Regina Felty's Blog, page 4

Ending the Year Strong

Did you make New Year’s resolutions at the beginning of 2019?

How’s that going for you?

Yeah, same here.

This year has been a tough one for me. I set out to finish a manuscript that I had started back in October of last year and had somehow convinced myself that I would have the whole project wrapped up and published by this summer. Obviously, I’m a first-time author and those of you that are more experienced with this process are shaking your head and smiling at my naivety. BUT…she is finally going off to the editor in two weeks! 

Margaret Mitchell took ten years to write Gone with the Wind, so there you go…

Losing Focus

We sold our old house and moved into a new one in May and life hasn’t seemed to slow down since then with our daughter, Sara, going to Honduras on a missions trip, visiting family, and Andy and I exploring Caribbean islands. Why do I let myself get so busy? (I write more about this in my blog post I Have So Much To Do!)

Needless to say, I haven’t had much time to focus on self-care or getting the living room painted as I’d planned.

Getting Back on Track

A few weeks ago, a coworker handed me a poster. The title at the top read “Five to Thrive” and below it was a list of five areas to focus on to make our lives better. We often hang up motivational quotes in our room so I figured I would add it to our collection later and left it on my desk.

The next morning, I read the first of the five suggestions:

Get up an hour earlier than you normally do… 

Wait…what is this poster about again? 

I asked my coworker later. She told me it was part of the #LAST90DAYS movement created by the author of Girl, Stop Apologizing, Rachel Hollis. The idea is, for the last ninety days of the year, starting on October 1st, you would focus on these five areas and journal about your successes and future dreams every day until the end of the year–ending the year strong. 

Ending the Year Strong

Seeing that I had minimal success with starting the year strong, I could at least finish the year that way. 

I’m one of those people that has more success when I follow a plan, keep detailed lists, and see things in writing.

So…I bought the journal (which is not required but I’m a helpless journalholic by nature). Guess what my coworker and I are starting on October 1st?

The fourth item listed on the “Five to Thrive” list is to give up one food category that you know you shouldn’t be eating. Ha! You should see my list so far (no…you shouldn’t). Suffice to say, I will have to write them down on little papers and just draw one out of a hat.

Back to the “get up an hour earlier” thing. That would be 4:00 a.m. for me and I can’t function on less than seven hours a night. Do the math. I doubt I could make myself go to sleep at 9:00 p.m. every night. Just saying. I’ll have to revisit that one…

Happy Almost-October! 

(By the way, Pumpkin Spice lattes from Starbucks are NOT on my list of things to give up. Just thought I’d mention that.)

Want to know more about the #LAST90DAYS? Click HERE.

*I do not receive any benefit from promoting this movement or any of the Hollis Co. products. I’m just sharing my own story.

The Girl in the Third Row

She sat in the middle of the third row back.

I was visiting the class for an observation assignment. A substitute teacher was filling in that day and half the class was turned around in their seats chatting with friends, the other half slouched low in their chairs, staring down at forbidden cell phones in their laps. They weren’t fooling me. It’s not hard to notice the flickering glow from the screens reflecting off their oily adolescent faces. 

The noise level in the room was annoying, so I hunkered in my seat, arms folded across my chest, to watch the show. I wouldn’t get any work done anyway. It would be the equivalent of trying to study for a foreign language test sitting in the middle of the New York Stock Exchange trading floor. 

Someone threw a pink beveled eraser my way. It bounced off my knee and tumbled to the floor. I kicked it under my chair.

I couldn’t blame the sub, who sat at a desk in the back of the room shuffling through random papers, looking appropriately busy. The guy made less than ninety bucks a day to deal with over a hundred and fifty hyperenergetic eighth-graders for eight hours. Personally, I risked my life being bounced along with this crowd trying to make it to my next class. I settled deeper into the unyielding plastic chair. Thirty-six minutes left until the bell set us all free.

That’s when I noticed her.

She sat quietly: an oddity in the chaos that surrounded her. Her eyes fixed on the desk in front of her—an empty desk. Not a book or a gum wrapper or even a delinquent’s name etched into its particleboard surface. What was she looking at? I wondered.

Her fixed stare was trance-like…vacant. Several strands of brown hair draped lazily over one eye, her hands cupped together in her lap. The boy to her right slapped another guy’s rear as he slid past him. A huddle of students nearby erupted in laughter as a half-hearted “Settle down!” came from the sub still parked at the back. The girl glanced up and shook her head, looking unimpressed. Her gaze dropped back to the desk.

She must be tired , I thought… or about to throw up . Thirteen and fourteen-year-olds don’t ignore an opportunity to goof off unless something’s wrong. She must have sensed my stare because her eyes flicked to mine before shifting to the Declaration of Independence poster above my head. In that brief passing, I saw a sheen of moisture in her eyes.

That was the only distress signal I needed.

There’s an unspoken rule understood by the adults that roam the halls of a middle school campus: Never embarrass a student if you can help it. It would be kin to throwing them into the middle of a crowded shopping mall– naked . Unforgivable…

I slid a piece of notebook paper out of the satchel at my feet. Drawing it onto my lap, I hastily folded it in half. Then I stood up. 

Dodging a basketball that had rolled into the center aisle, I pressed through a maze of desks and over gangly legs to reach her. Dangling the paper in front of her, I said loud enough for those nearby to hear, “Can you run this to the office secretary for me?” and tucked the folded page into her outstretched hand. Maneuvering my way back to my seat, I didn’t wait for an answer.

She looked at the folded paper—her face a mask of curiosity. Thankfully, she didn’t open it because, well…it was obviously blank. Slowly, she stood and made her way to the front. Glancing my way once more, she fluttered out the door. The sub didn’t notice—not that he was watching anyway. (Don’t get me wrong, most subs are great.)

I wasted no time.

Throwing my satchel over my shoulder, I slipped out behind her. 

“Hey!” I called, catching up. Reaching over, I plucked the paper out of her hand. “Never mind that,” I said, jamming it down into my sweater pocket.

“I actually wanted to check on you,” I said. “Are you OK?” Was it just me or did she look like she was about to bolt? I thought.

Her wariness was palpable. “Yeah… I’m fine. Why?”

I led her over to a sheltered wall by the library—more privacy there. If she wasn’t freaked out before, she certainly had to be now. I calculated that we had about twelve minutes before the bell brought swarms of bodies down on us. I had to talk fast.

“I thought you looked kinda down in class,” I told her. “I can tell something is bothering you. Want to talk?”

It was the “looking-down” thing she did that gave it away. 

I waited.

“Um, yeah, well, it’s been a tough week,” she started, then paused. I thought that was the end of it, but she went on. “My parents split up three weeks ago.” Her eyes fixed on the soccer field behind me. “So…now I spend weekends at my dad’s apartment.” A deep sigh. “It’s just, I don’t know… weird.” Her gaze dropped to the concrete between our feet, the loose strands of brown hair now forming a curtain over her face.

“My stuff is all over the place. I can’t remember what to bring when I go to my dad’s. I’m always forgetting clothes or my backpack and things for school on Monday. I don’t know…” Her words trailed off, but I filled in the blanks. 

I started doubting myself, almost wishing that I’d stayed in the noisy classroom. Suddenly, this was way over my head. 

OK…breathe , I lectured myself. Did I learn about this in any professional development workshops? I raced through the memory catalog in my mind. Nope. No pings bounced back. Well , I concluded, I AM a mother. Let’s draw on that experience.

Her arms were cinched tight around her waist. Reaching out to touch her sleeve, I whispered, “I’m sorry, hon. It’s hard when things fall apart and we don’t know what to do, especially when we have no control over them. You probably feel pretty confused right now.” I tilted my head to catch her eyes under the wall of hair. “Have you told your parents how you feel?” 

How am I doing here? I agonized. Was that the right thing to say?

We talked for a few more minutes before she remembered that she needed to grab her backpack from the room before her next class. I encouraged her to talk to the school counselor and told her I was here if she just needed to vent. I avoid hugging middle-schoolers (another unwritten rule around here) but gave her hand a quick squeeze before she jogged off. 

Nothing was solved that day. I didn’t rescue her from the stormy waters she was forced to tread. But I got the sense that we both felt better after that little talk.

The regular teacher returned the next day and the pandemonium settled to more comfortable decibels. A few cell phones were confiscated as a reminder of the rules, but most everyone settled back into a comfortable routine. 

Even for my new friend in the third row. 

OK, “friend” might be reading into it a bit much…

She didn’t acknowledge me openly—this was middle school, after all—but she’d smile when I caught her eye and we’d give a little wave when I saw her between classes. 

I didn’t give her name but mentioned the situation to the school counselor as we walked to a staff meeting the following week. She didn’t share any names either, but her knowing smile gave me all I needed to connect the dots.

“I think we’re on the same page,” she said, turning to me. “I’m confident that she will be all right. I’m glad you noticed she was struggling and reached out to her.”

Me too , I thought as we continued to our meeting. These kids aren’t just rowdies who hide Flamin’ Hot Cheetos in their hoodie pockets and think we don’t notice the telltale orange stains on their fingers. They face hard experiences and struggle with real issues that even many adults don’t know how to deal with. 

Searching for an empty seat at the already-packed staff meeting, I almost hummed a happy tune. But I stopped myself. You don’t sing or hum at a middle school staff meeting. I’m sure that’s another one of those unspoken rules. 

Related blog post: “The Invincibility of Our Youth”

(This story is fictitious and the characters do not represent real people.)

 

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“I Have So Much to Do!” (A Lesson on Busyness)

“Remind me again WHY I decided to write a book (and edit another writer’s manuscript as well), help my daughter prepare for a missions trip to a foreign country, buy a house, and sell a house all in six months…”

This is an excerpt from an actual text I sent out to a friend several weeks ago. Today, I reread that text and shook my head in bewilderment.

Why Do I Do This to Myself?

It’s like I think, “Hmm, I’m logging in eight hours of sleep every night, my client work is completed, chores are caught up, and I’m five chapters ahead of schedule on writing my manuscript. What a slacker—you need more things to do, Regina.”

For some illogical reason, we tend to think that we might lose our place as Mother-Wife-Employee-Friend of the Year if we aren’t constantly running a marathon of “to-do’s.” We believe that if we don’t bear telltale dark circles under our eyes or exist on meals consisting of granola bars dug out of our purse, we must not be pulling our share of the work.

Competing With OthersWhy do we feel the need to compete with others by complaining about the 100+ things we have to do and moaning, “I’m so busy that I hardly have time to take a shower?” We imagine that they will somehow be impressed. That we’ve trumped everyone else’s exhausting list of things to accomplish.

I try not to be the dreaded complainer in a group, but I have those moments of weakness when I spew out all my woes and sit back waiting for an “atta boy” (girl?). Seems a little childish, right?

Exactly.
It’s My Own Fault

If I can be transparent here—I do it to myself. It appears that my objective is to be a glutton for punishment. Here’s the thing: There’s no bomb strapped to my back set to explode if I don’t register for at least two college classes while simultaneously facilitating a middle school yearbook class and editing a 60,000-word manuscript for a client. As a self-inflicted martyr, I choose to do most of these tasks.

Too Busy for Others

When we are running the gamut of busyness, we are really acting a bit selfish. “How is that?” you ask. If you feel exhausted with all the things you are rushing around doing, it’s a good bet that you aren’t spending quality time with others (That includes devotion time with God…). I won’t go down that rabbit trail here, but you can read more about my thoughts on that in my blog post, Are You Even Listening?So, when you see me next time, do me a favor…

Take my hands in yours, look straight into my eyes, and repeat these words, “Regina, I don’t feel one ounce sorry for you no matter how much complaining you do. If you want to burn the candle at both ends and turn gray-headed with high blood pressure while the rest of us enjoy vacations and dates out with our spouses, you go right ahead, honey.”

I hope I listen. That I ask you to invite me over for dinner, plan a coffee date with you, and ask you for vacation recommendations.

I hope I say, “Thank you. I needed that.”

And, I hope you’ve read this blog post and learned a valuable lesson about letting go of unnecessary busyness. Remind yourself that busyness does not always parallel productiveness or success.

Now…go find a hammock anchored between two trees and do nothing for a few hours.

You’re welcome.

“Dear Mother of a Teenage Daughter…”

Dear Mother of a Teenage Daughter:

I know she slammed the door in your face for the third time this week.

You stood outside the door for two full minutes, taking deep breaths, trying to decide if you should force your way through the offending door and demand respect or threaten to ship her off to your sister. Your sister wouldn’t put up with these teenage temper tantrums.

Or…you could just shuffle down to your own room and cry yourself to sleep.

You opt to cry yourself to sleep. Again.

Feeling like a miserable excuse for a mother. Again.

I’m sorry this is so hard. (Big hug from me…)I know there are good days too.

The two of you can sit and talk for hours about boy problems over a gallon of ice cream and there are times when you laugh about silly nonsense things that only girls understand. You cling to these precious fleeting moments before the tide goes back out, sucking your daughter out to the hormonal sea and out of your reach.

You’ve worked hard to reconnect.

“How was your day today?” you ask.

“Fine.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

This is where you expect her to ask how YOUR day was, but she’s already zoned in on a text message that just popped up on her phone screen.

Awkward silence.

These days it feels like those rare moments of connectivity are like playing BINGO — the lucky numbers rarely line up for you as another distraction in her life sweeps in before you claim the prize. But, you keep trying because you crave that relationship with her. It’s the instinct of motherhood—a love so deep it almost hurts—that keeps us pushing through the barriers to reach our daughters.She will want it too, mom. Someday.

In fact, she may want a relationship with you now but has no idea how to reach out. Her pride is like an over-inflated balloon — the slightest nudge can cause her to explode and send her flying in a hundred different directions. Admitting she is wrong may be near to impossible for her even though she is keenly aware of her faults.

A simple hug from you without saying a word can speak a thousand words to her heart. She may not have the words to express herself clearly. But small acts, like doing the dishes without you asking her to, is her way of responding to what she thinks is your love language.

My mom died unexpectedly when I was nineteen and her absence in my life left an aching chasm in my heart. But it wasn’t until I was in my 30s, with three young children drawing on my limited emotional reserves, that I truly found myself looking to the heavens and saying, “I really need you, mom.”

I think there is a good chance that your girl will reach out to you when you least expect it. She can only keep those walls up for so long before a few bricks crumble down and she lets you in, if only for a brief visit.

Cherish every fleeting moment with her.

Hug her as tightly as you can, when she lets you, even if you feel like you would rather lock her in a tower until she grows up and appreciates the awesome mom she has.

These teen years won’t last forever. It’s just a few short years down the road before she will open that door she slammed in your face and never close it again.

When that day comes, few things will be stronger than the mother-daughter bond you will share.

I promise.

Love,

Regina

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“Sorry, I Can’t Hear You Right Now” (Our Infatuation with Devices)

I’m not sure how long my husband had been rambling on about something happening in the news until I pulled my earbuds out and caught the tail end of “…and if it passes, you know they’ll be rioting in the streets.”

Was he talking to me? 

I’d been sitting nearby listening to a podcast on my iPad. Fortunately, we had discussed the news story he was referring to in social studies class that day, so I caught up real quick. “Well, honey, this world is only going to get worse,” was my lame response. Although I felt guilty for not telling him I’d missed the first part of his diatribe, I never admitted my deception. (Of course, the cat is out of the bag when he reads this post, but he loves me anyway.)

Talking to Myself?

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought someone was rude when I chirped “Good morning” to them during my walk and they ignored me – only to spy the thin cord snaking from under their sweatshirt up to their ears.

When my kids were teenagers, how many countless times did I drive down the road, barking out orders for the day or carrying on a one-sided conversation, before noticing the silence in the car? A glance in the rear-view mirror revealed heads bobbing to music streaming via buds plugged in their ears.

They hadn’t heard a word I’d said.How Can We Be So “Connected” Yet “Disconnected” at the Same Time?

We pride ourselves in being master multitaskers. But, unless you’re a skilled lip-reader, we can’t even pretend we’re communicating when your music playlist is louder than what I’m saying.

We’ve even upgraded to wireless headphones –  like Apple AirPods – which simply means that we just can’t see the invisible umbilical cord that attaches you to a device.

Productive communication has downgraded into telepathy where we struggle to clarify inferences in internet slang like FWIW (for what it’s worth) and WYWH (wish you were here). Let’s not even talk about trying to interpret emojis in text messages.

I once walked by someone in a store and heard them say something along the lines of, “I don’t want to discuss this anymore—we’ll talk about it later,” with only the two of us standing there. We hadn’t been discussing anything. If I hadn’t done a quick scan for the telltale Bluetooth earpiece, I’d have marked her as a psycho and jetted to another aisle. 

Are We Really “Hanging Out”?

Raise your hand if you’ve ever been in a room full of friends “hanging out” and exchanging small talk while their eyes are fixated on smartphone screens. Not exactly quality time. Just sayin’…Remember how we used to play Yahtzee and Scrabble with real game boards and a bowl of popcorn on the table, without a cell phone in sight? How many of us play the game Words With Friends on our devices and most of the people we play with aren’t even our friends? In fact, we have no idea who they are.

Find Opportunities to Be “Unplugged”

We’re so addicted to our devices that statistics claim most young people spend more than 7.5 hours a day on them! How we find screen time more satisfying than eye-to-eye contact and physical conversation is beyond me, but who am I to judge?

Between my iPad, iPhone, and Apple Watch, I could almost avoid ever raising my head to look at anything – or anyone. I can simultaneously converse with customer service in Bangkok in a chat window, reply to an email from my boss, and listen to Fox News – all while sitting next to you on the couch. And…we never say a word to each other.

Want to know something even more pathetic? I’ve sent a text to my kids before telling them dinner is ready rather than walking down the hall to call them. Ouch…

Maybe you’re with me on this, maybe not…

Let me share this eye-opening TedTalk, Connected, But Alone?

In the video, Dr. Turkle speaks about how we are losing meaningful connectedness with each other because of our addiction to our devices. ( You can thank me later.)

Time to get off my soapbox and practice what I preach.

Perhaps I’ll go talk politics with my husband—his favorite topic (major eye roll here). Still, we WOULD be connecting and communicating while actually looking at each other (no…not FaceTime either) which is what relationships are all about, right?

 

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