30 Day Cleanse

It’s January First 2019, I woke up this morning knowing exactly what I had to do. For the past few months I could feel the growing desire to finally put my efforts behind my life coaching business. It was easy enough to ignore the feelings as we had a lot of transitions happening at our wellness center, and I was the driving force behind the change. The change is 95% complete and I was at an impasse, pick up a new distraction to keep me from the thing I really wanted, of dig in. Stop talking. Start doing. I decided to start doing. In order to do, a cleanse was in order. A cleanse from social media. INSERT PANIC HERE. Social media is like my prozac, when I don’t feel like I can deal with the pressure of running a business, building a business, and running a family of 8, I turn to social media to calm me, distract me, tell me it’s okay (or make me feel worse, depends on the day). When I feel stressed and like it’s too much to handle Facebook is there for me, when I can’t sleep at night because I am doing the budget and running numbers in my head, Instagram quiets the calculator in my head. Waiting for someone to finish gymnastics? Instagram my friend is with me. Can’t decide what to make for dinner? Facebook helps me put I off a little longer. I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point.

At 9:30 this morning I knew, what I’ve known for a few weeks now, me and Facebook and Instagram needed some time apart. I could have quietly deleted the apps from phone. Never telling a soul, creating some security so in a few days if I just couldn’t hang I could quietly download the apps again and no one would know I was cheating myself out of the things I truly desired. TO provide accountability and follow through on my part I loudly declared “I’m deleting social media and staying off of it for 30 days.” My husband said, that will be so good for you. He then casually threw a few things out that he was going to give up, but momentarily placing the distraction in my hands. He then started to say that he too would join me in the 30 days of social media sobriety. I was so grateful to no longer feel that I was going it alone. I have done this in the past, I usually have him change my passwords to avoid the temptations, but as we would lie in bed at night, I would struggle as he would mindless scroll and I tried to busy myself with something that would fill the time.

To further the fun I notified my teenagers tonight that they would be Instagram free Sunday night through Friday, or they could choose to join us in the full 30 days. I gave everyone fair warning, as I have done this before, that about 4 days in I get a little cranky. I want a fix, my hand is tired of picking up my phone and tapping where the little icons of joy used to be only to find that I am opening up the banking app or the weather. There is that moment of shame, when I realize how frequently and habitually I pick up my phone to check out. Little bits of justification come in, that I was still getting things done, and being mom is hard. Both true. But, how many years did I parent without my little buddy FB and Insta? Maybe that’s why a few years ago I didn’t dread the “interruption” of going to the grocery store, finding something to make for dinner was a little more fun (sometimes), and falling asleep at a decent time was easier because I wasn’t holding a distraction in my hands.

It’s definitely not goodbye forever, I know that one of the next steps in building my business lies directly in the path of having a strong online presence, here, there, and everywhere. I am taking the time now to develop pathways in my life that are filled with speed bumps of me picking up my phone when things feel to hard to deal with right now. I’m sure my viewership of HGTV and Chopped on the Food Network will see a slight increase, but commercials are there to give you a few minutes to get things done until the big reveal.

My big goal for the next few days is to develop a really solid list of things to be done in place of picking up my phone and tapping my way out of reality. This list will be the actual, fill in the holes that dog made in the wall and paint things, along with pay the library fine and check out a fiction book to read during down time.

I have set some exciting and long-waited goals for myself this year. I am taking the first step to ensure my success.  My fortune on New Years Eve is saying it’s so. I am taking up bubble blowing to fill in the gaps, and maybe I’ll start taking more selfies 🙂

 

Stay tuned, I will be back to document the progress of saying no to habit and avoidance and saying yes to progress and success. (in case of emergency I will have my password changed by my husband, it makes it so much easier when I know that even if I want to I can’t get back to it). Like right now, the itch to post about this post all over Facebook is STRONG!

Origami Cranes of Intention

 

In December of 2014 my husband and I traveled to San Francisco for his work, and a break for me. I was interested in finding a labyrinth in the city and was not disappointed. We found ourselves at a beautiful Catholic Cathedral, Grace Cathedral, to be exact (Grace Cathedral). We experienced so much more than the labyrinth while we were there, it offered a time of quiet reflection that we both were seeking. Upon entering the Cathedral I was captivated by a large Christmas tree covered in origami paper cranes. Next to the cranes was a description of why the tree was filled with them and the significance of the crane.

The Japanese legend was that if someone would fold 1,000 cranes the would have a wish granted. Sadako Sasaki developed leukemia after the atomic bomb was dropped in Hiroshima. She set out to fold 1,000 cranes with her wish to be healed. She died before completing her task and her classmates folded the remains 356 she needed to reach 1,000. On each of her cranes she wrote messages of hope. The tree pictured above in 2014 was covered in cranes with the wishes and the dreams of the world. When we left the Cathedral I knew that somehow I wanted to incorporate cranes into the traditions of our family.

In 2014 on New Years Eve we had our first folding of the cranes. All 8 of us wrote on a piece of origami papers our wishes and our dreams for the upcoming 365 days. Once the messages were complete I folded them into cranes and we hung them in our dining room window. I was convinced that I would remember what was written, but as the days of 2015 turned into months I forgot what I had wished for as did the other 7 participants. On New Years Eve 2015 we took our cranes down and reviewed what we had wished for 12 months prior. There was laughing, and delight at the things we had forgotten that had happened without conscious effort. There was giggles at the embarrassing thing that, to my children, our far younger selves had dreamed up. Once we had them opened we read them together and tossed the unfolded crane into the fire releasing our dreams and quickly turning to the wishes of the coming year.

Cranes from December 2018.       Cranes from December 2017.

Last year I had the thought to record everyone as the read their opened cranes. I will have to remember to do that next year. When the cranes are freshly written often the words feel to private to share. Over the course of the year the secrecy softens and sharing is much easier.

 

Death Comes Unexpectedly

It was 2012 and I was lying in the dark replaying over and over again how my grandpa looked laid out in his coffin.  Surprised; he looked like himself, but he felt so cold. I could still feel his cold waxy skin on my finger and shuddered at the thought of seeing him again. I’d never been to a funeral before and not knowing what to expect had me frozen in my bed. And then I knew what I had to do. I had to talk to my grandpa and ask him if it was okay that I didn’t go. I tripled checked with myself that my not wanting to go wasn’t based on nerves about playing the piano but I knew deep in my young soul that it wasn’t that. I wasn’t ready to face death in the traditional way. So I starting talking out loud feeling in my heart that my grandpa could hear, and then came the peace and I knew it was okay that I didn’t go.

It’s a hot and sticky July 4th 2015 morning, I am standing at the local church with the neighbors lamenting the fact that the pancake breakfast was what appeared to be left over Scout camp pulled pork added to scrambled eggs for breakfast burritos.  My phone rang, my brothers name showed up on the caller ID. Struck by the odd timing, I answered and heard him faintly say on the other end “Ann’s dead. Aunt Ann died.” My brain couldn’t process what he was saying.  Grandma was next in line. She was asking daily if she could go. We were prepared for her parting. But Aunt Ann.  He was wrong, I heard him wrong. “No” I said, not Aunt Ann. “Yes, Marci Aunt Ann.”  Suddenly I looked around I had to get off of the phone with him and find Danny.  I was stifling the tears and holding back the tormented sobs I didn’t want to draw anyones attention away from their awful burritos. As soon as I could get the words out of my mouth to Danny I had to walk quickly away I could no longer suppress the shock and sadness desperately trying to escape my pursed lips. It was all I could do to make it to the front door before the ugly, desperate sobs came pouring from deep within. Aunt Ann. Gone. Aunt Ann. Gone. Aunt Ann Gone. I threw myself across my bed like a moody teenager as my body shook with tears.

The next few days the sadness would sneak up on me, streaming from my eyes before I ever had a chance to stifle it back down. How could she? Why did she? How come I didn’t… the last thought the most painful as it had been on my mind to call her. Who was going to tell my how to parent based on something she had seen in one of her Soap Operas? Who was going to be planning dinner while we ate breakfast? Who was going to remind me about all the things that didn’t really matter, but in the moment did? Who was going to be my cool aunt who lived in California?

Standing at her viewing shortly before her funeral I recall the little girl reaching for her grandpas hand to find what was once warm and so inviting to be cold and waxy. I make my way to the casket, vowing to keep my hands to myself. Who was that unfamiliar face looking back at me? They had turned her lips up in a smile. Didn’t they know? She didn’t smile for pictures. Why was she smiling now? Suddenly I hear a voice saying it’s time for one last look before they close the casket. I push myself forward, not wanting to lose one last moment to look at a face, as unfamiliar as it may be, and suddenly I hear it. I hear the most gut wrenching sob filling the air with it pain only to realize it’s coming from me.   Momentarily filled with embarrassment from letting my feelings show I discover that trying to stop it is only making it worse. My mom gently wraps her arm around me as I fall into her shoulder and pulls me away. For just a moment I want to be that little girl again, the girl who knew that good byes are painful, and avoiding them helps ease that pain. Danny pulls me from my mom and I fall into his embrace, looking at the faces of my 6 children filled with shock and concern for their mother and promise myself that later I would have all the right things to say to help them know it’s okay.

2012 Like many other days returning home from being out with 6 children between the ages of 2-10 was chaotic and exhausting. It was a chaotic time of life, I had fortunately realized that having babies wasn’t actually a solution to my problems, unfortunately I had replaced acquiring babies to animals. The current count? 2 cats, 2 dogs (Great Danes no less), I think the water frogs were still alive, and we had newly added 3 bunnies. After realizing the stench of 3 bunnies was to much for the house we had relocated them to the back yard and taken on the challenge of keeping the dogs, the large, large dogs, away from the bunnies.  Each return home turned into a bunny head count, and I prayed that we could stay ahead of the Great Danes advances. Deep down I think I knew that inevitably we were going to come home and find we weren’t faster than the dogs. What I said to my children and myself was to the contrary. This return home was no different than all the others, until the girls reached the bunny enclosure to find 2 of the 3 missing. My gut flew into a panic, while trying to maintain a calm demeanor. I was reassuring as I help the kids search for the bunny. The longer it took the more hope I was losing. I did my best to keep a hopeful smile on my face while I headed to the front yard to see if they had ended up there. As I searched under bushes up front I was ripped from my search by the blood curdling death scream that I heard. As my feet started moving me towards to sound I knew the bunny had been found, and that it was dead. In my head I knew that choosing to bring animals into our family opened the door to my children learning about death. What wasn’t prepared for this was my heart. Facing my daughter as she looked at her bunny motionless on the ground I was unable to look her in the eye. The only words I could find to comfort her with was that the bunny didn’t suffer. Did I know this for sure? No. Was I comforting her or me?

2017 Pushing the landlord one more time (that year) to let us add a dog to our lease was met with a stern no. Unlike past times we pushed a little more and asked why. He gave one reason after another, the one that stood out to me? “Because the dog will die, and that will be sad.” I instantly flashed back to the scream I heard that day, while I understood the reason he would say that, I also knew that kids can heal from that sadness. He didn’t give in (that day, eventually we wore him down), and his reasoning stuck with me.

2018 We had just returned from a 3 day vacation I was rushing up the stairs to use the bathroom after the long drive. I was almost up the stairs when I heard the cry. Not as shrill and sharp as before but still familiar, I turned around knowing what had happened.  Katelyn rushed up the stairs and fell onto my waiting lap. Her guinea pig had died. She buried her head into my shoulder and the tears streamed down her cheeks. I slowly and calmly rubbed her back. In the past I had tried to find the words that I hoped would help the pain go away as quickly as possible. Those words generally turned in a tickle and joke, because I had learned that the pain my child felt was a pain that I felt. But this time? This time I sat and let her cry. Knowing that in time the pain would pass, hoping to teach her the pain of death is not something to run from, it’s something to feel, something to grow from, and something to understand can happen unexpectedly.

**The title of this post comes comes directly from my favorite childhood movie PollyAnna.  At one point the pastor is delivering his sermon and pounds the pulpit and declares that “DEATH COMES UNEXECTEDLY!” His fire and brimstone is something I hear in my head almost every time death occurs. It used to add to the pain and discomfort, but as I’ve grown I’ve come to learn that whether expected or not death brings with it pain. Hiding from the pain or trying to numb the pain may make it go away temporarily, but choosing to walk through the pain has painted the scars it leaves into a rainbow weaved into my story.

 

Chaos and Quiet

I knew the next morning was going to be rough because we were getting the kids to bed so late and I was mentally exhausted. I also knew that because of the chaos of the night I would be getting a 2 am wake up call from the 5 month old puppy.  I was close the dog got up at 2:30.  Some nights I don’t have a hard time going back to sleep, other nights it’s more difficult. This was a night in the middle. I don’t remember going back to sleep, but I do remember being awake thinking about the next days schedule.  When the alarm went off I struggled to get my eyes open to push the snooze button.  Before the snooze time had run out my 7 year old, and one of our cats made it known that it was in fact time to get up.  I struggled.  I struggled to get up, I struggled to wrap my mind around getting the kids to school, I struggled to find the get up and go to get up and go.  I finally did but 10 minutes later than I “needed” to.  Thank you Curious George and PBS for keeping my early riser occupied until I got up.  As I slowly got up I started to question the dependance that I had created of my oldest three. I am the alarm, and on days that the alarm is tired it wakes them up late, it’s not a great system, especially when “the alarm” was supposed to switch someones laundry when she got up at 6:30. It was now 7:20. The newly proclaimed pescatarian was searching to find a lunch box as school lunch had suddenly become unacceptable. A small argument occurred on the order of operations and how lunch box finding was at the end of getting ready not the beginning.  Another small eruption over the lack of French toast sticks, that turned into a lack of oatmeal portion size occurred. Tears on the couch for no reasons were a backdrop to matching/appropriate school clothing conversations. Trying to silently remove my mind while keeping me psychically there I sipped hot coffee and prayed I would be able to suppress the yell in my throat.  We made it to the car, and were so close to successfully leaving when the daily disagreement about who was sitting where started up.  Still being mindful of the yell in my throat I told them I would count to 5 and then be pulling away from the curb.  They barely made it in, but they did it and we were on our way.  With the chaos of the morning I was happy to see we were on time and soon I would be home in the quiet.

Suddenly it became apparent that our normal commute was backed up and we were headed on an alternate route to school.  As gratitude for our safety overcame me, the yell in my throat dissolved while I worked on keeping us safe on the rest of the journey.  As we neared the school talked turned from the car accident, and distracted driving to police officers and their presence at the school.  We made it to the drop off spot, arrangements were made to get everyone checked into school and I headed back home. I was a little frustrated that I missed my favorite part of the morning radio show I listen to on the way home, but feeling relief at successfully dropping the kids off. I walked in the door at home and it was quiet. The silence enveloped me and I was able to finally wrap my mind around scheduling the kids bi-annual dental check-up. Feeling buoyed by that success I looked up the college counselor we needed to schedule with and reached out to her, feeling like I was on a role I switched laundry, started a new load, and ate breakfast. I sat down to map out the rest of my day, and while my brain was wildly planning all of the things I was about to do my body settled in to recoup from the chaos. I eventually succumbed to the sitting and the phone rang, a friend on the other line, as I said hello my brain reminded me of our to do list for the day. As the conversation developed my brain quieted down. She talked I listened, I talked she listened, the other line beeped; the kids school. I let it go to voicemail as the automated call was probably to remind me of up coming student led conferences or an upcoming fundraiser. Two minutes later the other line beeped again, it was one of my oldest. Was she calling to tell me that the automated call was due to a tardy or an absence?

She said “did you get the message?”

“I got the call, I haven’t listened to the message yet, what’s going on?”

“The school is on lock down, kids stole guns that go to our school and they’re out there.”

As I tried to shove the tears out of my voice I asked her again what was going on, where was she? Where were all my other kids? Is everyone safe? Is she okay? Yes everyone is safe, yes she is okay.

I quickly ended the call with my friend, trying and failing to keep the quiver out of my voice the lump out of my throat, the tears out of my eyes. The message, thank you Apple that the transcription worked. The message boiled down to “not an active situation”. Breathing, calming, news, the news must be covering this. Turn on the news, small blip in the slow crawl on the bottom of my screen. Google, google always knows. Search, story, answers, more questions. Battery dying. Find charger. Phone rings, other oldest on the phone.

“Did you get the message”

Calmer this time around, I gave and got all of the details either of us had. She was okay.

Had my 3rd child emailed me? Why do I keep her phone at home while she is at school? This isn’t supposed to happen. Check email, she’s there. Is it that boy? Yes. Are you okay? Yes.

Call husband does he know? He knows. He is the calm voice of reason. The kids are safe at school that’s where they’ll stay. Going to pick them up now will add to the chaos. I keep checking the news, are they really okay? Yes they really are okay.

Finding the quiet in the chaos. I must move my body to slow my mind. Shoes on, dog on leash. Moving, calming, moving, calming, back and forth I feel the quiet settle in. I re-enter my house and am enveloped in the same quiet that was there after school drop off. I sit in it.

The phone rings, the school again, this time I answer hoping for more answers on the end of the line. I must show ID to pick my kids up from school. Child calls;

“mom, you have to pick us up.”

Trying my best to keep it together the calm vanishes, I shove the tears aside, “yes, yes I know.”

Another child calms, I detail the plan as though I had prepared for this all day, another child calls. As I reassure her that I have a plan, I am reassuring myself I have a plan. The tears managed to stay back while I assured my kids I was there for them.

I feel it. I want my mom. I call, try to act casual, two minutes in I’m sobbing. Sobbing and asking my mom if she can go buy popsicles because after I pick my kids up from school I need to bring them to her house so they can eat popsicles. So she can hold me while I hold them and make sure they are okay. My mom, my angel, is off to get popsicles.

I arrive at the school and from a distance can see the full parking lot and feel the reverence and gravity of the situation. Bodies moving slowly. As I walked through the parking lot I had to fight the urge to hug every police officer and teacher I passed. They were calm and collected I would act the same. As I worked through the ID check out process I chuckle at how a little “red tape” can sure do a lot to remove the emotion from a situation! Children are checked out and safely in my arms. Three of my kids don’t know what’s happened, they recanted what they were told; “it was a red air day, but it wasn’t and that is why we had to stay inside.” The oldest three asked questions and answered questions I tried and failed to manage the information shared because I hadn’t been able to tell the youngest three what had gone on.

We spill out of the car at my mom’s house, her and my dad both outside, and child number 5 falls into my arms, tears streaming down her face. “Mom, I’m scared.” Through  my tears that I’d been pushing around all day I told her she was safe. I told her all the reasons she was safe, reminding myself all the reasons she is safe.

Details are shared, speculations are made, politics are put aside. Popsicles and cookies are eaten. The quiet in the chaos is found.

Run Marci Run

At the beginning of every year I come up with a mantra for the year. I find this to be more effective in creating change than coming up with resolutions. The mantra usually evolves a bit over the year, but it’s a reminder of what I am focusing on and the evolution, shows progress.  This year started out as “better choices”.  I was happy with the direction my life was headed at the end of 2016 but reflecting on the year I was able to see that I had the opportunity to up my game a bit and make better choices thereby getting better results.  The first evolution happened shortly into January of 2017. I replaced it with “better results, better choices.” I was recognizing areas that I wanted improvement but didn’t want to do anything different (hello exercise!).  This helped me push through frustration I was having at seeing others succeed in areas that I wasn’t. They were obtaining better results due to better choices.

I on again off again exercised but nothing to strenuous and definitely nothing routine.  On August 21, the first day of school, I knew that I wanted to set a different end of the day routine for my kids (better results, better choices). I told them that upon getting a snack and taking a little breather they either had to run a mile or bike four.  Complaints and declarations of inability shortly followed.  My response, “I’ll do it with you.”  An eerie quiet fell over the car. Doubting what I had said they repeated “you’ll do it with us?” A little background: I am (was) a self professed non runner.  I was proud of my non running status. I can walk for days, bike absolutely, elliptical, etc. pretty much anything to avoid the run. I have warned that if you ever see me running don’t ask questions and start running with me! So, I’m sure you can imagine my children’s shock at my offer. Due to this offer everyone of my children (6 in total ages 6-15) joined in. They waited for me to put on the proper attire, still not fully trusting me, and lined up out front with me.  Due to different speeds we all agreed to a chalk tally mark by our chalk initials to mark our progress. And then, we were off.

I’ve got sprinters and I’ve got walkers, so we all finished at different times. All the kids were very happy with the fact that they beat mom. They were all happy that I participated and finished.  I was shocked and surprised that I finished and with my time. At the end of the mile I felt like my chest and lungs might explode and my legs were going to fall off, but I also felt an amazing, growing, sense of pride, in myself.  The last time I had run a mile was my junior year of high school it had taken me over 15 minutes, and I think that was the day I swore off running. This time I had completed the mile in 14 minutes and 58 seconds. In that moment a record breaking miracle. I feel pride in a lot of things, but realized that I didn’t give myself many opportunities to feel pride in myself, in something that I’d done for myself and no one else.

The bigger moments have actually followed that day.  One of them was two days later when I put my shoes on and did it again. I really did not like the way I felt while I was doing it, but the way I felt after propelled me to keep on doing it. Not only have I kept doing it but I’ve gotten faster and gone farther. My goal was, and still is, 1 mile 5 days out of the week under 13 minutes.  For the first month I was dedicated and consistent. I have had some ups and downs and had a few weeks where I only made the run once. Instead of giving up because I had failed (that was my past pattern) I have been aware, made the necessary adjustments, and gotten back at it. To further push myself I have signed up for my first 5K. There is a part of me, the part that compares myself to everyone else, that thinks it’s silly to do this because everyone else is out there having fun on Thanksgiving. For me this is a race, something I have concerns about finishing, concerns about starting, and concerns about how it all works. I’ve asked that part of me to take a break, sit this one out, and allow that part of me that is committed to success and trying something new to take over.

As I headed into the gym last week I evolved my mantra for the year again to “better results, better choices, better actions.” I did not want to go to the gym. I did not want to run. I did not want to take the action. I did however want the result and the benefit. I was once again reminded that I can’t complain about the results I am getting if I am not actively engaged in getting the result.  It’s a bit disappointing that I can’t get the benefits of running if I am sitting on the couch looking at pictures of runners on Instagram.  What’s not disappointing is the pride I feel in myself that I am taking the steps to accomplish something I had convinced myself that I couldn’t do.

Good Enough

When is it good enough? If someone does it different does that mean their way is better? If someone tells you that you should do it differently does that mean the way you are doing it is wrong? What if there is a better way but that doesn’t work for you, does that mean that your way is still enough?

Several months ago someone commented to me about hypocritical life coaches/ self help people.  One of my priorities into stepping into the life coaching field is to make sure that I am walking my talk.  When I worked at Discover card, light years ago, I had a supervisor tell me something that has impacted my life time and again.  She said “I won’t ask my employees to do anything I am not willing to do myself.”  This helped me for the time I worked there but even more so has it shown up in my life as a mother, wife, friend, sister, daughter, and currently a life coach.

You may not know that several years ago I stepped out to be a life coach and shortly into the work had to stop due to feeling like a fraud.  To sit with someone asking questions, and finding solutions for their life in a manner that I was unwilling to do in my own quickly exposed the hypocrisy.  I don’t doubt that I was able to provide value, but in skipping the “self” portion I was cheating myself out of an opportunity to not only have sage skills, but to have gone to the dark places, the forgotten places, the overwhelming scary places myself. So I stopped the life coaching then and hopped onto my own personal life journey roller coaster.

Back to 4 months ago when the hypocrisy comment was sent my way: I realized that once again I had an area and opportunity for growth. I worked in the health and wellness industry, dishing out nutrition, supplement, exercise, breathing, suggestions several days a week. But what was I doing? I was a professed never taker of supplements. Not because I thought I didn’t need them, or that they weren’t beneficial, but, simply because I had overwhelmed myself with knowledge about supplements, thereby paralyzing myself into inaction.  I decided it was time to pose a challenge to myself and actually see if I could do it. I took all of the rules off the table and asked myself what I could do to make this work best for me.  I anchored this new habit I wanted to create to an existing habit: flossing my teeth. I am a devoted, dedicated flosser, so I knew that if I took the supplements at bed time after I flossed my teeth I increased the likelihood of it happening.  My next decision was what was I going to take? After narrowing it down to the few that I felt were the most important I started on the journey.

And so it began. I decided to toss the all or nothing success mentality out the window and if I was doing this at least 3 days a week I was reaching 100% success. This is called backing down.  Start with what you want to achieve, and then back it down to a place that you are most likely to be consistently successful and then slowly build upon that.

I didn’t notice any immediate change but I did find myself excited to take the supplements all day, and a little resistance to when the time came to actually taking them.  But, one week in and I was at least 3 days of success, probably a little more. The next week similar results. Over the course of 4 months I have successfully achieved my 3 days at least, most of the time actually more.  Why I ask if this is good enough.

I was happily enjoying the success of what I was doing and started to share my success with people.  I was surprised at the reaction, and actually had to check in with myself to see if this is how I was meeting people’s success. I was told how I could do it better. How I could do it more like other people were doing it. Inadvertently I was being told that what I was doing wasn’t good enough.  I don’t think people consciously thought that, but without recognition my huge victory was being minimized with counsel on how I could do it better.

I was being told how I could change my habit from the flossing time to the morning time. I was being told how dosing out my supplements the night before, or for the week, could ensure success. I was being asked what supplements I was taking and then being told what else I could add. What was missing was a celebration and acknowledgment of my success.  How quickly I could have shut myself down because what I was doing wasn’t good enough.

Fortunately for me I entered into this as an experiment, so I was already giving greater awareness to what I was experiencing. I was not anticipating this type of response from others. I immediately started to check in with myself about how I was greeting others (especially my children’s) declarations of success.  Was I celebrating? Or immediately and unsolicitedly (yes I just made up a word) telling them how they could do/be better, therefore insinuating that their success wasn’t good enough?

Oh the psychological rabbit hole to jump down in regards to the reasons behind these types of reactions, but that is a post for a different day.

And if you were wondering? Yes I am still successfully taking my supplements when I floss at least 3 days a week.  I have actually, for the first time in my life, taken several whole bottles of supplements and had to buy more! And on the next level of success I am adding 1 day time supplement to the mix.  Baby steps!

Are you helping others celebrate their success?

Stepping into it

My purpose with power. I read a powerful reminder today; don't see my self-doubt as a stop sign but a hurdle to over come. This post is me crawling over the hurdle, a shout out to myself to get it out of my head and down on "paper". The beauty of what goes on in my mind does nothing for nobody when I'm keeping it to myself. I'm moving forward remembering "Why fit in when you were born to stand out!"