I don’t carry the BRCA gene and the doctor that evaluated my breast cancer risk at the Saul and Joyce Brandman Breast Center at Cedars Sinai Hospital (I’m putting the whole, long name here because the Brandmans must have dropped a load of cash to have that facility founded and I am so grateful for their generosity) tells me my lifetime risk is only 25% compared to Angelina Jolie’s 87%.  That’s still some pretty scary shit, and it’s higher than most women, so it’s recommended that I get frequent mammograms, do all those fun monthly breast exams and make sure to get to the doctor regularly.  They still don’t know what the thing they saw on the mammo is, so fingers crossed and prayers offered daily, that it isn’t there when I go back in a few months.

But the thing that stands out for me this week is that the vast majority of what I read in response to Angelina Jolie’s announcement honored her right to make a very personal decision for herself without judgement, even from those that didn’t agree with her choice.  I believe that we make better choices when we aren’t acting out of a concern of how others will judge those choices.  All too often, I see people making poor choices when they are getting opinions and judgment from all sides.  When we instead hold some space for each other to make choices without fear or shame, we are changing the world, one silent moment at a time.  Now, I’m going to try and hold some space for Brad to remember how pretty he looks without facial hair…

*Just a note to anyone that works at a breast center that might be reading this – the first place I went called it a “probable benign nodule” and the other breast center called it a “vague breast density”.  The latter is much less terrifying.  Calling something you found in my body “probably not cancer” makes it very hard to listen to anything you say after that, so finding terms that don’t scare the crap out of your patients is a good idea.  Just my suggestion.

My husband and I were laying by the pool, at a nice resort in Palm Springs, California.  It’s a bit tricky finding the right chairs when you want shade and he wants full sun.  I had seen the hottie in the tiny black bikini and after trying to figure out if there was any way around it (in my head, not out loud, of course), I finally pointed out that the chair between me and her would be the best spot for my husband to get full sun.  She was laying face down on her lounger, her own husband loudly talking on his cell phone about some business deal next to her – while dribbling iced coffee and a muffin on his large, hairy belly.   Occasionally, he would reach over and grab her butt, grunting approval.   I really couldn’t blame him, she had a great butt.  And she had that little black bikini.  And my husband was laying about 2 feet from her perfect, tiny, tan butt in its little, black bikini.  And I was wearing a brown swim skirt over my pale, less than perfect butt.  Seriously, BROWN SWIM SKIRT, which might actually be the definition of an unsexy bathing suit bottom.

After they left, I made some snide remark about how much money he must make to be with such a gorgeous, young thing (in my defense, if you had heard him on the phone, you would know that his personality was not the thing that would win any woman over).  My husband was confused, “what gorgeous, young thing?”.  I hadn’t actually seen her face, I was judging her age by – umm, her butt.  According to my (possibly exaggerating to make me feel better) husband, her face looked to be in her late forties or early fifties.

Now, if you’ve been reading this space for a while you might remember the wise words of my friend who shared with me that at some point a woman has to choose between her ass and her face.  I was feeling moderately better about the swim skirt, thinking that the extra chub it covers is the same chub source that helps fill out a few crow’s feet on my face.  I’m not claiming it was truly a choice I made, but at this point, I’ll just say I have chosen my face until I lose these ten extra pounds.

I have two points that I hope you will take away from this story – the thing that makes you anxious and worried and ruins your time lounging at the pool with an umbrella drink, might not be happening in real life.  It turns out that my husband was not actually drooling over the woman in the little, black bikini.  The story in my head of my husband being envious of the hairy guy’s hot wife didn’t even happen, it only made one of my few days to lounge kid-free at a nice pool on a sunny day less enjoyable.

Secondly, that thing about choosing between your ass and your face is real, my friend – better make your choice soon.  Everyone that chooses their face can meet me over by the cheese tray.

“This is the family that we are, and we’ve got each other, and I believe that is more than enough.”  Jeanne Darst

My therapist always makes me start off every session by listing 4 things that are going well in my life.  I always find myself dashing up the stairs to her office thinking, “Crap!  I need to come up with the 4 good things!”  Why is this so hard?  My therapist swears she makes everyone do this, not just me, and she wouldn’t make everyone do it if this weren’t something we are all guilty of – having trouble looking at all the good in our lives.

And did you see the Dove Beauty post that was floating around the internet over the last couple of weeks?  The one where they show the difference in the pictures drawn based on a woman’s description of herself versus those drawn based on the description of a stranger?   It was crazy to see how much more beautiful strangers find us than we find ourselves.

This is jacked up, my friend.

Do you have any idea how amazing and gorgeous you are?  How many difficult things you get done every day – feeding picky eaters; getting up early to simultaneously prepare breakfast, pack lunches, find lost socks, sign homework and get everyone out the door; and the hundreds of other multi-tasking details that you stay on top of?  You are a rockstar.  You are kicking ass and taking names every day of the week.  Kid lost his left cleat?  You know where it is.  No one at the office knows the name of the guy that came and did that thing for us?  You know where to find him.   Need to pick up something for dinner – ooh, and milk for the morning -  in between picking up kids from school and getting to tutoring, while still managing to feed everyone before 8pm, with at least one fresh vegetable making it to plate? You’re on it.   Yes, this stuff sounds small and unimportant.  But it’s not, it’s the stuff that makes life work.  The stuff that makes life good.  You only think it’s small and unimportant because so many other women are doing the same thing every day.  That’s my point – how amazing is this planet that so many people are out there every day doing all these small things that come together and make good lives for our families?

How good is this life right now?  Will you tell someone else how awesome they are?  Let’s shift the conversation.  Let’s stop talking about all the places where we aren’t satisfying our inner critic and start noticing and appreciating each other for the things we do to make life good for each other.  I’ll start – thank you for finding time to read this.  I know you are busy and I am so grateful you are here.  Now, it’s your turn.  Go get ‘em, rockstar.

Meet Jena Strong!  She is a writer, poet, and mama. She came out at the age of 36, just shy of her 11^th wedding anniversary.   As a kid, her parents getting divorced was one of her biggest fears, and throughout her own marriage, an undercurrent of restlessness was a constant source of inner tension. In 2012—two years after separating and six months before she and her ex-husband walked  over to the courthouse to file divorce papers—she self-published “Don’t Miss This,” a memoir through poems tracing this journey. She now lives in Amherst, MA with her daughters, works as a career counselor at Hampshire College, and is happily engaged to the woman of her dreams.  I asked Jena to share about her journey as a message of hope to those still on the rough bit of the path.  She is so brave, honest and open.  I am honored that she accepted my request to interview her AND she shared a poem that took my breath away when I read it (you’ll find it at the end, don’t miss it!).  Read more about Jena’s journey at http://dontmissthis.wordpress.com and www.jenastrong.com.

Thank you, Jena!

In going through your divorce, is there anything you learned about yourself that surprised you?

I learned that I could be honest—with my ex, with myself—without guilt or fear. That I could ask for what I wanted or needed and the world wouldn’t end.

What indulgence or guilty pleasure did you allow yourself on those days when you needed to do something to feel better?

There were a few months there where, on my days without my girls, I would go to The Daily Planet, a bar in Burlington, VT (where I lived at the time) and order a cocktail after work. I’d sit outside in the sun writing. Usually I’d also eat a burger and fries. I wouldn’t say this was a guilty pleasure and it’s not so super out of the ordinary, but I’m not much a drinker—and that was the only time in my life when Cosmos became a regular indulgence. It was also still hard for me at that point to just go home alone after a long day at work and know what to do with myself.

What was the most effective way that your friends and/or family supported you? Or was there a way that they could have supported you differently that would have worked better for you?

There was one day, just six months or so after we split up, when I was so down and out I didn’t want to get out of bed. I was house-sitting for six months, just lying there in some other couple’s comfy bed, in some other family’s lovely home, missing my life. My friend Deb called me and said, “You’re coming to Nia with me.” And I told her I just couldn’t do it, couldn’t go. Twenty minutes later, she was parked out front to pick me up. An hour later, I felt a million times more alive, having danced my heart out, sweaty and grateful.

Another day, about a year after that, I was at Mirabelle’s having coffee with my friend Nan, who happens to be a divorce lawyer. I told her that we were had picked up all of the paperwork at the courthouse to fill out and file on our own. “You’re doing what?” she said, and insisted we drive over to her office after breakfast to do it together. Friends like these, who occasionally gave me no choice, kept me going and reminded me I was not as alone as I sometimes felt.

It’s natural for friends and family to get very protective during time. Occasionally, people I love have gotten defensive on my behalf in ways that could be confusing for me. So I’d say it’s less that anyone could have supported me differently, and more that I also had to learn to really trust my own decisions and to check in with myself about whether I was acting out of fear or clarity.

What is your favorite thing about life now that is different than it was before?

I am grateful to have moved through this process and come out the other side. That I can now have conversations with my ex–we see each other quite regularly and are co-parenting our two girls–without every time feeling that pang of loss. It still comes in waves, but I have come to settle into my own rhythms. As intense and sometimes exhausting as single-parenting half the time can be, I am in some ways more present with my kids, and with myself, than I used to be. My favorite thing about my life now that’s different from before is that I’m not constantly imagining some other life, the one we were always working on building or moving towards. It is just my life now. I am living it.

If you could go back in time and speak to yourself during your divorce, what message would you send?

I would tell myself that it really does get better. I would tell myself that it’s ok to let go, and ok to mourn, and ok to rage, and ok to laugh and enjoy things. I would tell myself that my kids would also be ok. All of it, wherever you are, however you feel, just feel it. It all keeps changing. I would tell myself that I didn’t do anything wrong.

Into the Woods

After we told them The News—
not that we were getting a puppy
or moving somewhere new
or having a baby or going to Hawaii,
but that we were “growing”
and this meant not living together,
she bolted, as I had known she would,
to cry alone on the edge of her bed.
His eyes condemned me,
then his words. Happy now?
When we went to find her upstairs
she was packing. Two frames:
infant in my arms in the hospital,
toddler sitting with her Dada
and some ducks by the lake.
We assembled snacks, water bottles,
phone lists. Who were her people?
Deb offered up her cell phone
for the night. One bag for her,
another for her little sister,
sleeping bags and lanterns,
a stuffed elephant. If we were
separating, then she was going
into the woods, her own
leaving, a rapid response
so cutting we had no choice
but to join her.

Oatmeal on an outdoor patio is a form of protection against losing your shit.

What are you doing for yourself to keep from losing your shit on a regular basis over stuff that doesn’t really matter?

If I don’t take time for myself, I lose my shit more often and with greater intensity.  Like head-spinning, words-vomiting, massive-cranky-attack kind of stuff.  This past weekend, I spent a few days with some dear friends at a retreat.  We did some good transformational work with Alison Armstrong at a PAX Workshop – figuring out what triggers the cranky stuff, sorting out how anger shows up for us, talking about which of our body parts bring us down (and being surprised that it’s not the same for everyone – elbows? really?) and generally finding ways to live more joyfully no matter what challenges life brings.

I also did some serious work relaxing in the spa -  enjoying time in the steam room, floating in the hot tub, sunrise yoga…all that yummy stuff.  This kind of trip might sound self-indulgent or like something that you don’t believe you have the time or the money for.  But taking care of yourself is an important part of fueling your ability to take care of others and be a functioning, not cranky, adult.  Spending a lot of money isn’t necessary to relaxation and rejuvenation time (especially if, like me, you aren’t too proud to share a hotel bed and bring your own ice chest of food).  Small things can bring big joy into your life, like having your morning oatmeal on an outdoor patio, taking a picnic to a pretty spot, or just giving yourself permission to check out a big stack of books from the library without feeling obligated to read them before the due date (my favorite is checking out a bunch of gorgeous cookbooks to drool over, especially the ones that are filled with complicated recipes I will never make).

I read recently that scientists have discovered that one of the things that increases happiness is changing up our pattern of activity.  So when our days seem filled with the same routine of cooking, cleaning, work, hauling kids, laundry, etc. – our brains feel less happy.  Even if we have a weekly activity that brings us pleasure, the constant sameness can turn your fun, movie date night into just another thing that has to be checked off your To Do List.  We have the power to mix things up, and consequently add more happiness to our life, by cooking something new (yes, take-out from somewhere other than your usual place counts), eating in a different spot, or just doing something you haven’t done in a while.  Bowling anyone?  What if I treat you to a beer and some super-gooey nachos?  And it’s glo-in-the-dark disco night at the bowling alley?  Who is in for some happy?

When my kids were younger, I’d snack on their goldfish crackers.   Then one day I looked at the little orange bits of dry saltiness and thought, “Why am I eating these?  I don’t even like these things.”  I stopped snacking on kid food and found that not only did I lose a few pounds but I generally felt happier.  Putting away the painful shoes was the same kind of small act that gave me a little boost.  Taking something you don’t like out of your life can be just as powerful as adding something – and it doesn’t have to be something big, like a husband (hey, I’m a divorce attorney, I’m allowed to joke about that) – it can be a small thing, like a snack, that just isn’t serving you.

Last week, I asked you to think about what you want more of – what can you add to your life that brings you joy.  This week, let’s get rid of the little choices that bring us down – the uncomfortable shoes, the ugly lamp, the snacks you eat because they are sitting there in front of you.  What daily choices are you making because you haven’t really thought about what things bring you joy and what things only add irritation and discontent?

I’m not suggesting you should stop having the occasional snack or never buy pretty shoes – I just want to us both to take the occasional step back to review our daily routines and choices.   I want us to find the places where we can make different choices that might improve how we feel, even if it’s just making sure we get a yummier snack.  I unconsciously choose things that make me uncomfortable, dissatisfied and resentful A LOT.  Whether it’s a slightly too tight pair of shoes off the discount rack or the cracker I don’t really like but the kids will eat it.  I’m trying to change that for myself – treating myself to better snacks, more comfortable shoes and, most importantly, giving myself the time and permission to choose things that add pleasure to my life instead of things that make me cranky and resentful.

What do you want less of in your life?  Are there things that you accept the uncomfortable or unenjoyable version of because you haven’t given yourself permission to have something that brings you pleasure?  This is your permission slip – enjoy.

My favorite kind of bar.

Knowing what the other side wants from you is the key to negotiation.  You would think that this would make divorce cases easy.  Everyone should be able to walk in and tell me exactly what the other side wants, even if they aren’t prepared to give it, at least we have a place to start – heck, these people lived together, they must know each other, right?  But several times a year, a husband tells me, “I have no idea what she wants.  I’ve been trying to make her happy for years and nothing is enough, nothing I do is right.”  This saddens me deeply because this is a problem that might have been fixable several years ago, but it’s probably too late by the time they are sitting in my office.  By this time, the wife has given up on this man and he is probably not all that interested in continuing to try to make her happy anyway.

Here’s the bottom line – if you don’t know what you want, if you don’t know what makes you happy, then no one else will be able to make you happy.  You can’t hope that your husband, your family, your friends or anyone else will be able to guess.  Or they will just “get you” and magically know exactly which thing will bring you joy.  You have to figure this out for yourself.  And then you have to make it happen.  Because probably, it’s something you have to give yourself first before you will let anyone else give it to you anyway.

It’s overwhelming to be asked “what makes me happy?”.    So let’s start with a first step, “what do I want more of?”.  What are the little things that I can add to my daily life that will bring me moments of happiness?  You don’t have to turn your whole life into a happy-fest, just add a little happy here and there – the same way you might brighten your home with throw pillows or a vase of flowers.  As you start to gain these little happy moments, you will find that the bigger happy becomes more clear.

For me, an easy happy is something really yummy.  I love a really good, creamy cheese; briny, salty olives; a chunk of deep, dark chocolate – these are the things (accompanied by a nice glass of wine, of course) that can turn an evening into something special.  How many years have I eaten plain pasta with marinara with the kids?  Too many…sometimes I need the cheese that makes small children cry at the scent of it.  I’m not tempted by olives you can fit on your fingertips, I want the dark, wrinkled kind that come with a nice, hard choking hazard pit inside.  I don’t want a brownie from a box mix, I want chocolate that comes with a percentage number on the package to tell me how awesomely dark and bitter it is.  I want grown-up food.

But that’ s me.  Maybe your happy is sheets with a thread count that sounds like a great credit score.  Or someone else to do the dishes every once in a while.  How about a whole, delicious afternoon with nothing to do but drink tea and read a book? What do YOU want more of in your life?  Where can we start? Talk to me, girl, we’ve got some happy coming to us.  It’s time.

Friends that have known me for years help me stay grounded.  They help me to laugh at myself and to appreciate the crazy twists and turns that life takes.  It’s easy to imagine that you are the only one that ended up a single mom, that put on a few pounds or had a child with needs you struggle to figure out how to meet.  When I connect with people that I knew in college, high school, or even elementary school,  it helps me to see that no one’s life turns out exactly like they hoped and expected but it often turns out better in ways we couldn’t dream of as young girls.

One particularly broke day in college, I was browsing through the Victoria’s Secret Catalog with Carol.  She turned to me and said, “One day we will be able to afford everything in this catalog!”  As it turns out, yes, we both now have the ability to buy anything we want out of that catalog.  Thankfully, the way our lives turned out – as professionals, as moms – neither of us want to buy everything in the Victoria Secret Catalog.  Things aren’t quite as we expected, they are much, much better.

I hope you’ll be inspired to call up an old friend after you read this.  Savor those old friendships and take advantage of the perspective you have from this side of sixteen.

Is this a face that could stop teenagers from having sex?

I am the daughter of unwed teenage parents.  This week, Richard V. Reeves wrote an Op-Ed piece for the New York Times that supports the concept of using shame to prevent teenage pregnancy.  He applauds a new public education campaign in New York City that puts bus posters of crying toddlers telling their mothers things like “Honestly Mom … chances are he won’t stay with you. What happens to me?”.  Besides how ridiculous it seems to attempt to stop teenagers from having unprotected sex by trying to get them worried about what their potential unborn children will think of them, I want to tell you what it’s like to be one of those kids depicted in the posters.  I want to tell you what it’s like to be a bastard.

I didn’t learn what that word meant until I was about 7 years old.  I’m not sure of the date, but I can tell you everything else about that moment because your brain helps you remember traumatic events.  I was getting into the backseat of my stepmother’s car, in the driveway of her sister’s house.  I had heard the word “bastard” somewhere and I turned to my stepmother’s sister and asked what it meant.  She turned pale, her jaw dropped.  I got that, “oh crap” feeling in the pit of my stomach that kids get when they know they are in trouble but they don’t know why.  She told me it was a swear word and that it was what you called someone like me- a child born to unmarried parents.  I remember keeping my face turned toward the window for the car ride home, my face hot with shame, my stomach feeling like a black hole.  There is a word for what I am?  And it’s a swear word?

It wasn’t the first time that I was aware that there was something wrong or different about me.  My father’s first wife always made a point of introducing me separately from her two kids, “this is Randy’s daughter”.  Her tone always made it clear to me that she didn’t want anyone to mistake me for her child but I didn’t understand what the bad thing about me was that made her so embarrassed of me.  It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized my age made it clear to people outside the family that I had been born when she was just a teenager.  God forbid that anyone should think that she had a child in her teens.

I think I was 5 years old when my great-grandmother was taking me along with her on errands in her big ol’ Buick.  I loved riding on the “hump” in the middle of the big long front seat bench, placing myself right in front of the blasting air conditioning on a hot Arizona day.  One stop was at my great-aunt’s house, but she told me to wait in the car (she’d even leave the A/C and the radio on as a treat!) while she made sure Uncle Bob wasn’t home.  You see, my great-aunt’s husband didn’t allow bastards in his house.  When I was five, I didn’t know the reason I wasn’t allowed in his house, all I knew was that my great-grandmother needed to make sure the coast was clear before I could go in – just in case Uncle Bob was home.

My mom lost her scholarship to nursing school because she got pregnant in high school.  She had to leave her high school and go to a school for pregnant girls.  The school for pregnant girls told her that she should give up on her dreams of college and go to secretarial school but her brother convinced her to try college anyway.  I’m grateful that my uncle didn’t my let my mom give up on her dreams.  I’m grateful that my mom managed to get through college, bravely dragging her bastard child in a stroller through the snow from the low income housing projects to campus.  I’m grateful she found a community of friends that wore bell bottoms and beads and didn’t judge you for using food stamps or not having a man in the house.  I’m grateful that I learned that love and positive words create much brighter futures than name-calling and shaming.  I’m grateful for, mostly, being surrounded by people that don’t kick children out of their homes or call them names like bastard.

I know the administration of the City of New York just wants to prevent teen pregnancy and the people that came up with this plan have good intentions.  But there is a growing body of research that finds shame does not positively impact behavior.   How many pregnant teenage girls will have to sit under those posters, feeling the stares?  How many children will read those posters on the way to school and see themselves as part of a hopeless statistic?  I’m speaking for the bastards, and their mothers, when I ask that they leave us off their buses.  As a family law attorney, might I suggest they target the boys and post the child support rates instead?

Say yes to playing hooky.

Today I didn’t go to work.  I’d like to say that I didn’t work, that I took the day off and just laid around, reading books and eating bon bons.  But I still did laundry, wrote this blog post, answered work e-mail, returned some calls, called the office to give instructions on this thing or that.  But I didn’t put on make-up, I didn’t put on heels.  I did my work while sipping a glass of wine (Mosbey Rosato for you California wine lovers) out on our deck.  I made a gorgeous red quinoa and spinach salad and I ate at home with my husband instead of shoveling in something I warmed up in the office microwave at my desk.  I wore flip flops and listened to the birds.  It was lovely.

We work too hard.  We try to do too much.  We expect ourselves to get more done in a day than our grandparents got done in a week.  Life moves so fast.  Will you do something for me?  Please do something nice for yourself today.  Buy yourself some flowers – it doesn’t have to be a $100 bouquet of imported roses, pick up whatever is cheap and brightly colored at the farmer’s market or Trader Joe’s.  Go ahead and open the good bottle of wine tonight.  Schedule that massage you bought with a Groupon.  Walk outside and feel the sun on your face.  Do whatever is easy and available to feel good.  You do so much for so many other people.  Give yourself permission to be slow, even lazy.  Pretend it’s the 1960′s – thankfully, vacuum cleaners and dishwashers have been invented but the cell phone and the 24/7 information age hasn’t yet arrived.  Sit back, have some cheese fondue and live blissfully unaware of your cholesterol count.  I’ll be right there with you.

And once you’ve done something for yourself, will you please tell someone about it?  Challenge them to do the same.  Write about your special gift to yourself in the comments or send a message to a friend – give them permission to be lazy, to not be so damn productive for a little bit.  Let’s put our phones on silent and our feet up.  It’s a beautiful day.