My company recently offered a peer mentorship program designed to help us to clarify our individual purpose(s), incite conversations with peers, and to create actions that will help us become more engaged and feel more support in the workplace. During the course of a year we are paired with four peer level executives from a different branches or divisions of the company, each for a three month period, where we meet bi-monthly for about an hour and talk and do different exercises that are set by the program, but directed by our responses.
I concluded by second meeting today. My peer mentor is also a senior VP, who works in Toronto and leads the IT team worldwide – a vastly different position than mine. I am more of a lone wolf in terms of my daily work. While much of my efforts support different teams within the company, I more often than not work on my own direction and do not have a support staff. I’ve been working in my business for the better part of twenty five years and with this company for over ten of those. I’m trusted, respected, and valued.
Following each mentorship meeting, we are given a directive to focus on or accomplish before our next meeting. It might be an action or a change of process or implementation of a new idea. Regardless of the mode, I’m finding them challenging in the best way. They lead me to think more deeply about my day to day work and the impact it has on both my team and the company as a whole. They cause me to look more critically at routines I’ve fallen into over the years. It’s easy to just get the job done to maintain status quo but I’m realizing that it’s crucial to strive for more.
All in a day’s work!
I’m generally happy in my position, and blessed to be working for a company I respect, with people I genuinely regard and enjoy. I hope to remain here for as long as they’ll have me. They’re supportive and understanding of my family needs (to the degree that I was able to work from Cole’s hospital room for a month and half with their full backing). I love their policies regarding community outreach, diversity and inclusion, and environmental issues. I am motivated by the opportunities, like this peer mentoring program, we’re given to help us all to rise up and be our best selves both at work, and outside of work.
I’d like to grow to a point where I can test out my managerial skills. I like the idea of delegating and sharing ideas with a team and I’ve come to realize that it’s a direction I want to move myself toward. Learning more about what it’s like to have a team and to manage, engage and inspire a team excites me. I’m not exactly sure what that looks like for me specifically but the mentorship conversations I’ve had thus far lead me to want to delve more into how I can create that opportunity. It’s helping me to recognize things in myself that I ignore or that lay dormant.
Not bad for two sessions! I’m really looking forward to seeing where the year of this takes me. I have three other mentors to connect and learn from as well several more sessions with my current peer mentor, from whom I’m already greatly inspired by.
I recently watched the limited Netflix series “Maid”. While I thoroughly enjoyed the incredibly well told, well acted series and recognize the importance of stories like this being told, getting a broad audience, and inciting discussion, it also brought up a part of my own story that I generally keep tucked away because it’s wrought with hurt, shame and disappointment in my younger self. I saw my younger self in the main character, Alex, in so many ways.
For much of my life I’ve struggled with self-esteem issues. Like many of us, my worst behaviors stem from my self doubt and insecurities. As a pre-teen and teen I had voices telling me I was fat, ugly, stupid and weird. Part of me believed this and part of me wavered. I mistakenly took the attention of boys as validation that I was lovable but boys who kissed you weren’t all looking for love or for girlfriends, so the attention that initially rose me up, plummeted me back to those voices telling me I wasn’t good enough.
My first boyfriend broke up with me because I cut my long hair short (!) as I delved more into the punk rock scene, leaving me uncertain of what I had ever meant to him. My next boyfriend, who made me feel loved and seen, cheated on me during a school ski trip we were on together, breaking my young heart and leaving me feeling utterly undesirable. And so on. None of it’s earth-shattering or truly devastating but it played against my fragile self-esteem and we were not openly discussing self-esteem or mental health in the early eighties. We weren’t seeing therapists or telling our parents or friends how we felt about ourselves.
My outer self had good friends, lots of interests and did pretty well in school. My inner self had self-doubt, insecurities and self-loathing, but no one really knew that part of me. That part of me made bad decisions, hoping for validation. I am certain I was not that different from most teenagers, and we grew up, became more accepting and understanding of ourselves and moved into adulthood relatively unscathed. I had a few other significant relationships that were happy and healthy and ended without impact, leaving the friendship in tact.
Until in my late 20’s when I met him. He made me feel like I was the most amazing woman he’d ever met. I felt loved, wanted, needed and safe. We quickly fell into an intense relationship, moving into together (him into my house) and melding our lives together. He had a young child from a previous relationship, who spent time with us. It felt overwhelming but (at first) in a good way.
This is me in the thick of it – what you don’t see is him next to me (I cut him out) or the hopelessness I felt most of the time.
And then it didn’t. As I became more comfortable with the relationship and all that came with it, the more the praise, appreciation and kindness were pulled away, making way for him to take control of me, of my money (I worked a steady, salaried job and he was a day worker who started to prefer not to work unless it was a job that would take him out of town for a few days), my movement (it got so that I rarely saw my friends, only socializing with him or with his chosen friends with him), and my self-esteem (instead of compliments, he started emphasizing my flaws and insecurities). He threatened to leave me as he drained my bank account to support his social life, child and more . We shared my car so he’d drop me off and pick me up from work, often leaving me waiting for him to return (pre-cell phones) and without a car during weekends. He assured me no one else would ever want me, so I should be happy that he did. He blamed me for his inability find work or hold jobs. When he did work “away” jobs, he cheated on me. When I felt my lowest, he’d give me crumbs to keep me holding on to him. I was trapped both by him and by my own destruct from the way he broke my confidence, value and soul.
I was no longer financially independent, and started carrying debt to support us. We lived in my house, so I didn’t feel like I could leave and I didn’t feel like I could get him to willingly leave. I didn’t have access to my car most of the time, often leaving me feeling stranded. I didn’t see my friends or family much and felt too ashamed to talk to about what was happening to me. He worked every insecurity I ever had and broke me. I put on a good face. I showed up to work every day, smiled like a good girl and played nicely.
Sadly, no one seemed to notice. No one recognized the signs. The people most likely to notice didn’t see me enough or I avoided the conversation. I was so devastated by where my life had landed and felt shame and guilt for having brought it on myself. I invited him! I welcomed him! Most of the people I was around those days were his friends, who could care less how I was treated or how I felt. I supported their drinking and late nights. I fed them and provided a place to crash when they had no where else to go. I took care of his son when he couldn’t be bothered. I never felt more alone than when I was his girlfriend.
I didn’t notice it happening until I was well into the throes of his abuse. The changes from doting boyfriend to abusive boyfriend are subtle at first. The truth is, I wouldn’t have called it abuse back then. He never physically hurt me. Towards the end, I sensed that was coming though. His anger eventually lead him to throw things past my cowering body, or punch walls behind my head. I knew it would happen and somewhere in my mind I had drawn the line at that. I finally mustered the strength to break up with him. I left his stuff outside when was on a job and changed the locks. It worked for a bit. Like most people who suffer abuse of any sort, I returned to scene of the crime.
He wooed me briefly with pleas for forgiveness and showers of love and devotion. We dated again for a short time, but the abusive tendencies returned (as I should have known) pretty quickly and I had the strength to end it for good. I’m proud to say that I’ve never laid on eyes on him again.
It took a lot of time for me to find myself after that. I had no idea who I was anymore outside of that relationship. Dating sounded terrifying. I needed to get to a place where I could trust myself to make good choices. I threw myself into work and built a solid career that involved a lot of international travel, both of which help me build new confidence, acceptance and value to my life. I made new friends who had nothing to do with my life with him, who helped me to see myself as a worthy, bright, cared for and caring friend. I wrote a lot to sort through how I felt about what I’d been through and tried to understand how I let it happen. I worked to get my finances straightened out and to just enjoy my life again. To breathe again.
I am blessed that this experience was just a chapter in my book of life. It wasn’t a pattern. It was an eye-opening, devastating chapter that led me to make some needed changes, to work to better understand myself and to find acceptance of myself. I’ve made a lot of strides in doing so, but I recognize that I will always be a work in progress, and that’s okay. I still falter, am occasionally reactive out of insecurity, and sometimes suffer from self-doubt, but I see it now and I make effort to be gentler and kinder to myself and to others, and try to cop to my bad behavior.
I was blessed to meet my husband when I was a much healthier self in my early thirties. We’ve been together for almost 24 years (married for almost 22). He sees me for all that I am, the good, the bad and everything in between. We each carry our own baggage, and understand that we have to work together to keep our relationship thriving. It’s worth every effort even though it does shine light on things neither of us is proud of, but in some ways that’s what keeps us both in balance, as a couple, and as individuals.
Quarantine has brought out the worst in my conversational skills. Having considerably fewer opportunities for actual, in person conversation and too much time spent alone, in my head, talking to myself, I’ve lost touch with the art of conversation. I find my excitement to be talking to someone outside my tiny circle leaves me tongue-tied or over-anxious to speak, thus interruptive.
As life started to open up a bit more and I’m socializing with a somewhat broader group of friends, I notice the decline of my communicative finesse. I catch myself interrupting, or worse, getting caught up in my head, having internal chat with myself. It has become a frequent cause of upset with my husband, which doesn’t make the 24/7 we continue to spend together exactly blissful.
As much a I am content on my own, I have always treasured friend (and family) time. Sharing an evening with a dear friend, enjoying a long, lingering meal and endless conversation is one of my most favorite ways to recharge. I love nothing more than to get lost in a conversation that weaves to and fro with twists and turns that eventually lead back to the beginning. It confounds my husband that these conversations seem never-ending.
Back in the day of landlines, I’d spend hours on the phone with school friends, doing our homework “together”, dreaming of boys we wanted to kiss, places we wanted to go, which lipglosses were the best (Bonne Bell Dr. Pepper!), and back to boys (of course). Those silly, intimate, protracted conversations are in part what our friendships were built upon. They filled out the gaps in the day to day hanging out and chatting. They connected us in ways that still hold true today. To this day the girls I hung out with, some since age nine, the rest since middle school, remain among my dearest. We still see each other, still share cherished memories, and still have silly, intimate, protracted conversations over forty years later.
With shared conversations being something that I relish, the fact that I’m noticing the regression in my conversational dexterity after these seemingly endless months of semi-isolation leaves me feeling a bit anxious to be back in more social settings. Though I hope that the increase of practice will have a positive impact and bring me back to good graces before I’m lost inside my head for good!
One of Cole’s new dance routines at iDance is to Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now. It’s one of my favorite songs to dance around the house to and to belt out in the car when no one (or only Cole) is listening and as teen was part of my “dancing with myself” repertoire (along with a few other songs on the Jazz album). But I think that song also has served as a mantra of sorts for me since I first heard it in 1978. I listened to that album over and over again and reveled in the power of Fat Bottomed Girls (which I believed myself to be), the teasing sexuality of Let Me Entertain You (which I admittedly have always thought would be a perfect strip tease song), the longing and romanticism of Jealousy, Dreamer’s Ball and Seven Days, and the anthemic positivity of If You Can’t Beat Them and Don’t Stop Me Now. I still love to listen to that album in order, track by track.
So watching Cole learn a routine to Don’t Stop Me Now of course put the song in my head all day and took me back to my old bedroom where I’d make up dramatic jazzy dances to it, proclaiming my fourteen year old potential and worthiness. I channeled my inner Freddie Mercury, hoping that if I could muster just a fraction of his seemingly boundless confidence and spirit, I could push through my insecurities and teenage angst and survive middle school. The funny thing is that I still find that song to be motivating, and I still find myself wanting to dance (yes, like no one is watching) to it and experience the freedom and joy it brought to me as a kid. I still find the song makes me want to break out of my head and follow my heart and dreams.
Several months ago a dear friend asked me to be part of one of the segments of a podcast she created. It would be me, and another close friend, and her talking about the effect of having children with special needs on our lives. The three of us know each other well so despite my nervousness, I agreed to do it.
I arrived at the designated address and was directed to a studio where there were big microphones (the furry ones that get placed right up near your face) and some chairs. There were lots of audio crew people and producers and Amy, the host, our friend Dawn, and me. We sat and started chatting under Amy’s topic direction. The three of us each have a child with special needs. Amy’s daughter is Cole’s age and we’ve been close for twelve or thirteen years now. Cole and her daughter continue to be pals despite being at different high schools these past several years. Dawn is someone Amy and I met a few years ago at a support group. Her daughter is younger than our kiddos but she became a fast friend. So the set up felt comfortable and the conversation somewhat familiar though we delved deeper than we might over cocktails at a mom’s night out.
After a point, the other people and equipment sort of melted away and the conversation flowed easily. We recorded for an hour or more, shed a few tears, laughed a little and left our vulnerability on the floor. I left feeling pleased about doing something new, getting out of my comfort zone and not allowing my nerves to completely defeat me. Happy to have spent a little time sharing with two people I love and trust, and curious to know how it would all sound if and when it aired (is that what podcasts do? Air? Stream?).
Tomorrow, months since we recorded, our episode enters the world. It’s available on whatever platform you listen to podcasts on like Apple. The first five episodes of the podcast have all been released in the previous weeks and this is the final of this round. I hope there will be more seasons or whatever podcast runs are called because it’s a really interesting, thoughtful and thought provoking premise.
It’s called The Challengers with Amy Brenneman. It’s not a “I had a challenge and came through and everything is rosey” kind of look at challenges in life. It’s more about how life challenges have us (collectively) stepping more into humanity because of or inspite of the challenges. The guests she chose for the these first six are all fascinating and diverse. I highly recommend listening to all of them.
I’ve gone through another period of inconsistent writing and I find I miss the outlet terribly. Life gets in the way of my creativity! It inspires it as well but when writing is more the hobby and work and family responsibilities fill much of each day, hobbies take the back burner. Nevertheless, I’ve challenged myself to make a bigger effort to sneak in a bit of writing each day. The truth is, it benefits my mind and soul, so it’s a valued effort.
I turned 54 on the 4th…While I love birthdays, particularly other people’s birthdays, I don’t generally feel the creeping up of the years to be bothersome. This year though it did make me feel introspective. Though I do have some self-awareness and keen sense of the things I need to do maintain my health, sanity, and joy, I do have a tendency to shirk some of the responsibilities that are required to maintain myself. This year I made a decision that I will shirk less and go through my 55thyear taking better care to make time to exercise, write, enjoy my family and friends and to step out of my comfort zone as much as possible.
I’ve actually been attempting to try new things and put myself out there throughout the past few months. Nothing radical, small steps to expose myself to new experiences, places, and people. It’s been a wholly positive endeavor. I took a girl’s night out grilling class and wound up sharing a table with two women, both of whom are speech pathologists and one of whom had coincidentally worked at my son’s school for a brief time. What are the odds?
I also took a chance and applied to a writing program that Imagine Entertainment just launched. Beyond the lengthy application, that included a video component, I had to provide a project I would like to develop (I have a TV series idea that I’m working on) and other writing samples. I was not among the handful selected (over 4,000 writers applied), but I feel proud that I put myself out there and gave it a shot. I plan to try again for their next session in February. It will give me some time to get my ideas in to a better format and who knows??? Another coincidence, my company moved into the same building as Imagine a couple of weeks ago!
I look forward to having a successful self-motiving, self-aware, self-caring, self-sharing year. I want to be present and well for myself, my family, my friends and for any new challenge or experience that comes my way.
I’m one month out, post surgery. I got the clearance to begin easing back into physical activity. I can walk with vigor, exercise moderately, and tend to some of Cole’s needs (still not quite ready for heavy lifting, but can move towards it over the next few weeks). I’ve been back in the office since the start of the third week. I tired quickly at first but I feel like myself again.
Yesterday all of the surgical tape was removed, and I got my first clear view of my new self. While the procedure was prompted by health concerns and constant pain, I must say the superficial benefits of it are pretty amazing. I actually have breasts that fit my frame and compliment my body. I feel lighter, stand taller, and am completely inspired to get the rest of me in better shape to better suit my new boobs. All of my clothes fit differently too.
As I wrote previously, the aching pain I have suffered from for twenty odd years is gone. Though I haven’t been able to lift Cole yet, I can tell that not having so much body in front of me, will be an asset in lifting him safely and more comfortably, especially as I move deeper into my fifties and beyond. The need to lift him and support his body whilst taking care of personal needs and dressing is not going to end.
It will be several months before I’m completely healed, and at least one or two more before my new breasts settle into their final size, but even just four weeks in, I have to say it was worth all of the hardship I’ve inflicted on my poor husband and child, who have had to make adjustments to their routines to accommodate my needs. At the end of the day, it’s just a few months in the lifetime we will continue to share. From here on out, each day will give me a chance to get stronger, healthier and to become more the self I dream of.
Doing something this major, largely for myself, has taught me that it’s okay to take chances on myself. I view it as an opportunity to reset some of the habits I’ve fallen into over the years of my adult life. I am eager to continue transforming myself both physically, through better eating and regular exercise, mentally, by engaging in things that interest me and feed my soul, and emotionally, by trying to be a better wife, mom, friend, daughter, sister – a better me. My guys and my friends have shown tremendous kindness, support and love during this process and I want to keep that alive in all of my relationships.
Who knew that new boobs could lead to such a whole being revolution?
It’s not often that parents of special needs kids do anything to radically rock the boat, but I recently did something radical that impacted everyone in my family. I got a breast reduction. I have contemplated doing so for the better part of fifteen years but held back for any number of reasons – cost, time off work, the physical restrictions, my weight, and the fact that electing to have surgery made me nervous.
I researched and researched and finally decided to just go in for a consultation so I could learn my options, my potential outcomes and whether it could be covered by insurance. My surgeon took one look at my bare, braless breasts and exclaimed, “They’re huge!” Followed by “Please let me help you”. I was simultaneously amused and taken a back. She’s a breast surgeon; surely she’s seen large boobs. Apparently mine were in a class of their own. Who knew?
I learned that there was little doubt that my insurance would approve the reduction and that the surgery itself is considered a fairly simple surgery. There’s no muscle or organ cutting and it generally is a 3-4 hour procedure. I learned about the post-op care, very limited movement for the first couple of weeks, and no lifting or sweat worthy exertion for several more. This again gave me pause because I have a 15 years old child who I lift and transfer and dress and change. How would that work with just one of us being able to do that for nearly two months?
My husband was supportive and cleared his travel schedule (he travels a lot for work). He assured me we could get through this and that it if this surgery was necessary and wanted, we’d figure it out. We do have a history of getting through all kinds of challenges, obstacles and uncertainties. Part of it comes with the territory of special needs parenting (you have to be very malleable) and part of it comes from us being a pretty good team.
So I moved forward and got it on the books. It was initially scheduled for August 14th, the day before Cole started his sophomore year of high school, but it got moved to the next, his first day of school just weeks before. We enlisted childcare to be home when his school bus arrived in case we weren’t yet home (the surgery was supposed to be 3-4 hours, starting at 10am so chances were good we’d be home on time), but just to be safe…childcare in place.
I cleared it with work, with the plan to work from home after the first week and then take it from there. I’ve been at the same company for many years and had their full support. It goes without saying that telling your male bosses that you’re having breast reduction surgery is quite a funny experience! Lots of gulping on both sides and averted eyes!
I got cleared by internist and again by the surgeon, and off we went.
My surgery lasted hours longer than a typical reduction, over six hours. I felt groggy leaving the surgical center, but immediately noticed the effect of the reduction. My neck, shoulder and back pain lifted. I had drains and tubing sticking out of my sides, obstructing most of my arm movement and I felt sore. I was warned that they do a lot of lifting of your torso and twisting during the surgery to ensure that everything is even, and in place properly and symmetrically. The after effects of that did not go unnoticed.
It will be months before my new breasts are completely healed and able to lead a normal life but almost instantaneously the effects of the surgery are life changing.
The value of a quality caregiver is unrivaled, and it can come in different forms, each fulfilling a specific need or time in our children’s lives.
Summer care is always difficult for us as a special needs family. My husband and I both work full time, and up until this year, we’ve been fortunate to have summer school and day camp at my son’s school, that cover all but a couple of weeks of the summer time off. We usually do a family week vacation or staycation depending upon what’s going on with us financially and schedule wise, and find full day child care and support for the other time off. There’s cost involved, but we’ve been fortunate thus far to have had the school programs to rely upon.
Cole finished up his freshman year in high school, and had over two months off school. Because he has an IEP, he qualifies for Extended School Year (ESY), which is sort of summer school. It’s not quite four weeks of casual education at one of five LAUSD campuses, running from 8:00 am to 12:15 pm. It’s something, but it left us needing childcare for his entire summer holiday, because he still needed someone to be at the house when he arrived home from ESY and for the six hours left in the workday.
Finding childcare is a challenge in itself. We again have been fortunate thus far to have maintained contact with a few of the great support staffers at our former school, and were able to offer competitive salary during the summer and the comfort for us is that we have people we know, like and most importantly, trust with Cole. They know him, he has trust with them and they know how to care for him and to engage with him.
The value of that trust is priceless.
The first weeks of summer were easy and comfortable for Cole. We employed a woman who worked with him at his former school and who he enjoys spending time with, mostly chilling out. He has his moments when he likes nothing better than chatting, watching cooking shows and relaxing. It worked well for the post ESY afternoons, when he felt a little taxed from ESY and was happy to relax.
We then took a few days off for family time in Carlsbad, a little beach town in San Diego County that we all enjoy. Mornings were spent doing some visits to museums and the aquarium, and afternoons in the pool. Cole’s idea of perfect vacation!
At the end of this summer I engaged a former staffer from his school, who we’ve maintained a friendship with for the years since he left the school and went on to pursue his higher education in Northern California, as well as fitness and wellness interests. I thought that it might nice for Cole to have a male caregiver, and I wanted him to get out and do some stuff. The first week they watched a little cooking on the telly and then went out and shopped for ingredients and prepared some of the recipes they watched! They met friends for lunch and went to a local art studio and did some painting and they headed over to our neighbors house for a swim one afternoon.
The second week they attended a day camp I found for Cole. Their summer program was for kids aged 14 and up. Cole was amongst the youngest but really loved being among teens. Each day they did all sorts of fun activities, ranging from gardening, to cooking, to working out, to creating art. They even filmed a movie in iMovie, and did some literacy studies and practice. Their final day was a beach outing. They both made a lot of friends and pretty much had a great time. As a parent, I couldn’t have asked for more.
The bond between these two is pretty special, and having a male caregiver is something that Cole needs. He was respected, treated as a nearly sixteen year old, and engaged in age appropriate, fun, activities. The balance between being a friend, mentor, and caregiver was just that perfectly balanced. He thrived. He soared.
We now need to find someone who can be all of those things to Cole who lives nearby so that he can enjoy some independence away from his parents, and perhaps even with friends, but with someone trusted, creative, and kind, who can also balance friendship, mentorship and caregiving.
Sometimes it’s hard to see the subtle changes in his personality, demeanor, and interests as he ages. There are delays to be sure, and some changes are diminished because he simply doesn’t have the communication skills necessary to adequately express everything that he’s feeling internally. I like to think, hope, that we’ve all (me, Dan and Cole) got some of the communication down to where the important things, especially, are eventually made known.
This past weekend, after running a few necessary errands, Cole vehemently did not want to go home. Having groceries in the hot car, we agreed to stop at home so Dan could run things inside, while I talked to Cole about where he wanted to go. He actually really seemed to need to go somewhere. Turns out he really wanted to go to the mall to do a little clothes shopping for himself.
I’m a big fan of on-line shopping, especially for his clothes. He hasn’t shown much interest in what he wears until recently so it works out pretty well. I made a promise along time ago not to dress him stupidly and I’ve managed to keep it thus far. I frequently ask for his opinion of things and recently he showed interest in selecting a new swim suit ( a cute crew cuts pair of navy trunks with little orange embroidered stars) and rash guard for an upcoming beach get-away.
Needless to say, the mall excursion came as a bit of surprise. He happily searched through Gap Kids looking for, what exactly, I don’t know. We left with a cheery striped polo shirt and a pair of madras plaid Bermuda shorts. Both confidently selected by the boy. He tightly held on to the bag as we continued through the mall (and even into the car). We didn’t find anything else he was keen on, and he made it pretty clear that this trip was not intended for parent browsing or shopping (though his dad did manage to snag a little something on sale at Lucky, despite protests from the boy).
He proudly wore his shirt to summer school today, and has already requested that it be cleaned and ready to pack for our trip. I’ve promised to involve him in any future shopping for his needs. It adds another layer to the process but it will be interesting and fun to see where his taste takes him. Just another reminder of how important it is for him to have every opportunity to express himself, with wardrobe, words, and whatever other ways he finds.
I love your brain 