Tag Archives: Life

The Gift of Pneumonia: A Shift to Self-Care

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This picture is of me, March 21st, after a round of antibiotics had kicked in, relieving my pneumonia. Today, March 25th, I’m nearly 100% better. I can walk down the hill and back, but then need a nap. I am overly aware of how fortunate I am. My journey of self-isolating began weeks before California was mandated too: around Feb. 25th, a month ago. Bronchitis set in and I stopped teaching yoga at the hospital and also at a studio where I teach 5 classes weekly. Everything began to shift for me internally, spiritually, however, on the morning I woke my 18-year-old son urgently. I was coughing up blood. I needed his help. We decided to go to an urgent care, as my boss at the hospital had said the ER was slammed. In the urgent care, however, there were many people waiting to get in, some arriving from Europe, another from Egypt. I couldn’t stop coughing and I made my son wait in the car. I don’t think I realized the magnitude of the situation then. I do now. How fortunate am I to have been given antibiotics, and not been sent to the ER to be tested?? My Dr. told me it would be a risk to go to the ER now. I needed to behave as if I had COVID, take the antibiotics, isolate. If the antibiotics worked, I’d be okay. In reality, I could have tested positive. My boys had returned from Switzerland and England with their dad Feb. 23. Their dad and his girlfriend live in New York and travel the world nonstop. This family easily could have been infected with COVID 19. If I had tested positive, I might have been hospitalized and been isolated from my sons.

It occurred to me, a few days later, as I was editing a manuscript in bed and listening to them trying to cook, fending for themselves, that this could have been a complete disaster. Had I been hospitalized and separated from them, there were no plans, nothing set in place to protect/help them. My oldest son didn’t have enough money to handle this situation or buy food for himself and his little brother. He didn’t know how to access the accounts that I have. He didn’t know where my life insurance policy was. His dad should not fly here from Manhattan. It was ground zero for COVID19. It would not be a good idea for him to get on a plane, risk others, and come here, risking the boys.

It’s funny how all my life I have lived with a deep sense of the importance of serving others—perhaps to justify my existence, my worth. I learned this from my mother, a child-protective services social worker and avid volunteer. Yet, serving others to the point that I’m not taking optimal care of myself or my boys, makes zero sense. I have been a FT single mother for 11 years. You’d think I would have this down by now. But, in retrospect, I had been teaching far too much yoga, missing dinners, missing homework times with my sons, now 11 and 18. I had been tackling far too many writing / editing assignments with corporate clients, forgetting my novels, my raison d’etre. Why? Because I thought I needed the money and needed to serve. But in reality, I’ve learned from this time of extreme isolation, that I could have just trimmed my finances to adjust to my priorities. Since I have been isolating and the boys have been home-schooling, we have given up all the extras: hair appointments, Starbucks, dinners out, babysitters, gym membership, all of the expensive kids activities such as martial arts, violin lessons, volleyball. We have been forced to give this all up due to social distancing. And do you know what? We don’t really miss it. My oldest misses soccer, but at least that was free :).

 

Since I have been in isolation, I have taken on all that intimidated me in the past. I did an audit of my accounts. My financial adviser was far too conservative and earned way too much in fees. An account with him had earned zero in three years. Bull years at that! I transferred all of it out and am now making my own decisions, my own trades. I have up-dated all of my accounts too, putting my sons as equal beneficiaries. All of this information, and some cash, is in the locked safe. My oldest knows how to access all of this. I have said no to my boss at the yoga studio, who wanted me to record classes. I tried to record one yoga class, but was too winded and it took me and my son over 3 hours between shooting it and then editing it and it still wasn’t that good due to audio issues. My time is valuable. If I have little time here, I need to focus on what matters: my boys and my writing. One manuscript is edited again, another I am working on this week. All three manuscripts will be in my lock box as well.

If I get sick again, we now have a plan. My oldest will be in charge and he will not fly to see his dad (who left NYC and is now isolating in a Tennessee mountain cabin) for at least two weeks – wait and see how they are feeling and how his dad is feeling. Our garage has enough food for a week. He has money to go shopping.

For now, I am focussed 100 percent on this family and on my well-being and on my writing, the reason why I am here. I have audited out all the distractions. I have always meditated daily, but now am meditating twice daily. We will get though this. I firmly believe that we are all spiritual beings living a physical existence. Those who die from COVID19 will still exist. And they will be surrounded by unconditional love. I have never been afraid to die. But I am fearful for my boys to be alone, not supported, and to feel scared. There is only so much that is within my control.

Today, I am grateful for the reminder that self care, is equal to self love. During meditation, this is the affirming message I received: The love you seek to attract, the compassion you hope to attract, starts within. Love yourself. Care for yourself. Care for your family. It begins here, then will ripple outward miraculously.

Take good care all,

L. xo

Strength is the new Beautiful

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I snapped this picture three years ago when hiking up Machu Picchu. It’s just like me to stoop down and notice ferns peaking up out of weathered, ancient stones that are stomped on by thousands of tourists. The baby ferns growing between the cracks get stepped on daily by hundreds of people clad in hiking boots as they race up to the top to see ‘the vista’ everyone comes to Machu Picchu for. Yet the ferns continue to grow, like a gift of forgiveness to those who crush them. Cracks are beautiful. And people who show their cracks to the world are a blessing for those of us who try to hide our own.

I shot pictures of wild orchids peaking out from dead tree branches too. I’m obsessed with fragile beauty. It is vulnerable. It is hopeful. It is a living example of gentle strength that I hope to embody.

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An orchid blooming from a downed tree branch, is surviving—and blooming—against staggering odds. It encourages me to try to bloom where I am right now, no matter the circumstances, no matter how many times I have failed in the past, no matter the risks. To continue to bloom for a short, trying period, is an expression of gratitude for this tenuous life. It humbles me to see it. After failure or rejection, I tend to bury myself in my covers for days. I want to hide from the world. But to hide is a form of shame or fear. I can’t be seen if I hide. I can’t be rejected either. I may be safe, but I can not let you see me. There is no way you can see my flaws, or feel my love, or understand my fears, or even read my writing for that matter. Nor can I experience you, if I hide where you can’t find me.

So even though I’d rather not emerge in an authentic way—I’d rather not take the risk of failure or rejection—I will remember what nature teaches me. Every attempt to grow, to bloom, to show up, to keep going, is an act of faith, and love, and gratitude. If I can accept my cracks, and my fragile life exactly as it is right now, beautiful things may begin to emerge beneath the surface—that were likely there within me all along.

Keep going friends. And please encourage those who are striving despite the odds. Love those who show up in your life who are vulnerable and who reveal their imperfections. They are the ones who will accept you, as you are, and give your heart wings.

Love & Light,

Laura xo

 

 

 

Yoga + Meditation + Gratitude = Longer, Healthier Life.

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Here is my latest cover article for Pulse Magazine. I write for a lot of magazines, so why am I posting this one on my blog? Because it is for a traditional hospital publication. It reiterates what I’ve known for a long time. There is now NO doubt that yoga, meditation and a gratitude practice lengthens life, improves health, boosts mental outlook, and reduces pain and the intensity of disease. I love when I get the chance to write, research, and interview experts on topics I’m passionate about. I began doing yoga and meditating more than 10 years ago due to a bad back, a nasty divorce, and the stress of rearing a baby and a young son solo. The journey has helped me battle auto-immune disease and dark moments. I have taken multiple yoga trainings and now teach, while also free-lance writing. My life is more positive. I feel joy on the daily. I am more patient and more present with my boys. And I see how much yoga has helped my yoga students who are in pain from cancer or arthritis or injuries.

Now physicians and scientists in the West confirm what I have felt and seen through many studies conducted at Harvard, the Centers for Disease Control, UCLA and elsewhere. Some studies showed how meditation and a gratitude practice helped to reduce cancer tumors and/ or the intensity of pain and side-effects from cancer treatments such as chemo or radiation. Other studies showed an increase in memory from meditation. Others showed how meditation, especially, increased the capacity for joy and reduced depression.

 

One day I envision an America where therapeutic yoga and meditation classes will be a standard benefit offered within corporations and covered by medical insurance policies. Lowering stress means reducing toxic cortisol and glucagon hormones within the body. It is widely accepted within western medicine that cancer grows within acidic environments. It is also known that a flush in cortisol, (that happens when individuals are stressed or anxious or angry) causes the gut to not thoroughly digest vitamins and nutrients correctly. This flush of cortisol also tightens connective tissue which reduces the flow of our lymph system and makes us more vulnerable to the flu. Stress also increases inflammation, ramps up blood pressure, creates tension headaches, muscle spasms and even increases the chance of stroke and heart beat irregularity. Taking preventative care of ourselves ought to be a primary concern—and not just for the privileged and wealthy in this country. I’m glad to know that yoga and meditation is now taught at reduced rates in hospitals (where I also teach) and community centers, as yoga studios can charge high rates. Most yoga studios, however, will also offer low-fee community classes once a week, which I highly encourage people to try.

Here’s to a low stress and blessed week.

Namaste ~

Laura

 

Embracing the Divine Feminine within a #metoo & Hookup World

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Can we as women embrace the divine feminine within, while also demand to be taken seriously as an intellectual equal of strength and character? Most of my female friends will say, “Hell yes.” But I’m not so sure that my male friends will agree (amongst each other). A woman in a bikini who looks sexy, is also a person who may write articles for the New York Times, or creates legal briefs, or who rocks a baby to sleep. She is a person of infinite depth and has found a way to embrace her health, vitality and beauty, without negating her intellect, strength, and roles within family and society. It’s a delicate balancing act. Just because we want to be taken seriously, doesn’t mean we have to hide our beauty. It is not our fault that desire creates a beast within some men. That’s like saying a girl deserved to be raped if she wore a short skirt. Yet, somehow, I still feel that it is our duty, as women, not to feed that beast and to refrain from behavior that spurs affairs and/or abuse.

 

I’ve been thinking a lot about this. It is wonderful to feel sexy, healthy, vital, energetic—at any age. I also know that whenever I post a picture in a sexy yoga pose, the men who ‘like’ the picture aren’t necessarily reading the Rumi quote or noting my yoga class schedule below it. Right? Women feed into the objectification that is rampant. We do. But that doesn’t mean we deserve to be lied to, cheated on, manipulated, or God forbid, drugged and date-raped. There’s a huge leap in the male thinking brain from: she’s hot, to: I can, and am entitled, to use her as a physical toy and throw her away after. A good friend of mine told me yesterday that her first date after her divorce resulted in being rooffied. She woke up in her ‘date’s bed, not remembering a thing. She had only had one glass of wine at the restaurant. LORD. She’s in her fifties. This sort of thing happened a lot during my college years and my graduate school years in New York. I heard stories from friends often and I once ended up in the hospital after someone roofied me. Luckily, I wasn’t raped, but I passed out, hit my head in a restaurant bathroom and the cops were called.

I am taking a big sigh as I write this.

Have we not evolved?

I want my nieces to grow up into strong, self-confident, independent women who unabashedly embrace their sense of beauty and vitality. Just because many men want to hook up and treat beautiful women like objects, doesn’t mean we have to hide and cover up either. We just need to be smart, stay alert, and not drink during first dates or put ourselves knowingly into harms way. (See my interview  with Pat Allen, relationship expert, best-selling author of Getting to I DO and expert on Millionaire Matchmaker)

 

Pat, who was actually my therapist during my ex-husband’s affair, has been saying for years, what DeVon Franklin re-iterates in his new book The Truth About Men. That is, that men are not wired for monogamy. They have a lust problem. Not all men cheat, clearly, but all wrestle with desire, even when in love with their wives. Their lust struggle doesn’t go away. DeVon refers to male lust as “the Dog.” And in his book, lust is about power, as much as it is about female conquest. If a man can commit to his profession full-heartedly, he can commit to a woman and family, he explains. Society and the lack of good male or father figure role models, makes is easy for successful men, especially, to not look in the mirror and to continue to indulge the dog, even within committed relationships. An interesting side-note, men who cheat, according to DeVon, are those who were abandoned by fathers or had poor relationships with fathers. Women who cheat, however, typically have put up with too much abuse or neglect and leave a relationship. Men who cheat, are often not in bad relationships at all. Hmmm…So how, as women, do we navigate that one or the fear that it instills when we begin a new relationship?

 

Well, I don’t have an answer. I do know that really good men cheat and feel horrible about it after. But it breaks my heart when women, who have been cheated on, or lied to, ghosted, or made to feel lesser than by a man in their life, take it personally, by thinking they somehow aren’t worthy, deserving, or sexy, etc. And some men, justifying their bad treatment of women, can say horrible things. I know. I heard them, to the point that I believed that I wasn’t sexy or beautiful during my divorce. Yoga and my yoga trainings saved me and helped me to embrace my physicality as well as my spirituality and get back into my writing. I shifted gears and stopped worrying about what was said or done. I’ve since let that shit go. I don’t need to prove anything, but I do want to feel good for myself and remain vital, healthy, so I can be a strong single mom for my boys.

I adore Reese Witherspoon, my fellow southerner, who is strong, and beautiful and calls into question just what a powerful businesswoman is supposed to look like. When I was in college I heard a lot folks saying I was the character from Legally Blond. I covered the legal beat at the Red and Black newspaper at the University of Georgia. I was in a sorority, had long blond hair, wore make up, yet still wrote essays and interviewed supreme court judges for public radio and slept on the streets with the homeless during campaigns to effect change. Why not? What rules in society exist that stipulates that in order to be strong, intelligent and successful as a woman, you can’t wear sundresses, or make up? Or be sexy, and spiritual for that matter. Honestly.

This is what I want to say to my adorable nieces, and to my boys who I pray grow into men of character: respect the light within each person you encounter. If you treat others with dignity—and that means yourself as well—you will hopefully, never be in a situation that makes you feel less then, entitled to take advantage, or used. Communicate honestly, girls, by asking the man in your life what his intentions are. Don’t assume he’s committed. Don’t drink too much and put yourself into sticky situations where others can gain control. And, boys, if you see or hear something, like a fraternity brother bragging about date raping, or drugging a girl, stand up, like a man with character, and turn him in or challenge him. Think of your beautiful cousins and the daughters you may have one day. And don’t drink too much, as that can entitle the dog to bark, as DeVon says.

Friends, chime in. What are your thoughts?

Love & Light,
Laura x

Kitty CRAZY!

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This picture is what started it all. Last summer, my James fell in love with a calico cat who visited us in our barn in Greece during my yoga & writers retreat. She chased grasshoppers and shooed away spiders and bees and purred and snuggled and was just adorable. But what I failed to realize, is that she was a cat, not a calico kitten. So…seeing that my son was in need of more unconditional love around the house after our move, I adopted a calico kitten that looks much like our beloved Greek cat. A yoga student, who had seen this picture, called me and proclaimed it was destiny, we had to have this look-a-like kitten. While my boys were with their dad this August, I adopted this little one. But the stars weren’t exactly aligned with this one. Just my luck. Who knew something so cute could end up more like the bunny from hell in Monty Python?!

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Don’t let her cuteness fool you. Sweet, adorable Tabitha, my crazed arch-nemesis! Notice her collar? She’s had this for three weeks due to an infected paw that won’t heal. This hyper diaper high energy gal climbs window screens, tearing them and re-infecting her paw, even after two shots of antibiotics, one round of pills and three different lotion medications. She’s managed to find ways to rip mattresses open from underneath, climbing up inside them and clawing at the coils. A master of untangling woven baskets, and a natural at flying directly up to the top of our refrigerator, only to fly out across our kitchen, as if by hang-glider, landing anywhere: on a lit stove burner, countertops with bowls of prepared food, you name it, she lands on it. Yup, she’s certifiable. And it’s not like she doesn’t have toys. So many, my den resembles a pet shop. But she prefers ‘other’ ways to get her energy out. Like tackling and scratching my ankles the moment I walk into my house—biting my calves deeply as I try to shake her off. In rare sleepy moments where she resembles past kittens of mine who like to snuggle, if I make the mistake of picking her up, she often bites my cheek or chin, so deeply, a few of my students wondered if I had had surgery for skin cancer. I’m not kidding.

For the love of my son, I mentally tell myself: “it’s only a flesh wound.” My youngest adores her. Tabitha sleeps in his bunk bed and even when she scratches or bites him, James still loves her and reminds everyone that she doesn’t mean it, it’s just instinctual. Well, I grew up with cats and I know for a fact that not all kittens are like this. But I just nod to him and wonder what I did to adopt a crazed animal like this who injects stress and frustration and high frequency energy into my house. During the day when I write, I lock myself into my room, not allowing her in, and lock all the bedroom doors and bathroom door so she can’t reek havoc.

Just when I’ve had it and am considering giving this expensive kitten away (four visits to the vet already for her damn paw!) James crept up behind me last week, put him arms around my waist and said: “Thank you SO much for Tabitha! She’s the best gift I’ve ever received. I just love her.”

Geez, well I can’t give the devil cat away now, can I? So, what can I do? Every time I scoop her poop or swat her away from our dinner table, after she’s thrust a dirty paw into my meal, I bite my lip and swallow down the strong urge to pick this little urchin up and throw her into the next door neighbor’s yard with a doberman pincher. Lets just pray that I make it sanely to next year, when the Vet insists that she’ll finally “chill out.”

Sigh. What I do for my children.

The Light We Lost: Cosmic Connection? Or Addiction?

The Light We Lost is a must read for all my girlfriends—single or married. Please, all of you, read this book. Jill Santopolo dives into the age-old question: “Why do I love him so much?” She explores why a woman could love one man passionately, insanely, recklessly—and continue to think of him for more than a decade—granting second chances, friendship and compassion—when he had the potential to crush her. Even after he had left her, broke her heart, called only when depressed, and behaved selfishly for years—she always allowed him back in. WHY?

I adore The Light We Lost for so many reasons. Jill is honest in how she portrays Lucy’s weakness for Gabe, who had, and would always, put his needs before hers—whether that be his career or his work out. Even when they lived together, he had major issues. He was secretive to the point of finding a job and arranging to move without telling her; flirty with other women; and not attentive to her feelings when at parties. He was confusing. Gabe proclaimed Lucy was his light, his muse and professed an undying love for her—yet Lucy never met his mother, whom he adored. You get the idea. But Lucy loved Gabe with an unapologetic intensity that she couldn’t control. She loved him more and more over the years—even while married to her stable, successful, happy and loving husband, whose only real crimes seemed to be planning trips to Paris and buying a dog and a beach house, all as surprises for her. 

One could argue that Jill Santopolo’s debut novel romanticized the obsession many women have with the lovable, yet commitment phobic, unobtainable guy. Others may think she romanticized a woman’s longing for heat, lust, good sex with a bad boy, or an exciting and intriguing man. (Gabe took photos for the Associated Press in war regions.) But that’s not a comprehensive answer. I think Lucy’s inability to let Gabe go was rooted deeply in her need not to become her mother and to be seen, heard and respected. Gabe had his faults, but he also listened to, and encouraged Lucy, in all her dreams and career aspirations. Lucy’s husband Darren referred to her career as “cute” and asked for her to stay home with their baby instead of going back to work, using manipulative phrases like: “Don’t you want to stay home? Who else would take as good care of her?” Gabe would never do that, she had mused. Yet Gabe would also be gone for months on end while on the front lines in wars. He wasn’t the logical man to have a child with. And Lucy knew this. Yet she always picked up the phone when he called, even on her wedding day. She became intimate emotionally within the first breath, focussing on whatever His emergency was, whatever His pain was. She raced to see him whenever he was back in New York, even after she was married. It was a risky choice that put the intimacy with her husband at risk.

This book will snare you in, dear girlfriends, from the moment she and Gabe discuss their dreams during their first college date on 9-11. As you read how interested Gabe is in her need to make a difference, to help children all over the world, you’ll wish you had a man like him to talk with. The scenes of him reading her scripts, or helping her form ideas for her children’s TV show, will make you jealous. He cared, and was involved, committed to supporting her success. He was into her: her dreams, her ideas, her thoughts. The two inspired each other to be more, and to keep striving to make a difference. That’s heady stuff. As life chugs along with adulting choices that often require compromises, many women, especially moms, get lost. Lucy wanted to keep that determined, savvy, creative part of herself that Gabe always saw. She missed being able to talk with him about new show ideas. Her husband didn’t care about her job at all.

The fact that Gabe was also hot, romantic, overly sexual, unavailable for long-term commitments, yet still needed her, and her alone, during every crisis—was like crack to Lucy. Add the detail that Gabe was a wounded soul from an abusive father, and now you’ve combined crack with heroine for just about any woman.

This book will help you, my girlfriends, see your own obsessions, co-dependent tendencies and any man who became like a drug for you. I doubt there are real Gabes on this planet—yet there are men who have some of his alluring qualities: the artist; the romantic; the compassionate; the wounded; the leaver, the commitment phobic, yet emotionally intimate; the secretive; the dynamic; the listener; the supporter; the sexual dynamo; the wanderer; the brave; the Shakespeare quoter, you get the idea. He had so many hooks for Lucy, but think back and notice which similar hook was within the one you couldn’t say no to. The one you betrayed your self respect for by taking back again and again due to your irrational love that you    just    could    NOT      LET      GO.

Maybe you’re still fighting the temptation? Maybe he’s the one you could take back again, because you just don’t understand why you love him so. Even after he has hurt you time and time again and shown an inability to respect, love or be available for you, a part of you wants him back, right? It’s not explainable. The idea of never smelling him again or hearing the sound of his whisper in your ear, or his hand on your low back is excruciating, isn’t it? Maybe it’s romantic. Maybe he’s your soul mate or husband from another life time. I’m sure you think the connection is cosmic.

But maybe, just maybe, he’s an addiction.

Read her book, girlfriends. And tell me what you came up with! 🙂

L. xo

#enough.

My Dear Neighbor:

I do not know you. But I do know one thing. You are NOT physically OK like the police report stated. Not just after what you went through. After your body heals, you are not going to be mentally or spiritually OK for a long time either. My heart goes out to you. The clean-cut, nicely dressed stranger, who brazenly walked into your front door on Sunday afternoon and raped you, is sick. And he may attack others. The sheer audacity of a man to walk into your front door, on a Sunday, and then just walk out the front door after the attack, is terrifying. I imagine that you will re-play that horrific experience over and over again every time you come back home. The violation; the brazen lack of fear; the violence; the planning that likely went into it.

This man may have walked away free, and may not think much about it later—but you, my dear neighbor, will likely never forget it. You are changed forever. I wish I could say that you’ll be fine. I wish I could say that you won’t have nightmares, or that you won’t get up in the middle of the night and check your locks repeatedly. I wish I could say that you’ll soon feel sexy and free and trusting again. But it will take time. And there will be flash backs.

Your friends, who you dare to tell, may not show up for you, as rape is a subject no one is comfortable with. Even the most ‘spiritual’ of your friends may forget about it a few months from now because they don’t want to think about it. You will likely avoid them, or avoid taking ubers home alone, or avoid walking into your house alone for years. Forgive your friends for not checking in six months from now when you become paralyzed and debilitated with fear. No one wants to think about rape, or the world-shattering effects it has on a person’s life.

But we need to think about it. And we need to care more. Rape is an epidemic in our country. Every 98 seconds a woman is sexually assaulted in America, according to RAINN.org. One in every six American women has either been raped, or been a victim of an attempted rape. It’s mind-blowing. It’s shocking. It’s disgusting.

My neighbor, you may feel overwhelmed, angry, helpless and hopeless. Move through all the feelings, get help from a therapist, and then fight your way back to hope again.

All men are not like this man. And even though it can seem like we women are now surrounded by misogynistic and degrading men everywhere we turn— from our president, to our favorite talk show hosts. But not all men hate women. You will feel safe in your house again. Maybe you’ll get a dog who will charge down anyone who tries to enter—like mine did—saving me from a home invasion 15 years ago.

Just know this, dear neighbor: love exists, even in the broken places.

You will laugh again.

You will get stronger.

You will love again.

You will heal.

You will not always be scared.

If you ever read this blog and want to find me, my doors and arms are open, and I will listen to you any day, any time.

Now to the pathetic excuse of a man who attacked you:

Rape is an attack of a person’s soul. In my eyes, what you did is the same as attempted murder. You tried to murder this woman’s life as it once existed.

You may have gotten away with it this time, but Karma is a Bitch. 

Maybe, as Marianne Williamson says, love is the only thing that is real, and all violence is an illusion—but I see you. I see you right now lingering in your dark, shadow vibration that wants to, and feels entitled to, hurt others. And I know deep down that you see your worthless and disgusting behavior for what it is.

You will not get away with this in the long run. No matter how many others you attack. You will get caught. And when you die, I pray that you will have to re-live this moment and any others. I pray that somehow, someway, the angels and spirit guides for all the women you have attacked, will show you just what rape feels like—from the inside out. You will feel and see their fear, their pain, their tears, as your own. Isn’t that what ‘One Love’ is all about? See, I’m one of those southern yogis who believes that the Holy Spirit moves powerfully within the flow of Universal forces that steer us in the direction of love. And love isn’t just an ethereal feeling. To love is to try to understand, and to care, and to be kind, and to empathize and to hold yourself accountable and to make amends when you don’t treat others, as you would have yourself be treated.

You will, one day, truly understand what you have done. You cannot fool God. As you sow, so shall you reap. I pray that you will be personally guided closely toward that conscious light of love. I pray that you will be steered up-close and thrust within its blinding light.

Can you feel it burning?

You will.

Achieving Equality: A PipeDream?

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Pic from ExhaustedWoman.com

 

Did you go into your marriage, pre-children, expecting to have equitable parenting duties with your husband? Did it ever occur to you that your career would be deemed less important, therefore you’d be expected to have more time to shop, clean, care-take? Did you ever imagine that you would have less time off to replenish, while working more than your spouse? If you knew all this going into your marriage, would you feel differently about your husband?

Equitable parenting duties. Equal time off. Mutual respect. In 2018, according to multiple studies, these are still drastically missing within heterosexual couples who have children.

In reality, for most American women, these ideas are mere pipe dreams. It’s just not how our society, and how most fathers, behave. Period. End of story. There is a lot of research to back this up. See the links below for in-depth articles in The Washington Post, Forbes and Time magazines. 

Maybe in the top echelons of society among very young couples who live in democratic, liberal University settings, do you see fathers who are doing more and are behaving with more respect. But for the most part, throughout America, at every age and social and economic demographic, this isn’t the case. A woman’s career can be treated like a hobby and not as important as a man’s, by his behavior—forcing a woman to feel battered into doing the lion’s share of parenting, cleaning, care-taking of in-laws, parents and organizing of family activities.

For example, one mom interviewed said her husband “Just doesn’t get up.” She explained that her young husband will remain drinking his coffee at the kitchen table and checking his phone, while his wife, also a full-time working executive, is racing to put together backpacks, get the children dressed, prepare lunches. It puts her at a disadvantage with work as well as loading her down with stress, anxiety and bitterness—resulting in poor health and marital resentments, lack of sex drive and dissipating connection between mom and dad. And the children notice. They see what we do, much more than what we say—and model our behavior. Which is why many experts say the misogyny behind the #metoo movement, has its roots at home where mom is undervalued, taken for granted and disrespected.

In the Washington Post article Where do Kids Learn to Undervalue Women? From Their Parents, multiple studies showed that: “even progressive spouses don’t divide burdens equitably. The children notice.”

According to university research, conclusions ranged from misogyny budding from modeled parent behavior to malignant gender dynamics being passed down generation to generation.

Sadly, recent studies showed the following, reported by Darcy Lockman:

“Among heterosexual parents, fathers — even the youngest and most theoretically progressive among them — do not partake generously of the workload at home. Employed women partnered with employed men carry 65 percent of the family’s child-care responsibilities, a figure that has held steady since the turn of the century. Women with babies enjoy half as much leisure time on weekends as their husbands. Working mothers with preschool-age children are 2 1/2 times as likely to perform middle-of-the-night care as their husbands. And in hours not so easily tallied, mothers remain almost solely in charge of the endless managerial care that comes with raising children: securing babysitters, filling out school forms, sorting through hand-me-downs.”

Ey ey ey people.

I feel strongly that this lack of respect and “unawareness” among fathers who overburden their wives by not stepping up, is the root of divorce. I’ve seen so many moms become severely bitter, insecure and disconnected without hope they can ever achieve their dreams within this family dynamic. This is likely the reason why so many mothers look forward to their alcohol binging nights out with other moms, highlighted in The Bad Moms movies. And it is also why I, as a full time single mother for the past nine years, feel extremely lucky. At least as a sole parent, I don’t have ANY expectations that a partner will be, or should be, doing ANYTHING for me and my boys within the household on a daily basis. No one will be prepping for schools, buying foods, cooking dinners, planning sports and summer camps, going to parents nights or performances, yard work, etc. It’s just me. Surprisingly, I find peace and liberation with this as I have lost all my bitterness from needing that from someone. I am also never, ever going to live with someone who may be critical of my appearance, or my house’s appearance, my cooking (or lack thereof), or parenting abilities—while also pouting about my lack of sexual desire at the end of the night. I’m tired. Yet, I’m following my dreams again and writing novels and teaching yoga and my boys know that mommy needs help at home and that her dreams are just as important as their own.

When I was married, my older son was learning something different. He was learning that mommy’s dreams don’t count, because they don’t pay as well as daddy’s, and that she needs to do the lion share of parenting and cleaning and deserves less time off than daddy. And I’m to blame for allowing this dynamic. I used to think my ex taking our son to the park on a Saturday afternoon, after he had been gone all week and I had spent late-nights catching up on work, meant that I had an hour to clean the house and race to the grocery store. It didn’t occur to me to get a massage and let him help me do the other stuff later. Yet I was working full time as a magazine editor and taking care of our son solo and staying up late managing deadlines. Where did I get this misconception that I had to work, work, work and never rest? From my parent dynamic of a working full – time mother who did all the parenting. It really does get passed down generation to generation and women (especially those raised in the South) are taught to believe that they are just more compassionate, better organized, better at cooking, more patient and therefore, better at parenting, so it’s easier for us. I can’t tell you how many times I heard friends prepare weeks of food for their husbands before leaving for a work trip because their husbands “just can’t open a can of soup.”

This has to stop. Having a penis doesn’t mean a man can’t cook, tuck a child into bed, read bedtime stories, grocery shop, plan birthday parties, volunteer at schools, design holiday cards, and help with in-law care-taking. None of these activities are exclusively made for humans with vaginas. But I understand why women just do the extra work when they fear that it just won’t get done otherwise.

It took divorce and becoming a full-time single mother for me to realize that I allowed this toxic, old-fashioned inequitable dynamic to exist by not demanding my ex do more. If I had boycotted the home situation, protested, left for an extended amount of time while leaving our child at home, perhaps my ex would have seen what was going on. Or likely, he would have hired a full-time nanny and not fretted about the cost.

I predict there will be a shift in the American family (heterosexual) dynamic within the next 50 years where women just opt out. We’re tired. And we’re worthy of time off and help. It’s time for us to raise our hands, lift our white flags and say ENOUGH. Doing it all and being everything to everyone, enables a toxic old-fashioned view of parenting, and is just not worth ruining our health and forgetting our dreams for.

If this has riled you up, sadly, here are more articles and studies regarding the lack of gender equality in American households and society:

“A stunning chart shows the true cause of the gender wage gap.” 

“From concubine to CEO, how far have women really come?” Forbes, Dec. 20, 2015

“The Parenting Fantasy that holds Women Back” Time, Oct. 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can a Childhood Decision Shape Your Life? Anne Tyler Thinks So.

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Anne Tyler, one of my favorite authors, recently revealed that her next book Clock Dance, is based on her theory that a person’s entire life and identity can be shaped by a single decision made in early childhood. As early as seven years of age, Tyler says a child can know exactly who they want to be and what type of temperament they want to have. For instance, Tyler said in her published Note prefacing Clock Dance:
“I believe that our entire lives can be shaped by a single decision that we make during childhood as to who, exactly, we should be. As to how we should be, what kind of people we want to become. ”

She provides a few examples of decisions she made when seven years of age, after studying the two grown ups in her life. Upon comparison of her parents, Tyler decided that she’d rather be like the steady, gentle, patient one, instead of the sharp tempered and erratic one. And that being the case, she knew she’d have to not marry anyone patient, as clearly, there “is only a certain amount of patience to be had, and you don’t want it all to go to the other person.”

She leads readers to surmise that one decision to be the patient one, basically formed her life and became the catalyst for her next best selling novel.

Do you agree with her theory? Can we decide as early as seven who we will become? What our personality traits will be? Maybe. But then again, don’t we always have the opportunity for reflection and to change, to grow? Or maybe we just humor ourselves with the idea that we can or will change, yet underlying personality traits of either being hyper, dramatic, patient, shy, short-tempered, etc. are embedded into our soul like a watermark that never leaves. So are we born with any genetic predispositions, or do we choose all of our personality traits based on our environments and what we choose to become?

What do you think?

To Let Go & To Allow = Freedom

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There is an energy in the Universe that is within you and within me and is connected to a Divine Source. It doesn’t matter whether you believe in God via Catholicism, or Judaism or Hinduism or Taoism or Buddhism or are a Muslim. Maybe you don’t believe in God and you refer to It as the Universe or Christ Consciousness or Buddha consciousness, or an HP as folks in 12 step programs do. We are each eternal and connected to the Universe that created intricate flowers, tides, sunsets, animals, stars. As I say in yoga, we are human beings, not human doings. We are linked to one another, even if you may not want to be linked to that someone who hasn’t behaved in a light-filled way. There is a time to fall away, there is a time to step up and I’m becoming increasingly aware of the need to stop judging, and to embrace acceptance in a rebellious way. IF I trust the Universe, and the energy within me that is connected to that Divine Source, and I trust it is in you as well, I can accept what happens and I can let go with love anything that doesn’t serve me. IF I can think only good thoughts of you, without trying to control or manipulate, you will feel that good energy. And this is how I can flow and move on from those who have hurt me, as they are teachers. And IF I can think that the Universe only wants me to grow and expand consciously into love, I can allow everyone in my life to be exactly who they are. I can trust that the flow of my life is moving along a path toward my Dharma, my purpose. And IF I can trust that life force and energy and love that I feel when I meditate and connect to my intuition, and IF I am brave enough to follow my purpose and not cower to my fear, life will continue to flow and continue to bring in the people who will reflect and support that love and light.

 

So this Friday as I pack up and move into a house that is smaller and cheaper and will allow me to continue with my writing and my yoga, I am filled with happiness and gratitude. My boys are learning that their happiness is not based on how big their rooms are or how much STUFF they have. Happiness is based on living our lives with purpose and joy and in the flow of our inner voices. So we are simplifying and all three of us are really filled with peace about this next move, this next chapter.

 

Happy first weekend of summer! For more inspiration, watch this video by one of my mentors, Wayne Dyer (who did hot yoga every morning of his life, btw!). Love & Light!