50 Shades of We Should Want More

First I meant to post something about Valentine’s Day, how much I love it, how much I just love the idea of a day devoted to love. All kinds of love, not just romantic love. Anyway, I didn’t do it even though lots of thoughts on love kept wafting through my head.

Then I wanted to write something about “50 Shades of Grey,” going so far as to go see it by myself last week. I was really taking one for the team on that one. I did write, with my wonderful writing partner, a humorous take on the movie in our column, "The Fix-it Sisters," but I wanted to write something more. I’ve started and stalled a few different posts and gotten nowhere. Somehow I can’t stop thinking about both of these things - love and “50 Shades.” and how they don’t have a whole lot to do with each other.

When I think about love, romantic love, I think about all the ways it's supposed to make you feel good. That it’s this wonderful safe place to be. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry” was a ridiculous line from “Love Story,” I think it’s saying you’re sorry as often as needed, and that loving someone means treating them with respect and kindness. Safe.

I am all for consenting adults doing whatever they want to do together in the privacy of their bedrooms, or Red Rooms as it were, but I think what Christian and Anastasia were engaged in was not love. And that’s okay if that’s what they want. The not-so-great part is when young men and women think THAT’S what love looks like. It’s not. What Christian Grey is into is what someone who has some really deep emotional problems they haven’t dealt with looks like.

In my mind loving someone doesn’t involve wanting to see them in pain or humiliating them in any way. And the fact that despite the controlling, the stalking, the hitting, Anastasia thinks she loves Christian is concerning. That’s not love. That’s something else altogether, but it’s not love.

When the “50 Shades” phenomenon swept the globe a few years ago I was mostly envious of the author for creating something that did so well that everyone at her publishing house got a huge bonus. As a writer I wanted that too. I didn’t read the books, but got the gist, and it didn’t hold much interest for me. I thought it was just about domination and submission, which lots of women obviously found very titillating. What surprised me when I saw the film was just how controlling outside the bedroom Christian was, to the point of spanking Ana when he disapproved of her behavior, punishing her like a child.

I get the whole psychology of women have to be in control at work, with their families etc etc, and so when they get in the bedroom it’s kind of nice to have someone take over and be a bit...forceful. But there’s a big leap from there to kneeling by the door waiting for him to come in, and him spanking you for behaving in a way he deemed inappropriate. That’s shaming and abusive. That’s not love.

Over the course of the week I’ve come up with some Love Rules inspired my my trip to the shady side of “50 Shades.”. I’m sure I will think of many more, and you may have some too. Feel free to add in the comments. In the meantime, here are a few.

1. Love isn’t controlling. If someone loves you they want you to have friends, do things that interest you, and have a life separate from them. It isn’t adorable if they don’t.
2. Love is not wanting to harm or humiliate someone. Enough said.
3. Love is letting someone be themselves. I don’t want to be someone’s project, and I don’t want to be in the people changing business myself.

“50 Shades” is being sold as a love story to women in particular, but it’s not about love, it’s about sex and shouldn’t be confused with love. There’s nothing wrong with movies that are about sex, but that’s a whole other animal. The books were essentially softcore porn peddled to mothers and wives who craved something to jump start their relationships that might have become a bit dull. That’s great, a lot of people probably had a lot of hot sex because of them. But young women flocking to see the movie shouldn't think being a submissive is the basis of a great relationship, and the men they date should really not think their partners want to be tied up and hit.

If Christian Grey wasn’t a billionaire who couldn’t buy Ana a car, new Macbook and take her in a fancy glider, he’d just be a weird creep. Money somehow sanitizes scary behavior. It shouldn’t.

People will most likely posit that Christian Grey is just a fantasy, but I can’t help but wonder, if as women, we couldn’t do better. Better by men, and so much better for ourselves.

A Farewell to "Parenthood"

I will announce right up front that there are spoilers here if you haven't watched the last episode!

With the end of the NBC series, "Parenthood" after 5 1/2 seasons, we have lost one of the few dramas on TV that isn't about murders, espionage, politics or medical crises. It was a series that was from its inception, about family.

"Parenthood" was about the Braverman family. The matriarch and patriarch, and their four adult offspring and their families. There were no forensics, no trials, no politics, well, except that one time when Kristina ran for office. It was about family and the lives lived within it.

It was that simple, and that complicated. And it was probably one of the most underrated series on television. Choosing to focus on the simple, the everyday, and beautifully so, it sadly fell under the radar for many viewers and critics.

For most of us, this is what life is. The drama is in the relationships, the ups, the downs, our jobs, and our children. Rarely have the nuances of real life been portrayed so well.

"Parenthood" always struggled in the ratings. Something I never understood. The cast was stellar, the writing spot-on and rich, and the characters all thoughtfully developed and multi-dimensional. But somehow it was always on the bubble as to whether it would be renewed or not.

There is I am sure criticism about being a bit of a tearjerker, but I would posit that it wasn't because it was overly dramatic or maudlin. The issues that the Braverman's struggled with were issues so many of us do. Aging parents, cancer, marital strife, substance abuse,  adoption, interracial marriage, a child struggling with Asperger's, financial stresses...these are among the things that many of us face.

This is what life is. It is being handed what feels like so much more than you can handle, and yet somehow you do. You hopefully find the support you need, and you get through. "Parenthood" was one of the very few series on network television that showed what real life looks like.

This was a series that had some of the best writing and direction seen on the small screen. At least on network television. The agility in which the writers kept all of the characters engaged, their story lines ever-evolving, was nothing short of masterful. The direction was always beautiful and unobtrusive.

And the cast. What can you say about this cast? What can't you say? They were brilliant, and their love and appreciation for each other shone through in every scene. Especially in this last season. Craig T. Nelson was masterful at portraying an aging man making choices about his health, and what he wanted his life, and its end to look like. Peter Krause, Lauren Graham, Ray Romano - in a role that showed a depth I never knew he had. Monica Potter, Dax Shepard, Bonnie Bedelia, and all of those talented children and supporting cast. Amazing. I don't know when we'll see a more talented cast assembled.

So let's talk about the tears. There was never an episode that didn't have me reaching for the tissues. And I think that's a good thing. Unlike a Nicholas Sparks' story, these tearful scenes were because the writing was so good, so moving. I never felt manipulated or like I wanted to throw something at the screen, which has been my inclination during an aforementioned Sparks sobfest. I cried because I could relate. No, I don't have a child with Asperger's, but I am a mom, and I know how it feels to love your child and to want everything to be okay for them.

More than anything, for me the appeal was that there were many times I wanted to leap in and be part of the big, messy and far-from-perfect Braverman family. Of course they could be a pain in the neck, and if I were a Braverman (oh, how I love saying that almost out loud) I am sure I would grow weary of them. But most of the time, almost all of the time, I would want to be swept up in a family that shows up. They show up for school events, meals together, and they love each other.

That's what I will miss. In a world of back-stabbing, scandals and procedurals, it was refreshing to spend an hour a week with family. Family that you know no matter what has your back.We are all so far flung, there is no way a regular Friday night dinner would be possible for most of us.

I can think of very few series finales that were as moving and true to the show as this. I admit within the first four minutes I was already crying, and by the end, after Zeek's death, I had soaked my cat's fur as I clung to him.

It might have not broken ratings records.but this show, (ever so loosely based on the movie of the same name) brought to TV by the very talented Jason Katims will I am sure, go down in history as one of the best dramas to grace our screens.

I refuse to say goodbye to the Braverman's. They will forever be in my heart, as well-crafted characters are wont to do. I will be forever grateful for all the hard work and talent that went into producing this show. Thank you for giving me a good reason to cry, a reason to feel, and something to aspire to as a mom, and a writer.

Making Friends with Change

As I sit writing this, there is a Christmas tree in the corner of the room. And on that tree is not one of my ornaments. The ornaments I’ve collected for 37 years. They, along with all the rest of my belongings have been in storage for a year.

I am wary of change. I’ve always liked things to be safe...predictable. Years ago I sat in a pew at First Parish Brewster and listened to Jim Robinson tell us - change is your friend and tried to believe that.

I clung to those words as I went through more changes than I can count. Divorce, children leaving for college, my parents deaths, breakups, loss of friendships, and job changes. For someone who has feared change as much as I have, I’ve been through a boatload of it.

So you may wonder,  why are all my things in storage?

Last year I sold my house. The house I’d lived in for 18 years. It was a house my former husband and I had built. I’d picked out every tile, light fixture and color. Even though it was too much for me financially and physically I clung to it. After so many changes, so many losses, this home was the only security I had. But with my back to the wall I took a leap of faith and sold it.

I will spare you the details of the awful, protracted and acrimonious real estate deal I went through, but suffice it to say, my fantasy of handing over my lovely home to someone who was wonderful and would love it the way I did, and having some security was dispelled. But I let go.  

Faith is what gets you through change. It is what allowed me to put one foot in front of another and keep going even when that felt impossible.

I have moved three times since January. I have not been able to find a year-round rental, and it’s been a struggle. After moving in with my boyfriend into his winter rental last January, I was positive by summer I’d find something. I didn’t. Thankfully, one of my dearest friends took us in for those eight weeks we had to leave. During that time she was diagnosed with breast cancer, and she and I both immediately knew that’s why I was there.

That’s the thing about change, it often isn’t until you’re in the middle of it, or slightly on the other side of it that you see the why. It’s having faith in knowing you don’t have to know, it’s trusting that maybe there’s a reason, and that change will lead you to a better more interesting place.

My marriage ended so I could grow into the person I was supposed to become. My son’s descent into and recovery from heroin addiction made me a better person. A stronger, more compassionate, less judgmental person. Selling my house and not having my things has made me see how little they really matter. It’s friendships, family and love that matter, not stuff.

It may be that despite myself I have begun to make friends with change, to be less afraid of it. I will still often try to avoid it, but I’ve learned a new motto, something I learned from the world of improv. When life throws me an opportunity to do something that challenges me, that scares me, instead of running away I have learned to say yes, please, and I have to say, my life has become much richer, fun, and interesting because of it.

On Fat Girls, Judging and Culture

Just A Little Lie

I was asked to write a story about a lie to read at an event. This is the one I recalled from my childhood. I hope you enjoy it!

I was an unusual child. A bit more worrisome, a bit more sensitive, never quite like everyone else. I always spent a lot of time alone amusing myself like I’m sure everyone did, by playing library with my dolls and stuffed animals.

I was scared of the life size doll who lived in the back of my closet, monsters under my bed and the dark.

I may have been a scardy cat, but I never lied. except the time I peed in a box in my closet when I was four, because, well, why not? After discovering the evidence my mom told me, quite sternly that we had been going to do something special that afternoon, but because of what I had done we weren’t She died five years ago having never told me what that special something was. The not knowing still haunts me.

With a history of not lying, and pretty much being a good girl to the enth degree, I set off for my first day of first grade. My outfit had been carefully planned - a smocked, plaid dress, new Mary Janes, ankle socks and a brand new super poofy petticoat that crinkled when I walked. I was a vision of five-year-old splendor.

What I now realize is I was so focused on how adorable my outfit was I failed to realize that once we got to school, me in my super cute outfit, that my Mom would be leaving. Leaving as in, I’d be alone with complete strangers. What was she thinking?!

I’d gone to a private kindergarten, but that was kid’s play compared to real school. This was the big time - more kids! Recess! Desks! All day long! Well, I would be walking home for lunch with my brother, but I was essentially being thrown out into the world for up to three hours at a time. I panicked. My brother was long gone into the super secret world known as  fifth grade. I was abandoned, alone - except for my teacher and 20 other kids. But for all intents and purposes I was totally alone.

Before class the teacher had us go out on the playground to get some fresh air and get acquainted. Alright, this could be good. A little hopscotch, a little jump rope. I could totally do this. I killed at jump rope.

But the thing was, no one came over to me to ask me to play. I stood there alone, too shy (or as I later discovered many self-help books later) introverted to approach anyone, and no one was seeking me out.

So, in a moment of what I now realize is pretty genius thinking, I did the only thing my five-almost six-year-old brain could think of. I grabbed my eye and started to cry. A teacher came running over, understandably concerned and asked me what was wrong.

“I have a piece of glass in my eye!” I wailed.Where this idea came from I have no idea, but looking back I think, well played little Candy.

Soon I was surrounded by all sorts of teachers, and the principal. What I could not comprehend at the time was that my father was their boss. A newly minted wunderkind superintendent brought in to fix an ailing school system. And here they were - first day of school and they had broken his only daughter. My mother was immediately summoned.

I’m sure on sight my mother knew the truth, but back in her arms everything felt okay once again. We walked home, me still insisting my eye hurt. She played along, rinsing it with some water, putting a  warm compress - her answer for everything - on it. I had some graham crackers and thought, okay, day one was done. But no, after lunch she took me back.

I ended up falling in love with my teacher, Miss Kennedy, the prettiest teacher ever. I was not the only one to fall for her however, one month into the school year she got married and left. My father was never able to secure another full time teacher for our class and we ended up with 22 substitutes over the school year. You can rightfully assume I didn’t handle all those changes very well, but I never pretended to have glass in my eye again.  From that day on I took a far more dignified approach - crying in a stall in the girl’s bathroom. A coping strategy I still  to this day find quite effective.

The Next New Thing

I recently upended my life. On purpose. And now I'm thinking, now what?

I decided last fall to sell my home of 17 years, which, as such a decision will, set forth a cascade of emotions, and more work than I ever could have expected. But now it's over. I've moved and I am feeling a little...lost.

We are not defined by our four walls, but they are the nest that holds us. The launching pad we thrust ourselves out into the world from. When the nest is gone, we lose a little bit of our sense of self.

Freed of a ridiculous amount of financial stress I feel like I can breathe again, And being a good student of years of therapy, and a life coach myself, I am practicing a lot of self-care, a term I must admit makes me cringe just a little. But I am taking care of myself. I joined a gym and go everyday, and am taking yoga three times a week. I am trying hard to put body and soul back together one downward facing dog at a time.

While most of my belongings are in storage while I figure out a longer term plan, I was smart enough to bring pieces of home with me. I am sleeping in my own bed, making bread dough in my Kitchen-Aid mixer, putting my feet up on my coffee table, and of course, snuggling with my cats. I am also living with a man who loves me very much, and whom I love. It's all good. I am supported, loved and healthy. So why do I feel so insecure? At times so scared?

It's because I've stepped out of my comfort zone, and that's always scary. It's the same part of us that stays in a relationship that isn't working because at least it's familiar. Even though I had an almost constant stomach ache over worrying about money, I was in MY house where I felt safe. I'm thinking this is an amended definition of insanity - continuing to do something that is incredibly stressful because to think of doing something else is way too scary.

I truly don't know what's next and it's the most exciting and frightening thing ever. I don't know where I'm living come July, but I have faith that it will all work out. I know it will. I have a writing partner I adore who challenges and inspires me to do more and to dream big.

Maybe that's the big takeaway - allowing myself to dream again. To shake off the shackles of servitude to a piece of property. My children are all grown and successfully living their lives and I can, for the first time since becoming a mom at 21, just think about what I want to do next.

The unknown is kind of a scary place for a control freak. I'm trying to make friends with it, and little by little I am. I have my moments where I miss my home so much it hurts, but when I remember the reality, that it was a very one-sided relationship, it helps. We needed to break up. It was time. And now there's a lot of room for all sorts of new things to bubble to the surface and I can't wait to see what's next. I think.

Tweaking (not twerking) a New Version of Yourself

Things have been a little less than wonderful lately, and I haven't exactly been graceful about it. Job and money stress have gotten the best of me. Thankfully I have a saint of a boyfriend who's listened to me, hugged me when I've been crying and not fled.

And, thank goodness I have a writing partner who reminded me of some very important realities. Like telling myself and others that I'm cloaked in failure and a loser were not exactly going to help me, and darn it, aren't true.

My fake sister, is a smart cookie. She pointed out that for each of us our default setting is optimism. We're both people who believe in what we are doing and are hard wired for happiness. I just forgot it for a minute. Okay, more than a minute.

The metaphorical kick in the pants turned it around. Everything is the same - I'm still looking for more work, and my bank account isn't too flush, but what changed is my attitude about it. I remembered that like attracts like and if I want good things that's what I need to focus on. When you're throwing around words like "failure," and "loser," and "broke" they impact your actions and view of the world. It also impacts how the world sees you.

"The Secret" gave kind of a bad rap to the law of attraction, and it's a shame because there is a great deal of truth to it. Think of going through your day with a smile versus a grimace and  see what comes your way.

It's not always easy to stay on the path. That's where a good friend/fake sister come in handy. It's easy to get discouraged. Life can be very hard. We can't control everything, but we can control what we say to ourselves and our reaction to adversity. Sure we're going to go through times when we feel like everything is falling apart, we're human. But if we're really lucky we have people around us who love us enough to remind us, it's all okay. And it's only going to get better.

Everyone Needs A Buddy

I was talking to my writing partner the other day about relationships because, well, we always have to talk before we get down to working.Susan and I are fake sisters in a fake advice column... yeah, it's kind of complicated. I love having a buddy to write with because most of my writing projects and hours are spent  alone. It is a joy to have someone wonderful to bounce things off of and inspire me to be better than I am alone.

As we were discussing the book we're working on we knew we wanted a chapter on relationships. She said before she got married someone said to her that marriage should be a sanctuary. "Everyone needs a buddy," she said.

That stuck with me. She's right. We do all need a buddy.

Since my divorce, 15 years ago, I have spent much of that time on my own without a special buddy.For a long time I didn't want anyone, I was all good being alone. I was never all alone, I had my kids, mom, brother, but not a guy. None of the men I dated felt like they were my buddy, that special person who is there for whatever comes up. I didn't always like it, but like Gretchen trying to make "fetch" happen in "Mean Girls," you can't make someone into a buddy if they're not into it.

I should back up here and define what I mean by buddy. In this instance what I mean is that person who's there for you through thick and thin. That person, who when you throw yourself on your bed in tears, the result of a mix of hormones and  overwhelm, clutching your cat (this is a purely hypothetical by the way and totally did not happen last night) hugs you, and tells you everything is going to be okay.A buddy.

Having a buddy doesn't fix everything, but it makes life a little bit easier and comfortable. It took me a long time to find someone buddy-worthy, and I like it. He signs up for things like accompanying me to a work-related cocktail party I know he'd rather miss, but he knows I'm shy and hate going alone. A true buddy does that. And I'm his buddy too... I'm in the audience at many events he's playing at and there to listen and give a good bucking up when needed. Buddies.

There's nothing that tells me that I need a husband, or that I need to be a wife, but I do need a buddy. I went without one for a very long time and now that I have it, I see how vital it is. Independence is great. I'm glad I spent a lot of time on my own, but after rescuing myself for many years, it's good to have back up. We all need backup. We all need a buddy.

On Being a Fatherless Daughter

Last night I watched "Oprah's Lifeclass" on Daddyless Daughters. As I watched and listened to these women talk about what it was like for them to grow up without a father I realized I have never had a friend who had the same experience I did. I've had friends whose dad's died when they were kids, but it's different when your dad leaves and has little to nothing to do with you for your entire life.

My father left when I was in second grade. No one said anything, he was just gone. My mother, brother and I moved, she went back to teaching and no one talked about it. I thought he was on a long business trip until one day I heard the word "divorce" when my mom was talking on the phone.


For a while he came to visit, but after a while it stopped. In high school I began to visit him once in a while, but it was never good. He'd drink too much. and he was so critical it was hardly satisfying. My father, in his brief forays into my life was obsessed with what I looked like. As long as I was thin and pretty I was lovable.
When daughters don't have a father they don't have a man who has set the standard for how they should be treated and what to expect from a man. We don't have a yardstick and inner confidence to know what we deserve so we don't always make good choices.

Girls like me who grew up without a father often either build walls and not let anyone in, or so desperate to be loved we settle for much less than we deserve. I have done both.

I married very young because I desperately wanted to create the safety of the family I never had. I worried my husband would leave and held on so tight he had no choice but to leave. And that was when I began to grow up and heal.

When the worst thing you think could happen to you - again - happens and you survive, it is empowering. When I was married I suffered from a debilitating panic disorder, when my marriage ended I got better. I think I thought if I was helpless he wouldn't leave, but he did. I let go of that because I no longer needed it.

I can't say I've been stellar in all my choices in relationships since my divorce. I am a natural born fixer, and a pleaser. It's easy for women like me to tolerate behaviors we shouldn't because it's hard to ask for what we need, because if you're not perfect they will leave. That's hard to say. So I will say it again. I have spent my life worrying that if I'm not perfect I will be left.

But the great thing is, you can heal, you can change, and you can make better choices. After years of not speaking up, of being treated in ways that were not worthy of just how wonderful I am, I made a conscious decision to choose differently. And when I redefined what I wanted and needed, I changed, and I chose differently.

When my father died almost six years ago I had not seen him in 30 years. We exchanged some letters and phone calls in his later years, and I was able to forgive him. That said, I didn't want to see him, and I am at peace with my choice.

I debated long and hard about whether to post this, almost deleted it, but in the end decided that it's important for woman, especially mid-lifers like me, who maybe grew up feeling like alone in this to know, you're not alone. And just because you didn't have a dad doesn't mean you're not lovable or worthy. As soon as you can really get that, and love yourself you will be able to let a man (or woman) get close to you and really love you and not build walls or worry all the time that they're going to leave too, because you will know that you are whole and wonderful. No matter who comes or goes, you are perfectly perfect, just as you are.

Stop Trying To Be A Manic Pixie Dream Girl And Be Your Own Muse

So I am more than a bit past the age of being a manic pixie dream girl. Those girls who are unfailingly cute and whimsical. But I cop to being a girly girl who sometimes trades in the currency of  being pleasing and adorable. Not easy to admit.

This morning I read this piece by Laurie Penny about having been a MPDG and had to admit to many of the traits myself. Mostly what stopped me in my tracks was this:

Men grow up expecting to be the hero of their own story. Women grow up expecting to be the supporting actress in somebody else's.

I had to admit to this.This is me. I came of age during the onset of the women's movement, but somehow I still find myself playing small.

See, the thing is, I have a super power. Want to know what it is? I see the potential in people and their dreams. I can see the company they want to start being hugely successful, the book they want to write being a best seller, and the cookies they make - the next Mrs. Field's! This has its upside, I am a great friend and cheerleader. I will back you one-hundred and fifty-percent. My weakness however has been when I do this with men. The more I champion their potential, the less I embrace my own.

This trope has led me to thinking if I loved a man enough he could become everything he is meant to be, he will be successful, be healthy, stop his self-destructive habits and, I had to face this reality - take care of me so i don't have to think about my own potential.

I have spent many years trying to fix men who I thought needed me. Whether it was to become more emotionally available, more open, more loving, to stop using alcohol and drugs to escape their pain...if I was doing my job well, they would be healed.  And we would be happy.

But the thing was, like so many women (and men too I am sure) I used them as a distraction from embracing my own power, always a little too afraid to really go after what I wanted and playing way too small for myself, but never for them. They would have the big career, the best-selling books, the muti-million dollar company, not me. It has always been too scary to go after what I want, it was safer to focus on them and their dreams instead of my own.

Now however, I am starting to think, why not me?

My only value isn't in being adorable and loving and working hard to please someone else. My value is far deeper and richer than my face and pleasing nature. At mid-life I feel like I am finally willing to stand up for myself and declare - I want more for myself, and I deserve it. I have worked very hard and it's time for me to take a deep breath and step into the light.

Maybe I will make more than the guy I am with, and that's okay. And maybe I will not let what I want take a back seat to his dreams, and maybe I will finally begin to see my own potential, just like I've always seen everyone elses. 

I am learning. I have now picked a guy who doesn't need to be fixed, and encourages me to swing for the fences. He never diminishes my dreams, and I am not making his my own. We are each others cheerleaders and champions, not an excuse to not do what we need to do for ourselves.

Perhaps I am finally ready to step into being the leading lady of my life rather than a supporting character in everyone elses . In some ways it feels a little late and I am angry at myself for it taking so long to stop being scared and giving all my best cheerleading away to others rather than encouraging myself.  But better late than never. It could be that the best relationship I could ever dream of is with myself, that person with all the potential I just happened to have forgotten about.

 

In A Mommy War Nobody Wins

One of my pet peeves is how terrible women can be to each other. Almost nowhere is it more apparent than how we compete as mothers. From eying the lunches the other mom's make and what they are wearing, we judge, we snark and beat ourselves up for never being enough.

Headlines scream, "Body after baby!" and we look on  in awe as celebrities, seemingly overnight, are back in the minus-sized jeans looking rested and blissful. Occasionally a celeb will come forward and share their stories of post-baby depression, but for the most part we expect to pop babies out and snap back into shape pronto. And that is only the beginning. After that it is off to the races.

Through my own children's school years I witnessed women competing over getting to be room mother for their child's class, making the best costumes for Halloween and cupcakes for birthday parties. There was a never-ending gauntlet to run and never win. I endlessly compared myself to mothers I thought were doing it better, doing more and looking beautiful while doing it. I truly felt like I was never enough.

And this was before mommy blogs and Pinterest. In many ways I was lucky, my children, now all young adults, came of age in a somewhat less competitive time. The world pre-Internet was smaller and less intimidating. Now, there is no escaping how you're falling short. It's right there on your friend's Facebook pages, in the crafts you've pinned, and on the cover of US Magazine. You're not throwing a Game of Thrones themed party for your 12-year-old, and you're certainly not a millionaire mom-preneur rocking size 2 jeans while balancing a baby on one hip, and your vegan-friendly, uber-chic designer bag on the other. And as they grow the platforms for competition only gets worse.

I have been on both sides of the mommy war lines. Two of my children were super successful in high school, my daughter went to Wellesley College, and her brother had a great academic scholarship to Northeastern University. Both graduated and are self-sufficient and doing great, interesting, creative things with their lives.

My oldest son didn't go to college. He became a heroin addict. It's hard to feel like you've won the mom war when your child becomes a junkie. I learned the hard way to know who your real friends are, and how toxic and hurtful judgment can be.

I've had to admit to myself that had I only had my two younger children it would have been easy to judge other parents whose children dropped out of school, or had addiction issues. When faced with the issue myself I was humbled. I now knew there were no guarantees of perfect children, no matter what sugar-free, additive free cereal you bought them.

Parenting is hard, and it's also a bit of a crap shoot. Most of us are truly trying our best, even if it doesn't look that way to you. At a certain point we eventually realize (hopefully) that we have little control over what choices our kids make.  We can guide them as best we can, love them and be there to help find a different school, heal after a loss, or heaven forbid, find a rehab center.

What we really need is support, and perspective. We need to know in the long-run, baby Isabelle walking at nine months doesn't meant she's going to be more successful that Coco who is taking her own sweet time. And we need to be kind to each other, which starts with being kinder to ourselves.

Of course I blamed myself when my son was an addict. But it wasn't my fault, anymore than my daughter going to the same college as Hilary Clinton was my achievement. I also can't take credit for my son's long-term sobriety either, but I can be proud of the fact that I never gave up on any of them.

We need to stop being a culture of compare and contrast. Our insides will never compare to the outsides we see staring back from the magazine racks, or the moms we really don't know who we see at gymnastics. The next time you find yourself resenting the woman in front of you getting coffee because she looks so pulled together while you've got on yoga pants and tank top, take a minute to realize she's got her stuff too, and she may be thinking, "wow, I wish I had her thighs, I never go to the gym, I suck." We are all in it together. Stop judging what everyone else is doing, and most of all stop judging yourself.






 

I Want A Boyfriend, Not a Husband

Yesterday I read a beautiful piece in the Modern Love section of the New York Times by the incredible Augusten Burroughs about his recent marriage to his boyfriend. It is long overdue that anyone who wants to get married should be able to do so. I am thrilled that finally it has become legal for all who desire to make that commitment. I however am not one of those people.

I was married, Once. For twenty years. When I got married, at 20, I was thrilled. The marriage produced three incredible chidren and it was good, until it wasn't.

I believe marriage is wonderful for those who wish to do it, and think it's certainly desirable for those who have children. The security of knowing mom and dad are married is important. But for me, post-small child raising, it is not something I need or want.

The thing is, at this point in my life, I don't want a husband. I like having a boyfriend and want to keep it that way.

I like that we choose to be together. And if we decide to not be together it is between us and not dueling lawyers. I like that he still romances me and puts effort into our relationship. I like that he takes me to dinner and movies. I like planning a nice dinner to make for him and making an effort to look pretty. I like that I still want to shave my legs every day and look nice for him. I like not taking each other for granted. I like treating each other with kindness - no sniping allowed. My boyfriend doesn't snap at me. If he did, he wouldn't be my boyfriend anymore. And I don't nag him. We treat each other with kindness.

He is someone who is there for me, I know would do anything for me, and vice versa. But I think that marriage changes a relationship when it goes from a choice to a given. Knowing that person is legally obligated to be there changes it. I think marriage can be (but doesn't have to be) a bit of a buzz kill.

The thing is, marriage brings no guarantee of fidelity, love or kindness within the relationship. I often think that once you know your freedom is gone it makes it less appealing than being there by choice, not legality.

I like being free to make my own (often poor) financial choices, shopping choices (see bad financial choices) and doing what I want. Of course I factor in my boyfriend and am, I think, a considerate and thoughtful partner, as is he. We just don't tell each other what to do. Within our commitment to one another is an inherent freedom to pursue our own interests, friendships and work, but within that we treat each other with respect and thoughtfulness.

On a recent night out as we walked down Commercial St in Provincetown, MA he looked down at my feet and purely out of curiosity asked, "Is that a different pair of boots?"  To which I smiled and replied, "Yes, and that is why I'm never getting married again."  He looked confused. I went on to explain, when you're married you often need to defend purchases, explaining why you own three different pairs of black boots, need another guitar or whatever you decide you want or need. My money, my rules. His money, his rules. Problem solved.

I am so happy that Augusten Burroughs, and so many people are thrilled to be married. I fully expect backlash for this and for people to expound on all the positives and practicalities that being legally married brings. To those I say, good for you! Mazel Tov and all wonderful blessings to you! But I plan to stay happily loving the person I am with in un-wedded bliss. Having a boyfriend works for me. Having a husband didn't.

On Being a Better Chooser

I am endlessly fascinated by relationships. Why we love who we do, why we're attracted to who we are, and why we often keep making the same bad choices over and over again.

We could explore the science of attraction - there are endless scientific theories involving pheromones, hormones and our screwed up childhoods, but at a certain point we need to realize - we have a choice. As Maya Angelou says, "When you know better, you do better." Well, one can only hope.

I have a history of being a bad chooser. I don't mean I've been in abusive relationships, but I've put up with things I probably shouldn't have. I allowed myself to be marginalized and not a priority, and excused the behavior even when it hurt. Badly.

When I read this post today, citing 10 Red Flags to be aware of, I wondered why we so often overlook those flags waving in our face instead choosing to see what we want, and not what is true?

There are lots of reasons - fear of being alone, (better to be alone than wish you were) thinking people will change (they don't) and here's a biggie - not thinking we deserve more.

When it comes to romantic relationship all too often we think that it's all about is that dreamy, swoony falling in love part. That phase where even if your beloved said they hated kittens and bunnies you'd think it was adorable. But the thing is, that's not love. That's infatuation. It's lust. And it never lasts. Nor should it - if we were on the drunken high all the time we'd never get anything done.

"Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body. No, don't blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being "in love," which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident."  Louis de Bernières

Love is more than dreamily looking into someone's eyes, and thinking everything they do is wonderful. It's more than candlelight dinners and flowers. It is caring about someone, really caring about them.

Real love is:
Being there. Not just for the good stuff, but everything else too.
Being able to put someone else first
Knowing not every moment of every day is going to super
Giving each other permission to be yourselves
Knowing you can never make someone else happy, that's their job
Not needing to control someone else
Being secure enough in what you have that you can be okay with that person having a life beyond you
Knowing you can't fix anyone else, but showing up to listen and be supportive
Not wanting or needing to change the other person
Realizing that as important (and fun) as sex is, it's just a part of a relationship, not the basis for having it. (That's a whole other thing that is not really about love.)
Being able to say how you feel without fear of a sigh and an eye roll. Ugh, the worst!
Being heard and seen.
Being honest, even when it's hard.

I could go on and on, but you get the drift...Real love isn't a scene in "You've Got Mail," or "The Holiday." It's less stilettos and more Uggs. Not that you can't dress it up and make it pretty. But it's real, and it's juicy and if you're lucky enough to find it, really, really special.

Chances are no one is going to show up in your driveway with a boombox or on your steps with large cards declaring their love for you. Be glad. That's not real. The guy who shows up with soup when you're sick? He's the keeper.

I've Been Tagged!

I was very excited to be “tagged” by one of my favorite authors, Jill Smolinski . in "The Next Big Thing Blog Hop."The fact that she even knows who the heck I am is amazing to me.

I first became acquainted with Jill when I interviewed her for a story about her book, “The Next Thing on My List.” I adored the book which I found moving, smart, funny and so well written, and lobbied hard to get to be the writer from my paper to interview her. She did not disappoint. She is as charming and funny as her book, and was incredibly generous to a fledgling author – me!

 I of course then read her first book, “Flip Flopped” as well. I love her work so much I couldn’t wait for another book to come out. Like some hybrid stalker/fan I kept searching for a new title and was thrilled when “Objects of My Affection” was published. As a single mom who has dealt with the addiction issues of a son, I so related to the incredible Lucy Bloom. Jill’s characters are so well drawn, and her stories read as real, funny and incredibly entertaining.

But, enough about the fabulous Ms. Smolinski, let me tell you a little about me and my next book! You can find my first book, “The Best Worst Year” at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and iTunes!

1: What is the working title of your work in progress?

“Being Good”

2: Where did the idea come from for the book?

It actually came from a bumper sticker! I was driving behind a car one day with a sticker that said, “Be Good. Don’t Be Bad.” I got thinking – can you be a good person, do something bad and still be a good person?

3: What genre does your book come under?

Contemporary Women’s Fiction. I am a huge fan of the aforementioned Jill Smolinski, Emily Giffin, Claire Cook, Nora Ephron…if I could have a shred of their successes I’d be thrilled.

4: Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Hmmm…I would love to see perhaps Jennifer Lopez and George Clooney rekindle their amazing chemistry in “Out of Sight.”

5: What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Claire Eldridge is the classic good girl who has never done anything wrong, until she meets Chris Murdock, a married man who sweeps her off her feet and into a relationship she knows is wrong, but can’t resist.

6: Is your book self-published, published by an independent publisher, or represented by an agency?

I have an agent at Trident Media, and my first book, “The Best Worst Year” was published though their new ebook division. We are just beginning the process of showing “Being Good,” to publishers.

7: How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Six months. I am a freelance journalist, so during the day I write about fashion, pop culture, entertainment and some news for several publications on Cape Cod where I live, and write fiction most evenings. I have a very patient and understanding boyfriend.

8: What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I feel so strange daring to compare myself to anyone. If I dare to compare my book to any it would be “Something Borrowed,” by Emily Giffin, one of my favorite books by a favorite author.

9: Who or what inspired you to write this book?

I have experienced a lot of things that have taught me that life is not black and white. I love exploring the boundaries of what is considered good, or right. I think we all have times when we make choices that might not be considered “good,” but I don’t believe that makes us bad people.

10: What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

“Being Good” is about infidelity. I saw while writing and discussing it with friends that people have very strong opinions about people who participate in infidelity. I wanted to try to create a character that women would like and relate to, but see if it was possible for them to still like her when she makes a bad choice.

Now on to the two authors I’m tagging:

Jenny Gardiner is an incredibly witty and gifted writer.  Jenny is prolific and after a long day of writing gives me something to look forward to when I crawl into bed. Some of Gardiner's titles include, “Slim to None,” “Anywhere But Here,” and “Where the Heart Is.”

Judy Mollen Walters has written a beautiful and moving debut novel about the heartbreak of infertility with “Child of Mine.” A thoughtful and insightful writer, Mollen Walters delivers a book that truly shows the anguish of wanting nothing more than to become a mother.