October 15th, 2014

What the books leave out



My second daughter turned three years old four days ago.  Since that day, I’ve been thinking a lot about time, growth, and motherhood.

I’ve been thinking about these things.  And I’ve been looking at this amazingly, complex little girl, this little person who, aside from her bright eyes, seems nothing like the child I thought had three years ago.

I was convinced when I gave birth to her that she was a “textbook” baby. She would be my child to predictably adhere to the rules of what “most babies do.” Given her predictability, I rationalized she’d be an easy “fill in” for me to finally test the waters in Perfect Parenting.

I never read baby books until I learned I was pregnant with her. I never opened a book because my personality is such that I am skeptical about more complex things in life ever adhering to any formulaic equation leading to success. So with my first daughter, it wasn’t a book that led me to my obsessive compulsive tendencies relating to her growth and development. Nope. Just hard worn anxiety and a perfectionist spirit to not screw up someone’s life.

It was that, I realize now, rather than intuition or any other holistic understanding of life that spiraled my trips into alternative, non-mainstream, nature-y strains of  parenting.

But with my second, I wanted to be different. I had to be different to make having two kids under two work. And in that I became obsessed with the idea of doing things right.

When my second daughter was born, I tried following common wisdom from American culture for what should work with most babies.

I put her down for naps, in her crib at night, used white noise machines and swaddling and tried hard not to listen to any instincts that suggested that sometimes, maybe just maybe, I try to do otherwise.

The end result of this was a baby who appeared, at least by my books’ estimation, to be right on track for perfection.  Before she could walk, she slept through the night. She enjoyed her crib and fit in perfectly with the perfect life I was trying to create as a family of four.

But the more she grew into herself, the more things changed. Or maybe I just changed. Or maybe things were changing all along but because I was ignoring everything that didn’t fit into whatever parenting formula I was using at the time, I didn’t see them.

I stopped reading the books around this time. This came after me finally realizing the books couldn’t tell me what to do when, for instance, it’s clearly nap time but instead of sleeping, your baby is in the crib crying to be held.  And you’re listening to this on your couch with your three year old at your side. But rather than sitting there and listening to her crying, she, the toddler, tells you it’s okay to do what you’ve wanted to do all along.

“It’s okay, mommy. Just go get her. Go hold her.”

You can’t then tell her about my books because that makes no sense. It makes no sense that you’re (at the time) almost thirty and can’t see that your baby isn’t tired, that she just wants to be awake like everyone else, held like everyone else.

Just go get her not because it’s what you’ve been told is right, do it because it feels right.

What the books, most of the books (minus ones like this one which I HIGHLY recommend), leave out is that being a parent is about feeling. It’s subjective, an endeavor that grows easier when you become more in tune with the value of your feelings, your intuition, your heart. I don’t know how to raise perfect children. But I do know that in order to raise children confidently, you have to eventually get to a place where you trust your heart to know what to do with your children. And what you do with your children will never be the same all the time.

There are no prescriptions or theories or equations for good parents or good children.

Being a parent, being a mother, is not about getting it right all the time. It’s about being human and making mistakes  and fixing them, breathing, forgiving yourself and saying “I’m sorry” to your children and everyone else who is undeserving of what happens on your bad days. 

Being a mother is about trusting the universe, or God if you believe, enough to know that the child you were given is perfect just as he or she is. You need not fix them into something they aren’t or feel bad about who they are. Just love them and yourself enough to trust that this will always be enough. Your best intentions, intentions from your heart, are always enough.

The books leave out that there’s more to being a parent than perfect naps and lunches and bedtime routines. There’s a relationship that grows everyday between yourself and your child and if you let go of how this should be, you’ll see how it is more clearly.

Leading up to my second daughter’s third birthday, I kept getting sentimental, mostly at nights. It would get sentimental about mistakes I’ve made and about how it goes by so fast, and about how I don’t regret any of it, any of these years, this time spent.

In case I don’t say it enough out loud, to strangers who marvel at my babywearing and toddler-hand holding skills, I often do have days in motherhood, in parenthood, where I feel stretched thin. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally.

Even after three children, it is still hard in that way. And I suppose it will always be.

It’s hard because it taxes your heart. You love so much in motherhood. You give so much in motherhood. You go so deep into and out of yourself in motherhood. When you are really in motherhood, when you’ve accepted where you are in motherhood and love it, you willingly let things go. You let go of your ego, your pride, the idea that your body is anything but miraculous, friends, sleep, and sometimes, if only at times, your sense of self.

But you gain,too. You get this when you put the books down and can really see, in gratitude, the one beautiful blessing or blessings you’ve had all along.

My second daughter told me the other day that she feels cozy in my arms.”So comfortable,” she said in nuzzling against her face against my chest. I don’t know how I once did it, but I can’t imagine her in any other way. but in my arms. with her mama.

Now please excuse me while I cry some more about it really being three years since I gave birth to my second baby girl.

Just kidding, kind of. :) Love, Jessica. ♥




October 14th, 2014

If Nothing Ever Changed


“If nothing ever changed, there’d be no butterflies.”- Unknown.


October 6th, 2014

Plugged In and Doing

unplug and breathe graphic

I think I’ve always thought of myself as a reluctant participant in the “technologically connected” bandwagon of my generation . I’ve long been resistant to using technology to stay connected because  I’ve always felt more comfortable with the old ways of doing things. Preferring instead in-person conversations, dinner, and coffee dates to see what friends are up to, I hardly had a need or desire to use social media for that purpose.

But as the years have gone by, I’ve changed. The older I get, the more years I spend in blogging, the more my relationship with social media, technology, and”staying connected” has changed. I’ve slowly, over the past five years, come to use technology and social media more.

I thought I’d never say it, but I am a phone person. Ten years ago, being a phone person meant you stayed on the phone talking all day. In 2014, it means I have a smartphone that I use (for mostly not making calls) and rely on far more than I should. Like most in my generation, I check for emails throughout my day, text more than call, download apps, check Facebook status updates, and carry my phone to bed with me.

My transition to using social media and technology more was slow, but I think it was accelerated in this past year with a new phone and other professional obligations necessitating that I be online, connected, plugged in more. I don’t know if I could have said it before this year, but I am now “modernly” connected.

This new status of mine has been been good, for the most part. If you ever need me, my new status as a connected being, has made it all the more possible for you to get me, to know about me without much effort on my part. I am more communicative with the people in my life.  I know more now about friends, about things in my world, faster and more easily than I ever could.

I am connected and I like it…

Kind of.

With every new good there must be some not so good, right?

Well my not so good is that in becoming more immersed in connectivity, I started losing the dying art of being still, of doing nothing, of concerning myself with nothing but what I am doing in this present moment. Since this present moment is all I’ve got, right? I know this, but in my moments of super connectivity, I lose sight, perspective, MYSELF. Easily.

There’s been studies that argue that the more connected we come, the more opportunities we have to connect, the more unhappier, more isolated we feel. I get this. Not all the time, but I do get this.

I think the imperative for being connected is remaining, or feeling like you’re remaining a part of a conversation that is bigger than you. I write this as a person who is not nearly as technologically connected/ involved as most. But still. I get this.

In past months, I’ve been getting better with this, however.

I am checking my email less. Leaving my phone to charge when I go to sleep. Doing “Facebook” and “Twitter” and “Instagram” less.

I am getting better.

But it’s hard. Like any habit, deciding to unplug more when you have gone through any extended amount of time being plugged in can be tough. But I like to think of these kinds of things, of any habit, as a pattern. You don’t unlearn a pattern overnight, but you do, with time. With time, you change by building your “muscle” to be different, to do things differently, to reorient yourself differently by assessing your unique priorities and values and acting accordingly.

So that’s where I am now. Learning to do things differently by changing my fairly new, learned pattern of connectivity use.

I still love my phone and social media and technology for allowing me to more easily stay connected. But I am re-learning, by unplugging more, the intrinsic value of old ways of doing things, of coffee dates, missed emails, and breathing.

How do you balance your need to technologically stay connected with your needs of staying grounded in your real life?






October 1st, 2014

Who are you not to be?

our deepest fearSometimes when you’re afraid, afraid of your bigger self, you shrink yourself with excuses as to why not you. These excuses we tell ourselves vary, but usually they’re hinged on not feeling “enough.”

You are not beautiful enough, thin enough, smart enough, good enough, old enough, young enough, brave enough to be more than what we currently are. We are not ready. Our thoughts, these thoughts, which are really lies, become our truths. So as long as we are a person of lack so we become. And in our lacking states, we decide it’s better to just stay put. “It’s safer here, after all.” “It’s known here.” “I can’t make a fool of myself right here. ”

But at what cost? At what cost is this lie that we tell ourselves to stop our minds from allowing us to believe that we can live lives bigger than the ones we currently lead.

We are afraid that some one will figure us out, see our flaws, and call us out for attempting to be something we are not. We imagine ourselves small and such is how we live. But, oh, if only we could see our power. If only we could dare to live in that power and not flinch.

If only instead of asking “Why me?” we asked “Why not me?” Lives change with this proclamation.

Our lives change when we dare to say aloud, in a voice that hardly seems like our own, that we are not just powerful, but powerful beyond measure.

The above quote by Marianne Williamson is a wonderful reminder of this truth. It’s been inspiring me for a week, so I hope it does the same for you. Love, Jessica. ♥



September 19th, 2014

25 Things To Remember If You’re Having a Bad Day

Not every day is my best day in life. Some days, I go to sleep in a bad mood, often, inspired by something in my life, and wake up that way in the morning or worse.

I used to feel bad about having bad days. I used to beat myself up for my bad days because I believed that they were my fault, a sign of my inability to handle stresses in my life.

Back then, or when I felt bad about my bad days, rather than attempting to process why I was having a bad day, I immediately would judge myself as being weak. “Normal people don’t have bad days,” I would tell myself. “Happy people don’t have bad days.”

But these statements I’ve been telling myself for years are not true.

Bad days happen to everyone.

Now that I’m older and wiser, I am more able to embrace my bad days as a part of my normal life. I take them in stride, accepting them as temporary and good opportunities for me to grow, reflect, and decide to do things differently.

I think doing this is now easier for me because I have learned the power of positive self talk when times are tough. I don’t run away from my feelings on bad days. I’ve learned that trying to ignore my feelings or numb them only makes things worse. So now I give myself permission to feel them. I feel them and write about them in a journal and keep in mind these 25 important things:

a bad day doesn't mean

1. A bad day doesn’t mean you have a bad life.

2. You are worthy of self-love and compassion.

3. It’s okay to make mistakes, to be uncertain, to not know.

4. Your character is make rich and deep by your hardships.

5.You have a good life, full of blessings that are worthy of your celebration.

6. You are okay.

7. You will be okay.

8. And in the end, it will all be okay.

9. A rain cloud can’t overshadow your beauty.

today was a bad day


10. Today was a bad day. Tomorrow will be different.

11. It’s okay to smile in hard times.

12. You can be thankful for today even though it feels hard. Yesterday is gone and tomorrow is not promised.

13. Your happiness does not rest in your circumstances. It’s carried in your hands.

14. You can trust in life’s process.

15. Good things are always on the horizon for those with the vision to see them.

16. Your life is a divine miracle worthy of celebration.

not broken

17. You may be hurt. But you are not broken.

18. The story of your life continues to be written with each breath.

19. The world needs your light to shine.

20. You are bigger than your problems.

21. Nothing is as impossible as it seems.

22.You are here on earth for a reason.

23.You are someone’s sunshine.

24. You are strong.

25. You have much to be grateful for.

What are some things you tell yourself on bad days to keep things in perspective?