Throwback Thursday: A Letter To My 20-Year-Old Self

Dear 20 year old Leah,

I'm writing to you because you have a lot going on right now and could probably use the advice. I know, I know, too little too late. But better late than never, I guess, even if you can't use any of what I will tell you.

All of this stuff swirling around in your head right now, the stuff that keeps you thinking that this will never end well and that you will never know where to turn? The stuff that makes you feel scared and worthless and like you're just never gonna be ok? I promise you that soon enough, but not soon by any means, you will be stable. Your thoughts will make sense, you will think of yourself over them (those people that seem to be the only reason you breathe), and you will be able to say "yes, no, maybe, I don't know" as much as you feel inclined. Your feelings right now, though the lowest they will ever get (I promise, it won't ever be worse), the darkest days you will see in your life (at least til 30, I can guarantee), you need them. I know, call me fucking crazy (oh yeah, you won't stop swearing either), but they are there for a reason. Even though they make you feel like you can't/won't/shouldn't go on, you can/will/should. You will see the lessons in a little while, but for now, just push through. Please.

You are hot right now. You may not be this hot again, well, ever, so live it up. Wear what you want, prance around and be confident. You are not confident, and you think your butt is big now, but you are mistaken. Shake your tiny ass on a table-top and have fun.

The ones you think are your real friends really are. Also, the ones you think are your real friends really aren't. It is going to be hard to figure this all out, but just go with it. Don't hurt people, give them a chance, and be there for everyone you can. They may look back and thank you someday. Some of the people that you thought were gone for good will be some of your best friends for life, so be careful and treat each person as if they were fragile glass. Don't break anyone.

Ahhhh, but then we come to the part where you DO break some of them. You are going to do this, though I swear you didn't mean to. Always do what you think is right, what you feel in your heart, but know that this is not always going to bring a positive result, no matter what you do or how hard you try. You yourself will also be broken, but please know you can and will pick up the pieces and go on. No? You don't believe me? Just wait. Those you have hurt will come back, and you will make good with those you are supposed to. You will be surprised who is still in or back in your life in 10 years.

As you do now, remember your family is most important. You are very dependent on them, but you will eventually stand independent of them, instead of being lost among them. You need them, but you need them in a way you don't even realize yet. You will lose some of them, and this will crush you. Be there for the rest, as it will heal you in the process.
And when you think that it is over and that they will never love you again, wait it out. They will. We will be waiting a long time to see the outcome of such events, but we will never let go.

The things you think are lame will be your favorite things, and you will be a dork. Embrace it. You have so much insecurity and shame, but someday it will be lifted like a heavy wet blanket. It will feel amazing.

Try and be more confident in what you do and decisions you make. This is worthless to tell you because you won't do this, but in a few years you will realize you are an ADULT (augh!) and that there are so many more things that are important than what you think now. What you see as an end all is really just a tiny drop in the bucket. Forgetable.

Save your money, don't make me work two jobs forever! You will make good money soon and have the time of your fucking life. I look back and wish you didn't spend so much, but you know what, I can't blame you. Even now I tell the stories of the crazy fun times you had and smile with my friends about it. Good job.

Keep yourself safe. Mentally, emotionally (though these will be the hardest) and physically. We are still kicking now, so you did an ok job of that. Your metabolism rules, but try and be healthy. If not, I'll try to right the wrong you did.

You are going to think your life is going to go one way, that you are set, that your future is in stone. And then, BAM!, it is all going to fall to pieces. This will be tragic and devastating every time (yes, I said every), but you will pick up what you can salvage and keep going. You will find better every time, but you'll never know til you're there. It's ok, you will watch this go on all around you and you will feel less alone and lost. Everyone will end up better for it in the end. They just have to.

Don't burn bridges, learn patience (and practice it often) and always be open to new things. Treat others with compassion always, and let go of anger. This will be the only way you can go through this life with ease. I do all of these things still, and someday 40 year old us will write us and laugh at just how much we didn't know, even today.

~Leah

The Bathroom Woosah

In the dictionary, Woosah is defined as the pronunciation of meditative breaths used to reduce anxiety with the intention of eliminating anger or frustration.

While laying in bed with a bout of insomnia, I came up with this new concept that I am going to incorporate into my daily life. This sounds crazy, yes, especially to me at 1:30 in the morning, but really, what do I have to lose? The idea of The Bathroom Woosah, or TBW as it will now be known, is to help me calm down and get back to the fun-loving, happy person I have always been (that is, up until two adorable ladies entered my world and turned it upside-down).  Anyone can do this, too, not just mothers who are ready to poke everyone’s (including her own) eyes out. Tough day at the office? Fight with your BFF? Pets just won’t stop ripping apart the house? Before you quit the job, murder your friend, or throw Fido in the street, give this a whirl.

I am thinking that this practice will do the one main thing that I need, which the definition describes, and that is CALM ME THE HELL DOWN. I find my blood boiling way more time than I’d like to admit during a normal day (if you can even define any of my days as “normal”). There’s the “toddler’s diarrhea”, the 3 year old who colored her face blue with a marker, the crying, the not-napping, the constant “I need/I want/I can’t/I have to” that go on day in and day out. Sometimes, they make me feel like a glorified maid and, other times, I think my brain will just eventually atrophy one of these days and my head will implode. More often than not, I find myself exploding at the stupidest, most inane incidences to ever happen to a mother; times where a lot of mothers could laugh and just give a wink and a nod to the TV cameras so we will all just laugh along with her.

This is not Lifetime. I do not get paid even a TV-actor’s wage. This is real life, and I yell.

I get steamed. I get upset. I stomp around and mutter things under my breath and let out big long “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!”s and I just can’t believe my life! Yes, I act like a 3 year old.

More importantly, I let myself go there, to that angry, ugly, snappy place. I don’t have time to sit back and think about why I shouldn’t lecture for the 100^th time WE DON’T PUT OUR MILK CUP NEAR THE EDGE OF THE TABLE. Or why we have to put our shoes on RIGHTTHISVERYMOMENT. I don’t have time because I am a reactionary person. All humans are reactionary, sure, but some of us don’t take even a millisecond to check ourselves before we wreck ourselves. We yell now, think later. I always said to myself that I wouldn’t be that sort of parent, that I would appreciate the children that I was lucky enough and blessed enough to have, and that I would always be patient.

Boy, was that a joke.

What’s not a joke, though, is the fact that even though I am failing miserably at recognizing all of those things, they need to be recognized regardless. They have to be. I will miss out on the most important thing I will ever do with my life if I don’t stop and take the time to see that, you know what, it just might not be the end of the world. I will not, however, put unrealistic and unattainable goals on myself, i.e. weighing what I did in high school, meeting Oprah, or always being cool, calm and collected 24/7. If I do that, I will undoubtedly fail. Instead, I’d like to create a way that works for me to get myself back to reality, back in the moment, and back to a place where I don’t necessarily feel like a raging lunatic. I want to find a new normal for myself that I am comfortable with, happy with. This is where the aforementioned Bathroom Woosah comes in to play…

So here’s my brilliant, yet simple, plan for myself. I actually googled this made-up term to see if anyone else had stayed up in the middle of the night just to get this crazy idea down on paper like me.

No one did.

That leaves me to do the work and figure this out and, you know what, I’d be happy to oblige. TBW is easy: when you need a moment before (or, god-forbid, even right after) a total meltdown of sorts, you go to the bathroom and take the time you need to regroup.  Why the bathroom, you may ask? It’s usually pretty small, with few distractions. I know that if I were to try and go to my bedroom for this, I’d end up face down on my bed snoozing, or attempting to put the laundry away that has been in a basket for 3 days. That is NOT the point of TBW. Forget the playroom or any common areas, too messy/occupied with grimy kids and their toys. The kitchen is just asking for trouble, what with all the chores that are always screaming at us every time we walk into our kitchens. The lovely porch that we have has always been a favorite place of mine to go, shutting the front door behind me, to sit down and think. (That is until recently, when the girls got savvy enough and tall enough to stare at me out one of the 4 windows that looks onto the porch from our house. Their sadness is guilt-inducing and often burns a hole into the back of my skull.) No, this has to be a place with limited interruptions, not too many distractions, and ample space to sit and reflect—on the day, the moment, whatever you need at that time--to keep you from being the screaming banshee you are inclined to be lately. This will also force you to keep the bathroom relatively clean, so as not to waste TBW time straightening up in there.

 Here are some rules to TBW that must always be followed, lest ye fail and are back to square one:

1.       No phones. No tablets, computers, or any other electronic device that you could use to look up ridiculous things like what your first ex from high school had for lunch today. This time is to clear your mind, not fill it with crap/more things to worry about.

2.       You do this ALONE. That means that if you have to wait for your spouse to get home because your hellions might tear the house apart in the 90 seconds it takes you to calm down, then so be it. Wait it out all day if you have to. Just picture that beautiful alone time and, trust me, it will be worth it. If you are a one-bathroom family, try (I said try) to be courteous and ask if anyone must tinkle or poo before you go in there. You cannot say how long this will take, and you don’t want any surprise knocks urging you out before you’re ready. For a 2+ bathroom home, run in there as fast as your legs will take you.  If your kids don’t “allow” you to ever use this room alone, here’s a great time for your spouse to teach them about privacy. NOW GO.

3.       Be sure to tell your spouse that this isn’t a lady-like way of saying you have to poop, nor is it a way to sneak in alone and text/call/message a lover or mistress. You’re not necessarily trying to skirt any chores or responsibilities, or to make anything unfair to them. You are running away so that you can be a nicer person for the next however-many-hours your day will last. 

      

      Now that you have entered the bathroom, alone and unplugged, take this time to simply sit down and collect yourself. If you would rather stand, stand. Lean over the sink like Eminem in 8 mile. Take a quick pee while you loosen up. Slide your back down the wall until you land on your ass with a thud.  Curl up in the cold, empty bathtub if that’s the dramatic route you want to take. No matter what, get comfy.

      The second thing you must do is count to ten. Don’t do it in the voice of The Count, don’t rush through like you are counting fingers and toes for the 1000^th time this week. Close our eyes, listen to the breath, take it from deep down in your soul, and breeeeaaaattthhhhhe. Woosah. Afterward, if you feel inclined, brush your teeth, comb your hair, and/or wipe the makeup out from under your eyes. Or don’t. You’re not in there to prep for a runway walk when you reemerge, you are there to be able to reemerge happier.

      

     Once the breathing and maybe-self-care has calmed you slightly, before you step back out to the shitshow, start to say things to yourself that help you let the anger go. Things that would sound BATSHIT CRAZY if you were to say them in public. Things like “remember, they grow up so fast, try to resist the urge to kick them”, or “it’s ok if you went through an entire roll of toilet paper today just on snotty noses”, or “getting dressed every day in real clothes is overrated anyway”. Whatever means something to you, say it. You certainly don’t want to end up cold, angry, wrinkly, and/or gruff. You don’t want your kids or your spouse to have to think real hard about when the last time was that you were happy. I don’t want my husband to dread walking in the door to crying kids and a wife who yells “I’M DONE! YOU TAKE THEM! MY SHIFT IS OVER!” What I do want is for him to walk in and me give the ‘TBW look’ (which I will be working on as early as tomorrow—I’m thinking non-threatening meets all-business) and for him to let me Woosah and be done with it. I want to come out smiling, ready to talk about our crazy day at home, just 3 nearly-unemployed ladies making our way through the world. I don’t want him to think I’m running from dinner or another poopy diaper or from yet another tantrum. I want him to see this as me recharging so that I can go on—as a sane-sounding, sane-looking, sane-feeling individual—for the rest of the evening. I know I won’t have a problem convincing him that this is something I need--for 10 seconds, 2 minutes, 12 minutes, whatever. It is better than the alternative (Kevin, see aforementioned snarky wife blowup described above).

     

      If you need 1 TBW a day, good for you. That’s wonderful. You’re probably almost there, to absolute nirvana. If you need 15, well, good for you, you are working very hard on absolute nirvana. Anytime that you think you would benefit from TBW, do it*. (*disclaimer: probably not the best time to take a time out when someone is bleeding, the stove is boiling over, and/or the toddler is running toward the open front door. Be sure everyone is safe and sound before exiting the chaos of your life). Start with TBW and I think you will feel a lot better and more empowered to do even more tasks that make you happy! It can help you tackle any problem that may come your way! You will enjoy your babies even when you think you can’t. Kiss your spouse instead of throwing ‘you don’t even understand’ glares their way. Get back to who you used to be before your life was altered in such a dramatic way, to a time when you danced and laughed and smiled a lot. To a time when you and your spouse gave each other loving glances and surprise butt-pinches. 

      

      Don’t lose your true self to motherhood and just assume that this is the way it is now. Yes, you will get frustrated and lose your cool. If you are starting to feel like that is your “normal”, though, you probably want to just hunker down and try the crazy idea of TBW. And don’t forget, you can do this in restaurants, Chuck E. Cheese, at your in-laws house, or even in Target! They all have bathrooms! Legally, they have to!

     ~Leah

"Is This Your Real Job?"

I am asked this question all the time.

Now that I am a 34-year-old server and mother of two, strangers I wait on are thrown for a loop. Some of their questions include "Is this your real job? Do you work anywhere else? What do you do as a full time job? Are you in school?" That last one I always appreciate, yet secretly know that they don't really believe I'm in school. I mean, I've held up pretty well, but come on now. They just can't figure out my deal and don't know how to come out and say AREN'T YOU KIND OF OLD TO BE WORKING HERE?!

I, of course, try to be gracious, smile, and get them some extra rolls and dipping oil. That will shut them up for a while, trust me. I give them an abridged version of how I stay home with my kids, how lucky I am, how I used to manage and gave it up and blah blah fucking blah.

What I really want to say is, I had to give up my job because, well, someone had to, and at the time my husband was closer to a promotion than me, because of seniority. I want to tell them that sure, I'm really lucky to stay home with the girls. I love it, but I also hate it some days. I feel like it is my job, which it is in a way, but that means I never get to leave my job. Ever. Oh! except when I go to my second, paying job. To serve strangers. Go me.

This transition from independent working woman to stay-at-home-mom (SAHM as they like to call it in the "community") has been rougher than I ever expected or could ever explain. It's not like it was way back when, when every woman who popped out a child stayed with them, whether that meant they were still a housewife or they actually left a job they had. Either way, it was the norm. This feels outside of the norm for me, for my life. I sometimes think I will lose it when I have to clean the same toys in the same rooms for the umpteenth time today, for the umpteenth time in my life. In a word: MADDENING.

But this isn't about my mommy troubles. I mean, of course it is, but it's not.

There's my table, peering up at me with crumbs on their lips and seemingly innocent questions on their brains.  I politely tell them I love my girls, they are everything to me. And though I don't cook a good dinner, or a dinner at all some days, I have a lovely husband who will come pouring in the door, jump on those girls and I, and kiss us like he means it. I tell them I'm older than they think, and usually they are at least a couple years off guessing my age, in my favor, which is usually the best thing I've heard all day. I don't resent my position. I don't judge those who go to work day after day, or those who stay home, keep it cool, and don't bat a lash. I'm not them, I'm ok with that, but that is not something that comes easy. I'm still not all the way there, I'm sure.

Today, what I am, folks, is your server. I love the job a lot, I am finally really good at it, I'm earning money for my family, and it is a cake-walk compared to my job at home. I come here to get away, to feel like I'm doing something, even if you and everyone else looks at it like something a monkey could do. (Look, I've worked with some monkeys in my time and not everyone can do this job). I'm not gonna go into the pros and cons, ins and outs, or the good and bad of being a server. What I will say is that I do what I do because I have to, because I like to, and because this is what my path has led to at this point.

As much as I don't need to explain myself to anyone, I do it weekly, and with a smile.

I anticipate the question will be coming again soon from a clueless couple who have no idea what territory they are actually entering into. I should become that weird waitress that really over shares, then they would regret ever asking me at all.  I could ignite a change! Maybe they won't ask any woman ever again and then all will be right with the world!

Probably not.

I can't wait for the day I add "blogger" to my list of current jobs. "Mother? Server? Blogger? But what does she actually do??" The confusion on their faces, the gears turning in their brains, them frantically trying to think of something to say about that. Tripping over their words, trying to make me feel supported and understood, it could add a good 10 minutes more to their dining experience.

Or maybe I'll get off easy and they'll just choke on their damn dinner rolls.



~Leah

Welcome! Come in! Sit Down! Have some chocolate!

Way to go, Leah. Way to start off your Lady blog, with a little dose of delicious sexism. Typical woman, amiright? *eyeroll*

Welcome, everyone, to Lady Thoughts, a place where a group of great Ladies put down some thoughts, pose some questions, and hopefully rile you up a bit from time to time. Just to get something out of the way right off the bat, we will be referred to as the Ladies, with a capital "L", just like God, Jesus, and Oprah before us (aaaaand she's already mentioned Oprah, great...). Any questions? You? In the back, with your hand up and a cranky look on your face? No? Good, let's keep going.

I was feeling UNINSPIRED, a word I have now come to both love and hate in just 3 short days. I hate it because it's such an icky feeling to have. It encompasses way more than just boredom, confusion and unanswered questions about our lives. For me, it was this deep, dark feeling way down in my belly that stretched all the way up my long torso to my heart. I have many things, as do all of the Ladies here, to make me happy, mostly fulfilled, and satisfied with life. Health, just enough money, a great partner (in love and in crime) and two little beauties that I couldn't live without. There is so much more, too, that I have to be grateful for but, still, something is missing. All of the things I can list will never be able to make me 100% the person I am supposed to be. Here's where loving being uninspired comes in.

I reached out to some of my closest, smartest, and interesting friends. They are not the only smart and interesting women who are close to me in my life, but I felt safe and happy and all-around cozy asking each of them to help me write this blog. To my surprise, everyone was at least open to the idea of sharing essays for the page! I'm not sure how this will go, how many entries each will contribute, or how much I'll be able to pour onto these pages before I'm bored of my own thoughts. That being said, I can't wait to hear from all of them and take this journey of self-awareness, collaboration, and honest sharing with each one of them. I hope we can all participate, encourage, and inspire each other to do something that makes us happy. Writing is something that is only yours. No one writes for you, no one tells you what to write (at least in this case), and no one can take it away from you (except maybe your child/dog/spouse/live-in great-grandmother spilling milk on your computer. But then, JUST PICK UP A PEN). I'm excited to do this alone, by myself, for myself, and for each of my Ladies to do the same.

We would all like to thank anyone who takes a few minutes out of their busy schedules to read and comment on our stories. Even if we never make it into double-digits as far as a fan-base is concerned, we will keep going, keep writing, and keep eating that chocolate...

(Come on! I can't help it! I love chocolate!)

Keep it real,

Leah