Monica Berg's Blog, page 35

Why We Avoid Love

Do you think of yourself as a loving person? Of course. But why do so many have such trouble accepting love?

In the wake of my father’s passing, I was speaking with a group of friends on the nature of love. The topic emerged as I shared that he had demonstrated for me unconditional, non-judgmental love that instilled a freedom of thought and heart in me that I only fully realized after he had passed away. My father’s version of love was not of a controlling nature in which I was unable to make mistakes for fear of losing my connection with him. He would quietly hold my hand, literally and figuratively, even while I made choices that he knew would negatively affect me. Sometimes, he dove headfirst into those choices by my side.

In my teens, battling anorexia, I decided to hike the Grand Canyon. From the rim, down to the cold, white rapids of the Colorado River, and back to the top in a single day. It was an attempt to gain perspective and reconnect with myself and seemed like a wonderful idea to my 17-year-old self. I was definitely too malnourished to make the trek. My father, a diabetic and not very sporty, was by my side every step of the way. It was one of many demonstrative acts of careless love that I still look back on fondly.

The conversation with my friends moved around the room, touching on stories of a fellow who only knew love according to his childhood definition of being “a man” and the resulting confusion, a woman who didn’t even have a framework for receiving love, and another who found that it was easy for him to give love as that is where he had control, but receiving love was nerve-wracking because he thought he was powerless in the dynamic. I became acutely aware of how much my father made space for me to accept love without hesitation or self-judgment.

That was an ah-ha moment for me and, in turn, the group: to receive love, one must be vulnerable.

Lama Surya Das said: “Learning how to love is the goal and the purpose of spiritual life – not learning how to develop psychic powers, not learning how to bow, chant, do yoga, or even meditate, but learning to love. Love is the truth. Love is the light.”

Over the last few days, I have ruminated on this idea. What my father taught me, the internalized ability to be loved, is just as powerful as the external force of loving. I felt so safe and comfortable being vulnerable with him that I didn’t feel the need to hide my foibles and darker angels because he created space for me to be my most authentic self. I knew there was nothing I could do and no “dark” side of my personality that would ever cause him to stop loving me. Nothing would endanger the adoration he gave me.

So much of how we give and receive love stems from attachment styles. Attachment theory is a multidisciplinary theory that describes relationships between lovers, friends, parents, and even strangers on a train. The prime tenet, as written by psychiatrist John Bowlby, is that children need to develop a relationship with at least one primary caregiver for normal social and emotional development. Over the years, it has developed to explain that we are wired to crave love and acceptance, therefore creating the innate fear of rejection. But some, including Dr. John Amodeo, have suggested that there also exists a fear of acceptance. Dr. Amodeo writes:

“The fear of rejection makes sense: If we’ve had a steady diet of shame, blame, and criticism, we learned that the world is not a safe place. Something within us mobilizes to protect our tender heart from further stings and insults.

But this mechanism doesn’t discriminate: Our defensive structure not only safeguards us from the prospect of rejection, but also from acceptance and welcoming. It’s a scanning antenna that, in working to protect us from danger, often gives false readings.”

I love that concept of the antenna because I believe that when we aren’t fully in touch with our driving forces, we are in danger of becoming robotic, living a life of zeroes and ones instead of human connection.

In my book, Rethink Love, I told the story of a couple who were capable of deep, secure intimacy but consistently allowed slight disagreements to become massive arguments. In their case, the wife’s attachment style is anxious. Her husband, on the other hand, is a classic avoidant. He creates distance and prizes independence over reliance on others. He can be intimate, but he would prefer not to share his feelings. He often focuses on his wife’s flaws and idealizes his life before marriage. To him, her attempts at closeness look like an effort to control or manipulate him. The more she yearns for intimacy, the more distant he becomes, but below the surface of this dynamic, he wants a strong connection with his wife. He has repressed that need, though, out of fear that it won’t be met.

I’ve described avoidant and anxious, and the third attachment style is “secure.” A person with a secure attachment style doesn’t play games. They are comfortable sharing their needs, thoughts, and desires and are respectful and supportive of their partners. They forgive easily, and when conflict arises they focus on problem-solving rather than winning. Secure people form deep bonds based on interdependence, not co-dependence. I was lucky in many ways, not least of which was my father helping me to fill the space of secure attachment.

Studies estimate that 50% of people have a secure attachment style, while 20% are anxious and 25% are avoidant. That’s a good statistic to keep in mind, especially if you are currently wading into the dating pool, but also helpful if you just can’t seem to understand your spouse of twenty years.

Typically, attachment styles begin with Mom. A deep bond between mother and infant is important for the very survival of the child, but as the child develops and grows into a toddler, the relationship between mother and child also can have a lasting impact on the way we behave in adult relationships. People who had avoidant parents may emulate that style, or because they were desperate for their parents’ love, they may become anxious in their attachment behaviors. Unfortunately, people with an anxious attachment style will often be attracted to avoidants instead of those with a secure attachment style, so they can stay in their familiar dynamic! Even though these relationships are uncomfortable and anxiety-inducing, they are perceived as safe. People with anxious attachment styles tend to believe they’re not good enough or are unlovable. On the other hand, people with avoidant attachment styles love being pursued. It sustains them emotionally. Being in a relationship with another distancer would prove completely emotionally unsatisfying.

John Bowlby and his successors discerned that there were four basic attachment types: Secure, Dismissive-avoidant, Anxious-preoccupied, and Fearful-avoidant. I have the marriage I enjoy partly because I’m a fantastic partner  – partly because I enjoy a secure attachment style, and partly because I learned to be vulnerable and to accept love, even when my own sense of self didn’t allow me to feel that it was deserved.

RETHINK MOMENT: Is your attachment style or lack of vulnerability standing in the way of receiving back in kind the love that you project?

The post Why We Avoid Love appeared first on Monica Berg.

The Stageless Moments of Grief

If you follow my blog, my teachings, or my podcast, you know that I just lost my father to Alzheimer’s. It has been a seven-year journey into darkness for him and a daily choice for me to stand in the Light, despite – and possibly because of – the grief. And the journey has drawn to an end.

This blog entry isn’t about teaching a grand lesson. There’s no overarching theme as I type. I’m not attempting to teach you something, and I’m not trying to convince you of a style of living. This is stream of consciousness at its most raw; a James Joyce-style dive into the mind of a woman who just lost her dad. Although I still hurt, I do, at my core, believe we can choose to be defined by our grief or grow from it. So, I’m asking you to stand by my side through my process of growth as my father always did.

My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s nearly a decade ago. I started grieving him the day I found out. That grief has gone on for a very long time in mostly small doses. I haven’t created new memories with him in seven years, and as he seemed to forget who he was, I did too. It’s been so long since I’ve fully experienced this person who was once such a significant and influential person in my life.

There are moments when I stand rooted and strong in the kabbalistic teachings on death and grief imparted during the passing of my in-laws, Rav and Karen Berg. Prior to Karen’s transition out of this earthly plane less than a year ago, I had been able to avoid thinking of death, most likely out of fear of it. It’s a fear that is nearly universal, but watching the grace and joy which pervaded Karen’s last days here made my own mortality somehow easier to process. In her final acts of teaching, she guided me to a place of peace, understanding, and acceptance. An understanding that how you live your life will most likely be your experience of it.

Experiencing my father’s mental decline and watching him approach his own death hit differently. After his long bout of dementia, there was a part of me that was almost… excited, for lack of a better word, that his brilliant soul would no longer be held in check by an imperfect body. I truly believe that, because of my certainty and my beliefs in what is waiting for us on the other side. And my belief held true as I saw him wheeled away for the last time, catching a knowing look in his eye. He saw me fully and truly as his daughter one last time.

I have read and been taught that there is a crucial benefit to the concept of pain cleansing a soul before the moment of death; a preparation for reincarnation that can only aid in what comes next for my father.

I have spoken of the gift of a loved one’s passing being an opportunity to let go of our expectations of who they should have been and embrace who they truly were. I have now experienced that fully, leaving behind the father I recalled through the prism of childhood and seeing him as the realized man he always was.

I can recite the stages of grief and the innumerable ways I have and will continue to counsel those who are going through these transitions in their own lives. But as I sit here, 3,000 miles from my new home, among the palm trees and seemingly mocking blue skies of my last home, I am not in one of those neatly defined stages. I am where the books, scholars, and psychology cannot tread. I have wanted him to be okay, to feel okay; no more pain, sadness, or lack. I wanted no more looking back on dreams that never came true. I wanted him to be free. I wanted his soul to soar and find a new home. With all of those wants, I knew I couldn’t influence, dictate, or speed up his final moments. I could only do what my father always did for me in my darkest days: show up for him every day, offering comfort, safety, and unconditional love.

I’ve lost loved ones before. I do believe that to God and to the human condition, one life has no more potential or value than any other. But to me, this one I’m losing now does hold a special place. My father was not a perfect man, but he loved his wife and daughters deeply and profoundly. His greatest wish was for us always to thrive happily.

I am lucky in many ways. I wrote about grief years ago, and I dug that blog up to remind myself of my perspective when I wasn’t in these stageless moments of grief. I am reorganizing those thoughts below, as much as a reminder to myself as an attempt at guidance for anyone in the same battle.

Our depths of grief are directly correlated to the heights of our love. Pure, true, unending love between parents and children, spouses, and best friends can make for the most crushing levels of grief. That breed of loss, that pain, sucks the breath from your body and forever alters the landscape of your life. I told myself four years ago in writing that grief is a vital part of healing but warned against letting it overtake us. If we spin out in pain, we will forget about the healing. I asked you, and myself, these questions:

“What if you could see the grief you feel as the evidence of your incredible capacity to love?”

“What if the deep feelings of loss remind you of how precious your life and everyone in it really is?”

“What if the pain you feel could be alchemized into an even greater ability to be present, to transform, and to live life fully?”

I am trying to ask myself those questions this week, and sometimes I have good answers. And sometimes, I am too overwhelmed to respond, which is part of this process that is different for every person and every loss. At the end of that blog entry, I wrote the following:

“Whether grief is a part of your life today or you are supporting someone through their grief, remember that there is always a choice in every moment. Though you may take umbrage at someone’s urging to “let it go” or to “experience the joy of today”, try to see this as truly sound advice. Blessings cannot rest in a place of sadness. Even if it is as simple as acknowledging that you have a choice, you will be creating a space for the joy that you so deeply deserve.”

Looking back at those words, I’m glad I wrote them. And tonight, tomorrow, or next week, I will accept them as gratefully as they were written.

RETHINK MOMENT: Don’t rethink. Stop thinking. Stop reading. Close your laptop. Tell your loved ones how treasured they are, and be thankful for the passage of time that has allowed your own losses to transform from grief to joy for the ones who have gone before us.

 

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The Great Pay-Off of Discomfort

We all feel it. We all fight it. Call it pain or awkwardness or just the sensation of things not being quite right. But what if we could throw ourselves headlong into the maelstrom and focus on the benefits of an utter lack of comfort?

So many times, I frame my blogs and teachings around the benefits of a new moon. This month is a bit different. I’m diving into the concept of swimming against the current of Taurus to attain something new and awaken something powerful. The good news is that the universe, in its infinite wisdom, is providing the perfect complementary energy to pull off my Danny Ocean-like scheme. Welcome to my Change Heist.

As I’ve said before (notably here), Taureans resist change, instead valuing comfort and relaxation. Therefore, this new moon can be a wonderful chance to rest after a long year of constant flux and adaptation. But the aspect of the new moon of Taurus that I love to explore is the restorative energy of its ruling planet, Venus. Our cosmic next-door neighbor is the only planet within the asteroid belt to rotate clockwise, which imbues this time with a loving energy of mercy and healing. As I see it, we can both sit back and recharge this month, taking time to mend, and utilize that healthy boost to dive into discomfort with some universal assistance. We can make the changes and reap the benefits that are rightfully ours. Taking charge and seeking change is an amazing opportunity to crack the proverbial safe and pack our loot bags with things like mental health, spiritual growth, and financial equilibrium.

As with any good cinematic heist, we need three things:

1: The Team

2: The Plan

3: The Score

Number one:

Let’s begin with the team. We have ourselves, possibly shaken from a rough year, but still standing and willing to do whatever it takes to push through hardship to continue the work of perfecting ourselves. We have the loyal, stubborn energy of Taurus to imbue our efforts this month with a sense of divine purpose. We have Venus, our femme fatale with a heart of gold, to perk us up when the going gets tough. Throw in a dear friend or partner who is on your side and will gently point out when you are dipping into the unique dangers of Taurus (namely: rigidity and denial), and you have an unstoppable squad.

Number two:

Next up: the plan. It can start simply enough, depending on the prize you have in mind. If it’s physical health, step one can be taking the stairs instead of the elevator. If it’s financial health, it can be downloading (and eventually using) an expense-tracking app. If it’s mental health, it can be silencing the negative self-talk limiting your beliefs and disconnecting you from your Source. If it’s a relationship goal, it may be as easy to start as putting down your phone for ten minutes at the end of the day and zeroing in on listening to your partner with the desire to truly hear them and connect on a deeper level. Every great journey is made up of smaller, achievable waypoints. Sometimes, the first, smallest step requires the most bravery because that’s when we are initially committing to the change.

“Because the house always wins. Play long enough, you never change the stakes; the house takes you. Unless, when that perfect hand comes along, you bet big, and then you take the house.” – Ocean’s 11

Number three.

Finally, the score. I saved it for the end because it is at once the most and least important piece of the story. In my life, the score has ceased to be the ideal weight or the dream home or the next book I write. None of those things are inherently bad choices when you’re planning your dance with discomfort this month. But for me, the mother lode is change itself. I am a change junkie, and Taurus doesn’t necessarily encourage that energy. So, for me to take down the house and walk out of Taurus with valuable, lasting changes, I often find that I need to be more cognizant of – and resilient to – the discomfort of the month.

The conceit of a Change Heist is inherently silly because the universe wants us to change. A Change Heist is tantamount to stealing from a system designed to give to us. But sometimes, the aspects of the zodiac force us to think in elementary ways that we understand in order to take full advantage of what the Creator is offering freely.

“I wish for a world where everyone understands that discomfort is the price of legendary. And fear is just growth coming to get you.” – Robin S. Sharma

It may seem as though I have been fighting the energy of Taurus thus far in my fever dream of a heist movie, but, again, this new moon brings the energy of healing. While our physical bodies are sure to benefit, healing isn’t exclusively physical. Taurus brings healing to our emotional and mental selves as well. I don’t believe that change is antithetical to healing. In fact, I think that change is inherent to healing. Lowering our reliance on processed food, cutting down on alcohol, finding outlets and exercises to reduce stress; these changes are just some of the keys to healing body and soul. If you can slip into the hurricane of discomfort and hold close to the solace that Taurus provides, you can accomplish wondrous changes.

RETHINK MOMENT: Are you in a place that requires rest and relaxation? Great! Taurus is hitting at just the right moment. Are you living a moment that craves wild, provocative change? Great! Taurus is hitting at just the right moment. You can’t lose.

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The Gift of Solitude

I have a secret for being the perfect mother. Wait, no… I have two secrets for being the perfect mother.

Secret 1: There is no such thing.

Secret 2: There are times I actively do not think about my kids.

Number one is an open secret that every mother instinctively understands the first time she pretends to not hear the baby crying at 3 AM, forcing her partner to stumble down the hall, bleary-eyed, in their PJs. Number two is complicated, and I want to tell you about it before you decide to start judging me.

I titled this blog “The Gift of Solitude” because I wanted to talk about one of the most important ways we can recharge, but as I write, I’m thinking of renaming it because solitude isn’t quite the word I’m looking for. So, buckle up, friends, we’re going on a word search together.

For years, I fell victim to the narrative that so many parents are fed: if you aren’t always plugged in and available to your children, you are lazy and selfish. It’s a staple of American life these days for other pursuits as well; your boss may expect you to answer emails on the weekend, your spouse wants your focus despite your exhaustion, or your friends don’t understand why you can’t return a text immediately about a sample sale, their hot take on Schitt’s Creek, or anything else for that matter. In the modern world, with seven hundred social media and messaging apps on your phone, you’re always on, always connected, always there. And it is exhausting, isn’t it? I use the experience of motherhood to explore this phenomenon and how to alleviate that pressure because my performance as a mom is part of a long list of judgements of which I have been on the receiving end. Although to judge is human nature, for those of you who know me, I think it is a complete waste of time to care about what other people think or say about you.

The connection I have naturally and the connectedness I have built with my four children are the most rewarding, fulfilling, and Earth-rattlingly joyful things in my life. But it is informed by me being the best version of me that I can be, and if you look at my biography, you know that I am many things: mother, wife, teacher, author, podcaster, friend, et cetera, sometimes seemingly ad infinitum. There are moments in the still of night when the children are asleep or 3,000 miles away, Michael is entrenched in study, and I am tasting the sensation of aloneness for the first time in days, and those moments are when I can rearrange, reorder, and refocus on all of those titles I’ve been called. I can sit in solemn silence with my thoughts, dreams, feelings (both good and bad), and desires (including the desire to do nothing at all) and recharge.

“Conversation enriches the understanding; but solitude is the school of genius.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

When we were babies, we were in a constant state of learning new things, experiencing life and the wonders around us for the first time. It is exhausting and if our parents were trained as well as we hope, they recognized the stresses of that constant bombardment. They insisted on naps, quiet time resting on their chest or in our crib, or asleep in our car seats cruising the neighborhood.

As we got older, perhaps pre-teens, we started to see the cracks in the dream that was the world around us, and in order to keep our magical sense of a life worth living, we were encouraged to take time-outs, played dress-up, and had extended periods of imaginative – incredibly silly in my case – daydreaming.

Here’s the thing: we’re still in that constant state of learning. We should, every day, experience some new wonder for the first time. We are often reminded that the dream of life has sharp edges, and it still tries to cut us down. And so, I am an advocate for the grown-up time-out.

There are few people left telling us to take a break, to look after ourselves, and no one to give us permission to do so. I believe that while we vaguely recall these lessons from our youth and, perhaps, are passing them down to children of our own, we shouldn’t be afraid to parent ourselves. We need to play. We need to daydream. We need to sit silently in our bed and collect ourselves from the onslaught of pressures. So why don’t we give ourselves that permission?

There are the previously mentioned pressures of the world and the society that has built up around us, but more dangerously, I believe, we feel guilty and scared. Guilty, because we entertain thoughts like, ‘you put all these things in motion: the mortgage, the job, the lifelong commitment of marriage, the children… and you’re too weak to hack it 24/7?’ Scared because we worked so hard to get to where we are, and as we get older, we’re still struggling to achieve what we set out to do. So, what happens if we slow down? Will we run out of time? Does it all just go away?

Maybe. Maybe it will. Maybe if I go live on an island or climb a mountain and reside in a cave for the next thirty years, you’ll forget about Monica Berg. But I’m not talking about ditching your careers or dreams or (God forbid) your children. I’m talking about finding moments in the turmoil of our lives that belong to no one but us and the source of what we are. I’m talking about finding patches of quiet where we can rest and reconnect with who we believe ourselves to be so that when the time comes to welcome our friends, partners, and children back to the forefront of our thoughts, we have the strength of our true selves to share with them.

I believe there is a reason that in all the world’s major religions, leaders like Moses, Mohammed, Buddha, and Jesus had major breakthroughs in their own journeys while withdrawn from their contemporaries and disciples. And those moments of solitude and connection to their sense of the universe made them more powerful teachers and more in tune with the needs of their peoples.

I’ll get into the specifics I use to reconnect to my true self soon, but this week, I just wanted to give you permission to give yourself permission to find your patch of quiet. I think the rewards for yourself and those around you will surprise you.

And look at that. It wasn’t solitude after all. It was “a patch of quiet.” Let me know what you call it in the comments below.

RETHINK MOMENT: If you feel like you’re occasionally neglecting loved ones in favor of yourself, shouldn’t you pause and consider making yourself a loved one, too?

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NBCLX

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A Tale from Monica’s Dinner Table

Are we forgetting the good in others by focusing on what’s good for us?

I am often delighted by the ways in which my life is informed by the stars and the unimaginable clockwork of the universe. But occasionally, I am left breathless by a simple interaction which comes at the perfect time.

This past weekend, Michael, the kids, and I were in my happy place, gathered around the dinner table enjoying an animated conversation. My eldest son, David, was in town for a visit which made the evening that much more special. In a rare lull when most of us had taken a bite at the same time, David surprised me by asking, “What do you think my worst character trait is?” My Aquarian son, like most Aquarians, is often surprising.

As a mother, I braced myself, silently cajoling my other three children to be kind. But almost immediately (and I regret the fact that it took me a moment), I was overcome by a desire to be more like my own son. I’ve spent years helping to shape these four humans into the most profound, joyful, actualized people that they can be, and this was a full breath of what we’ve strived to nurture. My son, the boy who would try to escape when I changed his diapers, the young man who was visibly flustered for a good part of the first year we uprooted him from LA to NYC, my first-born, was so ready to take a leap of faith and ego-demolition that I would still struggle with today, quite honestly. I saw in David a strength and a vulnerability that I’m not sure I taught.

I have been the recipient of unsolicited negative feedback most of my life. Girls who become women, women who face public scrutiny, anyone who rejects the neat little boxes that we are expected to fit in and creates a life on their own terms know the sting of that negativity. To voluntarily open yourself to it is antithetical to the concept of protection of the ego and is, frankly, too scary for many of us.

David took that risk within the safety of a family dinner, but I was amazed to learn that he has been asking it outside the walls of our home. He’s posed the question to friends, schoolmates, and acquaintances at parties. That is a tenacity of vulnerability. It is the act of wrestling self-preservation to the ground in an effort to gain a higher understanding of oneself for the purpose of improving.

If you have a large, verbose family, you know what happened next. Everyone jumped at the opportunity to weigh in, thankfully from a place of love. Only one of his siblings held their tongue. Josh, my second eldest, who many of you know was diagnosed with Down Syndrome shortly after birth, quietly said, “I don’t know.”

For me, it was one of those rare moments we’ve all felt. A tingling in the extremities. A slowing of the passage of time. That beat where the universe is saying: “lean in and pay attention to what comes next.”

David encouraged his brother, insisting that he was eager to hear Josh’s opinion. Finally, my second-born told my eldest that, “Nothing matters… I mean, nothing matters to you. You come and go like it is nothing.”

My family of six was silent. Quite a feat for a Sunday dinner. What Josh said was both an indictment and a gift, not only to David but to us all. A lesson for so many of us because it is such a human commonality. What Josh meant, and the subject for the rest of the evening’s discussion, was the all-too-convenient way in which we actively abandon or thoughtlessly lose touch with those closest to us, no matter how deeply we care about each other. Josh has been profoundly affected by David’s move, and we had no idea how keenly he has missed his brother.

We get busy. We are easily distracted. We get excited about the prospects of our future and ours alone. We forget about the good in others and focus on the perceived good in our path. In many ways, the past year has made us both more aware of the importance of others and more susceptible to focusing on ourselves. It’s paradoxical and maddening, like much of our human nature.

In essence, Josh sweetly turned David’s exercise in ego destruction into an examination of ego itself. It is good and right to passionately pursue the things that make us happy and to make space in our lives that is ours alone, but the non-Freudian definition of the ego – a sense of self-esteem or self-importance – is best cultivated and expressed in the presence of the ones we love. Then our sometimes-lonely world becomes more fully realized. I was reminded of the words of Bill Watterson, the cartoonist creator of Calvin and Hobbes: “Things are never quite as scary when you’ve got a best friend.”

When we focus on becoming the best selves we can be- and that is a noble effort- the self can become the point. Josh gave me an opportunity to sit back and realize that my never-ending aim toward perfection as a person, wife, mother, teacher, and friend is not an attempt to fill myself with Light so that I can see out more clearly; it is to become a beacon that can help those around me. To be a better friend and make the world a little less scary.

So, this Pesach, if you are reminded of the concept of deflating ego, as so many have written about correlated to the idea of unleavened bread, I hope that this Tale from Monica’s Dinner Table has given you something to chew on. By rejecting his ego, my son David gave his brother an opportunity to teach us all a perfectly timed lesson. There is a powerful danger in the exercising of ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ We become less useful to those we care about, and they become less intrinsic to us, thereby denying us the very thing we all need most these days: connection.

RETHINK MOMENT: Is your ego getting in the way of stoking the fires of friendship and family? Is your quest for perfection for the benefit of yourself or others?

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Price Tag Parenting

Are you moving mountains for your kids or, better yet, taking them there?

A friend of mine is in the rat race. He and his wife were blessed with twins a couple of years ago, and now they’re finding themselves in a house hunt in a desirable school district, about to enter a bidding war on a Los Angeles home that would make a Kansan blush, laugh, and pass out just reading the MLS listing. The couple is putting their all on the line, uncovering a multitude of financial secrets they’ve hidden from each other – which I do not recommend – to dive in over their heads in debt (another topic for another time). These are, like most of my friends, genuine, genuinely decent people. Why are they pushing themselves in so many uncomfortable ways to get into a position so stressful?

Children.

As a mother of four, I get it. The first time you hear the cries of your little one in the delivery room, if you aren’t still screaming yourself, you realize you are meeting the tiny creature for whom you will move mountains. That’s not a euphemism. That initial whimper, the inhalation preceding their first yell, convinces you to swear to the heavens above that you will chip away at Mount Kilimanjaro, stone by stone, and haul the debris across Tsavo if it makes that child’s life mildly more meaningful.

Whether you have your own biologically, adopt, or have chosen a younger friend to view as your surrogate child, you know the feeling. The impetus to make the world slightly less stressful for the next generation. One of my favorite kabbalistic teachings is called Tikkun Olam: repair the world. It’s the concept that The Creator left the Earth slightly misshapen so that we could be partners in creation. Because if we are not here to perfect ourselves and the world and lives around us, what’s the point?

But like all demands on us, there is a line so easily crossed. Do you want to give your child a better life, a better world, than the one you continue to grow in? That’s fantastic. You have mastered level one parenting. You feel a desire to want for your progeny. But what do they really need?

This will make many a realtor hate me, but your child doesn’t need the 10 out of 10 school district. Your child doesn’t need a ninety-second walk to a park with the finest swing set municipal dollars can buy. Your child doesn’t need a traditional suburban upbringing that would make Leave It to Beaver look like Breaking Bad.

Your child needs you. The fulfilled, content-yet-striving, peaceful you.

Since the advent of mass advertising, we have become conditioned to believe that we are never enough. That there is a piece missing in our lives that our neighbors and friends have. That we are not the best parents, partners, and people we can be unless we reach for an elusive, expensive “more.”

If you’ve never read the Adweek Copywriting Handbook by Joseph Sugarman, I highly recommend it. Even if your dream isn’t to become the next Don Draper, it sheds a harsh light on the psychology of want and how the world attempts to take advantage of those broken parts inside that make us believe we can fill the gaps in our souls with things. Clutter. Toys. Overpriced Southern California homes.

“Get the reader to say yes and harmonize with your accurate and truthful statements while reading your copy.” – Joseph Sugarman

I chose that excerpt with purpose. Harmony and truth are beautiful concepts, but if the whole world you’re surrounded with is slightly off-key, it’s best not to harmonize with it. I’m not concerned with Sugarman’s truth, your neighbor’s truth, or the truth of a highly polished Instagram mom who seems to have it all together. I am solely focused on my truth and yours. Become comfortable saying no when you feel you are being asked to give something you are simply unable to. To your spouse, your children, to in-laws, and the world, free yourself to say no. You were not created to join a child-rearing competition. You adore your progeny and will do whatever it takes to assure them the advantages you wish you’d had. That is enough. The guilt and stress that we feel above and beyond that for not earning enough to send them to top-tier schools, for not putting them in designer clothes, and for not scrambling before they were a twinkle in our eyes to enroll those miracles of space and time into the most exacting daycares, is a guilt that we can all set aside.

There was a reason that the Federal Trade Commission, facing outcries from parent groups, proposed a ban on unhealthy foods advertised to pre-teens way back in 1978. Joseph Sugarman and the men and women who followed his intuitive training are incredibly good at their job. There’s an advertising axiom that you can’t sell hard work. You have to identify – or create – a need in someone’s life that only the product of the day can fill. And we don’t completely outgrow the dangers of feeling empty just because we get older.

Todd Browning, a Graphic Design and Advertising instructor, suggests that marketers can tap into parents’ insecurities or feelings of inadequacy, targeting them with the mindset that “your kids deserve more.” And with the skyrocketing reach of micro-influencers and mommy blogs, many of which I adore, we can be constantly bombarded with psychology-based advertisements telling us constantly that we aren’t whole… and someone else’s kid is happier.

Sugarman was right. You can’t sell hard work. But that is precisely what raising children requires. There are no quick fixes. No snake oil. No product on the market that can replace the willingness to listen, teach, and learn from your kids.

I want to emphasize that it is okay and natural to desire and take pleasure in physical things, but when I’m about to purchase something for myself or the kids, I check my intention behind the wanting. Who is it for? Is buying – or not buying – it causing me stress? That moment of introspection can keep you from biting off more than you can chew and keep your choices sustainable.

Instead of focusing on buying for your children, be by their side. I tell my sons and daughters daily that there are many things in this world they can be, but there is only one thing they must be, and that is kind. Become a person who strives to live a purpose-filled existence, where each day you ask yourself, “how can I be more?” instead of “how can I amass more?” Don’t fall into the trap into which so many of us plunge headlong of believing that our children aren’t complete unless they have the tangible, material excesses that their friends undoubtedly, according to social media and commercials, enjoy.

I will tell you what I told my friend: parenting is a long, rutted road of switchbacks, dangerous curves, and steep grades. There is no sense in becoming focused on what others are or are not doing. Keep your eye on your own fuel gauge and occasionally appreciate the view.

RETHINK MOMENT: Are you fulfilling your child’s dreams or turning your all-too-brief time as a parent into a rat race with equally baffled parents who are chasing someone else in turn? How can you take a breath and make this journey your own?

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Today in Nashville

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Finding Freedom in Aries

The New Moon of Aries arrives in the nick of time!

Aries marks the first month of the lunisolar calendar of Kabbalah. It’s a dynamic point in the yearly cycle that gives us an opportunity to slam our fist on a reset button, connect even more deeply with our Source, shape our destiny, and take control of our blessings. I wrote about the process for utilizing the fiery attributes inherent to Aries last March, and I encourage you to go back to that entry as a refresher and guide because I believe there are important lessons in there for us all.

Aries: What Do You Want to Grow This Year?

But obviously, so much has changed since March 2020, and I want to talk to you about something very specific. Maybe it’s not affecting you. Maybe it is, and you don’t realize it. Perhaps this post is only written for one of you. If that person is you, I hope you find comfort and discover your own surprising courage.

During the month of Aries, we commemorate the Israelite exile from Egypt, the first step on a long, hard path from slavery to salvation. A generation of people emerged from bondage, afraid of what the lands across the sea held in store for them. Some had grown complacent in the rigid confines of the same walls, sights, and sounds day after day because there was a specific kind of luxury to a decidedly non-luxurious routine. Does that sound familiar to you?

With vaccine rollouts, loosening social restrictions, and the impending return to some semblance of “normal” life, this month brings with it an indescribable joy for many, but don’t discount any apprehension you might be feeling, and certainly don’t punish yourself for acknowledging it. The Anxiety & Depression Association of America has solid advice on battling “Re-Entry Anxiety” from a psychological perspective [ADAA], but don’t forget Aries can be a powerful secret weapon in your arsenal.

We are soon to re-enter a unique, altered version of our world after so much time spent in isolation. Remember how those Israelites centuries ago fought against the idea of independence, even begging Moses to return them to life under Pharaoh’s command? How could they not whole-heartedly embrace the gift of freedom? Because the world outside our doors is big and occasionally brutal and it’s easy to feel small and weak. But Kabbalah teaches that Aries imbues us all with a cosmic strength to break free from our own forms of bondage, internal and external.

Aries is a fantastic opportunity to redesign your year and bring order out of chaos. I have felt the inherent power and have taken its gifts as a balm in my own past when anxieties and fears threatened to overwhelm me; when I was more comfortable remaining in the bondage of the me I knew and had not yet embraced the freedom of constant, joyful change. There was a time, before I chose me and believed in what I had to offer, that I gave a lot of thought, time, and energy to the what-ifs.

“What if I fail?”

“What if I’m a fraud?”

And on and on. I know I am not alone here. In fact, psychologists have a name for this. It’s known as imposter syndrome. When I finally grew tired of making myself small, I broke free from this self-imposed prison and discovered a freedom I never knew existed.

There is a palpable energy to this New Moon that bolsters us in not merely asking for blessings with our hands outstretched but putting those hands to work manifesting the life we want for the next 12 months. This is the time for setting intentions, making goals, and planting seeds that we will spend the next year nurturing. This is the time to set yourself free.

So if you’re the person I wrote this for, if you’re worn down from a year of stress, animosity, or loss, take solace in the idea that The Creator somehow, with the clockwork of the Universe wound millions of years ago, managed to give us the New Moon of Aries at the perfect time.

RETHINK MOMENT: If you could bring the fiery power of this New Moon, coupled with the warrior force of its ruling planet Mars, to bear on the thing that is keeping you in bondage, how could you not be free? And remember: no one walked out of Egypt alone.

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