don’t shrink, they grow when they don’t get the attention they think they deserve.
After my husband asked me that gentle, pointed question; after I saw that I was, indeed, headed toward that dangerous road again; after I metaphorically collapsed around another personal failure, another mistake, a voice came from somewhere down deep. Mistakes aren’t who you are, it said. The voice sounded just like me.
That’s because I’m constantly telling my kids this. Mistakes are just mistakes, I tell them. Opportunities to grow. They can be fixed. They aren’t who we are.
I hadn’t been listening to what I knew.
How can we fix something we refuse to see or acknowledge? We can’t. That goes for mistakes, and problems.
I’m still a work in progress. I’m still learning not to expect perfection in myself. Some days are better than others.
Problems aren’t fixed once and for all. Like anything else, they require a journey. Some problems may take our whole lifetimes to solve. We may slip and slide backward and forward along the path of recovery and healing.
But here’s what we can know, too: We’re stronger than we know. We are capable of great things. We can face any riptide that comes.
And maybe that’s the part that matters most.
Have a glorious month of seeing with wide-open eyes and realizing your inner strength.
Here are some suggestions for rooting out problems from their hiding places:
1. Identify.
Finding problem areas we’ve ignored or hidden or shoved under our bed can seem like a monumental task. But it’s the first step in the process of fixing those problems. So we need to pull everything out, dust off the boxes, shake out the rugs, and brave the spiders that may have nested while we were so busy trying to ignore them.
I might have taken that metaphor too far. Forgive me.
If you need a place to start, try your frequent frustrations. Our frustrations can tell us a lot about our problem areas. One of mine (simpler than the one mentioned above)? Clothes left on the floor! This is both my children’s problem and mine. They should pick up their clothes, I should stop pining after a perfectly tidy house and remember that living with people means accommodating their personalities and tendencies (while still communicating my own needs for a mostly-tidy house). Compromise is the language of roommates—and families.
2. Acknowledge.
I’ve found in my life that some of the most powerful words we can say are, “I acknowledge this is a problem.” It brings with it a great relief—sometimes to the person pointing out one of our problem areas, sometimes just to ourselves when we’ve ignored a problem for so long it also, ironically, seems to be the only thing we think about in the backs of our minds. (Who knows how that’s possible, but it is.)
3. Make a plan.
This is probably my favorite part of the process. I don’t necessarily relish identifying or acknowledging problem areas, but I am all about the plan. I will plan in minute detail. Meal plans that will make sure I’m eating. Fitness plans that will protect me from taking my workouts to an extreme. Therapy plans that get me the psychological care I need.
Make a plan to address and fix your problem(s), one step at a time. And remember it won’t be solved all at once. You’re a work in progress. We all are. So let’s be gentle on ourselves and practice a little mercy.
