The cashiers at the grocery store always raise their eyebrows when they see my overflowing shopping cart. With two teenage boys, my family goes through a refrigerator and freezer full of food a week.
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On Wednesday, the cashier asked the ages of my boys, now 17 and 14. She has two sons, too, ages 39 and 34. "Tell me it gets easier," I asked. I didn't think she heard me as she attended to another customer. As I began to walk away, she turned towards me and said, "It gets different."

I spent my kids' infant and toddler years wishing for different. Less crying, fewer disagreements (between the boys and between my husband and me), more sleep, more of the quiet joy I felt watching my boys as they slept.

I missed so much, wishing for different.

Parenting is hard now. Again. In a different way than when the boys were little. I can't mom-handle my way to what I want. I have so little control of the outcome when it comes to my kids.

And I spend so much time wishing for different. Hoping for easier. Crossing my fingers that there won't be an argument this evening, that I won't get pushback this time, that it won't be another complicated negotiation.

Those quiet moments of joy are even more elusive.

I've realized they're elusive because I've relied on my outside circumstances to infuse my inner feelings with joy. And my outside circumstances can't be controlled. They never could but, bless my heart, I carried the illusion that I wielded more power as Supermom than I actually did.

I'm working on finding joy from the inside out these days. It's not easy to break the old habits of telling myself "I'm happy because everyone is getting along," "We had a good day because there wasn't an outburst." I've restarted meditating, a long, slow journey of inner change. I'm finding brief moments to practice Tai Chi. I'm working on acceptance of what is, the good and the bad, hard and easy, and everything else in between.

"Peace doesn't require two people; it requires only one," writes Byron Katie, author of Loving What Is. "It has to be you. The problem begins and ends there."

xo
Kathleen

Photo by Hu Chen on Unsplash

I was a block from home on my morning walk with Jasper, the rescue poodle, when I saw three neighborhood eighth graders on their bikes, headed to the middle school. One was wearing what looked like swim trunks and I wondered if that day was the end of the year trip to Great America.

I swallowed a lump in my throat, thinking about my son's eighth grade year. It was different than I expected. Harder. More confusing. A learning curve for me as a parent to rival the last leg of the climb to the top of Mount Everest: straight up, no turning back.

I sighed, catching myself wishing for normal, predictable, average.

In that moment, watching the boys ride away on their bikes, I remembered once again that my expectations create my sadness. My wish for a different life than the one I have keeps me firmly planted in unhappy soil. Nothing good grows there.

As Shakespeare said: "Expectation is the root of all heartache."

But what do we do when the life we have so carefully nurtured in our imaginations doesn't match the life we wake up to day after day?

I think our natural instinct is to blame ourselves: I should be grateful.

Or make comparisons: At least I have a roof over my head, unlike the victims of the recent fire, flood, or other natural disaster.

Or deny the feelings altogether, while throwing a little shame on top: Gawd! Stop your whining. Buck up, crybaby!

So what's the alternative? Gratitude? Meditation? The Work by Byron Katie?

Yes, but first we need to grieve.

A dream died. Maybe it was your marriage. Or the brilliant career you thought you'd have by now. Or the milestone you thought your child would've mastered already. The size of the dream doesn't matter; it must be mourned first in order to move on.

So cry. Feel all the feelings. Every single one.

Make a ritual by writing about your unfulfilled expectation, your dashed dream, and your accompanying grief on a piece of paper. And then, let it go. Burn it or bury it or cathartically rip it to shreds.

When you're done - truly done - fill the newly opened space inside you with the seeds of appreciation for the life you have. The messy, imperfect, real life you wake up to each day.

Here's how I planted my seeds of appreciation today:
• With my poodle who runs to me at the off-leash dog park when she's afraid of the big dogs and it reminds me of how my kids did the same when they were little and afraid of the big kids (except they grabbed my leg and shouted, "Base!")

• By reminding myself that my teenagers occasionally hug me voluntarily.

• With the air conditioning in my office. I'm ready for you, Summer!

The good in my life is easier to see when I look for what's there, instead of what's missing. I might be growing weeds in this garden of mine, but even dandelions have flowers.

Photo by Nick Nice on Unsplash

I’ve been going through a rough patch lately and all of my tricks to pull me out of my funk aren’t working so well. 

I feel like I’m doing everything right - walking three to five miles a day with Jasper the dog, eating well, meditating, and journaling - but I’m still having a hard time finding how to get my wheels back on track. 

I turned to the internet for more ideas to add to my feel-better-soon activity list and found many research studies extolling the virtues of a gratitude practice. Every lifestyle guru worth her salt has a video or blog post about using gratitude to generate more happiness, including Danielle LaPorte, Gabby Bernstein, Oprah... The list goes on and on.

They say a regular practice of gratitude may improve physical and mental health, increase self-esteem, boost positive emotions like happiness, optimism, and enthusiasm, and can even reduce anxiety and improve sleep. Sounds great! Sign me up!

So, after a long night of waking at 12.56, 2:33, 4:14, and 5:21, I stood in the shower under a stream of hot, hot water and said to myself, “I’m grateful for this shower.” Then, I started thinking of the times when I didn’t have hot water, like camping, and the Grand Canyon adventure in the RV with a shower that didn't work, and years ago, when the hot water heater in our home broke on the Friday before Memorial Day weekend and we couldn’t get anyone to come until Tuesday and then they needed to order a new heater and then something was wrong when they came to install it so it was 10 whole days before we had hot water again. 

Standing in the shower, I realized that when I practice gratitude, I always add in a “because” ... 
• I’m grateful for hot water because I've lived without it for 10 days. 

• I’m grateful for clean drinking water because there are people all over the world – even in this country – who can’t drink safe water straight from the tap. 

• I’m grateful for my life because it’s everything I ever wished for and I should be grateful and satisfied with what I have. 

I’ve been doing gratitude all wrong. 

It's like adding in the “because” cancels out the gratitude. 

It’s the same way the word “but” works:
• I love you but we’re not right for each other. 

• We’re proud of you but you need to be working harder to get that physics grade up. 

• I know you’re upset, sweetie, but I can’t pick you up right now. 

No one remembers what was said before the “but.”

In the same way, your soul cancels out the gratitude, only listening to what follows the “because.” Instead of a wonderful mood booster, your gratitude practice becomes a shaming exercise. 

“I am grateful” becomes “I should be grateful” and you end up "should-ing" all over yourself.

Instead of a nonstop flight to happiness, you’ve climbed aboard a slow train to disappointment, with frequent stops at resentment, unhappiness, and despair along the way. 

The next time you sit down to reflect on the tiny, taken-for-granted, or extraordinary things in your life for which you are thankful, try leaving out the buts, the comparisons, the shoulds, and supposed tos. 

Be in this moment. Be grateful, just because. 

Big hugs,
Kathleen

​A lot of times, we assume that feeling bad is, well, bad. That being angry, lonely, sad, disappointed, resentful, and the link is something to be avoided.

So, when those feelings rise up, like when children test your patience or a friend lets you down, we try to sweep our negative emotions under the psychological rug. We try not to notice them and definitely not feel them. They're too big. Often too scary. Too much to handle. 

We say things like, "I shouldn't feel this way." "I'm making a big deal out of nothing." "I'm overreacting, as usual." 

But feelings that are pushed down and covered up don't go away. Like guests who have outstayed their welcome, they're loud, irritating, and in the way, affecting every bit of your daily routine. 

What would it be like to befriend your "bad" feelings? Maybe the feelings that get us riled up or battened down aren't bad at all. Maybe they're simply moody friends passing through.

By sitting with our feelings and noticing that resentment is here or anger is definitely in the room, we acknowledge our emotions. When we take time to be present with what is - not by picking a fight with a loved one or complaining to a friend - simply by sitting with the discomfort, we can notice and name the feelings without a story: "I'm feeling sad," "I'm lonely," "I'm really mad right now." 

Then, like a friend sitting next to you on the couch, you can sweetly say, "Of course you're feeling sad." "It's fine to feel lonely." "Anger can be a sign that your boundaries are being crossed."  

Sometimes, it helps to be creative with our feelings. Artists, musicians, dancers, and other creative folk entwine emotions into their work, creating art that connects us all. 

You, too, can link your sorrow, fear, disappointment, even anger to your own art. Whether it's a scribbled entry in your journal, fingerpainting beside your toddler, or a freeform dance in your living room, you can use whatever art is available to be with what hurts, stand next to what disappoints, and put your arms around what doesn't feel good at all. 

Then, once you and your emotions have had a little chat - or enjoyed a soul-clearing dance party - you can let your feelings go. Acknowledged and accepted, your moody friend can find their way out the door and be on their way. 

And you can be at home with yourself again. 

Hugs,
Kathleen

I'm not a fan of the term "self-care." It brings to mind long baths with essential oils and getaways with girlfriends.

I'm currently the queen of quick showers; I haven't soaked in the tub in more than a year. 

I see this, however, as a big step toward self-care.

I missed the last getaway with my group of nine coaches. 

This is self-care, too.

What I define as self-care are the commitments and promises we make to ourselves to support us as we go through the day.

Self-care is rushing through a shower so that I have time to take the dog (and me) on a walk.

Self-care is missing the coaches getaway because I needed quiet time to process the health issues that are happening with members of my family. 

Recently, I was working with a coaching client who is overwhelmed with many decisions she must make to move her life forward. Self-care wasn't coming up on her list of priorities; it didn't appear at all on her to do list. She was surviving on caffeine to get through the long hours of each day and couldn't even fathom how to fit in anything more than what she was already doing.

Water, I suggested. What about committing to drinking a 12-ounce glass of water every morning?

She blinked, surprised. That's it? 

We think of self-care as being an hour or more dedicated to ourselves, not a small moment in the morning.

We think of self-care as big things that we must plan for, make room for, get childcare for, and rearrange our schedules for.

I want you to ask yourself, "What is the minimum care I need?"

And then make it smaller.

And smaller.

And even smaller.

I want you to find your barebones minimum. 

Using your barebones minimum, I want you to make a lasting commitment to yourself by promising to do one small good thing for you, and only you, each and every day.

For my client, her barebones minimum is drinking a glass of water in the morning.

For me, I started with committing to taking my supplements and vitamins every morning.

Then, when that became a habit, I committed to drinking a green smoothie every day. 
When the smoothie became a habit, I committed to meditating. At some point each day - usually in the morning - I listen to a guided meditation by Oprah and Deepak Choprah. (FYI: They have a brand new - and free! - meditation experience starting October 29th. Go to chopracentermeditation.com/about-us to join.)

My next commitment starting this week is to do one Sun Salutation a day. Just one.

Reading the list, it seems like a lot until I remember that I started my barebones minimum project more than a year ago.

Little by little, with small moments of self-care, you can build a life you love.

I'm offering a free webinar on Tuesday, October 23rd at 10:00 a.m. PT to talk about the barebones approach to self-care. Can you join me? Even if you can't make it live, sign up and I'll send you the recording so you can listen to it later on your own time. 

In the webinar, I'll be sharing well-researched ways to build new habits, like how much easier it is to build a new habit rather than stopping an old one; how self-compassion is much more effective than negative self-talk (and it feels so much better, too); and I'll answer your questions (as best I can because this will be the first time I'll be doing a Q&A) to help you begin your own barebones commitment.

Click here to join.

Remember, my lovelies, you don't have to do it all or be everything to everybody. You only have to do your personal best, whatever that looks like today. 

And that's more than enough.
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Big hugs,
Kathleen