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If there is one lesson to learn in this stepmom-dom, it is learning to let go. It means letting go in all aspects of life, which if you are remotely a control freak like me, is not an easy lesson!

Recently, I had to let go of control of the kids. It was our week to have the boys and one of them had to go have an operation on his ear and adenoids. It wasn’t a big deal their father told me, just an “in and out” surgery. But the fact of the matter was he was put under general anesthetic and it was quite a production for the child. Both mother and father were there at the hospital and I was not. 

It is not my intention to have a pity party or make the focus to be about me, but merely to point out the importance of letting go…or maybe detachment, or maybe both. It is one of the biggest challenges I find, to be there for all the day to day routines like feeding them, picking them up from daycare, going to their hockey games, getting up in the night to care for them when they have nightmares, leaving work when they are sick, but not for example, being at the hospital when something big happens.

If I’m feeling down at the time, it feels like a kick in the  gut. If I am feeling more grounded, it is merely a gentle reminder that they are not my kids. There are boundaries that need to be accepted. Boundaries where both the mother and the father make it clear that they are their kids and not my kids. That the faces the kids should see when they are coming out of an anesthetic are theirs and not mine. That the people that make the major decisions about education, health and discipline in their lives are them, not me.

My husband is the type of man who always tries to include his otherwise childless wife in decisions with the kids, but even he has veto power. And after him, she has veto power.

This is one of the reasons why it is so hard being married to a man with kids and not having kids of your own. It is easy to intellectually understand that they are not my kids, and I know I am not the mom. I have a demanding career and a busy life and by all accounts and my world does not revolve around the kids, but none the less, I have a vested interest. I have time in the saddle. Reading to them, biking with them, feeding them, taking care of them all leads to attachment. And when the hospital door (in this case) is slammed shut in front of you, it is confusing on strictly and emotional level.

I’ve heard the advice to back off but I’m not sure how one lives under the same roof as small children on a very regular basis and doesn’t feel the call to take care of them with everything they have, even though they aren’t their own? But I admit, at times it is odd to have responsibility yet not authority.

But that is the call to action here. To love them, care for them, raise them, parent them without attachment. So what could I do? I asked my husband to call me after the surgery and let me know how it went. I bought a stuffed animal because even though he is ten, I knew he would like something soft to sooth him in recovery. He went to his mother’s house that night so she could take care of him. I thought about dropping by and giving him the “stuffie”, but I knew it wasn’t my place. He was with us the next day, and I gave it to him. I wondered if he was upset I wasn’t at the hospital, or if he  knew too, there were places for parents and places for step parents. 

All I can do is let it go. I can be grateful he has such loving parents who are there for him. And I can be proud of being there for him when he is with us, or when he should ever need me. 

It should be enough.

Let me know if you are a childless stepmom and ever feel this way. And if so, how do you handle it?

One of my stepsons came home the other day from school and said, “Lis, we’re doing a Fractured Fairy Tale at school, do you want to come and see it?”

A what? 

“A Fractured Fairy Tale”, he said, “is loosely based on the Fairy Tale but there is a lot of humor, some new characters, different perspectives and there are unexpected surprises.” He said they are calling it, “Cinderella Outgrows Her Glass Slipper.” I couldn’t wait to see it!

I wrongly assumed that this grade four class had made up the term “Fractured Fairy Tale.”  It turns out, there are books and scripts galore out there, they are part of the school curriculum now and the best thing is children are encouraged to write their own.

My husband and I settled into our (very little) seats as three full classes came pouring into my stepson’s classroom and sat at our feet. Everyone was full of anticipation to see the play.

The basic play was the same, but Cinderella life’s dream was to become a Veterinarian, not to marry the Prince, despite the intentions of the Magic Fairies and the Prince himself. There also seemed to be some foreshadowing for her to become a major Shoe Mogul if she chose that path. (a story line I was quite interested in).

I loved Cinderella. She was in charge of her destiny. She didn’t mind the grunt work she had to do for her evil step sisters because she had a dream. In her spare time she made shoes to make money to pursue her passion of becoming a Veterinarian. Turns out she had lots of talent and ambition.

I couldn’t help but thinking, isn’t this just the most modern, exciting creative, realistic way of going into life?  Write your own script for your life, pursue your dreams even if others have different plans for you, work hard, be resourceful, be grateful and be determined. Don’t let go of your dream. Cinderella knew that the expectation of the Fairy Godmothers was for her was to marry the Prince. And the expectation of her step sisters was for her to dote on them for the rest of time. But Cinderella was focused on what she knew to be true for herself.

I love this because there are so many expectations for kids and for women in general. I believe there is still the expectation that women will get married and have kids and if she doesn’t in reasonable time, there is something wrong with her. Well, by the time Cinderella gets married, if she does, she will be very successful, and who knows the Prince may have left his first wife and have a couple of kids in tow and may now look appealing to Cinderella.

Life is indeed very fractured most of the time. Rarely is it whole, and tidy and predictable. But it is up to us to be whole as an individual, to know ourselves, to know our dreams and to pursue them, even if they don’t fit into what society or other people expect of us. It isn’t to say that pursuing our dreams will be easy and without obstacles, but there is so much satisfaction and joy in a life when you know you are true to yourself.

I was grateful, there was no evil step mother in the script, and the evil step sisters were actually quite adorable albeit spoilt.

I was extremely proud of Jacob’s teacher for choosing this play with such a strong message. I applaud her!

Afterwards, the kids took questions from the audience and one mom behind me asked, “Does Cinderella ever marry, or does she just become a career woman?” The kids were stumped and the question was met with several seconds of silence. “Uh, she may marry in the future, but right now she is focusing on her career,” said one child, at which point I wanted to jump out of my seat and clap and yell, “Bravo!! Bravo!!” The kids got the message. Too bad for the mom behind me…

To say that “things always get better as a stepmom” is a sweeping generalization. But if you hang in there for long enough the generalization proves true. It is a reverse relationship when you are dating or marrying a man with kids. At first, it is hell, confusing, frustrating and a huge adjustment. But as time goes on, and everyone settles down, things become dare I say, “normal”. Well, maybe not normal, but as close as we are going to come as stepmoms. 

I can look at my relationship with my husband, his kids, his ex, and my self, and with each person, it started rocky and scary and after six years, a calm has set in.

With my husband for example, we used to fight a lot. I was scared, my ego was freaking out, and we were both thrown into (by our own choice) a situation we had no experience with. As for the kids, they used to be small aliens to me. I did not want to touch them or interact with them, not knowing what they might do. And adjusting to having my man’s ex in my life every day was enough to send me crawling to the cookie jar on a regular basis. As for myself, I now have a renewed sense of trust and strength in myself that I did not have before and did not know I possessed.

Granted, things didn’t start to get significantly better until five years in, and I’ve heard the experts say, things really calm down after seven years, but it is worth the wait if you can be open to what is in store. A lot of cookies, chocolate and wine are consumed in those five years so make sure you find  an exercise program and strap in!

I always had a sense of hope that things would get better but there have been a lot of significant events that I never could have dreamed.

For example, I never would have expected that the boys, now ten, would insist on snuggles by me at bedtime. Nor would I have expected them to tell me they love me. 

If you told me that I would look forward to my “bench time” at the hockey rink or the soccer field with my husband’s ex, I would have laughed at you five years ago.

And if you said you will laugh yourself silly with him and he’ll be your best friend, about my husband, I never would have believed that either. (There is not a lot of laughing in those early years).

Nor would I have believed that I could have found the strength to be open to learning and growing in this situation. But I did that too.

It takes trust, and a serious commitment to letting go. If you can let go of what you think you want, and what you think you know, and are open to what might be, and what is, it is guaranteed to  get better. Imagine knowing that life gets better and better and better. More love, more laughter, more joy, more depth of understanding, more compassion, more connection.

If you trust that things will get better if you hang in there, they will. Simply hanging in, is sometimes all you have to do. And some days, it is all you can do.

Let me know if this has been your experience too.

I went into this first Spring long weekend feeling depressed. I thought, Life Sucks. The boys were in an all weekend ice hockey tournament and most of their game times ran in the evenings as well as the daytime. It was a weekend that should have been spent in the garden, with friends and enjoying life outdoors.

It made matters worse as I waited for the boys to get ready for their first game on Friday night that I could hear the glorious sounds of my neighbors welcoming friends, pouring wine and firing up their bbqs. I felt sick with envy.

Eventually, I was forced to grab my down coat, gloves and scarf and pile into the car to head to the rink. I experienced three more nights like this on this long weekend while my friends and neighbors entertained people and enjoyed the beauty of Spring but I also experienced some real pleasure and joy of my own.

I decided that rather than be miserable (and freezing) I would balance my weekend with my own needs, taking care of the family and enjoying the boys’ hockey games.

For starters, I took my book to the rink. There is always a period of 45 minutes to an hour to wait until each game, so I sat in the car, read my book in peace and quiet. It was lovely. How often do I get an uninterrupted hour to myself?

Second, I decided to not go to every game. More or less, I went to every second game which meant I could get my exercise in, my gardening and my meal preparation for when they came home hungry and tired. I went to yoga, rode my bike, took a golf lesson. I felt strong and calm when  they came home and happy to take care of them and feed them nourishing meals.

Third, I realized the games were very exciting, my stepsons were stars and I met and enjoyed some very interesting parents. I couldn’t help but feel I was part of something communal and fun with all these families. And there is something very bonding about being at the rink at 10 pm with a bunch of tired parents and spent kids. It didn’t hurt that we won the Cup and everyone felt like champions.

And last, I actually enjoyed the break from drinking wine and eating to excess on the weekend. Meals were on the fly, socializing was in the bleachers and  wine was not an option. I liked the break.

Here is the lesson: prioritize yourself. I used to feel I had to go to every game and had to prepare all the meals and manage all the clean up. That just led to resentment (and envying the neighbors). Then I’d feel guilty about not going to all the games and guilty about not making all the meals. This weekend, I did what I wanted. My priorities were exercise, gardening, cooking and watching the boys. Once I  got my exercise done and my planting, I felt great about cooking and watching the boys.

Once I got my exercise done and my gardening, it freed me up to enjoy cooking, feeding and being part of their sporting event. I’ve said it twice. Get it? Prioritize Yourself.

And now, it is all over. We won the Cup. I was there for the final game, I met some great people and had a great weekend. My husband is cooking the Victory dinner as we speak.  Life is good. 

I’m not sure why it has taken me so long to figure out this balance, but I am grateful that this weekend anyway, I was successful.

How do you figure out your balance?

Yes, we are. I know I said that my last post on Mother’s Day was my last post for the year but I can’t help myself. I had said that I sent a Mother’s Day card to the boys’ mother this year and I hadn’t heard back from her. This didn’t mean anything negative to me, as I assumed she would thank me in person the next time she saw me. 

For some reason, she didn’t get the card until a few days ago, so yesterday she wrote me an email. Last Thanksgiving she wrote me an email to thank me for being in the boys’ life which blew me away, but this email was even more remarkable.

In this email she told me a story about how one of her sons was telling a neighbor a story  and referred to me as his “mom”. The neighbor was perplexed while standing there with his mother and questioned him. He corrected himself and said, “My stepmom, I mean. I have two moms”. She also went on to say how the boys’ expressed to her how important it was to get me flowers on Mother’s Day and how they love to do things for me.

The gist of the email was how some mothers might find their children’s love for another woman threatening, for her, she feels joy and gratitude that there is so much love in their lives.

She also asked in the email how she could support having a “Lisa Day”, which she felt I deserved.

I mean, this woman should be giving seminars to other women in this situation. She could go on tour! Talk about evolved!

Later in the day, I walked up to the soccer field to watch the boys play, and I bumped into her. We talked non stop for the full game. In a very gentle manner, she suggested that I should “claim the boys’ love” for me because it is there and it is pure and unquestioning. I shared with her that it has been difficult for me to claim their love because I have tried very hard to respect everyone’s feelings in this scenario which led to me trying to protect myself from getting hurt.

But recently, out of the mouths of babes and exs, I have been given the green light to walk through a door that I have been afraid to walk through in the past. The door takes me to a place where I am accepted and important; where it is okay to love unconditionally and; where I have a happy, albeit “not normal”  family. The boys have been showing their love for me which makes it impossible for me to deny that I am important in their lives and now I have been given the blessing of their mother to love them with all my heart and my spirit. What a gift.

As I re read this, I wonder, does this sound strange? Why did I think I wasn’t allowed to love the boys? Or at least why did I think I wasn’t allowed to show it? And why on some level didn’t I accept that they love me?

I think the fear of rejection is one of the fundamental challenges of being a stepmom. We are afraid the children might reject our love, or their mother might not be comfortable with us or them showing love for each other.

I would like to know if anyone else has felt afraid to show or feel their love to their step children out of fear of their rejection or out of respect for their mother.

This is my third (and last for the year) blog on Mother’s Day…(might there an issue here??) But I do want to update what happened.

You will remember I went to great (some might say extreme) lengths to make sure my mother’s Mother’s Day, the boys’ Mother’s Day and the boys’ mother’s Mother’s Day were great! Well, things don’t always go as planned.

The first thing I did was send Mother’s Day cards in the mail to my mother (the first in years I am ashamed to say) and the boys’ mother (a first). I heard from neither, but my mother has Alzheimer’s so she probably thought to thank me and forgot. As for the boys’ mother, she is the type to wait until she sees me  and will thank me in person.

Then assuming that we did not have the boys on Mother’s Day my sister and I planned an incredible experience for our mother which involved helicopter rides, high tea and a tour through a spectacular garden. 

Once I was told that we did in fact have the boys,  I went to great lengths to make sure they were with their mother on Mother’s Day.

There had been no discussion about my Mother’s Day, amongst my immediate family but I trusted my husband would make something happen at some point to make me feel honored. So all was perfectly planned.

By the time I got up in the morning, the boys and their dad had gone off to a hockey practice. I woke up to  face licking and purrs from my furry friends, got dressed and headed out to the helicopter pad to meet my mother. On my way, I stopped for a coffee and the owner of the coffee shop gave me a carnation and wished me a Happy Mother’s Day. Random Acts of Kindness are always the best.

I met my mother at the helicopter pad, we took lots of pictures, and piled on for a ride and a day that we would not forget. Well, at least my sister and my niece and I would not forget it, my mother may…(that was our running Alzheimer’s joke). The day was stunning, the ride in the helicopter was something out of the lives of the rich and famous, the gardens gorgeous, the tea was very sophisticated. We all had a glorious time together. 

I arrived home at dinner time to a huge bouquet of flowers, homemade cards, a gift of a golf lesson (much needed and appreciated) from my husband and homemade dinner. What more could a girl ask for? They even did the dishes.

 As I was tucking the boys in I was thinking it was the end of a perfect day. I had worked hard to make sure everyone had a great day and I had succeeded. I went downstairs to watch TV with my husband and we were  interrupted by the padding of little feet. “Lisa, I need to talk to you” said a soft, upset voice from the top of the stairs.

I immediately went upstairs and was greeted by one of the boys with tears in his eyes. “I miss my mom” he sputtered out.  We went to a quiet place in the house and we sat down to have a chat. Through his tears he explained to me that he found it very difficult to see his mom in the middle of a week  ”at this house”. He said that when he comes here, he doesn’t think about her, and when he goes there he doesn’t think about us, but when he’s here, and then spends time with his mom and comes back here “it is hard”.

I was choking back my own tears as this ten year old boy clearly articulated his feelings about such a complex situation. There was no blame, no anger, no frustration, just sadness and loss in all of its purity. He wasn’t asking to call her, or go see her. It had nothing to do with Mother’s Day. He just felt sad.

My immediate reaction was to blame myself for my stupidity in “over organizing” everyone and trying to force the “perfect Mothers Day” for all. But then I realized the true gift this child was giving me was trusting me enough to share his inner most thoughts and feelings.

When I tucked him back in and gave him one last snuggle, I became aware of the fact that I might not be their Mother, but I am a very special person to them, with a very special role.

In terms of being honored on Mother’s Day, I dare say, it doesn’t get much better than this!

Isn’t life ironic? It kills me. People that I am close to know that I don’t like Mother’s Day. I feel super awkward about claiming this status of a Mother when I am a Step. I feel the kids are awkward with the concept as it refers to me. I feel it brings up issues for the boys’ mother and overall makes everyone feel uncomfortable. Even my husband tries extra hard to make it special for me to try to soften my feelings of anxiety around the subject.

So this year, my sister phoned me up and said, “I know you hate Mother’s Day, and you won’t have the boys so whatdya say we take Mom on a fun adventure?” Of course I was game! “I’m in!”, I said. I knew after years of experience that it is better to have the boys at their Mother’s house on Mother’s Day so I assumed this would be the case again this year. That freed me up to honor my mother on Mother’s Day and not be in-waiting for flowers, chocolates, cards and other gifts that may or may not arrive.

So my sister and I had planned a wonderful day with my mother which included helicopter rides, high tea and a walk through a gorgeous garden. My father was driving my mother to the airport, my husband was driving me and I’d be home in time for dinner. It sounded perfect.

Then, in a schedule update conversation with my husband he casually revealed that we have the boys on Mother’s Day. “How is this possible?” I say, “I thought we had an agreement that she always gets them on Mother’s Day and you always get them on Father’s Day?”, to which he just shrugged. This is not good, I thought, the boys will be at home without a Mother or a Stepmother on Mother’s Day.

Their mother had been out of town for a few weeks but finally a week before Mother’s Day I bumped into her at the hockey rink. “Hey”, I frantically breathed, “this Sunday is Mother’s Day and we have them and you have to have them so you should make a plan with them”.

“This Sunday is Mother’s Day?” she casually asked. I was shocked. Then she said, “You have them, you are their mother too, why don’t you do something?” What?? I was horrified at this thought, how can I do something when I am not going to be there and I am not the mother.

This was a disastor in my mind. My main focus, other than my own neurosis was the boys’ happiness being with their mother on Mother’s day and this was not coming together as planned.

“No,” I insisted, “you have to take the boys on Sunday, “it is best for everyone”. She shrugged and said, “okay, well, thanks for thinking of me”.

And that was it. My months of planning and preparation to do something nice for someone else (my mother) and not expect anything from my stepsons and free them up to be with their mother was met by her non challance.

I also made a very bold move  thanks again to Peggy at www.thestepmomstoolbox.com (for always challenging me) who challenged me to send the boys’ mother a Happy Mother’s Day card. I popped it in the mail today and I felt great about it. She is a wonderful mother, and those boys are sweet and caring and loving and beautiful human beings thanks to a big part to her. It was a joy to send her the card. And I hope it brings her joy.

But isn’t it ironic that for months I’ve been worried about Mother’s Day and she’s not even known that it is Mother’s Day?

So what might the message be here? Maybe I am over reacting and over thinking. Maybe next time I should just chill out, trust the universe and enjoy whatever happens.

What do you think?

As Mother’s Day approaches I feel reflective on my role as a mother. I have never identified myself as a mother, nor have I thought of myself as maternal. Why? Simply because I do not have my own kids. I take care of someone else’s kids I tell myself, therefore, I am not a mother.

Not having my own kids has always been what I can only describe as a great loss for me. Since I was nineteen I imagined having six boys, a happy marriage to a successful man and living in a big house. Throw in a white picket fence and you get the picture. It was an expectation of a non complex, simple life.

But life doesn’t always work out as planned.  I didn’t marry until I was 43 years old, which meant I worked all that time to support myself, and just by sheer application and time, I started to identify myself as a career woman. Over time, I became independent, capable and self sufficient out of survival and circumstance more than anything else.

I did wind up marrying a successful man and living in a big house, that part came true, and the house had a hedge not a fence, but it made me feel claustrophobic so we got rid of it. As for the rest of the fantasy, I never did have six, or even one child.

But if I daringly expand my definition of maternal beyond the biological birthing of eight pound creatures, there might be some room to at the very least own a small fraction of this identity. 

I did adopt a 6 week old puppy who was my family before I met my husband and his kids. I do have 10 year old twin part time roommates that have a need for food and comfort and nurturing. I adopted two kittens who seemed to need a good home. And my parents are aging and ironically adapting to their needs I think counts as mothering.

So it all got me thinking that maybe Maternal isn’t an adjective so much as a Verb. Maybe it is an action, or a series of actions that defines it. Maybe even the word Mother is a verb. You have to do it, take action and then you can justifiably say you are maternal or even a mother. I’ve decided if you cook for people, feed them, brush them, hug them, listen to them, take them to doctors (vets), tend to them in the middle of the night, give them treats, go for walks or bike rides, any bum wiping for sure counts, wash their dishes, their clothes, their blankets, speak in baby talk, bath them, watch them play, throw sticks or balls for them, buy them presents that these things all add up Mothering Verbs and justify the identity of Maternal. 

I also got to thinking that no one owes me a card or a bouquet of flowers just because I do these things;  it is a privilege to take care of beings that need taking care of. Somehow, I have found myself taking care of small twin boys, a dog, two cats, aging parents and  a husband (lets face it). It might not be the  naive fantasy of a nineteen year old girl, and it might not be a simple life, but it is my real life family and I am the Mother of it. Just because no one calls me mom, and society does not  recognize me as a mother, doesn’t mean I can’t claim the matriarchal status of this family.

And so as Mother’s Day is a few weeks away, I celebrate my Maternal side. I feel gratitude for the small bowls and big plates of food I produce every day, for the meows, the barks, the hugs, the stories, the sticks, the balls, the tears and giggles that all make up the fabric of my life. And no card or bouquet seems necessary.

I took my husband out for his birthday dinner last night to a high end trendy Indian restaurant. We drank a bottle of wine, laughed, told stories about our lives and gushed about how much we love each other.

I’m not saying this was a first, but it was close.

Not the going for nice dinners together, we have always enjoyed good food and wine and a great atmosphere. What was unusual is that we didn’t fight. No one shut down, sulked, or stormed out. We actually had a great time.

We have a very loving relationship but without fail whenever we went out for a nice dinner, it ended badly. It seemed the more expensive the restaurant, the bigger the fight. And we could never figure out why.

So what was different?

We were standing at the bar having a glass of wine waiting for a table and my husband who was being relaxed and conversational, said to me, “you know, you have really grown”. 

“What?” I said, slightly taken aback.

“That Don’t Take it Personally thing that you are doing is really making a difference in our relationship” he says.

He went on to say “we’ve been out for a few nice dinners and we haven’t fought. I think it is because of you”.

I thought about it for a minute and he was dead on. Not that I’m big enough to take all the responsibility for our penchant for public drama but I realized that when I choose to not take things personally I am more in control of my emotions and I can control how I react. It is empowering. I can choose indigestion, or I can choose to enjoy a glass of  Malbec and samosas with my husband.

The choice seems easy now. He gently pointed out that I had been misinterpreting, or at least negatively interpreting his intentions, and with that little party crasher gone, we are free to have a fun night out and enjoy each other’s company.

This little skill I’ve learned after 35 days of practicing “the 40 day challenge” to not take things personally that Peggy put out there from http://thestepmomstoolbox.com has literally transformed not only my dinners out, but my relationship with my husband.

I hadn’t really thought about it, but we fight less all around. There is less drama in our lives. Okay, I am less dramatic, I’ll admit. When we do fight, I am able to see that I am taking something personally, and in that moment, I can shift.

Whahoo!, I have the power to shift where the conversation goes. I have the power to say, this is my stuff, or that is your stuff and react accordingly and calmly. What happens when I do this is it opens up a world of possibility of how we can be together. Without the constant conflict, we have a more relaxed relationship, easier, lighter, more fun. 

 I hadn’t realized how my negative interpretations had been affecting my husband and our relationship. I had only been thinking how hurt I am. I had only been thinking about my self.

I hadn’t anticipated how much easier not taking it personally would make my life and how much more loving it would make my marriage. What a great lesson indeed.

I didn’t see this coming. When I took on this 40 Day Challenge (thanks again Peggy from http://thestepmomstoolbox.com), I thought I would see how often I take things personally, how hard these guys are on me,  and how mean they are to me. I thought I would feel more justified about complaining and feeling sorry for myself.

Then, as referenced in my last blog, I had a big Ah Ha moment where I realized that all this negative interpretation is based on not loving myself and feeling like I didn’t deserve to be loved. I found that phase of the process rather overwhelming and discouraging. I had a long way to go, I thought.

But I continued on my daily journey and popped out of the chute in a brand new phase. And I like this one.

I am quite surprised to have emerged after 28 days feeling very non-victimey (I know that isn’t a word yet). In fact, I feel stronger, more confident and I have more energy.

What I realized I was doing was every time someone said something that hurt my feelings I immediately owned it. I wore their words like a big grey heavy cloak. For a girl that should never wear grey, this fashion statement did nothing for me. I assumed, after many years of training, that if they say something bad about me, it must be true. And if it’s true, wow, what a loser I am; no one loves me, I am unlovable and heck, I should just live alone in an igloo in Alaska and spare the world from my eternal badness.

A little overly dramatic, yes, but the point is that it is somewhat ridiculous and self centered I may add (thank you Don Miguel Ruiz) to take everything people say to me or about me as the truth about me, or even about me at all. Frankly for the amount that I was taking personally I should have been pasted to the floor in a heap of self induced depression. It is shocking I have still managed to be a functioning human being while wearing that grey cloak everywhere I went.

So when I got it, that it isn’t about me, it is about them, that gave me a great deal of freedom. Knowing that I’m not those things that they said or I interpreted them saying, means that I get to be someone else. Someone who perhaps wears a tailored hot pink coat that ties at the waist. Maybe with a matching bag and shoes. Why not? Choosing the hot pink over the grey makes  me feel stronger and more confident. I feel centered in the face of other people’s pain, yet somehow more compassionate. I feel lighter.

Also, from a time management perspective the shift enhances efficiencies. I all of a sudden have more time on my hands because I’m not dwelling on negative self beliefs. I have more energy for the good stuff like laughing and joking and tickling the twins.

I’m sure like anything else along the self mastery lines, not taking things personally is a life lesson and needs to be constantly reinforced and practiced just like positive thinking.  It is like a muscle that needs to be worked on a daily basis that eventually gets stronger and stronger.

I still have 12 days left in this process, and I can’t wait to see what comes next.