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A Dress and a Tween Girl’s Delight

April 7, 2013 by Tara Cousineau 1 Comment

I Feel Pretty

She didn’t have to say it exactly. She exuded it. She danced it. She jumped on the sofa. She twirled.

A new dress on a (very) skinny tween.

“Look, it fits perfectly!”

I watched Josie with pure joy – and a silent gratitude to the Universe. Thank you.

You never know with an item ordered online what will burst out of the package. It could result in tears just as easily as triumph.You never know when your child, acutely aware of her “smallness” relative to her friends, will feel mighty in her own power or crushed at the snide comment of another 7^th grader.

As a mom, I find myself often holding my breath because the tiniest shifts in the fragile social world of middle schoolers can mold a girl’s sense of wellbeing for life. Is it not true, kindred moms, that some of our most defining moments happened when we were but 11 or 12? Or maybe 14 or 15?

And maybe that was the essence of my sigh of relief. Old stories need not reappear in our children’s lives. Just maybe Josie can come out of it unscathed. When those old haunts do reappear, however, we can hold them with such love and compassion for our younger selves that we heal. And this may not happen until we watch our girls grow up as I am experiencing right now. Self-compassion. It’s from this place we can do the best for our girls – so that any slight on her personhood can be cushioned with our deep understanding.

That may be easier said than done, of course. And our modern world offers new means to amplify any kind of emotion, positive or negative. In the world of tweens. It’s called Instagram.

She accumulated 81 likes on her Instagram in about 24 hours. But even before her posting of “the dress” for her all-girl gymnastics banquet more than two months away, I know that the heartfelt joy came from her own soul. It wasn’t the ‘likes’ from her friends or some notion of retail therapy we moms like to do every so often for ourselves. (Do we ever dance and twirl in the dressing rooms of the dress shops? Hell, we should! )

For a girl who either flits about in oversized sweat pants or a skin tight leotard, who has ankles wrapped in tape, or time and again tearfully misses a social gathering because of a commitment to her sport, a dress that fits is a dress that fits.

And as a recovering self-conscious boney gal myself, it’s was befitting to witness.

In wearing her new dress Josie claims her radiance.

Look at me! I am free and alive and beautiful.

Let it be so.

Why Girl Empowerment Movements Will Never End

February 16, 2013 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

I’m continually struck with the amazing number of pro-girl organizations and initiatives that are spawned and nurtured by amazing people—mothers, fathers, celebrities, journalists, social activists and girls themselves. I track these organizations, their tweets, campaigns, cyber pledges, polls, and share these missions as best I can with my daughters and broader social networks of mixed company.

…and many more.

I’m also sobered by the realization that pro-girl initiatives will be needed perhaps as long as humankind exists. The efforts for girls’ education, empowerment and entrepreneurship– the three Es are necessary for the health and vitality of the world. Although I feel privileged to exist in the place and time in which I find myself, there are so many parts of the world where girls and women are oppressed in unimaginable ways—where basic needs and human rights are priorities. In the Western (and ostensibly advanced) USA where I raise my daughters, the onslaught of negative cultural messages targeted at girls appears to be at a peak. So is a contagion of destructive coping strategies among girls—disordered eating, cutting and self-harm—to name a few of the most searing and heartbreaking of silent epidemics. These conditions are now amplified by social media and mobile communication, a medium that has its advantages and disadvantages depending on how they are used.

In a conversation with dad of a struggling daughter we lamented over this state of girls’ health and the recipe for tragedy–where shame and secrecy, combined with the viral effect of sharing insidious ways to deal with stress or despair, have fueled an adolescent health crisis. He noted that boys are next as he reflected on his son. (The cultural assault on our boys is a topic for another discussion but has been well underway for many years and is inextricably intertwined in our gender scripts).

It’s impossible to guard against the assault on my own being—as an adult woman and a mother—or to even feel empowered to protect my girls
from blatant, sexist and narrow gender typed messages. And it’s getting worse. It’s one reason why I created BodiMojo.com ad the DailyMojo blog by girls. Even after three waves of feminism (the last two tidal waves on which I surfed), progress is in peril. Despite some enlightened media outlets and cause marketing to stem the tide, I confess I often feel a backward pull.

I recently heard Deepak Chopra speak at the Massachusetts Conference for Women (Dec 6, 2012). He told a beautiful story about his mother. His remembrance evoked an image of a strong matriarch, grounded, spiritual, and in control, and who never failed to think of the welfare of others as a model of sustainability and growth. To an audience of over 8000 women, Dr. Chopra spoke of a universal shift toward feminine power—one that has been a guiding force for him. “It’s arrived,” he said. And you could feel it in the presence of a sea of women—the possibility, the hope and renewed energy.

Yet, at a private level, in my small world of raising teenage girls in a household that espouses the three Es, little things peck away—eroding my girls’ confidence while it is just in the making.

This became most poignant recently with my 15-year-old Sophie. On the surface she is a smart, confident girl on varsity sports teams in freshman year, involved in a youth group at church focused on social action,has a great group of friends. As parents, my husband and I are fairly relieved at a smooth adjustment to middle adolescence. Yet, we still hold our breath.

She’s also “pretty” by cultural standards. Indeed, a panel of judges might consider my daughter to be a promising “package.” This word is now flippantly used to describe a human being. The phrase speaks volumes about how American Idol or The Voice shape our cultural scripts. Of course, like many teenagers, Sophie has put up a “good cover.”

Few signs of distress could be discerned from her, other than complaints of homework, bad coaching, or sister fights. And even less is available about her inner world—until that secret life appeared on her Twitter feed.

Before she had her own iPhone she’d check her Twitter account on mine. I’d hear the retweets pop up. I didn’t totally mind this, although I was getting particularly annoyed one Sunday when there seemed to be a flurry of conversations I cared not to be interrupted by. Then I see that her friend had retweeted a comment Sophie posted earlier:

I wish I was pretty like the girls on Tumblr.

My heart stopped for a split second.

Wait. Does she really feel that way?

Shit. Tumblr?

Does she have a blog there, too?

Moms always think they are on top of things. Nope. Sure enough, her Tumblr blog was stated on her twitter profile. I clicked on the link.

I scrolled and scrolled. What I see is an amazingly creative, stream of posts, not unlike the magazine collages my girlfriends and I would spend hours making. As teens we would cut out images from Seventeen or Teen Beat, rearrange letters and glue photographs—photosthat we had to spend our babysitting money on and wait a week to get developed on Main Street. It was heartfelt work. Collage making was a teenage girl’s right of passage, along with hundreds of notes folded into triangles, pressed in the back of jean pockets, and saved in shoeboxes.

Thirty years later my daughter is doing the same thing with modern tools. On her blog she had reposted pictures of baby animals, muddy female soccer players, various Olympians. So, too, were numerous gorgeous girls and guys, in the strict, gendered ways media portrays male and female beauty: Skinny girls with long hair; guys with glossy six-pack abs. (Really, are there any other images available?)

And I thought I was so smart in not having any beauty magazine subscriptions at home.

I was heartened somewhat that her mixed media clearly portrayed vestiges of coming of age. It was cuteness, love, courage, athleticism, and positive quotes. Just scrolling the blog undoubtledy evoked feel-good hormones. An Oxytocin hit.

I thought, Ok, this is totally normal. There are no images of violence, self-harm or pro-anorexic girls. But how to start a conversation about her comment on Twitter? I had told her clearly I’m not snooping when my own phone alerts me to her social network. She knew I was getting these and could not figure out how to disable her account on my phone (she later did).

She’s a very private child. A private child with a public channel. The only way to bring up her comment about girls on Tumblr (AND Tumblr) was in the car.

Driving side by side we can usually talk with ease, not having to look the other in the eye or hide flushed cheeks. We talked about her height (she’s disappointed to have peaked at 5’2), her “poofy hair,” and body image; and once again we discuss social media, the blessing and curse of it, and how to manage it with discretion and privacy. Of course, she finds me too serious or overly concerned. Oh my god, Mom, really?

But my mother, who cared deeply about her two girls, never asked how I felt or ever wondered about my emotional life. She did not prepare me for puberty or offer to buy me a bra. I wish she had. And if she had asked me how I was doing? I may have dismissed her outright. I’m sure I scared her.But on some level I would also know that she was at least curious or courageous enough to ask me.

I have worked with the most wonderful and connected of parents who become flabbergasted to learn about their own child’s conflicts or pain. Many adolescents do not want to upset parents, or disappoint them, and many don’t know how to approach them. They live secret lives on many levels.

There are no easy answers. Parents aren’t mind readers. The hardest part for parents now seems to be how to genuinely connect in a hyper-connected
world—a world increasingly devoid of interpersonal nuances, emotional cues and heartfelt empathy. Yet, the answer always seems to be the same:

Stay connected, listen, and be present
Know who your kid’s friends are, and know who these friends’ parents are
Observe their social networks online and offline
Be curious but not intrusive
Notice media messages and consumerism with them
Share (with discretion) some of your teen challenges and how you got through them
Have clarity on your own internal story of body image, identity, and self-esteem
Take a witnessing stance and notice what you may (or may not) be modeling for your child
Join and support organizations that support girls and make it a part of family life and core values
Help girls see the plight of other girls to challenge their perpectives, to broaden world view, and foster global sisterhood (the upside of social comparision)
Find older and near-age mentors and role models who may be perceived as more relatable and less intense than you may be (i.e., find
a cool younger person)
Be open, authentic and courageous; be honest about mistakes; go forward with love
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

There is no silver lining playbook for ushering our girls into the adult world. Love and connection is the way.

My Teenage Daughter’s Room

January 27, 2013 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

This is my 15 year olds daughter’s room on a typical day of the week.

I told her I took photos of it for “evidence.” Mommmm, she grumbled. Then she forgot
about it as she chirped about her midterm exams, which one was easy and which one she is so sure she failed. Ladi-ladi-da.

I watch her mouth moving but can’t hear her. I still have her room on my mind. It is worth driving home a point about her total irresponsibility as a living member of the household when she is in this total flaked out phase in her teen life? Where clearly the neural networks have yet not fully developed when it comes to organization?

You see she had some extra time on her hands this week given her exam schedule— some early dismissals or late starts. She coulda tidied her room a bit.

But no. She’s perfectly content to live in squalor.

Squalor, it is. My limit on my patience, I‘ve told her more than once, is when she could be serving meals to the mice that live in the walls and in the seams of the dirt basement in our 250 year old New England home. The critters have frequented our premises, especially during a deep freeze like the one we are having now.

It was such a week of testing my tolerance. I found two un-eaten brown lunch bags in her trash, and one in her backpack, and another in the den. Clearly, the specimens were in various states of decomposition. I concluded that she might ditch at least one lunch a week that her father painstakingly makes at about 6:10 every morning.

So discovering the old, moldy, stinky lunches and four quarters in the trash was it for me. I’m of German stock. I believe I carry a diluted strain of an OCD genetic marker, plus the endless training during my childhood with my German mother. My sister and I could not even think about leaving the house on a Saturday to play in the neighborhood if our rooms weren’t spotless. That meant dusting every surface—every knickknack, book binder, and our glass menageries. It also included washing the linen and hanging the sheets on the line no matter what the temperature—a reprieve there, at every two weeks. We had to hand wash and dry the dishes and if there was a pet, like a turtle or hamster, the cage got cleaned. It also meant taking turns scrubbing the tub and toilet bowl. There was no discussion about it.

Not only that, the regular laundry was only only once a week. We had to use one towel each. If jeans got dirty, oh well. And they did get dirty because we played outside every single day, usually in the woods. We were not to waste water, soap, or leisure time. God forbid a dollar was found in the trash.

Do I bother to share this bit of “well, when I was a kid” history with my girls? No. Well, ok, sometimes.

I tell Sophie that she clearly has the “pile” gene from her dad. I try to minimize going into his home office, too, because the feng shui is so… chaotic. Mounds of papers, work folders, old bills, a few guitars, and foot pedals populate his “space.” Neither of them has adopted my daily practice of tidy office, clear mind. Fortunately for me, my younger daughter is a neat nick and balances things out a bit.

On occasion Sophie shows some acknowledgement of the situation, some tenuous thread of conscientiousness. “Mom, I know my room is a
mess. I’ll clean it up after [soccer practice/the boys basketball game/Pretty Little Liars].” Or a text: Don’t go in my room!

My bottom line: I avoid her room Monday though Friday and during PMS, but expect that if she wants to socialize on weekends her room must
be clean. This is because I want to feel relaxed in our home. And if my mother comes to visit—about twice a year—I hire cleaners. It’s a mental health investment.

I figure Sophie keeps up her room on weekends about 50-65% of the time. I realize my standards are leagues higher than hers, and can only
hope she will be more mindful when she has a college roommate.

Here’s the thing. She’s got four more years under our care. I don’t want her room to be an emotional battleground when other issues are sure to challenge our parental limits.

I figure when that one hungry mouse scurries across her room, there won’t be anything that will need to be said.

I almost can’t wait for that to happen.

My Daughter’s First High Heels

January 22, 2013 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

She said she needed a pair to tan flats for the older girl’s sweet 16 party. That’s what I heard anyway. So when Sophie bopped into the car with her mall pals I said, Let’s see the shoes!

Silence.

She pulled them out. A pair of high heels. Yes, tan. I paused. Impulsively, I gave her the look.

I thought you said flats, honey?

No. I said I needed tan shoes to go with my coral dress.

Those are really high, I mutter.

Her friend rather politely says, My mother prefers that I didn’t wear high heels, either.
(Thanks, friend. Might you have piped up at the store?)

I was instantly catapulted back to my little attic bedroom with the floral wallpaper and slanted ceilings. There, in the crawl space at the far end of my teenage hideway, I hid a pair of shocking red high heels.

My mother would have killed me. Or rather, she would have gone into full hysteria, waling about how hard she works raising us girls all by herself, and what do we have to show her for it. And so on. Then she’d pray.

I was 17 at the time. I worked at a shoe store in town. I got an employee discount. Had my mother discovered the red shoes I would have pulled out the “it’s my money” card or “you can’t tell me what to do anymore” or point out all the expensive shoes she hid in her closet for her job in the city. (Of course, I knew where to look).

Ah, my not-so little girl and her new pumps.

It was a moment of mourning.

Sitting there turning on the engine, I thought, here is my choice point. She knows how I feel. I could demand that she return them. That would cause a fuss. An angry exchange, more likely. Humiliation in front of friends; potentially more so in front of a hip sales clerk at Charlotte Russe. It would ruin her night at the party. The anticipation would have been punctured. The girls were giddy about going to an older teammate’s coming of age celebration. For weeks, they had been texting pictures of dresses, even though they only own one or two since the 8^th grade dance—a mere 6 months ago.

Or I could let it go.

So I did. I took a breath. I thought about my red high heels, and all the other secrets I had in order to preserve whatever relationship I had with my mother. In the 30 seconds it took me to back out of the parking space and scan their bright faces, I thought: These little ladies will wear their high heels for about 5 minutes. Then they’ll dance barefoot.

And they did.

Cosmic Whispers and Momentary Truths

January 11, 2013 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

I take delight in the collective hysteria about the end of the world hype that cycles in from time to time. “The world’s ending today, Mom,” announced Josie a few weeks ago. “Maybe I’ll see you later,” she declared as she bounded up the driveway to catch the bus. Huh. I got a cup of tea, read the daily horoscope in the Globe, and checked my inbox for other insights on the various upcoming endings and beginnings. I love receiving astrological emails even though I pay no mind to most. Inevitably, the messages are about some planetary configuration: “The new Moon is in Sagittarius.” Often there is a mystical call to action: “Set up to 10 intentions before noon Eastern time!” “Thursday is the day to plant seeds.” I take comfort in these cosmic declarations offering hope. Mostly, they remind me to tap into my intuition, slow down, and reflect.

No matter what dates may hold meaning there is upon us an opportunity to push the emotional reset button. How about a story about renewal? That’s what I’ve been asking myself. What’s the story I want to create? Not the new me or new body or fresh start. What’s the story I want my peeps to know about me? How can visualize that me when I stop for a moment, or look up at the sky, or out my kitchen window?

So I got to writing down my own personal intentions. These are reminders for myself – like my guideposts for a balanced life – as antidotes to a wired life. They are the seeds for the story I want to create.

Self-Compassion

I will not be by own worst critic.

I intend to treat myself with the same kindness and respect I bestow on the people I love most in my life.

Walk the Talk

I will be the person I hope my children will grow up to be. I will show kindness, understanding, forgiveness and fortitude.

I’m not always right. I will acknowledge my mistakes and model the courage it takes to make amends and take responsibility.

I will be brave. I will take risks to do things I believe in and am passionate about.

Connection

I will engage fully in the world and with loved ones, because I know in my heart that belonging, loving and feeling loved matter
most.

Gratitude

I will hold the world in wonder just as a child does and embrace the joyful moments as they arrive.

Boditude

I will treat my body as sacred no matter what its shape, size or ability.

I will push aside self-comparisons and model for daughters that the beauty culture does not define who I am or who they are. Fitting in is not important, but believing I am worthy is.

Mindfulness

I intend to be present in my life every day, to notice and be aware of my world and how I engage in it.

I have clarity on my values and my goals. I will live by them.

Patience

I will take time to witness, be present and allow positive growth to unfold.

I will take time to rest and restore.

Indulgence

I will eat chocolate ice cream with reverence and honor the abdundance in life.

Ode to the Black Sheep

January 7, 2013 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

As I begin to put away holiday décor, the lingering piece I have on my coffee table is the Black Sheep Tree. It seems that the tree represents such a timeless sentiment of feeling outcast that I’m having a hard time wrapping it up in tissue. A client recently commented on it. It was bathed in the early winter light and caught her lingering attention. She finally said, “That is just so… apropos. Wherever did you find it?”

The tree is a small wiry, sprig, with soft white sheep alighted on the branches. There is a lone black sheep tethered to the trunk, looking up with longin.” I don't know too many people – or anybody really – who doesn’t feel like an outsider, or misunderstood, or lonely at some point or another. Who doesn’t want to feel love and acceptance? I see this right now with my daughters where conformity means survival of middle school.

Even when the drive to “fit in” no longer appeals, we still measure ourselves by our own yard sticks, now internalized and seeped in our subconscious. It’s that struggle between wanting to be unique, or maybe even being a renegade, yet all the while wanting acknowledgement and acceptance.

It takes courage to be a black sheep. It takes some mettle to experience vulnerability, nerve to make your own path and be true to your heart. It can be lonely. January is a “reset” month for me: to appreciate the growing pains of the last year, to acknowledge the gifts that present themselves each and every day, and to aspire to my dreams.

Reminders come in all sorts of ways, as it did recently. There is a yoga teacher who I find particularly grounded and earthy. It is not often I can get to her class but I look forward to her graceful presence when I can. What I enjoy about her teaching is that instead of imposing some little life lesson at the end of the hour, she simply leaves a quote on a piece of paper to take or leave. I find it a beautiful way to end a class and reneter the world. This time however, she placed mini water bottles at the end of our mats during the final rest, savasana. It was thoughtful in this season of giving. On the bottle was her take-way quote; she had printed it on a label. Her choice was not unfamiliar to me, but at the moment it was … well, so apropos:

May today there be peace within.
May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May you use those gifts that you have received and pass on the love that has been given to you.

May you be content knowing you are a child of God.
Let this presence settle into your bones and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.

It is there for each and every one of us.

-St. Theresa of Lisieux

Three Snow Angels & 12 Guideposts for a Living Balanced Life

January 5, 2013 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

Snow Angel 3 I have an overscheduled family and work life. Sometimes it seems like we all we do is pass one another in the doorways. Or else we are carting a bunch of girls around – soccer fields, sport centers, gymnastic meets and last minute soccer tourneys. Not to mention seeing clients, trying to grow a business, and remembering to give hubby a hug in passing. “Great job. You’re a great dad!”

Instead of resolutions for a new year, I decided to do more of a “reflect and reset.” Reset the pace of life; re-evaluate my aspirations; and reflect on all I have to be thankful for. As I began to jot things down, I realized I was creating a series of guideposts to remind me of what works, instead of all the things I need to change, improve, or achieve. So whenever I feel really irritated or want to throw in the towel and run away from it all, I can remind myself of some tried and true principles.

1. Breathe

2. Practice Gratitude

3. Yoga

4. Dress in Comfy, Soft Clothes

5. Adorn Self with Affirmations

6. Journal

7. Track Your Periods

8. Go Outside

9. Snack on Protein Snacks & Drink Water

10. Tidy Office = Clear Mind

11. Fresh Flowers

12. Generosity

* * *

1. Breathe

This may seem obvious, but if I find myself in a frenzy – mentally or physically – it usually means my breathing is short and stuck in my upper chest. If I stop for a moment I can hear my heart revving on this low-grade but rapid vibration. This kind of breathing can easily launch a sense of panic. So I take a mini meditation with slow deep breaths: count to 10 on the in breath and count to 11 on the out breath. (It helps to have the out breath a tad longer.)

Yet, if I get impatient with myself in this exercise I tend to use words. Sometimes I even hum a refrain I picked up in a church.

When I breathe in, I breathe in peace.

When I breathe out, I breathe out calm.

I might change the out breath to the word “love” if I’m particularly annoyed with a family member – usually my mother or my spouse. A loving kindness breathing mediation can have an immediate, positive effect. Of course, this is something I teach to clients. But if I don’t practice it myself, I’m just a fraud. And frauds are easy to snuff out.

2. Practice Gratitude

The essence of a gratitude practice came to me later in life. Having been raised in the Catholic tradition, the practice was to thank God, ask for forgiveness for sins, and do good deeds to avoid hell at all costs. It was shame, fear and guilt-based. It’s still alive and well in my family of origin and the childhood effects resurface now and again. Nurturing gratitude takes daily practice.

Feeling gratitude is the seed for cultivating joy and being aware of life’s gifts when they are right in front of you. A gratitude practice attunes my mind to the momentary delights in the midst of busy, chaotic or difficult circumstances – like the three snow angels I saw the other night from the second story of our house, sparkling under the light and shadow of a full moon. It was totally unexpected and took my breath away. Moments like that remind me of my children, of the joy of childhood, of play, and of sheer delight of the season’s first snow and crisp winter skies.

Just writing about it makes me feel joy. Writing down these moments is a good practice. Gratitude journals have become popular because we need the physical tools of pen, paper or keyboard to make the experience tangible – otherwise the beautiful moments
will crumble to dust.My younger daughter, Josie, and I had such a moment recently. The others were away (soccer, of course) and we decided to build a fire together. Kids love building fires. So primal is the activity of fire making, I let her set it up and strike the match. Then we pulled out our journals and color pencils and enjoyed the quite time. Moments like these are sustaining and inoculate against daily hassles of life.

3. Yoga

I’ve been an avid yoga lover for over 25 years. I’ve tried many brands of yoga and at this stage in my life have settled on heated vinyasa flow. I’m sure I will change type of yoga when peri-menopause hits. It took a while to adapt to 90-degree temperature in the studio, but I love it. Anything less feels cold to me now. The heat forces me to breathe deep and slow (see #1). The postures are like a meditative dance, which appeals to my love of ballet as a child and to my sense of aesthetic. Sometimes, just being in a child pose is so utterly healing I could weep from relief.

Yoga is a beautiful practice no matter what a person’s size, shape or body type. The practice of yoga nurtures inner beauty. On the days I’m up for an advanced power class, I get in a pretty good low-impact aerobic workout, too. I feel detoxified and cleansed. I believe yoga is why I look younger than my age. On occasion, when I do reveal my age, people are surprised. “Well done!” a friend exclaimed to me when she learned I was five years older not younger than she. But the answer to youthfulness is easy for me: decent genes and diet, being wrinkled-free from sun deprivation in New England … and regular yoga.

4. Dress in Comfy, Soft Clothes

We snuggle our babies in the most luxurious of fleeces,cottons and awesome textile blends that didn’t exist when I was a babe. Why don’t we grownups wear similar fabrics? When clothes are tight, sloppy, or scratchy, so are we. For some time now, I’ve been wearing a combination of bootleg yoga pants, dresses by Karina Designs (“Dresses for Every Body”) and a soft flowy sweater. This has several advantages:

I feel like I’m in pajamas all day and therefore in a relaxed state of mind. I’m geared up to have coffee at the last minute with a colleague and be respectably fashionable with little effort. And most importantly, I’m in a prime position to hop into a yoga class whenever my schedule or my girls’ schedule allows. (I have a yoga mat in each one of the family cars, too). The other advantage to such attire should it lead to a yoga class is that I get in deep breathing (#1), opportunity for gratitude for getting to a class (#2) and a work out (#3).

5. Adorn Self with Affirmations

Yes, WEAR positive quotes on your body. In addition, to #4, I’m a big believer in inspirational t-shirts and jewelry. For starters, having a word or phrase to look at gets me outside of my head and the all consuming to-do lists. For years I had a silver bangle engraved with the affirmation: Live with intention. I left it on a sink counter of an airport after washing my face from a red eye trip. I didn’t realize the loss until later. At first I was crushed. Like Wonder Woman, the bangle was my secret body armor!! Then I realized that another woman would likely find it – and just maybe it would be what she needed at that moment. Maybe it would even change her life in some positive way. You never know. I was grateful I could pass it on (see #2 & 12).

It’s helpful to say affirmations that may be difficult to embrace but they can be maifested over time:

I am enough.

I am beautiful just the way I am.

Sometimes we need the permanence of a positive declaration lest we forget. My sister-in-law, the dress designer mentioned above (and hence my acqusitions of glorious easy dresses that never wrinkle) – well, she has a beautiful tattoo around her wrist: Love is all there is. Similarly, my sister has a delicate, winged cherub on her shoulder that is easily donned in the sunny climate of Southern California. I prefer uplifting mood bling that I can change up with my comfy attire (#4).

6. Journal

Write something every day. Writing helps one purge the gobly gook that piles up in the conscious and subconscious mind. Releasing this personal content can unleash surprising things. You may find yourself writing a list that turns into a haiku, or start to think of a memory, or solve a problem you see in new way. (James Pennebaker, PhD, has studied and written extensively on the health benefits of writing about personal challenges and trauma.)

Writing is a hard practice for me. I’ve been locked into academic writing that rarely allows for unbridled creativity or self-indulgence. I tend to self-edit and judge. I heard Natalie Goldberg at a workship once, author of Writing Down the Bones. She said:

Write what you know. Even if is the teacup in front of your nose.

What do you notice about the cup? The color, the shape?

What does the tea smell like? How does it make you feel?

What does it remind you of?

There is no shortage of things to write about.

Writing is meditation. It’s one activity I’m really going work on this year. No judgment, no self-editing. See what gets churned up.

This reminds me of a quip in yoga that I really love, “No mud, no lotus. “ It stems from the writing of Thich Nhat Hanh. It is part of a beautiful meditation on the necessity of dealing in the hard stuff in life in order to see the beauty. Writing can help with that. Wade in the mud until the glorious pure lotus flower sprouts through. I might need to get some bling with this saying on it. It may be my new mantra this year (see #5).

7. Track Your Periods

Ok, this is for ladies, obviously. But guys should pay rapt attention. This is a topic that needs more attention at some point. Now that I have two girls in various stages of pubertal development all hell has broken loose. Let the cycling begin. Moods can run amok and sometimes we just don’t know why.

Tracking periods is a practical matter that will do more for peace of mind and self-compassion than one might realize. Tracking one’s menstrual cycle is a like a broadcast storm watch. It means you need know when to stock up on supplies and ibuprofen or ferrofood, stay home or go easy on the schedule, and get in extra sleep. As for myself, having worked in the area of women’s health for years, I am amazed at the lack of attention to such a major self-care issue. Chalk it up to a complete failure of the health and sex education in our country. Hormones are a MAJOR part of girls and women’s lives and we collectively ignore or deny menstruation, the apparent nuisance of it, the cultural shame of it. All the negative associations of the female cycle have turned a basic bodily process into a taboo or else reduced to a joke.

Instead, honoring the cycle and knowing when your peek crankiness may be, or when other irritations may arise (headaches, cramps), is one key to self-care. There are two days a month where I could just weep at the slightest trigger: a diaper commercial or the food left out on the table; or I want to ram into the student driver barring my race to pick up a child; and sometimes I even feel like it’s time for a divorce. It can be extreme, comical and totally unfair to others. (See Modern Family for a hilarious sketch on monstration: the “Leap Day” episode. Some feminists and reviewers weren’t happy about it, but I was glad to see the topic hit prime time in a fresh way.)

Whatever the situation, when it comes to periods, the symptoms can be irksome and the emotional consequences totally irrational – but the upside is that it’s mostly predictable. Tracking makes self-care manageable. Plus, if a cycle is off or symptoms change, then there is cause for more mindful attention. I know I need to stay away from fatty foods, chocolate, hot yoga, the news and the state of my daughters’ rooms. It’s also best to give by husband fair warning not to take anything too personal.

Of course, there are phone apps to help a girl track her period if writing (#6) doesn’t work. So there’s no excuse not to use an app.
It’s the cool method of endless persoanlization these days. There just needs to be a family version with push notifications, so others can be altered when to be kind and stay out of the way. Tracking also can help with romance and sex life. Some things are just good to know about, ya know? I think this would help a lot of marriages. Flowers would help, too (See #11).

8. Go Outside

Since both my husband and I work at home there can be days that I might never leave the premise unless there is a carpool or a meeting in town. Most New Englanders have a vitamin D deficiency and getting some sunlight for a good 20 minutes can do wonders for the spirit. Short of a Happy Light at the desk, going outside allows 20 minutes to get in #1, #2, and possibly #3 if you’re into doing a sun salutation or striking a warrior pose (both good heart openers). Plus, if you have adopted #4 and are wearing comfy clothes, all you need to do is put on good walking shoes and some extra layers if needed.

You can also expand your sky awareness by spending 20 minutes a day looking up, which can change your inner and outer perspectives on life. But be sure wear light colors in the summer and fall months. The reason I discovered my vitamin D deficiency was a mistake made by a lab that was supposed to test me for Lime disease after a tick bite. Wrong test, but interesting result. Guess where ticks like to snuggle up? Under the waistband of LuLu Lemon yoga pants. (Fair warning.)

9. Snack on Protein Snacks

I’m not the three-meals a day type of person, although I like a decent breakfast. Rather I’m the type that could go for hours without food until I realize I haven’t eaten by way of a headache or bad mood. Trail mix, nuts, berries, and yogurt do the trick. Keeping fueled is important. This had been a challenge since I have a kid with peanut, tree nut and soy allergies (of the serious Epi-pen PRN variety). So we’ve been nut free for years. But she’s old enough now to know what foods to stay away from and nuts have cautiously reentered our household. The other challenge is I don’t like to drink water. It’s hard for me to ever get in the recommended 64 ounces a day. I’d be peeing all day long. But guess what? Hot yoga forces me to drink plenty of water before, during and after class.

10. Tidy Office = Clear Mind

I’m so sensitive to my environment. I have a high sense of aesthetics. I am prone to dust and mold allergies. I need light. I need quiet. My office is a sacred place for me and my clients. So if my desk or office is at all cluttered, it’s like there is a slow tightening noose around my neck and I can’t breathe (#1). Seeing clients forces me to tidy up but sometimes I have to cheat and shove things to piles or into in closet, and I may not get back to them for weeks or months. That is bad, bad, bad. I will spend endless wasted time looking for a phone number, an article, or an important school permission slip. Take time to clear the clutter.

11. Fresh Flowers

I always say fresh flowers are the cheapest antidepressant available over the counter. (Well, a flower bunch and yoga class go for about $12 each. What a deal given the half-life!)Seriously, having living, breathing flowers in a garden or on a kitchen table or desk does one thing: makes you smile. When you smile your facial muscles spread wide, which messages to the brain’s neurotransmitters that

something wonderful is happening and sprinkles your system with endorphins. Smiling makes you happy. You can just practice smiling for no reason and the effect will be similar. Also, when you are happy you have something to be grateful for (#2). You may even want to breathe in the fragrance of a flower (#1), which helps dissipate the stress cortisol hormones that have built up. As mentioned, flowers can also help with girly issues in #7.

12. Generosity

Give flowers to a friend. Or help someone in need. Say “thank you” or “you look beautiful today.” It’s the small things that matter. It’s as simple as that. Love is the way.

* * *

I’m sure I’ll think of other things and you may have suggestions, too. I can already think of taking bathroom breaks and balancing a checkbook as possible additions.

But I think these rules are pretty good to live by for now.

About Me

January 3, 2013 by Tara Cousineau

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