Anyone who really truly knows me, knows that I am a total sap at heart. I believe that life is really just a collection of memories; good, bad, ugly and in between that make up the core of who we are. At 42, I can look back at my 11 year old self and see a little girl about to lose her father. There is so much I had to learn the hard way. If Max can take just one of these 11 lessons and bypass a moment of angst, confusion or pain, then I've done my job.
1. Laugh until your stomach hurts: There are few things in life that you can't figure out a way to laugh about. No matter how awful it may seem at the time, dig deep and laugh. It's ok. Who cares what everyone else thinks? Just figure out a way to laugh.
2. Believe what you see; not necessarily what you hear: People really do show you who they are. Watch them. Believe them the first time. Don't waste your time expecting them to change. Let them waste their own time figure out how to change.
3. Believe in yourself: Know that fundamentally, you are capable of anything. Because you are. Get out of your own way.
4. Understand that your parents really do know more than you do: Because they do. Teenagers know nothing. They only think they do.
5. Open your heart: Go into the world with your arms and eyes wide open. Believe that you are loveable. Because you are.
6. Have opinions: Whether it's your favorite food or who you want to be friends with, know how you feel about things. Develop a sense of self early in life. Take a stand. Become who you were meant to be, even if you are only 11 years old.
7. Don't believe what other kids say about you (unless it's nice): Kids are often mean for no other reason than they can be. Don't be that kid. And don't believe that kid either.
8. Feel things: Part of really living is really feeling. So be happy. Be sad. Be angry. Be all of those things. And let go of the things that don't serve you well.
9. Ask questions: Don't pretend you have it all figured out when you know you don't. Ask. We will tell you.
10. Read a book: Don't wait for people to bring the information to you. Open a book and figure it out for yourself.
11. Like who you are: You are standing on the edge of becoming whoever it is you choose to be. Choose to be a person you will want to get a drink with when you are 30. Those are my favorite kind of people.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
11 Things I Want My 11 Year Old to Know
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Britt, Her Decision to Opt Out and Why I Couldn't and Wouldn't (But Sometimes Wish I Could)
Social media is an amazing thing. It has allowed me to reconnect with people from my past and get to know them in a way I hadn't in the first place. My friend, Britt is one of those FB reconnects, who through status posts and her most excellent blog http://eastmeetsbreast.wordpress.com/ I have come to know in a way that wouldn't have been possible 25 years ago. I have had the privilege to watch Britt battle and beat breast cancer with a grace and dignity I could only hope for, had I been dealt the same hand. She is truly inspirational and I think of often when I need some perspective on my life. So, yay to Britt!!!
Today, Britt posted a blog regarding her decision to opt out of the work force 10 years ago, leaving behind a career as a doctor in order to devote herself to a much more important job called motherhood. Opting out for women in the workforce has been with much controversy, taking into account all of that feminist hoopla about getting in there in the first place. Much has been written on it in terms of the effects on mothers, children, marriages and society at large. What is great about Britt's blog (notice how I continue to plug her blog??) is while she speaks to the larger issue, she does what everyone who has ever been a mother and had a career should do; she throws all of that research bullshit out the window and talks about her own personal experience (which is impressive in its own right given the fact that she is a scientist). Go ahead...check out her blog.
All of this opting out stuff truly came to my attention when the "opting back in" controversy started in recent years. Suddenly, many women who had opted out wanted back in while other "opt out-ers" looked down there noses at the women who were apparently jumping ship right back from where they came from.
So, how does this affect me? I never opted out, therefore, opting back in isn't even an option. But I have struggled daily with the decision of being a working mom (even though it's a necessity). I always believed I wanted to be a stay at home mother. Why wouldn't I? My mother had been one until long after we were grown and I relied heavily on that security blanket. I believe motherhood is a sacred gift. How could I not want to embrace it in every way, shape and form?
When Max was born, I was a stay at home mother. For exactly three weeks. And then this thirty-something called her boss and offered to come back two days a week. The overwhelming neediness of an infant consumed my psychic energy and I thought I may lose my mind. While the love was as instant as any mother will attest, for my sanity, and the long term sanity of my child, walking out the door those 2 days a week saved both of our lives.
I returned to graduate school when Max was 9 months old and shortly after he turned 5, I graduated with a Masters degree in Clinical Psychology. During those 4 years, Stephen and I parented "tag team style", with one of us with him every part of the day except for 2 half days of preschool a week for socialization. Stephen was incredibly supportive of my work part time, school part time schedule but we were literal ships passing in the afternoon as we handed Max off to one another. It did not help our relationship.
It was shortly before Max turned six that I returned to the work force on a full time basis. And it was shortly after that when Stephen and I split up. But that decision was the right one for all parties involved, including Max and we still maintain our own 21st century style nuclear family unit. We are truly blessed.
As for the decision to opt in or out, I believe this about myself. I never wanted to have it all. I never wanted to be Wonder Woman. I never wanted to be bringing home the bacon and frying it up in a pan. But I wanted to be a mother. I wanted to be a mother who my child could look up to, admire and know loves him first and foremost. And I also wanted to feel fulfilled in an intellectual way that pursuing my degree, my career and my teaching has allowed.
It is hard to do it all. But it fills up those places in my life. And pays the bills.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Remembering my brother 4 years later
Ugh...it's that time of year again where I get to decide how I'm going to honor my brother's memory in a way that does him justice and allows me to let it all hang out. What I've learned over the course of this blog is that sometimes my message is repetitive but then again, the flipside of that is that I get to see the themes that run through my life and how I've coped along the way.
It's an interesting exercise....honoring the dead. Because I always fear that I've somehow overdone it, exposed too much, done too little and alienated those closest to me in the process. But, I always come back to the fact that this helps me (and even some of you) so I plough on through and carry on my way.
Four years later, my brother's death has been permanently intertwined into every aspect of my life. It was a catalyst for an incredible amount of personal growth for me that was complicated by the loss of my mother, the deconstruction of my family and the dismantling of my childhood home. Some days, I don't know where to put it all. I am not a compartmentalizer. I am a woman with few boundaries of the heart and yet I have many walls. It's a bizarre feeling.
Given all that has transpired since June 30, 2009, it is hard for me to really put a finger on what it is I want to say at this point. I am angry and grateful at the same time. I am happier than I probably have ever been amidst an incredible amount of sadness. I am more of who I was ever knew I could be and still wonder "Is this really what it is all about?"
I guess all I've ever wanted people to know is who my brother really was. Because in many respects, he was a caricature to many of those who claimed to know him. You really don't know someone until those very quiet moments in your life that you only share with a select few. My brother and I didn't select each other but we had moments people will never know about. And no blog or story will ever capture them for what they really were. And yet, I continue to try.
I have told so many stories over the past few years. And they always seem to fall short. How do you try to capture someone at the core of who they really were, not who everyone thought they were? I have talked about Live Aid and the other concerts. I have talked about my college graduation, my wedding, my divorce and those last few days. I have told stories of being a little kid with a much older brother who literally handed me my love of music and words and lyrics and humor. A brother who infuriated me and who I felt compelled to protect. A brother I infuriated and who felt compelled to protect me. But they still fall short.
What I want people to know is this. It sucks to lose a sibling in a way only those of you who have been there can truly understand. The feelings it brings up are not the ones you will or have experienced when you lose a parent. They just aren't. Your sibling is a mirror in which you will see all of the good and all of the bad as long as you are willing to look. You will see yourself in that person and feel simultaneously proud and disgusted. But what you are looking at is the truth. It's the truth in them and the truth in you. And it is worth it. And you will learn to love that person in a way that you weren't able to when they were here on earth. And that's okay. Because we all want to count our blessings while we are here but rarely do. That's human. That's what makes us real.
I would rather have learned the hard way then to have never learned at all. I want my brother's life and death to be a gift, not a burden. It's been both. Because you learn. With every goodbye, you learn.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Why I Could Never Be a Singer in a Bar
So I'm watching The Voice, my guilty pleasure, and am really in awe. This is no American Idol, where judges take pleasure in tearing the aspiring star to shreds. These artists are picked solely on their vocal ability and taken under the wing of a coach to hone their skills. It's actually quite beautiful to watch if you are a sap like me.
But, like all of us, these people didn't start off at the top. They have busted their asses to get where they are today. They have probably had to do things they didn't want to do and been humbled along the way. But humility breeds true success regardless of vocation and is often underrated and tucked away in the depths of most of our memories. Few people really embrace the humble moments in their lives that have led them to where they are today.
There is one young girl on the show, Sarah Simms (I think that's her name) who literally takes my breath away with her voice. She left vocal school to take a chance on the show and I'm pretty sure she made the right choice. It's clear she loves what she does and will do what it takes to be successful, regardless of what that looks like. Now, I'm entirely sure what her whole back story is but many of these people have sang to nearly empty rooms of people who may be more interested in picking up the girl across the room than listening to someone doing what they love.
This is why I could never be a singer in a bar.
You see....I already feel like a singer in a bar, so to actually have to be one (forget the little detail that I can't sing) would be devastating. Teaching often feels like what I assume singing in a bar feels like. Maybe I'm just suffering from end of semester burnout but my aggravation is real. Dare I say it's a generational thing but I am of the school of thought that humility has gone by the wayside.
I love teaching. I really do. I look back at the people who have most influenced my life along the way and there are more teachers (or employer/mentors) on that list than anyone else. I think teaching gives me the opportunity to open people's minds to a different point of view. I insist on pushing the envelope and creating uncomfortable moments in order to force people to think. But the fact of the matter is....some people don't care.
There is absolutely nothing more disheartening than standing in front of people who are sitting in a room under the premise that they want to further their education and realizing that some are simply going through the motions because a) they have to please their parents, b) they don't know what else to do or c) they assume their presence in a room is enough and should be rewarded. Basically, it's like being a singer in a bar.
When you are a singer in a bar, you have 3 general groups of people in the crowd (I know this because I used to bartend). The first group is actually interested in listening to you. They like your music and want to hear you. The second group stumbled in the place and you just happened to be there. They might end up liking you or they might spend the majority of the time texting their friends; people who aren't even there, so in essence, they aren't there either. The third group are completely ignoring you but in a way that borders on offensive. They talk louder than the music, complain about the noise you are making or make snide comments. And if I was a singer in a bar, that would piss me off.
Since sometimes teaching is like being a singer in a bar, I have moments that really piss me off. It's not that everyone has to love me. Because, I know everyone doesn't love me (see "Owning Your Shit" blog). Instead, it's about respect and humility. Because when a person sits in a classroom, they are being given an opportunity. And there are a handful of students I encounter that have never framed the experience in that way. They are being given an opportunity that some people will never get. And they piss it away. They believe it's a means to an end and I am the catalyst. And the catalyst should reward them regardless of effort. And that's the one that blows me away the most.
I have never been afraid to work. Regardless of what that work looked like. If it was a paper in college, it had to be the best paper. If it was bartending, I had to be the fastest and most efficient. And if I have to get up and speak in front of people, I have to make people interested. And some of them aren't. And that humbles me in a way I hate but am learning to embrace in this role.
My boss reminded me that I'm just helping natural selection along by thinning out the "can do's" from the "won't do's". And for the record I have many "can do's". I even have "can't do very well's but try anyway". But those "won't do's" piss me off. They make me feel like a singer in a bar.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
A Dissertation on Why Punishment Generally Doesn't Work
I've been talking a lot lately. I know...shocking. But it's true. Between classes and licensure conferences for behavioral health professionals looking to work with kids diagnosed with Autism, I feel like the host of Oprah's Lifeclass on the Principles of Behavior. I don't consider myself an expert. I like to think of it more like....being Oprah. I'm just the messenger (actually, I do consider Oprah an expert on many things but that's for another day). (On another sidenote, I love that the word Oprah does not come up as a misspelled word on spell check. It just goes to show you how much street cred she's got.)
But anyway, in order for Behavior Specialists to continue to work with kids on the spectrum in Pennsylvania they are required to obtain a "license" and part of that requirement is sitting through 90 hours of training on a variety of subjects pertaining to working with individuals with autism. So I talk and talk and talk about all sorts of things that are important when working with this very unique population. But a lot of what I train on can be applied to people in general and is just good psychoeducational material to have in your backpocket when dealing with a child engaging in what us "behaviorists" call "behaviors".
Before I get to the title and why I think (and pretty much) know its true, let me give you a little back story. While talking and talking and talking, I'm encountering a heckler in the crowd. Other attendees referred to him as my "co-presenter". Because, no matter what I said, he felt the need to elaborate on and, in essence, show all of us how incredibly brilliant he is as a human being (and the British accent only added to his air of intelligence). Now, me being me , I initially considered this a intellectual duel per se, and met him tit for tat. I relayed information, he challenged, then I countered him with even more brilliance. It was like watching a tennis match. I know this because I could see everyone's heads bouncing back and forth between the two of us. After the second day, I made a pledge that I would no longer engage him in this manner because I started to feel like an ass.
So today, with a renewed sense of humility (I know...), and an agreement with one of our clinicians that if I felt the need to snap at Mr. Brilliant I would instead mock her (yes, she did agree to the terms), I went in for a 5 hour stint of talking and talking and talking. And I did a pretty good job of it. First I present on the research on what causes autism (we don't really know if you were wondering) and then I gave a presentation about working with individuals with autism and the importance of looking at behavior as a valid, powerful form of communication. Now Mr. Brilliant, while still acting quite brilliant was somewhat subdued in his responses. I'm guessing he may have made the same pledge with himself that I did. But there was one thing he just wouldn't let go of, besides from being completely right in every sense of the word. He insisted, over and over again that the best way to decrease behavior is to increase punishment.
This is where I'm going to get all "expert sounding" on you. He's wrong. He's so wrong I can't even stand it. He's so wrong that I wanted to punch him, thereby punishing him, which would prove my point because there is no way he would have decreased his behavior of running his mouth about things he had no business saying.
We have all grown up in a punitive society. Historically, its what parents have done to deter negative behaviors. Your parents may have told you stories about having their mouths washed out with soap for cursing or having to sit at the table for hours because they refused to eat a green bean. They may have done these things to you themselves. You may have been spanked or even worse, abused as children. Now I want you to think back and ask yourself, did it actually work? Did you never curse again? Did you fall in love with green beans as a result of hours spent at a table? Depending on what you were spanked for (minor infraction), did you never engage in that behavior again? Did you even really know why you were being spanked in the first place? If you were actually abused, what did it teach you? To love your parents or to fear your parents?
The facts are (and there is research to back it up) that punishment only deters behavior in the very short term. More often, it simply teaches kids to discriminate, which is actually a quite valuable skill, between when they can curse (behind their parents back) and when they can't (when their parents are around). It doesn't teach them not to curse. They may suffer through eating the green beans, only to go throw them up in the bathroom. Or, it may teach them ingenious ways to rid the plate of green beans without the parent ever knowing (I've heard some dogs looovvvee green beans).
In terms of physical punishment, yes, it can be a powerful deterrent to negative behavior. I always counter the argument for the use of any form of punishment on children with behavioral or mental health diagnoses with the idea that typically developing children can learn from the cause and effect aspects of spanking. My mother used to just touch her shoe, as a signal that she may take it off and throw it at one of us, which I don't think she ever did. But that threat was enough to stop us in our tracks. On the other hand, kids with diagnoses such as autism, ADHD and ODD don't learn that way. They learn from being taught the appropriate skill, not by being punished for the inappropriate skill. So while it is NEVER okay to use physical punishment with kids diagnosed with a disorder, typically developing kids can learn from it. But at what cost? This man, who spoke so highly of the benefits of using punishment procedures, spoke openly of his disdain for his own father, who beat the living crap out a him (a variation of his own words). And he was not a young man. This hadn't happened to him 10 years ago. Or even 20 years ago. But he still hated his father for it today.
In today's society, we like to use things like "time out" as a form of punishment. We also like to take highly desired items away from our kids in order to "teach them a lesson". Well, I've got two thinking points on these strategies. In terms of time out...does your kid really care? What I'm really saying is have you spent enough "time in" with your kid ( meaning one on one positive attention) that the threat of you withdrawing attention from them for a period of time even matters? Yes, they may cry and scream and be upset in the short term but I'm here to tell you, if you are repetitively sending your kid to time out, you better be prepared to accept the fact that a) it's not working and b) you aren't spending enough quality time your child. I sent Max to time out once in his life. He is an only child and for most of his life had my undivided attention. Those 5 minutes were the longest 5 minutes of his life. Never had to do it again.
In terms of taking things away like the computer, the cell phone, the iPod or the iPad.....think very hard about that one. Because that one will hurt. Not only the child but you will hurt also. If you say no electronics for a week and that's all your child does because they wear their technology like an IV drip, are you really going to follow through? What do you think they are going to do without all that stuff? I'll tell you what most of them will do. They'll drive you completely insane until you can't take it anymore and you give in. Are you prepared to stand your ground? Like a soldier in battle? Because you are in a battle at that point. And I'd be interested to see who wins that one.
So, here's the good news in a nut shell. Rewarding your kids works. Why not let them earn the time on the iPod? Catching them being good instead of waiting for them to be bad works. It takes just as much time and energy to spend 5 minutes talking to your kid about how their day went (aka "time in") as it does sitting listening to them scream and cry for 5 minutes (aka "time out) because they asked you a question nicely and were ignored the first 5 times, so they screamed at you the 6th time. And its a much more pleasant experience.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Two Years Later: My Mother
Anniversaries like these tend to creep up slowly. I, and maybe you, tend to start exhibiting symptoms of grief long before you, or I, recognize what they are. Crying for no reason, increased irritability and anxiety are just some of the things I've noticed I experience when the increasing "anniversaries" I've encountered in my life come to fruition.
You'd think these would be "old hat" for me by now. I know...we've all lost people. I just happened to have amassed a list of critical figures since childhood who have left this earth much earlier than either they or I were prepared for. And it sucks. And it's hard. And it really doesn't seem to get any easier the older I get. I've always been in awe of people who can funnel grief in a socially appropriate manner and then I secretly (or not so secretly) decide that these people are really just numbing out the real pain, or compartmentalizing it. I've never been good at either of these things in any part of my life, so....oh well.
So, tonight, while driving home, I spent most of the time thinking about the process of losing my mother and what that really meant to me. And I don't have any brilliant answers. Yes, it's the way it's supposed to be; I'd much rather be me losing my mother than my mother in the position she was in losing a son.
But about 40 minutes into the drive, I made the turn on 926 down by the Brandywine, over the bridge and crossed over the railroad tracks at Pocopson Road. And I turned my head left, which is the way I would have turned my car if I wanted to travel 5 more minutes to my mother's house. And I thought, without thinking, "I really should call my mom." And then I realized that wasn't even an option. And then I thought, "How could you even think that when you just spent 40 minutes debating writing a blog about your mother's death?" Crazy, huh?
And I think I have a couple of different answers to that question, and I'm guessing they are all right. First, it takes a long time to let go. It just does. I had a friend who recently lost her father say to me in an incredulous moment of grief, "Isn't it crazy how you lose them in pieces?" And it's true. You say goodbye in phases and those phases are dictated by your ability to face those dark places in yourself. You are always someone's child, no matter what your age. And that doesn't change when your parents die. It just transforms.
Second, I have found that part of me keeps my mother (and brother) alive by keeping them, always, somewhere close to the surface of my consciousness. My mother loved books; not the classics and not trashy romance novels. She loved historical fiction and psychological thrillers. But she loved them most when they were hardback. Paperback books didn't really cut it for her. She'd caress those things like they were the most beautiful things in the world. And anytime I pick up an overpriced hardback book, I have a piece of my mother. I can feel her in the room. It's true. And it's the same thing for me with my brother when I listen to 102.9. Yes...102.9. Not because he listened to that station but the classic rock (and for some reason, specifically Foreigner) is like sitting next to my brother. And that keeps him here.
And I think the other reason I so seamlessly thought to call my mother today is because, on some level, she is still here. In me. In Max. In my brother and my sisters and their kids. And even in our friends. That was the one thing that I thought about at length today on my ride home. My mother's funeral was full, not of people in their 70's like she was, but "kids" ranging in age from 40 to 55. Yes, a few were there simply to support us, never having met my mother, but so many of the "kids" in the room had connected with my mother (aka Mrs. Ciliberti, Mrs. C or Momma Joan) across the course of their lives. She had laughed with them, cried with them, told them to get out of her house, given them "the look" and even smacked a few across the head. And they loved her anyway. Just like the "kids" she had actually birthed. And that is a testament to life well lived.
Any mother who can mother those who have mothers without stepping on toes is by definition a mother. My mother was, and is, a true mother. And we were all very lucky to have her mother us. Even if we didn't know it at the time.
