It’s taken me this long to really wrap my head around it and put it into words.

And apparently, I’m still not there because all I can say was it was Uh!Maze!Ing!

Oh, I was nervous. Speaking to a group (even as lovely a group as you all are) had me quite literally vibrating.

So I did my thing…some EFT to get me centered, some love from my coach and peeps, and imagined myself AFTER the call, with the feeling of connection I always feel when I do my thing, the elation I knew I’d feel, the laughter and wahoos I knew I’d make…

And with that…well, then I just had to dance.

15 minutes before the call I cranked up some Peas and let my inner hip-hop out to play. Because really…what burns off the adrenaline, gets you laughing and into that feeling of love, and reminds you of how much fun LIFE is like hearing the lyrics “follow your intuition” and “don’t worry ’bout it; people will walk you through it” while you bounce around your RV?

Perfect, I tell ya.

And then I got on the phone, lost my breath a few times (I talk fast when I’m passionate and I *had* just finished dancing, if you remember?) , totally messed up the technical stuff and still, I shared from the depths of my soul.

And it was Uh!Maze!Ing!

I just can’t begin to describe the feeling of connection I experienced with all the women who shared, and even those who just listened.

So, I thought I’d let them do it for me…

Thank you so much for last night! I don’t know what I was expecting but it was so much more! I have pages of doodles and arrows and notes and my own thoughts scribbled beside. its so amazing to have other people who are experiencing what i am, to share, to hear other opinions. It was so much fun. my mind has been swirling with so many thoughts. Making time to “dig deep” this weekend! – Samantha

My mind is swirling too! It was absolutely awesome. – Susan

I’ve got tears on this call already. I’m only 20 minutes in! – Jennie (listening to the recording)

Wow! It was so jam packed full of goodness! I really need this in my life. I think we all do, because we can be so hard on ourselves. The nurturing factor was extremely good. That is a vibe you can’t mute!….The call was marvelous. I was aware of such a sense of love & affirmation w/everyone, as I’m sure you were. Love safe places! – Rachel

Thank u Tara! U r an amazing inspiration! – Tracy

Tara you are amazing for doing this! I got off call and took a nice long shower and thought about everything I heard. I can’t wait for the forum! – Rebecca

Great call tonight lady! I had A LOT more to say but didn’t want to bulldoze people who hadn’t talked yet so I can’t wait for the forum. Glad I listened to my intuition and jumped on the call. – Brianna

And here’s one mama’s powerful revelation after we connected and worked through some things together in the Tribe: Embracing the Disgusting

And then I did what I imagined myself doing…

After the call, I let loose my whoops and wahoos, I had my running jump into my husband’s arms, I gave my kiddo a giant hug and of course, I called my mama and my sister to share my elation.

Cuz I did it! What I wanted to do!

I took my message out of it’s box, danced off those silly fears and boundaries and leaned into what I know I’m here to do…my part of inspiring the world.

And it feels Uh!Maze!Ing! 

And then!

We celebrated with family rocking it on Sleeping Bear Dunes, feeling pretty “wahoo” about making it to the top of that bad boy and just being silly together.

Because life – and rocking it – is good like that.

Next amazing thing to put into the world: the Sisterhood forums and the next Tribe call!

Wahoooooo!

Have you pushed through any inner boundaries lately?

A little Q&A version this Friday…

My question would definitely be…. Why, when I feel most comfortable in my own body, alive and healthy, does so much go on around me to make sure that I don’t stay that way for long? Every time I feel like I have gotten somewhere, somebody (usually my child or someone close to me) causes a whole bunch of chaos in my life and I find myself reverting back to old ways of living and thinking.

My answer…

This is a great question and was a very important one to understand.

First ask yourself this: When a woman is truly, deeply connected to her core, feeling whole and healthy and vibrant…can anyone really shake that from her?

Those moments of feeling awake and alive and vibrant are like glimpses of connecting to your Truth, your core…Who You Are.

When you heal the things the disconnect you from it you will feel that feeling all the time; it will be unshakeable. (This is probably what people refer to as enlightment; it takes a real practice to fully get their in our life, but our purpose is to continue moving there, growing and learning, daily and mindfully bringing ourselves back to center when we lose touch with it.)

These challenges are natural. In fact, I’ve never not seen a person or had a client going through a process of reconnecting to themselves not almost immediately experience these challenges.

I used to look at these challenges as “Murphy’s Law”, and feel frustrated, even victimized. Then I saw them as tests and felt overwhelm and despair that I was “failing”.

Now I see these challenges are perfect. As the opportunities they are.

Every challenge you experience to stay connected is an opportunity to deepen your connection, to learn more about yourself (and others), to stretch yourself and grow even stronger in your own Truth, in Who You Are.

Think of it as a spiritual workout…through the resistance we meet in our life, the weight put on our spiritual muscles, we grow stronger.

But only when we embrace it and allow it to transform us for the better.

We do this best when we move our blocks out of the way; then this process actually feels like a process, not a setback.

There will still be opportunities, of course, but we will experience them in a new way – with gratitude and a deeper awareness of what they are offering us. (And yes, sometimes we’ll still feel frustrated, overwhelmed, victimized or hurt by them. But we’ll bounce back faster the stronger we are in our own Truth.)

You are exactly where you need to be. This opportunity is perfect.

(((Hugs)))

We parked near City Park to give ourselves a bit of time perusing their art galleries and shops. It was there that Zeb’s keen hearing detected the faintest of meows.

Not 10 feet from our RV we found it: a tiny kitten stuck in the storm drain.

We had little time and still hadn’t found a place to stay for the night, but I knew within an instant of Zeb’s realization of the kitten’s danger this would be taking up a fair amount of our time that evening.

We tried it all and gathered quite a few looks while we did it: attempting to climb into the storm drain ourselves, lying flat in the gutter in an attempt to reach the tabby, making cat calls, sacrificing our leftover dinner and even bothering neighbors for potential material to construct ramps.

At one point, because of the kitten’s fear, we left the ramp in place in hopes the little one would climb out, only to come back several hours later and just before nightfall to still hear his tiny calls.

So, we did the only thing we could do: We called the fire department.

I have a feeling to any other town’s police department a stranded kitten may not have been a priority. But in the small town of Berea, we had two local heros at our side within 5 minutes.

Again, we tried it all: lures, cat calls and climbing in through the manhole covers. This job fell to one of the firemen and Justin.

Yes, Justin crawled in the dark storm drain at 10:30 at night for a kitten. (Wish I had a picture of that!)

In the end, the kitten ran away from us to what we can only hope was his escape through a nearby exit. And we were left with only minutes to get to the nearest RV park before it closed.

What Stranded Kittens Have To Do With Parenting

Not much, actually.

Or a whole lot depending on your child.

You see, this whole time Justin was feeling rather stressed about getting to the RV park on time. He didn’t worry that the kitten would eventually find the nearby exit. And he didn’t really feel excited to climb into a dank storm drain. He was anxious to leave and for good reason – it was hot as sin outside and boondocking without an AC was a terrifying thought in itself.

But his child had a look on his face that no parent should ever ignore. It’s the look of feeling that the situation is monumental, and they are too small. It’s the look that doesn’t say, but certainly means, “This matters so much to me and I don’t know how to handle it.”

It might be stranded kittens, or scary phone calls, or Big Bad Bullies. It might be the millionth time in the swimming pool that suddenly looks too deep, or a dark and spooky corner of the house or too many people thinking they should be seen or not heard.

It might be intimidation, fear or concern.

It might be any number of situations that feel Too Big to handle. They might be the stranded kitten in need of assistance or the anxious boy looking for help in rescuing. But it’s usually an opportunity we don’t recognize until it’s too late.

Invalidating Children

I’ve seen far too many people leave kids stranded with these feelings of fear. They tend to think “she should be able to handle this by her age” or maybe “it’s just not a big deal” and they force their children into action (or away from it).

I’ve seen parents do it and I’ve seen parents allow others to do it to their kids.

And it sends the same message to our kids every time:

• You’re feelings are not as important as mine or someone else’s
• This is too inconvenient or unimportant to deal with right now.

Which really only means one thing:

• I’m the only real, important person in this situation. Who you are or what you feel is invalid.

It’s the number one way we invalidate our children, establishing their place as lesser human beings with lesser needs and rights and ensuring a cultural bias against the younger members of our society.

It’s probably also the most common and easily overlooked way we harm our relationship with them, setting up our future relationships to be riddled with battles, disrespect and distrust on all sides. We don’t trust what they feel and they don’t trust that we really care for them. That’s a recipe for disaster.

Our Role As Mindful Parents

We are our children’s first, and for some time, likely their only, advocate. We might be the only one to hear their cries from the storm drain or the only one to help them do the rescuing.

It’s our role to…

• Go “to bat” for our children: Sometimes our kids just can’t take the necessary swings. We need to show them our unconditional love by stepping up to the plate with our whole hearts. Who cares if it’s pee wee baseball or the Major Leagues?! Get out there and play the game! We don’t even have to win always win. We just need to show up and do our best; our children will see that.
• Go the extra mile: Sometimes they will know what they need and clearly ask for it. Other times we have to go above and beyond what they ask for, offering up new solutions and ways we can help. Think of it as strewing for problem-solving. Then do it. Do more than most people would do. Impress your kid. Just know when to stop. And don’t embarrass them.
• Embarrassing yourself is up for grabs, though. Seriously. Sometimes what we need to do for our kids, to build or maintain their trust, advocate for their needs or help them attain their goals means looking like a fool. People will criticize, use words like “doormat” and maybe even stop talking to us. We might appear pushy or a pushover. We may lose some friends and offend a few family members. Isn’t that better than hurting our children? There is no justifying placing a wedge between our children and ourselves, causing harm to our relationships and breaking their trust just to save our own egos.

I’ve had a lot of experience both invalidating and validating Zeb and all the negative backlash both can bring. We probably all have done both to some extent. We’re parents, not perfect.

But all the things I thought would happen by playing my child’s advocate, all the things I thought I saw too much of and didn’t want to encourage (what I thought was lazy, lack of motivation, demanding, fearful, or immature) have simply disappeared.

Everything I thought might happen, didn’t. Why? Because our children need our advocacy. Just like they need love or food or water. Met needs do not create needy children.

We are our children’s heroes. It’s high-time we don that cape, wear our undies on the outside of our pants and play the part!

Do you have a story of advocating for your child against the grain?
Share it in the comments below and help inspire others!

Thankfully, this shuffling takes us about 30 minutes. In that time we (and by we I usually mean I) put away toys, books, computers or other things, sort clothes that need to be washed at our next location, and rehang or refold the rest. Then we (I) grab a rag and the spray bottle and wash down the fingerprints that have graced our walls, clean up the sinks, wipe down the shower and clean the toilet. Then I sweep and hand-mop the floor with a second rag. Justin then takes that second rag and the spray bottle to wash the bugs off the windows. We may or may not throw the fridge somewhere in there for good measure.

We don’t always do it at the state line, but Justin is threatening to drive us across the border every week anyway.

My view from Louisiana

We’re now in Louisiana, in a little town called Keatchie (pronounced key-chie), about an hour south of Shreveport. So small in fact, they don’t even have their own grocery store!

It’s beautiful and quiet and the serenity feels so good. But it’s lonely not feeling connected to a tribe. I’m making the most of what it is but I’m looking forward to driving into New Orleans and Baton Rouge and meeting new people and finding friends.

In the meantime we’re hooping, playing games, watching movies, playing online and relaxing. Zeb is hoping to do some fishing in the neighbor’s pond soon and Justin is excited to have found a boatload of free veg oil for the RV. Next weekend we’ll be celebrating with the locals at the annual crawfish festival.

But for now we’re just trying to stay connected to each other as Justin attempts to go back to work and we attempt to find a tribe.

So, tell me tribe, how’s your weekend going?

The very first thing on my list of 28:

1. Embrace my child’s fullness, even especially when it scares me.

When I wrote that it just sort of tumbled out. I’m not sure I really understood it, but it took rank as the first thing my heart desired for this year and so I trusted it. It’s probably also the most difficult. It’s not a one-time task like “Knit a pair of socks”. It’s an ongoing, never-ending process. And what did I even mean by “especially when it scares me”?

Last night Zeb and I laid together and talked and as he began to drift off, it dawned on me exactly what I was afraid of. Not only am I afraid for him, I’m afraid of not being the parent he needs me to be.

Let me digress for a few paragraphs:

Zeb is a very old soul and carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He not only notices injustices (or ugliness or negativity), but sometimes seeks them out. Sometimes this means his analytical thinking brings about awesome changes as he points out room for improvement. Sometimes it means he’s bogged down with a heaviness he can’t get out from under. And too often it means we are left feeling frustrated and bogged down with him.

I was told some things when I was pregnant about Zeb’s life; “prophecies” if you will. Without going into detail they all felt very much like he was going to lead a deeply spiritual and/or philosophical life.  I tend not to think of those things very often as I don’t want to project anything onto him, but sometimes they pop into my head and I wonder if he’s already on that path. If somehow this heaviness he feels will eventually lead him to question or seek greater or deeper things.

It’s very hard to watch him when he feels that weight bear down upon him. He’s not a very happy person on those days and it’s difficult to know what to do for him. (Especially when there are so many consecutive days.)

But isn’t this part of his fullness? Life isn’t always sunshine and butterflies and can’t beauty be found in despair? Or at least be born of it?

The first 11 days of this adventure were exciting to watch. We rarely get to see him so engaged and lit up! He was curious and inquisitive and full of life, every single moment. He was Open in the way we hope to see our children open to life. And I reveled in it, hoping *this* is what he needed to embrace joy.

Maybe that’s why I sort of panicked when I saw that heaviness return yesterday. When your child tells you he hates new things, hates trying new things, and even though he’s bored he doesn’t want the risk of failure, it’s hard to fight that urge to take him by his shoulders and shake him back Alive. In one bubbling flash of emotion I felt like yelling “You’re 10 years old! You should be laughing and playing and full of Life! You’re missing out! Look at the beauty around you, open your eyes, embrace it!”

Instead, I remembered what I had just read on Mama-Om about those flashes of stories our minds or emotions tell us. So I held my breath, squeezed my eyes shut and tightened my stomach for just a moment to stop the rush of emotion coming up. (I know; exactly the opposite of what people say to do – take a deep breath and relax your core. But I find I have to feel something intense to stop the intensity trying to find its way out. Then I can breath and relax again.) And when that rushing, bubbling urge to react subsided, I said the only thing that came to my heart.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling that way.”

That’s when he began to drift off and I began to realize that I am afraid. Afraid that he will always be unhappy. Afraid that I don’t know what he needs or that I might do the wrong thing for him. Parenting is a very vulnerable place, full of fear and deep concern. But parenting mindfully is difficult when you can’t get out of your own mind.

So here I am, turning to the wisdom and grace and tenderness of the mamas and papas out there, the ones who understand my goal of deep respect for Who He Is but aren’t in the thick of the brambles and can perhaps see the bigger picture that is so often blocked from our emotional view. Here I am, asking you…

How do you embrace your child’s fullness, especially when it scares you?

When we first started discussing the decision to travel full-time and eventually settle outside of Vegas, we included Zeb. How could we not? He’s one-third of our family and his experience will be as life-changing as ours.

So, we sat down. We talked over our situation and our choices as best we could without overwhelming him or stressing out an easily-stressed soul. We told him every pro and con of full-time RVing we could think of, we gave him a timeline for being on the road but were honest that it could change, we discussed the potential challenges. And we asked what he thought.

He was hesitant, for sure. Thoughtful and questioning. But after some time, and a promise we’d make room for his Legos, he told us it would work for him.

And then he was excited…for about a week. That’s when his real transitioning began.

Zeb is an emotional, highly-sensitive child. He creates strong attachments to animals, friends and family, as well as things that hold special significance. For years he kept his school reports and certificates on his walls because it reminded him of *something* good from those difficult years. So it’s really no wonder that this transition – away from loved ones, best friends, his hometown, all that he knows, even his pets – would hit him hard.

All at once he was torn between sadness and anger. This isn’t to say he wasn’t simultaneously excited. But he realized how much he would miss his friends and family. He worried that he’d be bored. Truthfully, I think he was a bit afraid of such a Huge Unknown. In his ten years, he’s experienced some pretty difficult stuff and it’s left him leaning heavily toward the hesitant side of life. Now here we were, and he was feeling as if the security we’ve built for ourselves was being stripped away. It’s a big world out there and it’s already proven to sometimes be scary.

This went on for awhile. Some days  – many days – I didn’t handle it well. Truthfully, my own excitement was building and I was feeling resentful for his raining over my parade. I didn’t want to be pulled into the emotional upset and away from the budding joy. Internally, I didn’t think I had the energy to handle it.

On those days I tried to rationalize with him, remind him how much fun we’d have, how many more friends we’ll see and make, how many things we’ll have the opportunity to do. I took lots of deep breaths and left the room countless times. It’s not that I didn’t understand him. It’s that I was too wrapped up in my own expectations to react to his needs.

He doesn’t need to be rationalized with or reminded that he had once agreed. He needs to mourn what we are leaving behind, so that he can be prepared to move ahead.

Zeb has always needed a slow transition. He’s slow to get out of bed, slow to stop one thing and start another. We work with this by giving him plenty of notice before we leave, before we eat, before company comes.

And this anger and sadness was the beginning phase of a very big transition. All he needed from me was a place to vent, some validation over what will surely suck and some patience. So I finally stopped rationalizing or talking him out of his emotions. I stopped trying to fix it. (Wait. I thought I learned this one already?)

I allowed myself to be his emotional punching bag.

He needed a safe place to let it all out. And with lots of deep breaths and quiet reminders to myself to keep my mouth shut, I became that place. Sometimes he yelled, other times he cried. Sometimes he questioned and voiced concern. Some days he talked excitedly and made plans. At one point he blamed us for ruining his life and called us names, hating us with conviction. And that’s about when I was suddenly able to see past my own expectations and look with compassion on my son who was grieving a loss in advance.

And as soon as I managed to stay present and compassionate during his storm, it passed. In a matter of an hour he went from total meltdown to cuddling in our arms. In the end he gave us a look that resembled a Thank You, a hug that said I Love You Too and he was off to conquer the day without the heavy emotional load dragging him down.

I’m not about to assume we’ve seen the end. He’s not that kind of kid. And he still has his moments of fear amid the moments of excitement, although they aren’t as explosive now. But if I can remember to breath and not take it personally, I know we’ll get through them, too.

There is plenty more to say on the subject of transitioning/moving/traveling with a highly-sensitive child. You could probably consider this Part One.

Cohen states that most parent/child problems stem from disconnection, in which kids feel locked within towers of isolation or powerlessness. And he describes quite well the value of play in helping our children process their experiences, giving them a sense of power and autonomy and fostering trust and connection between us. He advocates tuning into a child’s needs; that it takes a parent less time to meet the need than to fight for our own way and that meeting those needs (for attention, time, quiet, listening, food, sleep, affection, play) does not in any circumstance mean you’re “rewarding negative behavior”.

I’m always amazed when adults say that children “just did that to get attention”. Naturally children who need attention will do all kinds of things to get it. Why not just give it to them?

I couldn’t help but find myself smiling throughout the first several chapters as he related stories of the silliness he subjects his ego to for the sake of connecting with a child. It was also exciting to read so much practical wisdom without so much of a hint of holier-than-thou condescension (he often relates his own parenting blunders), or top-down authority over children. Cohen’s emphasis stays true to respectful and compassionate parenting.

Perhaps the best chapters where the last ones all about how to gently take the lead in play when we see our children need help, learning to love the games we hate to play, handling the strong emotions that arise from both our children and ourselves, taking care of ourselves so that we can take care of our children, and of course, the obligatory chapter on discipline.

That chapter, Rethinking The Way We Discipline, was fantastic, I might add. Cohen spoke strongly against punishments and behavior modification and echoed what most of we all already feel: it doesn’t work and rarely comes up when we are connected with our children.

I think it’s obvious by now that I see most “behavior” as really just a matter of disconnection. Children who feel connected also feel inclined to be cooperative and thoughtful. So instead of punishment, which tends to create an even bigger disconnection between parent and child, try thinking about how to reestablish a connection….Most punishments involve exerting power over a child, which just increases his or her sense of isolation and powerlessness.

I think the only thing that really challenged me about this book were his repeated techniques for dealing with fears, in which he describes pretending to have the same fear and acting it out himself in an exaggerated way. Although he does state to watch for signs the child feels teased, I find it hard to believe, based on our own personal experiences and sensitivities, that such things could come off any other way but teasing. Therefore the technique seemed a little cold-hearted to me, whereas validation and time have always worked best for us. Again, that’s just been my own experience.

I borrowed this book from the library, but it definitely needs to go on my shelf. There are a few chapters I would like to reread, such as Accept Strong Feelings (Theirs and Ours) and Learn To Love The Games You Hate. Both of those are things I struggle with and both are demanding my attention right now.

:: Tree trimming a still crooked (but sturdy) tree
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:: Laughing hysterically at the goofy things we do in front of the camera

:: Playing a bit with my new present before putting it away
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:: Making omelets together

:: Snuggling on the couch, watching A Christmas Story and reciting the best lines verbatim
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:: Playing with the Rubik’s Cube and coming to the conclusion that the real genius doesn’t mix it up to begin with

:: Finishing my newborn’s niece’s baby blanket while Zeb reads a chapter of HP2 out loud
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:: Enjoying each other’s company

I used a bunch of old greeting cards, watercolors, embroidery thread, and Mod Podge to make this…this…whatever it is. I don’t know what I’ll do with it but I really enjoyed the process of making it.

Then I opened one of Zeb’s sketch books (How To Draw Mythical Creatures or some such title) and followed line for line. It wasn’t nearly as fun as allowing the colors to drip and meld and allowing what comes, but it was fun to stretch myself more methodically.

It reminded me of my dad’s sketches – the one he drew before his hands lost feeling. I use to marvel at his talent and lament my own lack. And for a few peaceful hours I felt some small connection to him I hadn’t felt before. Like we were both artists, even if I had to practically copy mine.

It’s not the tone or the words that matter – even if they hurt. No. It’s the feeling that you have to be perfect and knowing every moment of imperfection is blamed on our differing choices, regardless of the fact the same flaws, the same imperfections exist (and maybe, even usually, to a greater extent) within the realms of conventional parenting.

And we are all imperfect. I am imperfect. Still in need of support or understanding. Still too quick to fall back on old habits of parenting in moments of stress. Still figuring it all out and learning and healing and growing. And yet when you position yourself in such blatant contrast of the norm, when you choose a path that others do not understand, your every action and reaction is dissected for fault. Every moment of humanness is waved about as an ugly flag that what you do is “wrong”.

Perhaps, in my maddening attempt to rise above the typical, I spend too much time in introspection. What started as my questioning the norm and finding a better way has progressed into something more debilitating and less productive. I take what I hear to heart. I inspect the thoughts given to me – despite their tone or purpose – for any shred of truth. I look for ways to improve. And I kick myself when I find what I seek. I often find myself spiraling into my own fears (or someone else’s), allowing myself to become paralyzed with guilt and further adding to my ever-growing list of missteps. Perhaps, my real goal shouldn’t be finding fault to improve it but forgiving fault when it arises and moving forward from that moment.

I want to be different, if that’s what it takes to love and respect my child. I want to nurture his ideas and autonomy, even if that means a few more bumps when he is younger because I know it will mean less as he grows. I strive to listen and breath and think before I respond. I want to validate and advocate. I want to listen to him first, me second and forget all criticism that clashes with what our hearts tell us.

But I am not perfect. Nor is my child. Or our life. Not because our choice in lifestyle is flawed. Loving kindness is never flawed. But because we’re human, with histories that shape our present state of mind, that bring up fears and unTruths and because it takes time for us to learn or unlearn and blossom and flow flawlessly with this Love.

We may not always experience one endless moment of Joy (did I ever elude we did?). But our joys are deeper and stronger and more full of laughter than they ever were before we found this path. Under even our most tumultuous days, flows an undercurrent of Trust and Love and Peace. All we have to do is take a deep breath and allow it to wisk us away to calmer waters.

I laid next to Zeb in bed the other night. We had just finished reading a few chapters of Little House and were cuddling, whispering to each other about our day and laughing quietly together. And though I had spent many days in the choppy waters (I) created from unkind words, I took a deep breath, recognizing that undercurrent pulling me back and let myself sink into it.

I whispered to my sweet boy that I love him…And he whispered back he loves me more…So I insisted I love him to pieces…

And he replied he loves me to crumbs…

And just like that, I’m swept away. No other words matter as much as those.