Nothing is Wrong, But Nothing is Right

I’ve been in my head a lot these past few months. So much to think about.

The past, the present, the future. My story. Everyone’s story. What the history books will say about this shocking moment in time.

For me, it all began in 2019.

Started the year off with hopes and dreams. By the summer the first business I had ever poured my heart and soul into came to a disappointing and shocking demise. My grandmother got sick during that same period, and I lost them both. I rung in my 40th year a little darker than usual.

Then my best friend, my last grandmother got sick, and I lost her too. My heart was broken in 2019, I had to believe 2020 could only be better – it couldn’t be any worse.

I had started a new business, a practice to support women. I had expectations that I could use my skills and innate desire to help people to change lives.

2019 turned into 2020 and my 20 year old cat, on Harper’s birthday woke up the morning of her party – and didn’t return from the vet. I lost yet another piece of my heart. I thought 2019 would contain all the pain. I needed something. I needed a light. A ray of sunshine. So in March Nathan and I took our first vacation – after three kids in two years – since our Honeymoon in 2014. We had happiness in our hearts and were so excited to be able to spend time together just the two of us. And it was wonderful. And beautiful. And perfect. Then we returned home on March 10.

Then March 13 hit. And nothing has looked the same, and nothing ever will.

We left our apartment with the clothes on our back, not knowing we wouldn’t return. We were incredibly lucky to have a home with a yard and pool to escape to, while we waited for life to happen. During this time I had to close the doors to my second business and become a Stay at home mom. Nothing I intended – or expected – to be.

This post is not intended to be a woe-is-me commentary. We all have our stories. We all have our sagas. This post was actually a reminder for myself. That even during our darkest days. Even during the toughest times, life is beautiful.

This morning at 4:30am we were woken up by a parade of children. Harper pooped and needed us to wipe. Even through sniffles and cries when we forced them back in their bed explaining it was actually still bed time – Harper wished me a Happy Birthday.

As exhausted as these children make me. As overwhelmed as I am with life right now. As unsure of what the future looks like. As broken hearted as I still am that I can’t share all of this with my beloved Grandmothers, I still can’t believe how lucky and blessed l am.

I waited until 33 to meet the love of my life. And I did. And he is. And how lucky I am to be stuck at home with him, the perfect partner, a wonderful father, during this time.

Though I wanted no children. Then only one. Then three, how lucky are we that they have each other to learn from, play with, share this experience together.

No life isn’t perfect right now. Quite the contrary. The west coast is burning. Lives are in danger. Animals have no homes. Minorities are living in fear. Our country is in shambles.

It’s all too much to consume. It’s all too much for the world.

But today, on my birthday, even though we’ve been awake since 4:30, even though we’re living in limbo, even though life is not what we planned – I am so grateful for each day. For the family I created, the family I was born into. The friends I’ve collected. The life I’ve built. The business I’ve built. The people I’ve loved and lost. I welcome 41 confused, uncertain, overwhelmed, exhausted but living with deep solid gratitude.

Thank you for all the love today.

A Rebirth

There are so many words. 

And moments.

There is so much confusion.

And clarity.

There’s so much I want to express, yet wonder if silence would speak louder.

These months.

These weeks.

These days.

So much has happened, and yet, nothing really has.

I have been overcome with emotion, and the rollercoaster. 

I have been lost, and yet found.

I have been present, and removed.

I have cried, and rejoiced.

I have questioned, learned, connected and disconnected. 

This period – in all its nothingness – has brought with it such deep meaning and opportunity.

I have been a willing participant while also a silent passerby. 

I have seen others rise behind screens, and in the streets. Using their voice for good and evil. Deciding how best to use mine. I’m still unsure. 

I have determined my own worth and lack there of.

I wonder daily, what if and when.

I’m intentionally consuming – while also distancing.

I’ve been shown the light, while waiting in the darkness.

I’m partially lost, while seemingly found.

I’m dreaming, pondering, relearning and growing.

I’m pausing while reimagining.

So much is confining.

But does it have to be?

I wonder.

Can we use this time for greatness?

Purpose?

A rebirth?

Can I?

I need to sit a little longer.

But I feel something exceptional, beyond words, on the horizon. 

It may just be a sunrise or sunset. 

But that in itself is a miracle. 

I will wait. I can sense it will be worth it.

The Attack – Covid Edition

I’m trying to put into words the emotions I’m feeling. I’m trying to process what I’m in my head about. I’m trying to figure it all out – when it’s actually impossible to do just that.

A total stranger was an aggressor, threatened and attacked me all because she didn’t like the result that was handed down in an FB group I run. She broke the rules and suffered the consequences – as every person before her did.

She started messaging me while I was doing my children’s bed time. Incessantly my watch was buzzing with more messages. It was the end of a long day. I wanted to relax. But picked up the phone to try to mitigate the situation – though my gut said leave this till morning. Regrettably it escalated to a level of epic proportions. She sent incomprehensible paragraphs – then gave me an ultimatum, reinstate her or her lawyers will sue me.

Wait. What?

I was so utterly confused. Had no idea what was going on. Tried to keep my cool. But I was repeatedly attacked and harassed. She told me what an awful person I am. And how my time is done. They’ll be after me. I’m only hurting my own cause. 

My entire public platform is being open, honest, sharing, connecting, normalizing and supporting. This woman told me she felt sorry for me. That I’m awful. Crossed the line. And screwed myself. She didn’t stop attacking for close to 40 minutes. And she got in my head. And I couldn’t shake it.

This was shortly after last week when someone a “friend” used my daughters near drowning to condemn me as a mother and the decisions I make.

Now I realize I put myself out there. I’m a virtual public figure in the fertility and mom internet and social media space. Hardly an influencer – but a name people have come to recognize as a connector and supporter. Ultimately this woman clearly has more going on, on her side – and this doesn’t actually have anything to do with me. But it felt very personal. And I take things to heart when there is no ill will intended. 

This was all happening when I found out that my parents no longer have a place to stay when they planned to come visit to help me with my kids. So I’ll be alone each day with the kids for a month. It was a whirlwind of emotions. 

I know people are so on edge. Terrified for their lives. Their children. Uncertain of what’s next, what to do. People have a lot more time to be on social media. Many are using it for good. But behind the safety of a screen – claws come out, no holds barred – and things have begun getting dirty. 

I want to empathize with this poor woman – because it’s clear that she actually needs real help. Her diatribes and rants and threats did not come from a sane clear mind. And though I have thick skin and can take a lot – I’m also very sensitive and get personally affected, truly hurt – when someone hurts me – especially with intention.

I’m trying to wrap my brain around it all right now. I want to let it go. And not stay in this icky place. But the way she spoke to me was actually abusive. And hit deep.

I guess I’m just hear to say – words carry with them a lot of weight. And behind the screen it’s very easy to throw them around in a vicious way. We are all so on edge and so vulnerable right now – attacking people who are good, kind and truly whose life goal is to help people – is just abhorrent.

I do feel bad for this woman. Her anger is clearly displaced – but that doesn’t take away from the affect it’s having on me.

I cried this morning in a low grade panic attack. Half assed by bike ride while on an anti anxiety because I desperately needed to not feel and to calm down. Now I poured myself a cup of Baileys while sitting on my hammock in peace. The children are watching Frozen (obviously). Nathan is working. I am getting 30 minutes to myself to process and To write. I realize this will not be one of my most widely read pieces. But I needed to get it out. 

I just wonder how we can all recover from this. I see friends in moms groups armed to the teeth. I see lots more snipping at home among married couples. I see anxiety with how to manage our kids for another year like this. Arguments about schools, masks, personal rights versus the collective. It’s all so exhausting. And we all think we know what’s best. 

It’s all too much for each of us to handle. I don’t think – for the first time ever – I have a catchy ending.

I think we all just need to be so much more careful in how we treat each other. I’m a little broken now because of a stranger who took her internal struggles out on me. The same thing happened last week with a “friend” who has been projecting and resentful towards me. Perhaps if we can take time to truly look inward to understand what we’re reacting to – how we’re communicating – what our true intention is – maybe we’ll be in a better place.

Also, wear your fucking masks. And above all else. Vote. Vote. Vote. Vote. Get the fuck out and vote.

In the Blink of an Eye

In the blink of an eye, in the second you sip your coffee, in the moment it takes to turn your head, everything can change.

Most of the time if doesn’t.

But it can.

For the last three months we have taken every single precaution like it was gospel or came directly from the lips of the big guy upstairs. We have done everything – and mostly nothing. We have been so careful. So cautious. I have not left the area we secluded ourselves in – more than 4x in almost 4 months. Yesterday – for the first time – I decided it was time to let our guard down a little. I hadn’t seen – or had any version of interaction with a non-family member – since basically February. Leaving NYC meant we had space for our children – but it meant true isolation. On a whim I invited a friend and her children over. We would continue to follow the rules to a T. Remain vigilant. So nothing would go wrong. But my mental health was craving something more.

The day was lovely.

Friendship feeds the soul.

I felt like I was more than “mom” for a few hours. It was like I found a little piece of myself, my past life, dare I say, normalcy.

We spent time 6ft away on a deck.

6ft away on a hammock.

6ft away in the yard.

And 6ft away at the pool.

We are always overly careful around the pool. You have to be.

You hear too many horror stories.

At our house the rule is no pool area without swimmies.

Nathan has been sitting at his computer since 1pm last Sunday. I have been with my children virtually alone since then. And it has been taking its toll more I was aware.

So when I was able to breathe a little, I did.

We have five children between us.

There was a lot of action.

A lot of doling out snacks.

A lot of jumping in the pool.

A lot of smiles and laughter.

My kids have missed having friends around. It felt beautiful.

We returned to the pool area after a little bouncy house break. Some of them wanted to snack. Some of them wanted to swim. We wanted to be two friends who hadn’t caught up in far too long.

And we did.

And we were in mid conversation. I couldn’t tell you what it was about. What we were doing or saying.

Neither of us quite knows what happened or when.

One second my youngest girl was sitting eating snacks at my feet.

The next my oldest was saying “Marley doesn’t have a swimmy on” and looked in the direction of a penguin float.

And in that moment I couldn’t wrap my mind around what she was saying. Because I was standing and scanning the pool and it didn’t register that what looked very blonde under the water was the top of my daughters head. My friend and I both ran.

It’s all a blur.

But she jumped across into the pool and threw herself in the direction of her lifeless body. She grabbed my daughter under her arms and lifted her up. All I remember were blue lips, scared eyes and little noises gasping for air. In total shock I scooped my baby girl into my arms. She said “I couldn’t see anyone”. She wasn’t choking. She wasn’t coughing. She was scared, but she was breathing. “I couldn’t see mommy” she said again. I still don’t know how long she was under. It could have been 10 seconds or three minutes. And of course my mind runs through it all.

What if my oldest daughter wasn’t facing that way and didn’t see her?

What if that float was a fraction further and we couldn’t find her?

There were five kids.

Seven swimmies.

It was chaos.

And it was almost the tragedy you read about.

But, it wasn’t.

As a mom I rarely worry about my kids safety. I’m very go with the flow when it comes to what they do.

That said – I am not that way around the pool.

And even still, this happened.

This is not one of my typical pieces, because I’m not in the mindset to joke at the moment. It was the most terrifying moment (though it felt like an eternity) I have ever experienced.

I will forever be indebted to my friend who did not hesitate – while I stood there screaming “holy fuck holy fuck.” And to my daughter, who saved her sister on that fateful day.

Friends.

Please remain vigilant.

Please make pool rules so strict that you and every single person who comes by knows don’t bend.

I am a big “what-if” er. And I know it’s not helpful, and not productive. But for 24 hours that is literally all my mind would allow.

I spent 4am staring at my child, holding my hand on her body for fear of secondary drowning. I spent all morning cuddling with her and kissing her. I am one of the lucky ones that had a near miss. I know there are far too many who have lived through the “what-ifs” as real life – and a piece of my heart is broken for them, knowing what that felt like.

Hold your loved ones close. Or call those you can’t touch right now. And for kids who can’t swim, buy a fucking life vest they can’t easily slip out of because it all happens in the blink of an eye, so fast you will miss it.

The Middle Child

I’m writing this during a time that almost no one could have predicted. I’m writing this while the citizens of the globe are confined to their homes. I am writing this while each and every one of us is being tested in ways we never imagined. I’m writing this during a truly unprecedented time. I am writing this while scared, confused, overwhelmed, anxious but also surrounded by all my love.

I am writing this from a six person tent. A six person tent that two people are currently inside of. After three weeks of stress and frustration – trying to get my two year old to nap I waived the white flag today. He is somewhere doing something with his older sister. And I am in the tent with my “middle” child.

When you give birth to a set of twins when you have a year and a half old child at home – you’re simply in survival mode for an indefinite period of time. As they grow up, and each of their personalities begin to shine, they are better defined as themselves – as Harper Paige, Marley Reese and Jory Bonham. Harper is clearly the first child (though interesting tidbit, I did one round of IVF and all my embryos were products of that one retrieval. So TECHNICALLY they’re all the same age. But, I digress). Marley exited my body only five minutes before Jory did – so by definition she would be the middle child. And Jory, though he outweighs them all, is the big little brother.

Harper and I have a very special bond. We co-slept for a year. I nursed her for 18 months. I spent every moment I could with her – and in fact did not leave her for a single night until I went into labor with the twins. Jory is a mama’s boy. He adores me. He needs me. He loves me. He’s connected to me. He would have kept nursing until he was 18 years old, but I was ready to stop. I adore him. He cuddles with me. Gives me the deepest hugs. Tells me he “loves me so much” as frequently as he can. He has my heart and though I find myself yelling at him more than I praise him, he knows how special he is to me.

And then there’s Marley. Marley is a unique little girl. From go, she’s marched to the beat of her own drum. She’s hilarious. Adorable. Crazy. And makes me smile, laugh, and start at her adoringly all the time. But I believe, unknowingly she has accepted the role of the middle child. I would never say she’s neglected. She’s as much involved as anyone. But Jory is always getting himself into trouble and in turn vying for negative attention. Harper, eloquent, verbose, gregarious – lights up the room – and though a little bit of a tattle tale, captures the heart of everyone who meets her. Marley just does her thing. She walks around with her “Lolly”. Her “Mommy Nice”. And anything else that feels soft and yummy. She’s been a little slower. Keeps to herself a little more. Where Harper and Jory run around playing with each other – Marley will be found hanging back, sitting with adults, or finding a nice spot on the floor to lay down with all her “softies.”

Marley looks like a delicate little doll with a wild Albert Einstein hair-do. She is the sweetest little thing in the world.

My kids have all been in daycare since they were babies. They have grown up with other caretakers. We have been weekend parents and have let them teach us who they are – and who we are as parents.

During these last three weeks I have been the sole caretaker (for the most part). Attempting to balance all of their needs, personalities, likes and dislikes. It’s impossible to give 100% to each child – that’s just the truth. That said, since we have access to our children now approximately 14 hours a day, seven days a week – we are having very different experiences with them than ever before. And learning about them – and us – in ways we’ve never been able to.

I’m not going to pretend I’ve got it all figured out. In fact I’ve entirely not gotten it figured out. But within the chaos. Within the crazy. Within the uncertainty. We are being given the greatest gift in the world. We are being forced to slow down. To prioritize. To stay close. To stay home. To be with ourselves. Our loved ones. To experience moments we literally never have in our lives. To just be. As we are. With no pretense. No falsehoods. To our authentic core.

When you have twins – you don’t have separate special time with them as individuals until they’re…well, I still don’t know. But today – knowing that my son wasn’t going to sleep – I decided to take my middle child, my beautiful Marley Reese and lay down with her. She said “it’s Marley Mommy time?” I said “it is” – she told me it made her happy. We both laid down on the kids’ “nice” pillows. We closed our eyes. And then every so lightly I felt her touch my cheek, she gently placed her first three fingers down and ran them gently up and down two times. Then she picked up her “mommy nice” which is a pair my soft pajamas that she has taken as her own, and rubbed it on my cheek – the way she does on her very own. She wanted to make me feel loved, and warm and comforted. She then wrapped her little fingers around my hand and quietly fell asleep.

I don’t know that I’ve ever felt a peace like that in my life. I inhaled, exhaled and truly forgot it felt like the world was ending for the moment. A weight that I didn’t know was there – was lifted. Right then the dog scratched on the door to be let in, and Nathan texted he needed help with the other two as he’s working full time and can’t keep the rest of them alive at the same time.

So now I’m writing this – back downstairs listening to Harper sing Frozen at the top of her lungs, while Jory, wearing headphones and a single glove is climbing all over me with dehydrated strawberry crumbs caked on his hand, face and now my pants. I’m back in the chaos. But I’m looking at this chaos differently for the moment. I don’t know if it’s the self care I’ve been implementing. The fact that I’ve been saying “no” a little less to JB today. Perhaps I’m shedding a different light on our current life situation right now. I’m trying to live in gratitude instead of anxiety. I’m working on relishing in the love and not the unknown. Or maybe it was simply the gentle touch of my middle child that put it all into perspective.

Whatever the case may be, for today, for right now, for this moment, sitting by the fire, listening to wind chimes and birds – while the sun is shining down – I could not be more at peace or as in love.

(This is dedicated to each of my children. Each who I adore in more ways than I can describe).

The Girl Sitting Under The Morning Moon

I happen to be a particularly insightful person. I’m not sharing that to toot my own horn, it just happens to be one of my strengths. I’m in touch with me, my core, my soul, my personality. I’m aware of my actions and the reasons behind why I take them. I try to question my motives. My intention. My purpose. My reasoning. As with us all I’m aware of things I could do differently, better. Behaviors are hard things to change. To shift. They’re so ingrained within us. 40 years of identity is a hard one to crack.

In day to day life I try to be cognizant of what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. Sometimes I do or say something – and from the depths of me a little voice says, “just don’t.” And often times I do it anyway. That voice is a difficult one to listen to. Thought it’s right 99% of the time.

There have been moments in my life where something big, or small, has made me take a good hard look at myself. ‘Do I like who I am? Where I am? Are there things I want to change? Things I’ll commit to changing?’ As someone who has committed her life to “helping people” and toting the line “people can change, you can change your behavior if you try hard enough” – sometimes I reflect back and think, “you can…but it’s really fucking hard.”

I’ve never found myself to be an overly bubbly-happy person. But I don’t think I’m a downer either. I’m not silly but not serious. I have strong convictions. I love hard. I’m loyal and committed. And very very stubborn. I know what I like. I know what I want. And since I was a child, it’s been virtually impossible for me to shift my ground once I decide on sometime. Right or wrong. I’m opinionated and persistent, demanding – have high hopes and high expectations of others and of myself. If I feel that someone I love has been wronged – my wrath is harsh and deep. And don’t even thinking about fucking with me. It’s just how I’m built. It wasn’t a choice. This is my chemical make up. Is it how I always want to be? React? respond? Maybe not as brashly – but alas, there are probably worse things in the world. Do I sometimes worry about things that are entirely out of my control? Yup. Do I over post on social media because I love creating community, engaging people and connecting with those within my inner-circle and far beyond my reach? Sure do. Might I say or do things that are controversial and rub some people the wrong way. Absolutely. Do I also forgive when the affront – if it wasn’t life or death? Of course, without question, yes and easily. Because it’s the only way to live. Holding on to grudges. And the past. That’ll just hold you back. The present and future can be so perfect if you let it be. I’m not suggesting we live in the moment every day – that’s impossible. But if we can let the past live in the past and wake up to a fresh start new day every day – imagine how wonderful life could be?

Personalities are funny. You can be so strong in some ways. And so not in others.

Turns out I’m a highly sensitive human. And desperately want people to like me. When I find out someone with whom I thought I had a good relationship has been bashing me, it cuts deep. Now, I understand it’s human nature to talk about people to other people – I’m certainly an offender as well. And I understand we’re all built differently, and see the world, and events differently. But it feels different when you’re blind sided – and learn something that you entirely didn’t expect to learn. Especially when it’s from someone you thought you cared about and cared about you. Life ebbs and flows. People’s relationships come and go. Feelings change and shift, sometimes as quickly as the tides.

But when you learn that someone who you think highly of, who you’ve respected, doesn’t share the same sentiments – simply, it hurts. I’ve often been one to speak directly to someone if they have hurt me or acted in a way that didn’t sit well with me. I’m comfortable with confrontation – as well as constructive criticism. But I also am someone who takes things personally. It’s a balancing act on a very thin wire.

I try to do my best in this one life I have to live. I try to treat people well. I try to create and build community. I try to support people on their life journey. I try to help animals, the planet, my friends and family in their life endeavors. I ask questions. I empathize. I listen. I suggest and guide. I try. I try. While sitting on the beach this week I’ve done some reflecting. I’ve tried to deeply consider my choices, behavior, action, personality. I tried to think If what people say about me, say to me, is right, when it’s not that nice.

And sometimes it is. And sometimes it’s not. And sometimes I can do better. And sometimes I can’t. And sometimes it’s their hang up. And sometimes it’s my mine. And sometimes I’ll win and sometimes I’ll lose.

When I awoke this morning at ten to five I saw a full moon hanging in the sky over the impeccably pristine aqua Caribbean waters. I sat under the moon, on the sand with just the sound of the early morning waves crashing at the break. And I vowed to myself. And I vowed to the universe that I will continue to try my best. Not everyone is going to like me. Not every interaction is going to be beautiful. Not every choice I make is going to be right.

I sent an apology through the breeze out to the universe to anyone I’ve wronged, intentionally or otherwise and also vowed to keep being me – right there under the morning moon. With my faults. And my strengths. I will keep loving and defending deeply. I will keep making people laugh, and holding those up while they cry. Because though maybe I don’t get it right all the time, I think I’m doing something right most of the time.

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

♥️💫