Lift Your Sisters Up

I’ve been in my head a lot this past year.

Thinking.

Feeling.

Wondering.

Plotting.

Hurting.

Questioning.

Dreaming.

Hoping.

The mind is a crazy place. It does so much to us. And so much for us.

I’m going to be completely honest in this post. Not that I’m ever dishonest. But rarely do we bare it all.

It’s too embarrassing.

Too shameful.

After a painful ending to an important venture I had created – I questioned my value. My worth. My importance. I was then hit hard with two big losses in my personal life. I was really hurting. I think I’ve been incredibly lucky to have not suffered much in my life time. I suppose all good things come to an end. And perhaps sometimes we just need to be tested.

But even during my dark days I was surrounded by love.

Kindness.

Good souls.

People who believed in me.

And wanted to see me whole again.

They had faith in me that I didn’t have. Maybe I lost it. Maybe I never had it in the first place.

Now a couple things happened here.

And a couple things occurred to me.

One:

During this time I started a new practice: Its-Conceivable.com. With the intention of supporting women along their journey to and through motherhood, specializing in fertility and postpartum support. For the past four years I had been doing this, not as a business, but because I truly wanted to create a safe space for women to connect, feel less alone and receive love, guidance and resources from myself and each other. Before the business, when it was just the Warriors groups – I spoke to women during every second of free (or not so free) time that I had. I helped with doctors visits. Insurance questions. Injection concerns. Generally emotional well-being. Shared in exciting pregnancy news. Empathized at the losses. I did this because I didn’t have this kind of support during my own journey and no one should feel isolated during this journey. So I started the business, and I think, I thought – people have been coming to me for years – they’ll pay to come to me now too. I had a confidence that perhaps was unwarranted. I’m not entirely sure. Needless to say, there are still hours open in my day that I didn’t expect.

So I was discouraged. And again questioned myself. What am I doing wrong. Am I not the person I thought, they thought?

I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I’m too hard on myself. I’m sure many of us are. But I also seem to keep finding myself in situations, or with people, who support my inner narrative: you’re just not good enough.

And it fucking sucks.

I’ve also been holding on to it for so long that I wonder if there’s a comfort in it? (You would think that 35 years of therapy I’d have figured this out.)

Another thing that happened:

I’ve been spending far too much time on social media. I’ve been using it for research, who can I start writing for, what Instagram hashtags should I use, where should I begin to market myself. But if I’m being totally honest, I use it to waste time and not actually focus on what needs to be focused on – mostly.

But during this time. This research. These wasted moments. Here is what I found. That I have to say truly surprised me. Inspired me.

For far too long I’ve seen social media used harshly.

It makes it easy to judge people.

It makes it easy to be envious.

It makes it easy to be mean, behind the safety of a screen and anonymity.

It makes it easy to make yourself feel better/or worse because of what other people are putting out there – true or not.

I see a new trend. Though. And it’s a beautiful one. I don’t know if it’s the #MeToo movement, the currently political climate, or just true human nature rising above and shining through. But for the first time I see women really truly supporting each other. And maybe I’ve been blind to it – maybe it’s always been there. But during the generation of Mean Girls, Social Media, Plastic Surgery, Insane Wealth – it’s been so each to fall into trash talk, judgement, jealousy. And from what I’ve seen personally – some people have the capacity to be truly hurtful to one another.

But. Now. There seems to be a generation of women who are out to help each other. Out to lift each other up. Out to see each other succeed. Authentically and genuinely rooting for each other. Who revel in #transformationtuesday stories of others. Who cheer from the sidelines when someone needs the cheerleaders.

I saw a picture of a woman who had just given birth in a post two days ago and it stuck with me. She looked stunning. Perfect. Like she’d just spent the day at the spa and topped it off with a make-up artist to the stars session. Instead, she was in a hospital bed and had just pushed an 8lb human out of her vagina. I imagined most people’s immediate reaction would have been. Eye Roll. Or ‘give me a break, no one looks like that after birth.’ Truthfully – that was my gut response. But the post from @wearerobyn was exactly that. Why judge? Why not just be elated for her that she just met her new baby. And they’re both healthy. And good for her! The last line of the post was, “lift your sisters up.” Because. Of course we should. Why wouldn’t we? Why would anything else but happiness and positivity be our first reaction?

I’ve been one to quickly jump on something, someone with an eye roll or preconceived notion. But shame on me. There is no benefit to this reaction. No benefit to them. And certainly not to me. Living in negativity is not a place to grow and prosper. And is just simply, never used for good.

Yesterday morning I invited 6 friends over. None of them knew each other. But they are all good people. Wonderful women. Fantastic mothers. Solid humans. Busy with jobs, businesses or children.

I invited them over because I trust them. And they know me from different aspects of my life. I literally sent a text to them saying. “Wanna come over and talk about me with people you don’t know?”

And guess what.

They fucking did. Every single one of them. None of them canceled. None of them no-showed. I even sent a follow up text to qualify the invite. “It’s not JUST about me”. Because god forbid I should sound narcissistic. But each one of them said, no, “we love this idea – we want to help you reach your potential. We believe in you.”

It was actually mind blowing and heart warming. These women came over, an hour before I used to wake up in the morning. Took 2 or 3 hours out of their day to help me brainstorm. To help me see. To help me believe. That I am worthy. That I am important. That I do have so much to offer. That I can do and be whatever the fuck I want.

That we all can do whatever the fuck we want. And we all can have the support we need. And we can all help each other figure it out. And we should. And we do. And we must.

There’s a lot out there that we are unfortunately contending with. But we each have the ability to find our people. Find our community. Do good. Be good. Figure out what and who we want to be when we grow up. And then set our sails for the life we know we’re meant to lead.

If we all just lift our sisters and brothers up – the sky is the limit.

To 2020.

To new beginnings.

To allowing in love and support.

To admitting when we need help.

To accepting help.

To changing your narrative.

To leaving negativity behind.

To a new approach, a new vision, a new intention.

To keeping the good people close – and believing that truly, people are good.

To giving people the benefit of the doubt.

To leading with positivity.

To being open and present.

To forgiveness, for yourself and others.

To going into everything with an open heart and mind.

To smiling more.

To lifting your sisters up.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

❤️💫

A Day In The Life

I’ve been feeling..stunted recently. Some things happened to me this year that took my passion, my drive, my motivation, my heart – away.

I’ve wanted to write.

I’ve wanted to do.

But the fire just hasn’t been there.

Every time I feel the urge, I can’t find the words. Someone said to me the other day, we feel like you’ve disappeared. I hated hearing that. But she was right. I felt the same way. I have been feeling empty. Luckily not in a depressed way, just haven’t felt like me. I’m used to giving, sharing, offering, creating, participating.

But 2019 just hasn’t been my year.

I’ve been looking towards 2020 as a new beginning.

Something to focus on.

Something to recharge me.

Something to bring me back.

I was relying on January 1, 2020 to be my turning point – for no other reason than I needed something to believe in, something that would refocus me.

I was going to write again.

I was going to be present again.

I was going to share again. I was going to focus on a super important test I need to take for my career. 2020 man, that was going to be it, and I was counting down the days. I had pretty much called it in for 2019.

But then the most outrageous thing happened to me today. And I’m actually sitting in my car BEYOND alternate side hours just so I can get it all out. And after you finish reading you will feel extra badly for me that I’m still sitting In the car, in the cold, with no coat on.

You see. I had a coat on when I got to the car at 9:30am. It was a little wet from the rain. But that’s to be expected. After a training I went to on Friday I became extra motivated to continue my work. Helping women become mothers. I rode my peloton this morning – I rode it for me, but also as a reminder and a thank you – my incredible fertility support group raised money to get it for me last year.

They believe in me, I need to do the same.

So I got on the bike – pushed myself, I could have pushed harder, but can’t we always? I finished the ride. Popped a pill – I take meds for ADD because it’s literally impossible for me to complete a project if I’m not on something and today was the first day of my study plan. Quickly jumped in the shower. Made a coffee. Grabbed my study guides and planner and ran to the car to arrive before alternate side parking began – got there at 9:29am just in time to sit for an hour and a half. While I don’t have a salary it would irresponsible for us to keep the car in a lot. But since we need the car from time to time to travel anywhere with our broad – we’ve been keeping it in the city. This just means – as I have a flexible schedule – I’ve been sitting in the car Monday and Thursday from 9:30-11. Today I was going to be productive. Use this time, and my focused brain power – for good use. So I started immersing myself in the book. Getting anxious about taking the test – but also excited about finally having my clinical license. I’m a terrible test taker – but this is a really important one for me personally and professionally for a number of reasons.

So I’m studying, but also acutely aware of the sensation creeping up on me that I’m going to have to pee soon.

Time goes on.

Studying does too.

Then I’m starting to really have to pee. You see, I’m directly outside of my apartment building – where both my apartment and laundry room have a bathroom. I’m also directly across from my doctors’ office. But. If I cop came for the 2 1/2 minutes I was in there, I would have gotten a $65 ticket. I kept seeing people pass by and was tempted to ask them to just stand next to my car while I ran in. Then I thought – its only 30 minutes. Maybe I can handle it. But. I did drink two bottles of water and a large coffee – so really. I couldn’t.

At 10:40, with 20 minutes to go I was texting with a friend about career plans because focusing on studying when you’re about to pee yourself is a near impossibility. I then shared with her that I couldn’t possibly discuss anything other than my immense need to pee. She asked if I had a wide bottle. In truth I almost opened the front and back door of the car and peed on the ground – circa tailgating concert days. But people kept walking by. I looked down and sure enough a yellow paw patrol kids’ bowl that was shaped like a dog bowl was on the ground. Fuck it – I thought. This is wide and my bladder is about to burst. I saw tissues and paper towels on the floor as well but was so desperate I couldn’t even muster the energy to grab them or think through a plan of action. I quickly pulled down my pants. Coat still on. In the front seat of the car, legs under the steering wheel. Stuck Chase and his crew under my crotch and let go. I want to say I felt relief immediately – but, no. Apparently two water bottles and a coffee are more liquid than one small paw patrol bowl can handle. Because not only did I need to dump one full bowl out of the car (by the way – how the fuck to you pull a full-to-the-brim bowl of urine out from under you without spilling? Answer : you don’t) I then had to fill up another without serious dripping and splatter (nope). I regret having to share the news but, the overflow component was more than I could bare. I am 40 years old. Completely sober. It’s 10:50am, And I just peed everywhere. I mean, everywhere. All over the car seat. My coat. My shirt. My pants. My hands. And now, 20 minutes later I am still sitting in it. Because the urge to write and share this outrageous story sparked something in me. I will edit this later. For now I need to discreetly extricate myself from the car, throw a laundry in, take a scalding hot shower, see how much dry cleaning for a winter – not water proof coat – coat is, and learn how the hell you clean a car seat.

Ah well, the car is solidly in a spot for two more days, before I get to do this all over again. And we saved $65 on a ticket…that can now be used to pay for hundreds of dollars of cleaning.

It seems I’m back.

Look out 2019, you’ve not seen the last of me.

2020, I’m armed with a bladder, a yellow paw patrol bowl and a reason to write – you’ll be hearing from me soon.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

♥️💫

And The Band Played On

As with all chapters, as one ends another begins. And with any closing chapter there is opportunity. Opportunity for renewal. For redemption. And for new beginnings. It’s so hard to put finality to some chapters, though. Some didn’t get the closure you expected. Some leave you feeling disappointed. Blindsided. As life proves to us time and time again, we are not in control. We’re often not even in the passenger seat. We plan and plan. And have ideas. And visions. And then something – or someone – pulls the rug right out from under us. From you. And you’re left reeling. Uncertain of which way is up. Or down. Confused as to what your next step is. Or should be. Do you listen to logic? Or your heart? Do you take a leap of faith, or go with what’s comfortable? Do you accept complacency or do you risk it all knowing what’s at stake? As my father tells me, time and time again: None of us has a crystal ball. No one knows what’s next.

I’m often so worried about how things are going to work out. Then I’m reminded that they always do, in one way or another. Last night my cup runneth over. I had friends from near and far visit to mourn with me. Celebrate life with me. Commiserate with me. It proved to me that in loss comes love and kindness. That community is just so important. And that you truly get what you give. As I continue to mourn I also want to be sure to reflect. To look deep, deep within me and take stock of it all. What lessons have I learned? What can I take with me? What will I never do again? What is truly important (to me) in this crazy ride we’re on, life?

I love you Dear Grandma, you will be forever in my memories. Forever part of who I am. Forever part of me. Living in my heart. And in my soul. In life and death you taught me lessons. Lessons that I will learn from. And live from. I cherish our time. I wish we had more. I’m broken. And devastated.

Though this chapter may have come to an end. It does not mean the story is complete. And I believe. I need to believe, that I can choose my own ending.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

♥️💫

Don’t Wait

So much of life is waiting. Waiting for the first day of summer. Waiting for the weekend. Waiting to meet your soul mate. Waiting for baby. The job. The house. Waiting for the right year, right month, right day, right moment – to do that thing you’ve been “meaning” to do. It’s human nature.

But while we wait, life passes us by. It’s not intentional. But during the waiting game other people are living their lives as well. Their moments, days, months and years are passing by too. Passing them. And you.

I’ve had an incredibly blessed life. Born into a family with three great grandparents. Four grandparents. And two loving parents. For much of my life – into my 20s, I had everyone: two grandfathers and two grandmothers. I saw them often. During childhood I’d spend weekends at my Grandparents’ Manhattan and Hamptons homes. During the week the other set would come in for dinner. I was surrounded by family and by love all the time.

I was lucky enough to fly to Florida – where they all ended up moving – up to six times in a year. We had quality time. Just us. As I said, I’ve been unquestionably lucky.

I was the first grandchild on both sides. So by default I had a very special relationship with my grandmothers. I had an extra five years with them before anyone else was born. Through college, through grad school, through my twenties and well into my thirties I would speak to my grandmothers multiples times a week. They’d call me. I’d call them. We would connect. Catch up. We’d talk about nothing. And everything. They were always there to answer. And listen to my sorrows. Or achievements. Exciting dates. Broken hearts. And they’d always be there to pick up the pieces. Or worry. Or share with me the joys.

Then life happened. And I got busy. And I got engaged. And planned a wedding. Then was on a fertility journey. And got pregnant. And worried about the pregnancy. And couldn’t visit because of Zika. Then I had a newborn. And still couldn’t visit. Then pregnant again. And couldn’t visit still. Then had three babies under two, and life was too busy. Too complicated. And the time between calls was less frequent. And the missed calls weren’t always returned. I meant to. But something inevitably came up. And I’d wait to call. So the years went by. And though the love was always there. The time and effort weren’t as completely as they could be.

This year I turn 40. And today, I’m still able to count 3 Grandparents. Beyond beyond beyond lucky.

Earlier this year my Grandmother moved back from Florida. She moved home to Westchester. So she was close. And I’ve been meaning to visit. But there was always a reason I couldn’t. Didn’t. Haven’t. And she was a phone call away. And yet I just didn’t pick up the phone that often. Though I thought about it.

Last week she had some version of a heart attack. She was in the hospital for her 91st birthday. I called her the day after her birthday, because I just got “too busy” to call on the right day. My uncle answered. But as he did, he was getting another call. As he hung up I quickly said “happy birthday grandma”. But he didn’t hear. No one heard. I made a mental note to call back later that day to speak to her. Directly to her. And then I waited. And never made the call.

This past weekend I realized there may not be a lot of time left and vowed to visit her more frequently. At least call more frequently. Like I used to. Like she was used to.

Then I got the call yesterday. She’s had another heart attack. A stroke. Lost consciousness and partial movement in her body. And then hours later the words I was not at all prepared to hear. She has hours or days.

Hours or days. To live. For me to see her. Or not see her. She’s unconscious and on morphine. I’ve waited too long. There are no more moments. Or days. Or months. Or years. I cannot call. I cannot visit. I cannot share my joys. Or sorrows. Life passed us both by. And now it’s too late.

I’m sitting in a car. In traffic. Trying to beat the clock. Desperate to hold her hand. To see my Grandma. Tell her how much I love her. How thankful I am for her. I know it’s for me now. Not for her. For us it’s too late. I waited. And now my heart is irrevocably broken.

If you have anyone in your life you’ve been waiting to call, to visit. To tell you love them. To remind them you have not forgotten what they’ve done for you. Who they’ve been to you. What they mean to you. Please. Please. Please. Don’t wait.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

♥️💫

The Idea Of Him

It’s incredible what 6 years can do to love. The shape it can take. What you feel love is in the early moments, early days – and then the transcendent truth love becomes.

6 years ago today I was going on a first date. A first date that I truly felt was going to be different than all the first dates before.

Not unsurprisingly I was sick. I had strep. An ear infection. And was on antibiotics.

Clearly the makings of a true love story.

But I had been talking to a guy. A special guy. It felt right. It felt natural. Dare I say, it felt ‘meant to be’.

Numbers don’t matter, but let’s just say the amount of firsts I had been on prior to this one – a movie could have been created from.

All that said. This was not going to be that. I could feel it deep, deep inside.

I loved the idea of love. But truth be told, my history wouldn’t show it. Flings too numerous to count, but nothing meaningful. Nothing that proved to me that love exists. I had been craving it for so long but was becoming certain it might not be mine to have.

Often discouraged, frequently disappointed – I questioned whether it was worth the effort, worth the struggle, to keep searching.

And then I met him. And the flutter came back. And the hope came back. And the dream came back. It wasn’t just the idea of him. It was him.

So strep and an ear infection, ailments that debilitate me far too frequently, were not keeping me from this date. This date, that the mystery man didn’t realize, was Valentine’s Day.

I often think about the movie sliding doors, I’m not sure I’ve actually ever seen it. But the concept at least. The concept that any step or any misstep or any different step – can and will alter the course of your future, rings all too true to me. I was not going to risk what could happen if I didn’t take that step, that day, that moment, with this guy.

So just like Gwyneth Paltrow – as she stepped off the subway platform, and onto the train, the doors shut behind her; on February 14th, 2013 I stepped onto the M14, heading south, unable to swallow, deaf in one ear and the doors closed behind me.

Closing the doors on my history, and my worries, and my loneliness. And opening doors to a world that never in my dreams, never in my wildest fantasies – would I believe would be mine.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

♥️💫

Not Good Enough

For the first time in a long time I had a full day where I felt wildly productive.

Felt good about the work I put in and proud of myself for what I accomplished.

And then, it all turned. As it can so quickly.

I had a moment tonight.

A moment where in the course of 60 seconds it was glaringly apparent that I am a failure.

I had three concurrent interactions that made me feel like I am not good enough.

My ideas are not good enough.

My actions are not good enough.

This all happened leading up to dinner time for my family. I was warming up a pre-cooked meat meal for my children that passed its expiration date. I tried not to respond to the messages while getting teary eyed looking for frozen vegetables (the only kind I ever have/feed my kids) that I knew weren’t there, because we ran out two days ago.

I was also fighting back tears while responding to suggestions on my Facebook post – where I asked the community how to do a basic, simple project for my kids, a project that literally anyone could do.

But I can’t.

I just can’t get my shit together.

And I don’t know how to do better.

I also didn’t remember that parent teacher conference is tomorrow.

I know I’ve written about it before – but sometimes I look at the life I’m providing my children and feeling devastated that I’m not able to do more for them. Is everyone around me really able to afford/cook/give their kids the luxurious perfect life it seems? I can’t even make a fucking Valentine’s Day card in time for the holiday.

Nathan came home with the kids, and his work challenges. I tried to offer empathy, sympathy, whatever I could. I was trying to put on a brave face at dinner, but when I reminded Harper that I’d be leaving for work shortly, she started crying.

“Mommy, don’t go.” Bottom lip trembling.

I lost it.

And cried in front of everyone.

I couldn’t stop.

I was sad.

She asked me if I was happy.

I told her I wasn’t right now.

She asked.

“Why are you sad?”

I said: “Sometimes it’s hard being a mommy.”

And she said. “Sometimes it’s hard being a mommy”.

It really is guys.

It’s really fucking hard being an adult.

A wife.

A mom.

A colleague.

A friend.

A business owner.

An entrepreneur.

A daughter.

A sister.

A cook.

A cleaner.

A human.

I know I’m not a failure. I do.

But sometimes, it’s just really hard being a mommy.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

♥️💫

The Question

Five years ago today began like any other day.

Well that’s not entirely true. I was about to take my first real vacation with my boyfriend. A vacation, I believed, that was going to be the beginning of our history. This man – the only true real love, the only one I knew I could spend my life with – was going to ask the question we wait our lives to hear. I didn’t know for certain – but why else would you go away on a vacation together almost a year to the day from when you started dating?

Not a morning person, I giddily popped out of bed. Headed to the shower. Pondered the last day of work before this super special vacation with this super special guy. I got out of the shower, opened the bathroom door as steam billowed it’s way out, carrying me on a cloud with it. I was about to walk into my room and noticed the door was shut. Confident I had not closed the door behind me, my mind began to swirl. I just knew something big was about to happen. I opened the door and there in front of me was a glass table, a circle of candles dancing before my eyes, and Nathan, the love of my life, down on one knee.

He asked the question.

The question I had an answer for since the day we met.

Five years ago today changed everything.

I adored him then. I adore him now. But in so many more ways. So many deeper ways.

I knew he was one of the good ones. I knew he was kind, thoughtful, generous, caring, quietly emotional, unconditionally supportive. I knew our complements then.

Today, five years later, I fondly recall what days, nights and mornings once were. But I wouldn’t trade them for what they are now.

(Mostly).

Happy engage-eversary Nathan. You are the light in my life. You hold my heart. I still have to catch my breath around you. You move me deeply. I love our life with a passion I can barely comprehend. I’m thankful every single day for the person you are, and for the moment our lives touched.

I am not one for fate. But I truly believe we were destined for each other.

If you’re interested in reading more about my crazy life – please follow me @bexhasbabies or to learn about how I support women through their motherhood journey, @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler.

http://www.its-conceivable.com

♥️💫