8 of 40

You know what's weird? To choose to hang out in ICUs instead of hanging out with your adorable toddlers. Just saying.

Here is a list of the articles I have saved from Facebook:

10 Habits to shape a kind, well-adjusted kid
     Posted on Motherly, written by Rebecca Eanes, saved from The Gottman Institute's post on 2/15/17

How to Break the Cycle and Raise a Self-Assured Daughter
     Posted on Parent.co, written by Angela Arsenault, saved from The Gottman Institute's post on 2/15/17

24 Marriage Lessons Every Couple Should Learn
     Posted on The Huffington Post, written by Dr. Margaret Rutherford, saved from The Gottman Institute's post last week

Why parents need to teach middle-schoolers kindness, from the author of Wonder
     Posted on The Washington Post, written by Amy Joyce, saved from Life with Greyson and Parker last week

Simplifying Childhood May Protect Against Mental Health Issues
     Posted on Raised Good, written by Tracy Gillett, saved from The Gottman Institute's post last week

Unputdownable: 17 books I read in 24 hours or less (because they were just that good)
     Posted on Modern Mrs Darcy, written by Anne (no last name listed), saved from FB friend and neighborhood book club friend Katie

Thread about Trader Joe's dinner options, frozen or otherwise, posted on local moms' group

#FailOn Challenge
     Posted on Cody, showed up on my feed because at least three of my friends liked it

Thread about Costco faves for toddlers, posted on local moms' group

Thread about wild, full moon energy posted by my acupuncturist

The Madness of King Donald
      Posted by New York Magazine, written by Andrew Sullivan, shared by friend Lee

21 Secrets emBody--Dirty Footprints Studio. Posted by friend April. These self-paced workshops take you on twenty one incredible journeys with artists from all over the world - teaching intuitive embodied art making classes near and dear to our hearts. You can learn more here: bit.ly/emBODY-21secrets-workshop-MILAGROS

Sausage Egg Roll in a Bowl--recipe shared by Amanda

Thread asking for the following recommendations : What are books you know and love that feature a badass woman, trans or gender-nonconforming lead - especially of color, including folks of multiple abilities? This could be fiction, non-fiction, graphic novels, poetry...multiple languages encouraged! Multiple reading levels encouraged! I am building out the adult library for the folks I work with, who have all experienced gender-based trauma (sexual and intimate partner assault, trafficking, economic abuse), so please keep this in mind 


Looking at this list I feel:
-inspired
-supported
-overwhelmed
-grateful
-surprised by the content

Last month's saves are more political. This month's are more marriage/child focused. That feels in line with where my head and heart are.

7 of 40

Originally written 11/12/15.

How do you know if you're depressed? No, I mean, I'm really asking you. A question posed to those of you who have experienced depression--how do you notice that you're in it again? Is it obvious? Does it take a while for you to recognize the symptoms? I'd love to know.

I have heard myself say "I'm not depressed" a few times in the last month. Each time I say it I notice the words leaving my contained space and entering the world where I lose control of them forever. And then by the 2.5 time I hear myself saying to myself "Huh. There it is again." And by the third time it's "Except maybe I am?"

I am being so hard on myself. Every where I turn I see something I wish were better.

I wish my house were cleaner.

I wish I was a better decorator.

I wish we didn't have so much shit.

I wish I had more of my project done.

I wish I felt how I felt before. Except I don't even waste time wishing that because I know that's not how it works.

Today, February 11, 2017 I am not depressed. I am not happy. I recognize myself in these words written more than a year ago, knowing I just felt depressed two weeks ago and knowing that I am out of it now.People who love me say to me "I just want you to be happy."

Is that something you actively pursue? Happiness? Is it a state of being that lasts or is it moments?

My weeks of Scandal-binging left me with a half-written post in my head "Lessons learned from Olivia Pope" Half-written is an exaggeration. Partially, sporadically written in my head.

I may never write that essay for others to read. I do carry her words in my head--

What do you want?

6 of 40

Originally written on 11/2/15, never posted.

What makes you feel alive?

Do you know?

If you don't know, I hope you'll start asking yourself this question and trying to find the answer, or answers.

I just walked home in the rain, carrying a black umbrella, wearing black knee-high galoshes, striding through the world as the water poured down and I felt so good. Felt my arms moving. Felt my feet hitting the ground. Felt my body responding to the change in the air that comes with rain. And rain after so long? A real rain after so long? It was as though I was one with the parched, drought-plagued earth of California. The relief coursing through my cells reminds me that you can get used to anything. Used to telling your toddlers to turn the faucet off, not to wash their hands again, and trying to find a simple way to explain a drought. Used to days and weeks and months and years of no rain, or not nearly enough of it.

5 of 40

My new favorite sweater is not new--I've had it for a few years. It's baby blue, baby soft cashmere. Crew neck, preppy, pretty-Mommy, East Coast. Burberrry so fancy and high-quality. And full of holes.

The holes are not intentional. Well, the moths who made them intended to do so but I mean they're not part of the original design. That probably goes without saying as I don't think I've ever seen a spider-web, loose-knit cashmere sweater before. Actually as soon as I wrote "loose-knit" I could picture it and I bet they're out there. I digress.

I bought this sweater at Divine Design with my friend Maria, several years ago. My memory counting backwards in an attempt to place any event in actual time gets extremely foggy--I can barely remember my own wedding anniversary because the past several years have been so bizarre that the two thousand tens all blur together. But my last Divine Design trip was pre-kids for sure, and pre-marriage. Not pre-man-who-is-now-my-husband though that's where I get confused. I remember the two of us travelling down to LA together but I don't remember going down without him. So the sweater is around five to seven years old.

Divine Design was a fundraiser that Project Angel Food held every December in an old department store near a hotel where they hold award shows in LA. Held over a three-day weekend the discounts got deeper each day, down to 75% by the third day. They had everything--lingerie, evening gowns, fur coats, denim, floaty Bohemian sundresses and tunics, club outfits, baby clothes. One year we left with a Vera Wang wedding gown, tagged with the wrong size and unbelievably inexpensive. The prospect of being a weird single girl with a wedding dress hanging in her closet was discussed as a major deterrent to the purchase but the deal was so good we couldn't pass it up.

Maria and I usually went on the second day when everything was 50% off. Designers donated their wares and the rest of us got to pour in through the front doors, eager to find amazing deals. Mostly women, though they carried men's clothes and furniture too, some of us tried on clothes in the make-shift aisles if we didn't feel like waiting in line to stand in the circus-tent dressing room in the center of it all. The mood under the tent was congenial, all of us looking frankly or sidelong at the others, peeping possible steals as others tried them on, admiring or judging naked or almost-naked bodies as we stood together as women of all ages and skin tones. We went a few years in a row--it was a not-to-be-missed event--and I always walked away with a wide array of colors and styles, reflecting my eclectic and undecided style.

All the proceeds went to Project Angel Food--an organization committed to bringing meals to people left house-bound by HIV/AIDS or cancer. For some reason they always had a huge Barbie display, which was always hard for me to resist but which I always managed to resist because I wanted to save my money for clothes.

It was the perfect shopping event--super sale, fancy designer clothes and all the money went to charity anyway so on those items where you might be sitting on the fence due to price or implausibility, you got kicked over to the Buy side of things easily and almost every time.

The year I bought the Burberry I think I also walked away with a floor-length evening gown among other things. I wore the sweater a couple times to work but that was it. I always liked it when I wore it but I inevitably spilled coffee or food on myself or did something else to it that necessitated taking it to the cleaners. So it usually sat in the dirty clothes bag or folded up under some other sweaters, waiting to be remembered.

And then one year it got discovered by moths who recognized its superior quality and munched happily away on it I was so bummed when I found it because it is such a beautiful sweater. Was. I couldn't bear to throw it away and I didn't know if I could donate it, since it had so many holes. So again it sat, unworn, waiting for someone or something to change its fate.

One day recently I found it again and held it up, trying to figure out what to do with it. And then I put it on, because it was warm and so, so cozy. Soft as a dream. Gorgeous. And I kept wearing it, mostly at home but more and more I'm wearing it out of the house. To yoga or to the doctor's office. Now that it is ruined I can enjoy it worry-free. I don't think I've spilled on it once. And it feels like I'm treating myself because it feels so damn good.

Now one of my new goals is to start allowing myself to enjoy things like that, full-out, even when they're not full of holes. Wow. Revolutionary.

4 of 40

Doctor's appointments I have participated in so far this year:

January 6th Routine colonscopy for me. (It is bizarre to live a life where this type of test becomes routine) Diagnosis: ulcerative colitis not quite in remission but getting closer.

January 6th Audiology appointment as part of speech evaluation for one child. Diagnosis: chronic fluid (uninfected) in ears

January 11th Speech evaluation for child Diagnosis: speech therapy needed after hearing issues addressed

January 11th EMDR therapy for me. Diagnosis: we have a lot to work with here

January 13th ENT appointment for child. Diagnosis: tubes in ears after child no long has cough (ha ha ha aka possibly never)

January 23rd Pediatric check-up for all four children. Diagnosis: everyone has a bad cold.

January 26th EMDR therapy for me. Diagnosis: can I carry Melissa around in my pocket to help me deal with my life?

January 27th General Practitioner visit for me. Diagnosis: I have a bad cold.

February 2nd Dermatologist for me: Diagnosis: two pre-cancerous spots frozen. Self-diagnosis: oh damn, I see by my skin that I am almost 40

Later this month we have:

February 8th Annual hepatologist visit for me. EMDR for me

February 13th Tubes for child


Well shit. No wonder I'm so tired.

3 of 40

Written on 1/30, not posted because yuck there's some gross stuff in here.

Ashamed. Afraid. Entitled. In need. Frozen. Grief-stricken. Jealous. Lacking. Down. That's an attempt to sum up what I feel like on the inside. I want to be stoned and sit in bed watching Scandal all day until I fall asleep again. I like being on the outside watching other characters maneuver through their lives. It doesn't matter that it's not real, that someone wrote the scripts for them. I want Shonda to write my script so I can stop thinking about what to say, what to do.

So so tired.

I didn't drive to an airport and I'm so grateful to the people who did. I haven't called my rep for weeks. Unopened bundles of Times sit in piles inside and outside the house. Shorn piles of branches and leaves, the detritus of the hours of yardwork my husband did yesterday while I lay in bed. I feel like nothing.

My kids practically live at Stephanie's and I feel sad about that.



I can't work harder. That I can't do.So I need to do things differently. But I can't figure out how or

I feel mad at everyone else. Blaming everyone else. But then it must be me right?

I feel guilty not having my kids when I'm not at work. I don't allow myself that.

I appreciate how Shonda holds up "normal" as a goal but not really a good thing

I don't speak for white women. I feel called to stand up for others just at a time when I'm finally learning to stand up for myself. And I resent it even though I know it is my responsibility. And god that is painful to admit.

I picutred moments I would remember. Moments when I could feel it. Instead it feels like a hurricane. And I can't savor it because I'm just waiting for it to be over. So I can be alone.

And since I seem to imagine things in a better light than they could ever be, I'm afraid that my feeling of wanting to be home with the kids actually will make me miserable like I was before. I can't trust myself.

2 of 40

My new therapist Rebecca whom I've seen three times after a year's worth of loved ones and health professionals asking me if I didn't think talk therapy might be helpful told me last week that I have a habit of making things happen with the force of my will. Yes, I said. That resonates.

Sort of like declaring that I would write daily in the weeks leading up to my 40th birthday, despite the fact that the words haven't been coming to me for months. Despite the fact that I feel so roiled up inside and raw outside that the idea of committing words to print has been making me feel naked. Despite the fact that I don't trust myself lately. Not to know what is true or how I feel. But if  I say it, I will do it. No.

Instead I got sick and fell into a deep depression and have spent the past almost two weeks tucked under my electric blanket who I named Maurice, binge-watching Scandal at a rate that is embarrassing to admit. I shut down everything. Hardly saw my kids. Barely interacted with my husband. Called in sick to work (I was, in truth, sick). I did what I could to numb myself, make my brain stop thinking, hide from the world.

It made me sad to not mother my kids very well, to choose to spend time away from them only to watch TV in bed. But it was what I needed.

It made me ashamed, of my privilege. That I am white and not immediately threatened by this administration. My silence felt like violence. I wasn't doing enough. I wasn't showing up when others were and others needed to. It was what I needed. But I knew and know full well that most people wouldn't have that option. It felt shameful to take it.

I feel bored of myself, of the things that bother me that I can't seem to get over. And that is where I have been. That is the truth of where I have been and what I needed.

Yesterday at an all-staff meeting we sat and listened to a survivor tell his story. The story of how he almost died from 4th degree burns on 40% of his body and all the things he is grateful for, all he has accomplished, his deep appreciation for the work we do and the tissue donors who saved his life. He started by telling us to think about our own lives as we listened to him. Think of the struggles we are facing and apply his story to our lives. He spoke of the power of our attitudes to determine our fates. I felt a little stirring inside of me, the call to snap myself out of it, shake it off and deal with things as they need to be dealt with.

And then I felt a quiet No in response. No. I will get there eventually but that is not where I am.

It feels gross to write this, to think about posting it. But I'm writing it and I'm posting. Not proudly, very honestly.

I showered today, I'm writing. I took care of preschool business and I'm taking care of some stuff for work. Next I will clean the house and go get some groceries, including cat food because the neighborhood stray who has been strutting in through the cat door and eating our cats out of house and home. My kids are with Stephanie. I don't feel good yet but I am on my way up. And if I keep waiting to have words to share that don't make me cringe, there won't be any words on this page for a long time.

Now to see if I can find a way to post 38 essays in the next 25 days. It won't be pretty but what is these days?