From the Deep

January 2009 has come and almost gone. How is it going for you? Have you taken the big leap into the dreams you’d hoped you’d realize?

We have a bright new year. In the United States, we have a brand new president. For many, hope is running high. They feel they have lived in fear and darkness, and are ready for change.

Others, however, feel fear. The change has left them afraid for the future, especially in these tenuous times. Will President Obama really have the gumption to face our challenges in ways that speak to our deepest needs?

How are you feeling?

Newness can often bring hope or fear. I’d actually say that healthy change brings both. It brings the hope that something different can happen, that our lives can shift, that we don’t have to stay stuck. But if it’s a change truly worth making, it will bring us discomfort. It will stretch us beyond what we’re used to, beyond what we know we’re capable of, toward what we’re not sure we can accomplish or handle. We’ll feel butterflies in our stomachs. We’ll doubt our abilities.

As a life coach, I say being between hope and “fear” is a great place to be. In fact, I tell my clients that if they aren’t feeling that sense of discomfort, they’re not living big enough. If they aren’t dreaming big dreams and feeling the possibility that they may fall flat on their faces, they’re playing it safe, and probably not living into their full potential.

So now that we’re a month into 2009, are you living as you want to be living? Have you chased your dreams? Or have you fallen back into habit, into the familiar? I challenge you to reconnect with your dreams, with the newness of the year and of the change in power, and to follow through on what you want. And if it would help you to have someone in your corner, I’m here.

I had a sick kiddo home with me for the first two days of this week. Today she returned to school, and I returned to business as usual, but no one notified my brain. As I attempted to tackle my e-newsletter, blog, and e-mail, I could not squeeze out a coherent thought. About all I could do was watching tweets flash across my Twitter stream. Apparently, getting back into the swing of things is going to take a little while this time around. I’m Mom Interrupted.

Those of us who stay at home with kids frequently experience interruptions in the form of sick kids, snack requests, and sibling refereeing responsibilities among others. I find interruptions challenging–it takes time and energy for me to find the flow of a project, and when something stops that, I struggle to adjust. I do, however, take comfort from this quote by C.S. Lewis:

The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one’s “own” or “real” life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life–the life God is sending one day by day.

So here’s to living the real life! And, at the request of my children, who want to perform something for me right this moment, I’m going to go live it now!

I just returned from yet another of my daughter’s basketball games. She is seven years old, and participating in the local rec league. And I have to say, every time I hear a coach yell to one of these girls “Guard your man!” I cringe inside. The only man on the court is the referee! Are they supposed to guard him? How difficult would it be to say “guard your girl,” “guard your person,” or even “guard your color,” since these girls wear different-colored wristbands identifying themselves so their opponents can guard them?

I let out a little steam via my Twitter and Facebook status bars, and was unpleasantly surprised at the reactions I received. I got condescension from some–”duh, that’s just the way it is”–factual acceptance, and an accusation that I was being “politically correct” and therefore contributing to the downward spiral of our culture. That was from the women. From the men, I got jokes. I’m not sure which gender’s reactions disturb me more. (As I was typing this, I received a few supportive comments from some of the men in my life.)

I’ve worked in the publishing field since 1993 where we trip over our pronouns to help everyone feel included. I remember giving manuscript feedback to an older gentleman about his use of male-oriented words when speaking of both genders. He said something to the effect of “That doesn’t matter to me.” I told him “It had better matter to you, because believe me, it matters in the publishing world. If you want your manuscript accepted, you’d better change those pronouns to plural or male-and-female inclusive, or the publishing houses won’t give you a second look.” We use “people” instead of “men,” “humanity” and “humankind” instead of “mankind.” We refer to men as “men” and women as “women.” It’s not just PC. It’s accuracy. 

Why does that change once female athletes step onto the court, field, or diamond? Why do we accept that the sports realm may still be dominated by men, even when we have professional women’s teams? Is it any wonder that women feel less capable, “less than” than men in the sporting arena? Why their professional leagues struggle?

Some may say I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. Those people don’t understand the damage we’ve historically done to girls and women, who are now over half the world population, by pretending they don’t exist in the name of “convenience.” But first, let’s go to the world of seven-year-old girls. Seven year olds are concrete thinkers. So when someone calls a girl a “man,” what does she think? At first, she is confused. You women may remember this long ago. Someone has to tell her, “We use the term ‘man,’ to refer to all people.” She has to make the mental jump to think “I’m not a ‘girl.’ I’m a ‘man’.” Boys don’t have to do this.

So she begins to make the translation. And over and over she hears this, and the translation becomes easier and easier. She’s adjusting to the world as it has been set up for her. One day, she has it down pat. The message has become clear: being female isn’t even worth being mentioned. Femininity isn’t respected. And forever she fights an uphill battle to be taken seriously. But this all goes underground, because it’s the “accepted” and “convenient” way of speaking. And sometimes, I’m learning, the women defend this the most strongly, perhaps because they want to be seen as not complaining, as “one of the guys,” as tough enough not to let “little” words bother them.

If you think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, fine. But before you write me off or write to me, please engage in a simple exercise. Read a passage in the Bible, which is generally translated with exclusive language. (This isn’t a religious exercise, so it will work even if you don’t hold to Christianity. Make sure to avoid Today’s New International Version and other versions that have been translated with inclusive language.) Find your favorite passage or story, and read that passage aloud, changing all references of “men” to “women,” of “he” to “she,” of “him” to “her” regardless of whether it is accurate. I realize you may be coming to this exercise with a preconceived notion, but as best as you can, lay that aside. Read the passage, and note how you feel. Then imagine if this were your experience over and over, in various contexts, throughout your life. What might your life be like?

I realize I’m poking at something that will probably never change. But I have to speak. I will conclude now with my response to someone’s comment about this topic on my Facebook page: 

Do you realize that as women we are constantly translating “him” to “her”? “Man” to “woman”? And that men don’t have to do that? We’ve been conditioned to do this and to think this is okay. And it’s no longer okay! Most of the world doesn’t do this anymore! Why do we accept it in athletic circles when we want girls to participate in it more? Why do we insist that women participate in athletics according to the rules, including terminology, that the men set up a long time ago when we weren’t allowed to play at all? Why doesn’t our language change to reflect the reality we say we want–that women are equal to men on and off the field?

P.S. And just for the record, I love men. I have a husband. I have a son. I have many male friends. I think men are great! All I’m asking is let the men be “men,” the women be “women,” the boys be “boys,” and the girls be “girls.” We might all be amazed at the change in our sports culture should it choose to line up with the rest of the world.

I’m joyful, heartbroken, overwhelmed, grief-stricken, and angry.

My daughter struggles with sensory processing issues, and yesterday I took her to yet another occupational therapy session to treat it. The therapy seems to be working, my daughter enjoys it, and we love her therapist. But after every session the therapist hands me a list of more activities I need to add to our packed days, and the heartbreak and overwhelm set in. I feel so much joy when I look at my daughter, but I’m sad she faces these additional hurdles to overcome (hence the grief and anger), and I struggle to make the changes and additions to our schedule that the therapist prescribes.

So here I sit in it. And I keep trying not to run away emotionally. I wouldn’t run away physically, but I find it easy to distract myself from experiencing my feelings. I can dive into busyness. I can numb my heart with online social networking. I can call a friend and chatter meaninglessly.

None of these things are bad in themselves. Sometimes we need a healthy dose of escapism. But it’s always temporary. When we return to real life, the feelings have made themselves at home in our hearts, and sometimes they greet our return with a vengeance. They’re mad we’ve neglected them.

One of the principles of life coaching is Process, and we coaches colloquialize it using the term “being with.” Process is about the ability to be with whatever shows up in our lives. The extent to which we can be with the experiences and feelings we face, whether positive or negative, is the extent to which we have access to our fullest lives. If we can be with anger, conflict, even celebration, then our world is big, full, and rich. But if we can’t be with those emotions–if we do whatever we can, whether consciously or unconsciously, to avoid those things–then our lives shrink. We have less vitality available to us.

To gain it back, we do the tough work of “being with.” We learn to sit with difficult feelings as they arise: the deep sadness, the raging anger, even the tremendous joy (have you ever noticed how some people can’t celebrate victories or hear praise of themselves, how quickly they deflect it or distract themselves and others from it?).

The good news is that feelings are fairly fleeting. When we choose to experience them, we move through them to a place of greater peace. And not only is this a good tool for us to learn, it’s a good one for us to teach our gifted kids who are often so sensitive. Modeling it for them and giving them tools for processing their feelings will be an investment in their lifelong well-being.

So I don’t have answers for what’s going on in my world or in my twice-exceptional child’s world right now. She’ll do the therapy, we’ll support her at home, and we’ll wait for her brain to integrate the messages her body is communicating. In the meantime, if I can experience my feelings about it all and not run from them, I will have gone through this experience well. I will have lived it and gained from it whatever gift it has to give me.

What are you experiencing in your world today? What feelings have arisen as a result of your experiences? Can you be with them? By being with them, you’ll move through them and gain greater access to your fullest self and your fullest life.

P.S. If you’d like help being with any of your emotions or experiences, please contact me for a free thirty-minute sample coaching phone call. I’d love to be with you in whatever you’re feeling and experiencing!

Today in the United States of America power has changed hands as we’ve inaugurated our forty-fourth president, Barack Hussein Obama.  Some of us embrace this change, feeling hope for the future. Others of us are wary, wondering whether this new administration can handle the challenges it faces. Despite what we may feel, in the USA we are fortunate because power changes hands peaceably. In many countries such shift of power comes with more conflict, violence even. We are blessed that this isn’t true in our nation.

Most of us want change in our country and in our lives. But when we want to shift more personal things, we don’t experience a calm shift in power. We look at our lives, and wish things were different or better in one way or other. When we think of making the change, we may feel euphoria: “this is a change I can believe in!” But when we actually take a step or two in the direction of the shift we want, we experience turmoil the likes of power changing hands in dictator-led countries. It’s a coup d’etat. Our insides turn upside-down.

To calm the fray, we balk. We make excuses. We try to create peace treaties within ourselves. “If you just calm down, I’ll take a smaller step. Or I won’t take a step at all. I’ll move backwards if you like. Just chill, will ya?”

But what we get, then, is a less powerful life. Is that truly change you can believe in?

What change do you want in your life? And what turmoil are you willing to endure? The butterflies you feel in your stomach you can either interpret as fear or as excitement. When you reframe it and are willing to face it, a new day can arrive in your life.

P.S. If you’d like help making change in your life, including facing the turmoil of it, contact me for a complimentary thirty-minute coaching phone call. I’d love to help!

Today in the United States we celebrate the birthday of Martin Luther King, Jr., a figure in our national history dedicated to civil rights, to equality for all. Had he lived, he would have turned 80 years old on Jan. 15 of this year. On August 28, 1963, King delivered his famous “I Have a Dream” speech in which he shared his great hopes for us all:

• “I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’”
• “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”
• “I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.”

*THUNK*

*SNAP!!!*

*silence*

The fact that silence, not screaming wails, followed the “snap” comforted me as I turned off the kitchen faucet. I’d been washing breakfast dishes when the thunk-snap-silence sequence happened. I looked into the family room where I saw two young faces, garnering stunned and guilty expressions. Both children were intact; the immense snap sound hadn’t accompanied a broken bone, thank God. The kids were gazing in the direction of the back door, so I looked at it too. From the glass door’s wood blind hung two slats, broken completely in half.

The kids had been engaging in some before-school athletics apparently, a game they’d created involving a humongous liquid-filled koosh ball and air time. Performing the post-breakfast cleaning, I hadn’t entirely tuned into what they were doing. I only put two and two together as I viewed the evidence.

A few weeks ago, the broken wood blind would have set me off in a tirade. Our house is tremendously kid-friendly, and I allow creative, messy–and admittedly sometimes rough–play in our house, more than perhaps many moms do. But I’ve repeatedly instructed my children that hurling toys in the house is strictly off-limits. Still, they’ve continued to do it, and today they learned the reasoning behind the rule. So in my mind, I had a sturdy foundation for a full-on lecture complete with voice rising in volume and pitch until it became a frenzy of unintelligible words and paraverbal utterances.

But instead, at least at first, this is what my kids heard: *silence*

I looked at the broken blind, and in some gift of divine brilliance (definitely not from me) called two mantras to mind: 1. No talking; and 2. No emotion.

When I was a kid, sometimes I would receive a paint-by-numbers kit, one that included the brushes, paints, and a piece of cardboard covered with crazy, numbered shapes. I could fill in all the 2’s with periwinkle, the 5’s with chartreuse, and the 18’s with amethyst, and create artwork that actually resembled something such as a landscape or a kitten with a ball of yarn. It may have looked blotchy up close, but it was safe.

I have a healthy appreciation for numbers. My husband is a rocket scientist, and if those folks don’t understand numbers and how to manipulate them, spacecrafts crash. However, some areas of life don’t translate well to mathematical measurement. Over the weekend I listened to the January 4, 2009 episode of “This American Life,” an NPR podcast. This episode featured stories about how various people have used numbers to measure more subjective areas of life such as relationships, artwork, and music. As I listened to the podcast, I anticipated discovering something new about how ratings might increase our happiness and satisfaction in life.

I didn’t. We simply can’t measure certain concepts by numbers. For example, what kind of rating do you give a hand squeeze from someone you love? Does it depend on the intensity of the touch? The length of time s/he touches you? The perceived motive for it (love vs. an indication to stop talking because you’re embarrassing your partner)? Can you truly appreciate a picture or a song because it was created with polls in mind? 

What happens when we try to objectify subjective areas is that we miss the human element. We miss the heart. When I talk about the heart, I’m not just talking about emotion. Greater than that, I’m referring to our very core–our deepest sense of identity–and how we offer it freely to the world.

So what does this have to do with parenting gifted children? Sometimes I think many of us would LOVE to parent by numbers. We want formulas. God, please give us a formula! You gave us these quirky children with no handbook! And the irony isn’t lost on me: to a degree we look to numbers–test scores–to determine whether our kids are gifted.

But giftedness is about a complete profile. Test scores contribute to it, but it also includes emotional, social, and spiritual components that our kids bring: their sensitivity, their ability to experience complex feelings, their sense of justice, their creativity. It’s about their humanity.

And we need to engage ours when we parent them. Do you know your heart? Do you know who you are at the core? And do you know how to parent your gifted children from that place?

Perhaps parenting from the heart isn’t as safe as painting by numbers. It’s more messy. We can feel very far at sea sometimes. It can be scads more frustrating. But believe me, it’s far more beautiful.

I clicked “Send,” and the party began. I’d just submitted a piece of editing work that had dogged me for months. I had no deadline, so the project hung over my head as I dealt with more urgent tasks such as taking care of my kids, blogging, and watching “Whose Line” reruns. Finally, in an effort to rid myself of the burden, I’d committed myself to work on this project a couple of hours each week, and today, the deed was done. I attached the manuscript to an e-mail, and happily sent it on its way.

Then the party started. I felt jubilant inside and needed to do a victory dance. However, dancing alone in my office just didn’t cut it. I needed an audience. No, I needed companions, witnesses. So I sent out a tweet on Twitter: “Just sent off the Powerful Conversations Course to its next destination! And now for a little victory dance!” Even that seemed a little anemic. So I started inviting dance song requests. As responses came in, I played the songs on iTunes and danced to them, sending out a tweet to the person who requested it dedicating that dance to her. I felt so happy and grateful that I had my friends joining in my joy, laughing along with me, and participating in the craziness.

As a life coach, I notice that many of my clients struggle with celebration. I understand them, because I struggle with it too! I’m not sure why. I think most of my clients tend to be highly intelligent people, people who achieve a lot, and for whom celebration comes hard because it feels like celebration should be saved for big occasions. I’m all for celebrating big occasions! A wedding, a birthday party, the beginning of a new year, and completing a projects all deserve celebration.

But big celebrations are few and far between. Where’s the joy in the everyday? What about the small victories in life? What about making lunches for the kids? Making it through a boring meeting? Getting the grocery shopping done? So much drudgery. Where is the light?

I used to make fun of athletes who’d do a victory dance after achieving what boiled down to doing their job. They’d make a tackle, then dance their carefully choreographed moves. I used to equate that to making a photocopy on the Xerox machine. I’d place the paper on the glass, press the copy button, then do my own dance. But I was making fun, not joining in.

I know that football players now receive penalties for any kind of organized celebrating, and I understand why. It takes time. The game drags because of it. But you know what, I’m no longer certain that celebrating the more mundane plays is a bad thing. Perhaps we need to add more time into our days for just such acknowledgement.

After all, life is hard. It’s hard for everyone. As parents of gifted children, we face many struggles. Sometimes just getting our kids out the door to run errands or go to school is a victory. Have you ever felt like that? I sure have. And we face those trials constantly. We expend massive amounts of energy trying to strategize our days so they run as smoothly as they possibly can, and even still events converge to thwart us (such as trying to finish this blog post while my daughter blithely–and loudly–sings “B-I-N-G-0″ instead of doing her homework.) So when we achieve something simple or an activity goes exceptionally easy for us, whether big or small, wouldn’t it be worth a momentary celebration, a little victory dance?

Hey, I just finished this post! I’m taking requests…

“Should the air pressure in the cabin depressurize, an oxygen mask will fall from the compartment above you. Place the mask over your nose and mouth, pulling the straps on either side to tighten the mask against your face. If you’re traveling with a child, place your mask on your face first, then assist your child.”

I love airplane travel, and have heard the above speech hundreds of times. Usually, I give it only cursory attention; having heard it so many times, I could probably deliver the spiel. But sometimes I wonder whether, in case of emergency, I really will know what to do should oxygen masks pop in front of my face and those of my children. I imagine my first impulse would be to help my children. Forget what the flight attendant says, my babies are in danger!

But why do the airlines give this advice? Do they hate children? Are children the disposable people on the plane? We all know the answer to this one: parents need to take care of themselves first so they can then help their children.

Applied to the rest of life where we face so many emergencies–spilled milk, sibling squabbles, skinned knees–we can easily forget this wisdom. Instead, we run between one disaster to another with little regard for our own needs. As parents of gifted kids, we may feel this even more. We’ve had to deal with more intense tantrums, discussions with teachers who don’t understand giftedness, appointments with professionals to help us deal with 2e issues, among others. At the end of the day, we fall into bed utterly exhausted emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually. Then we wake the next morning with low energy and dread for what the day might bring.

What might happen if we applied oxygen mask wisdom to all of our parenting? What if we took care of ourselves in the interest of caring for our kids’ needs? What might change then? How would we think differently? What would we do differently?

I believe some of us fear we’ll become selfish, narcissistic machines, doing nothing but going for massages and manicures. Our kids will go hungry and sit in squalor, crying, while we read our gossip magazines and sip our tea. But really, with the amount of sacrifice we’ve shown we can give, are we really even capable of this?

What if it were imperative that you took care of yourself so that you could take care of your children? What would you do? And what might the real results be? Could it be that your kids would have a mom who has more energy and groundedness from which to operate, more love to give away? Tell me what you think!