Take a listen as I discuss parenting as a trauma survivor with the wonderful Jenny Mansour @succulent_heart_healing! We talk all things from what to say to our kids regarding trauma to how we can take care of ourselves as parents ✨ It’s not always easy, but we certainly are not alone 💜
The (Somewhat) Refreshed Bead
I’m back! Happy Spring! Happy Easter! Happy belated St. Patrick’s Day! Oh what a month it has been. As life typically goes, the month of March was a “break” from the writing world yes, but quite crazy in the life world!
On the exciting news front, I have started a new JOB as a part-time project manager for a video production company based here out of Raleigh. And I am really enjoying it. I did not realize how much I missed the structure of working, as I had been out of the “outside” work force for almost three years. Side note - I say “outside”, meaning working outside the home, because I certainly did not stop working. I just began working in a different way. Becoming an author and a parent to a second kiddo were two of the best parts of that different path. And now, I have changed things up again!
On the not so exciting news front, we have had a slew of fun homeowner issues arise over the past few weeks. Let’s just say what was supposed to be a lovely family photo session ended with ripping the ceiling off our porch, but don’t worry, we got some beautiful shots! Entire family sat on our swinging porch bench, which definitely was not equipped to hold all four of us, and down we all went crashing to the porch floor, bringing the porch ceiling down with us. Lovely. Throw in some water damage, a cracked garage door frame and a partridge in a pear tree. You get the picture. But at the end of the day, these things can be fixed and while it is not ideal, it certainly isn’t the end of the world.
Back to the exciting news front, it is April, which means it is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. This month will always have a special place in my heart, as I thoroughly enjoy participating in as many awareness raising things as possible. That being said, I am so very honored to say that I am starting a “Sipping with Survivors” Instagram live series, and it is kicking off THIS Sunday. I will be chatting with several amazing guests over the next month and beyond about a series of different subjects relating to sexual assault/trauma. The lineup is as follows:
- Survivors to Thrivers – Sunday, April 11 at 5PM (a happy-hour kick-off!)
- Survivor Sisters – Sunday, April 18 at 10AM
- Surviving Childhood Trauma – Sunday, April 25 at 10AM
- Voices of Hope – Saturday, May 2 at 10AM
I am working on a few other exciting ventures (including being a guest HOST on a fabulous podcast!!!), but will keep those under wraps for now!
Stay tuned and stay well, y’all 😊
The Passion Bead
There are all these paths in life. Physical paths, like the one you took to school as a kid. Mental paths, like how you envision your future. Paths you take because others are telling you to. Career paths. Relationship paths. And the list goes on. But what about the path less traveled? In this case, the “road”, as Robert Frost so famously quoted.
He wrote: “Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”
What happens when you take the road less traveled? All sorts of crazy things. I would know.
Never in a million years would I have considered myself a writer. I don’t have an English degree. I never wrote for the school paper or fell in love with a classic literary work. Hell, I have never even been much of a reader.
I did, however, have about 32 journals as a kid and well into young adulthood. Some of them literally contained one entry, while others had every page filled front and back, mostly with the chronological happenings of my days, the typical paths I took through childhood. I treasured these journals, whether blank or full. I brought them to life and made them mine. Always drawn to the stationary aisle in stores, I would stare in awe at all the beautiful blank books propped up on their shelves with their simple or intricate covers. I wanted them all, regardless of my current journal status at that time. Perhaps this is why I hoarded them in surplus.
As I got older, I journaled less and less. Life just got in the way and journaling became nonexistent. My plethora of masterpieces went into one of those bins you store Christmas decorations in. And that was it. The end of an era.
I have always been a good kid. Very organized, studious, a rule follower, a planner. I had this path laid out for myself at around the age of 12, give or take: study hard, achieve an absurdly high GPA in high school, go to college, get a high paying job, get married, have some kids, have a successful career, have a happy life. Seemed easy enough, right? I did a pretty good job sticking to this straight and narrow plan, not allowing myself to stray very far from it.
I studied my ass off, as school didn’t always come naturally for me. I got accepted into one of the top public universities in the country. Attended business school. Graduated from this university with a very high-paying job offer. And then BOOM. That straight and narrow path encountered one hell of a road- block.
June 29, 2008.
A day forever etched in my memory. A day that changed my life forever. A day I met the devil himself. A man, impersonating a cab driver, raped me at knife point in the front seat of his car. I laid there, frozen, thinking that was it for me at 22. I had lived a pretty decent life, right? Followed my path, had a fun childhood, with all my journals, just graduated from college. It was a good life.
But I wasn’t done living.
I survived. And I had been given a second chance. I just didn’t know what I was going to do with it.
There was a new path in front of me now, a path I knew absolutely nothing about. It was therapy filled, stabilized with medications, numbed with alcohol. I experienced every known emotion on this path, from anger to sadness to guilt. There were parts of that path that were such a blur I don’t even remember them.
And I tried to grasp on to my previous path, the straight and narrow I once knew. I finished my internship so I could still get the high-paying job offer. I attended graduate school because what else was I supposed to do. I started my job as a tax accountant, again because I didn’t know anything different. That is what I was supposed to do.
Fast forward to 2017. I was approaching year eight at the accounting firm where I worked and the #MeToo hashtag movement rocked the world. All of a sudden, sexual assault survivors were all over the news. It was miraculous and unbelievable. This empowerment swept the world by storm and more and more people were coming forward with their stories. What a time to live in.
Soon after, I threw out this crazy idea to my husband. I said, “what if I join the #MeToo movement and write a book?” My husband immediately responded, “Do it! You could totally do that.” I thought to myself, really? Me, write a book? I’m not a writer. My portfolio consisted of 32 half written journals. And I was a tax accountant for God’s sake. Tax accountants aren’t supposed to write books. I didn’t bring the idea up again. In fact, I talked myself out of the idea completely. It was absurd. Definitely not the path I was supposed to take.
But, I couldn’t let it go.
After months of trying to bury the idea, I brought it up to my husband again. We started spit balling ideas back and forth on a car ride. I pulled out my phone and created a new “note” titled “Book”. My fingers typed at the speed of light with ideas of what the book should be called, different chapter names, how I should begin and end the story, what I wanted the cover to look like. A light turned on in my mind, like a flickering lightbulb that was finally tightened. I realized that I had to do this. I wanted to do this. That journal-loving adolescent was yearning to come out of hiding. It was going to be emotional and scary and a huge risk and a completely different path, but I had to do it.
And so I did.
I sat down on a random Saturday in February 2018, and the first four chapters poured out of my soul. It was raw, violent, honest, but also provided hope and the belief that you can make it to the other side of trauma. I was living proof of it.
Within the year, I had my second baby, and after intensely battling with the decision, I took a major leap of faith: I left my corporate job. I decided to take the road less traveled. Even though accounting is what I went to school for. Even though it took me seven months and seven million tears to pass my CPA exam. Even though I made decent money. Even though my company had great benefits. Even though I had no idea if this book would ever amount to anything. Even though I had no idea what I was doing or what the future held. But I did it anyway.
Somewhere between being insanely sleep deprived (as you may recall, our second kiddo was not a fan of sleep) and continuing to write, all of these things started falling into place on this new path. I connected with a local author who then connected me with a fantastic editor. To my extreme excitement, this editor decided to take me on as a client, solidifying my decision to continue writing. A few months later, I found myself deciding between two publishing houses, both of which had picked up my manuscript. And now here we are exactly six weeks from my memoir, Beads’, debut into the world.
Phew. Talk about a path I never thought I’d take. I wrote a book. And my name is on the front of it. My picture is on the back. And when people now ask what I do, I tell them I’m an author. (What?! I still have to pinch myself.)
Of the many things I have discovered on this road less traveled, one has really stuck out to me. I found a new bead amidst my new path: my passion. I have an intense passion for writing. And I think it’s always been there; it’s just been buried with my 32 journals for a few years. Although I found this bead in the most insane way, I found it. And it really has made all the difference.
And so I impart some of my invaluable wisdom. Quit the job. Buy the shoes. Make the move. Take the trip. Chase the dreams. Do what Robert Frost did. Find your passion bead. You won’t be sorry you did.
The Parenting Bead: Part 2
It’s hard for me to envision our lives right now with anything different than young kiddos. But clearly, time goes on and babies don’t keep. When I think of my boys getting older, there is so much I want for them, and so much I expect from them. I want them to be whomever they want to be. Vague statement, I know, but it captures so much.
It goes beyond the question, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” I want them to feel comfortable in their own skin, love whomever makes them happy, and not give a shit what other people think. The other day, my 4-year-old took a gold permanent marker and colored all his toenails and fingernails because he wanted to make them “prettyful” (his word for beautiful). My husband and I loved it. You do you, Ty. Forever and always. While the world tells us that boys shouldn’t have their nails painted, if my kid wants to have his painted, I will always say go for it.
I want both of our boys to feel comfortable talking to my husband and I about anything. I mean anything. The weather, drugs, what to wear on a date, sex, why the earth is round. Open door policy. And I truly believe this must start at a young age. We are constantly asking Tyler how he is doing, validating his feelings, and letting him know it is OK to feel the way he does. Now, it’s not always effective with a 4-year-old, but we figure some of it has to stick.
In general, and yes, I am stereotyping, men prefer not to talk about their feelings. I want my boys to overly talk about them and know that it doesn’t make them any less “manly” by doing so. The world will only get better with more emotionally in-tuned men. Bottling things up and never talking about them is debilitating and unhealthy for everyone.
I want both of our boys to find a passion and go after it. Of course, we want them to make a living for themselves. But money isn’t everything. Take me for instance. I used to be a CPA and worked for a big public accounting firm, and I had great experiences there. Did I love it? No. So, I took a huge pay cut and changed jobs. It took me about a year to do it, but I did it. My life improved drastically, despite making less money.
Just last year, I took another leap of faith by quitting my job completely to become a stay at home mom. And then I wrote a book. It was certainly a path I never thought I’d take, and I want my boys to do the same. Follow the passion. Take the road less traveled. What’s the worst that could happen? They fail? Well, find a different path. And if all else fails, fortunately they will know they can always come to mom and dad for help.
Raising boys in today’s world is fun and interesting, but also scary. With men being behind so much of the daily violence we hear about, I feel like raising boys comes with expectations for how they will grow from boys to men. I have a few expectations of my own. First and foremost, I expect respect. I expect that my boys will respect themselves, women, men, their surroundings, and everything else in between. With respect comes overall decency. And I think we as parents all want our kids to grow up to be decent humans. When you give respect, you get respect. It’s a simple concept but isn’t acknowledged nearly enough.
I expect my boys to always speak their minds (in a respectful way of course). If they see or hear or are involved in something they don’t agree with, I expect them to speak up. Silence is not an option. Silence, in my opinion, is often times worse than the consequences of words. Be the one who stands up for the kid who gets picked on. And then become their friend. Be the one who says no after ten people have said yes. And then get people to understand you. Be the one who does the right thing, not just because everyone else is doing it.
Be strong. Be you. Be your own voice.
I expect inclusiveness and open minds. Everyone is different in their own beautiful ways, and I expect my boys to embrace that. Being different isn’t bad. And there is no definition of “normal”. What is normal anyway? I expect my boys to keep open minds in all situations. Agree to disagree. Include everyone no matter what.
When I was in elementary school, my mom and I would always invite every single kiddo in the class to my birthday parties. My birthday was at the end of the school year, so she would do a huge pool party for my whole class. It was amazing. I remember my mom saying, we will always invite everyone in the class, because for some kids, this may be the only party they get invited to all year. My boys will do the same. These gestures may seem little in the grand scheme of the world. But I am a firm believer that the little things turn in to the big things. Birthday party behavior turns into college party behavior which then turns into housewarming party behavior. The choices made when kids are small set them up for the choices they make when they are big.
So, the next time you find yourself thinking about the crazy world and all of its issues, take a moment and think about your little people. Remember the complex intricacies of that parenting bead.What do you want for your kiddos and what do you expect from them? How will they be able to make the world just a little bit better? After all, they are our future, and the future always arrives before we expect it to.
The Parenting Bead: Part 1
Ever hear the phrase, “It’s like drinking from a firehose?” That’s how I like to think about being a parent. Except, I would adjust the phrase to include, “It’s like drinking from a firehose, and your kids are in charge of the hose.” Don’t get me wrong, us parents are still in control. Or at least we would like to think we are. Some days, the hose is at a dribble; it’s calm, everyone is dry. Other days, it’s full blast; everything is chaotic, and you’re about to drown.
Then, there is this happy medium, this beautiful space in between that makes it all worth it.
It’s that part of parenting that is exciting and challenging, yet manageable. The parenting bead is all kinds of funky looking. It’s bright in some spots, dull in others. There might be a few chips here and there, but overall, it is a prominent bead on the necklace. One that is with you for life and will always be near and dear to your heart.
I am the proud mama to two crazy red-headed boys, Tyler who is 4, and Logan who is 1. They are both excellent at managing their own personal firehoses and each come with their own quirks and personalities. One was my dream sleeper from 2 months old; the other gave us a run for our money until month 6. One is a snuggle bug, the other would like his own space across the room. One came into our lives via one round of fertility meds, the other, the painstaking route of IVF. Each of my boys bring me equal amounts of joy and frustration I honestly never thought I could experience in my life. I learn something from them every single day, and truly can’t imagine life without them.
When people hear I am the mom to two boys, it’s as if I have suddenly turned into Xena the Princess Warrior. TWO BOYS? Wow! That must be insane! Yes, yes it is. I am always on the lookout for flying objects that shouldn’t be in the air, trying not to lose my shit but half the time losing it anyway, cleaning pee off toilet seats 18 times a day, and making sure I have enough food to feed my teenage toddlers. I also love doing crafts with my oldest, cozying up under the pillow fort to watch movies, being a shoulder to cry on, and opening my arms for big bear hugs.
The insanity versus the calm and all the spaces in between – dance parties in the kitchen, soccer games, music class, and the list goes on. That is what raising our kiddos is all about. Taking the bad and the crazy with the good and the calm. There are days where my husband and I look at each other and wonder how we are going to get through the day. When Logan has teeth coming in and literally won’t stop shrieking. When Tyler decides to assert his wise 4-year-old opinions on literally anything and everything. It’s exhausting and you end the day feeling like a shell of your former self. But then there are days where my husband and I will look at each other at the end of the day and smile because we enjoyed ourselves so much. We didn’t just survive the day. We lived it.
This whole parenting thing is not for the faint of heart. It is a rollercoaster of happiness, fear, worry, the unknown, sadness, guilt, and so much more. And it is ok not to love it all the time. We all do our best every single day. We hope we are doing the right thing, making the right choice, raising good kids. And that’s all we can do.
To all of my fellow parents out there, you are crushing it. To all of the parents to be, parents hoping to be, and parents of those no longer with us, you are crushing it. The parenting bead is a special and complex one. Cherish it, protect it, polish it, share it. We are all in this together.