What’s in a butterfly?  Transformation, one vulnerable yet powerful creature taking refuge and time in their own delicately crafted home.

Protected and nurtured from the outside world, the caterpillar is given the time it needs by nature and the universe to morph into it’s full potential.

Once the caterpillar breaks free of it’s cocoon, it has now transformed into another beautiful version of it’s original and powerful self.  Still the same at it’s core yet developed in ways to show it’s true brilliant colors in flight.

The process of the butterfly is natural. Intuition takes over as the caterpillar’s body flows with the rhythm it’s soul has been given. Because of this, the butterfly is truly developed. It has followed it’s own path and not the path of others.

Just like the butterfly, we as humans are given the same chance at transformation. Especially at this time of social distancing and self quarantine. As long as we follow our intuition and natural flow each of us will come out of this transformed. Our colors fully brightened and our wingspan broadened.

Yet, the opposite is held too. If we fight the flow and our natural instincts we risk never developing to our full potential. Remaining in a cocoon, of our own making, indefinitely.

I am reminded of this choice again and again as I question if my way is the right way for those in my care and home. Cocooned in my home like the rest of the world. Just as we are bombarded with information on what foods to feed our family, what plastics to drink out of, what beauty products to slap on, what diet trends to follow … we are doused with information on this worldwide virus.

What mask to wear. When to wear it. Should you wash your mail? Wash it with what? Visit a grandparent? Order groceries from here but not there. Stand six feet away. Don’t travel. “THIS”is RIGHT and “THIS” is WRONG. And just as we are given news report after news report of information, we also find ourselves swept up in a new whirlwind of social media comparison. Home school schedules, pantry organizers, kids in pajamas, parents in pajamas, DIY this, DIY that, chakra clearings, accept this ZOOM invite morning, noon and night …. what to do, what to do. All of it seeming so overwhelming.

The answer for each of us lies inside. Just like the butterfly, we can find the transformation in our natural instinct. Following our intuition on what is right for ourselves, our families and our homes. What is a natural flow for one human butterfly may not be the same for another. Each of our journeys different, each transformation personal.

As long as we stick to what is right in our own individual hearts and follow our own flow, each of us will be transformed for the better. When the time comes and this pandemic is put to sleep, each of us will be released from our cocoons. Each transformed.  Colors bright and wings spread.

Living in fear and panic is not the answer. When we are under the waters of life such mindframe and actions fueled by dark feelings only fill our lungs with muddy waters rather than the fresh breath that can set us free. The COVID-19 virus is so much more than a bug at this point, it’s a reflection of how we choose to live life. 

How each of us treat the illness and respond to the outbreak says something about the person we are in life, what we direct our focus and energy on can not be hidden as we have nothing to hide behind … our vices stripped, our job titles gone, our bank accounts and retirement funds bleeding. Stripped of what covers our true colors we can either choose to shine or shroud ourselves with fear and panic. 

With the news changing each and every morning about the pandemic, I too change with each day. I’ve had feelings of peace, exhaustion, gratitude, sadness, love, guilt and the list goes on. But when I stop in stillness and push away the curtain of fear and panic the world becomes clear. 

I’m almost ashamed at my behavior only a week ago. I can’t believe where some of my focus was directed at. The little things I took for granted, the foolish items and actions that I was holding as a priority.  I was drowning my authentic self in muddy waters that I was CHOOSING. I was choosing WHAT to be stressed out over, those stressors weren’t choosing me. 

Though I have too many vices and anxieties to name, I can name my comforts that I find myself turning to in this time of turbulence. Finding peace in writing, baking and cooking, being close to my children and connecting with my friends. A week ago I rarely found time to actually put my thoughts to paper. A week ago I despised being in the kitchen out of the time suck that I felt cooking was. A week ago I barely got to spend real quality time with my children since the time we were together was either to and from an activity or getting school work done or running errands. My friends and I were always “busy” with the activities of our kids or some time suck that we chose over one another. It’s almost heartbreaking that only a week ago I chose to devote my time and energy to things that really don’t even matter, things that didn’t even bring real joy, things that just filled my soul with muddy waters rather than letting my authentic self breathe. 

Yes, this virus is causing real pain, real death and real loss – but it’s also creating a second chance, a restart button on life. A restart that doesn’t involve what others think of me. A button that goes beyond grades and the score of a game. Energy that’s fed to the soul rather than to being busy. Care that’s devoted to relationships rather than things. 

The entire world is still under water as we fight against a tiny germ that has an enormous grip on our lives. But will we bust through the waves breathing freely or will we drown in muddy waters? The choice is ours. 

The jig was up …

Someone that I love very much has called me out on a problem that I have come to recognize as a lifestyle. A lifestyle I deemed as a success, that I gave many names and adjectives to except the correct one.  For dignity purposes let’s say health nut but it’s one of those nuts that fell on the pantry ground 10 years ago, was kicked into a dark corner, forgotten and is now rancid.

I have disordered eating. No, I’m not a 17 year-old girl trying to fit in with the popular crowd. I’m a grown woman with kids and an adult life full of responsibilities, friends, love and family. I wasn’t beaten or grew up neglected. But here I am at 33 without knowing how to really eat because, well, my eating is disordered.  Even worse my self-image is an extension of that disordered eating making my seemingly normal lifestyle perfectly disordered.

I feel full of shame and embarrassment as I even write this.  I mean for god’s sake this is the problem of a teenager, not a grown ass woman.  The thoughts in the back of my head tell me that people will judge me thinking that such behavior lacks common sense and willpower. Surely people will say  to just get over it. But I surely cannot be the only one that thinks this way. To say aloud or at least in words that I really do have a problem.

The jig was up ….

I started to look into the dark corners of this reality on my own and what I found was darker than what I had hoped. But where there is darkness there is always light, as long as you have faith.  I searched the all knowing internet, the books offered through Amazon, the library and online. I rifled through blog searches and chat boards. I found plenty dealing with mothers of those who had an eating disorder and I found a book here and there about women with eating disorders but the actual mother with an eating disorder that was a straight shooter and not part of a research project was pretty far and in between. Why was is such a secret? I have a feeling that I’m not the only one. After all, most women I come across are body bashing, talking about the newest diet or skipping a meal here and there to hopefully make up for that cookie eaten four days ago.

I began to look at the ways in which my behavior mirrored the inner workings of my mind. A control freak. A perfectionist. My self-image and body image crumbling with each new diet I latched onto or a day of eating that I deemed “bad”. My exercise regimen stressed like my body and mind were. I was caring and nurturing three little ones but when it came to caring for the one who loved those little babes the most … the word that comes to mind is anything but care.

The jig was up …

I was pouring so much time and energy into diets and rules surrounding my eating, molding my body and my mind frame of what was right and what was wrong. I spent lengths of time reading books, surfing Pinterest, sifting through blogs about achieving the ultimate clean eating and body. But in my mind I had never been to that point of perfection and I would never get there as I ultimately didn’t believe in myself. A reflection of so much more than just my disordered eating.

The jig was up …

One writing exercise in a self-image workbook that made me truly sad was one in which you were to write down all the eating rules you followed. After I completed my list I counted each one resulting in 26 different rules. That’s right 26. I can only imagine all the time and energy that went into upholding these rules. What’s even worse and more time-consuming is that each time I broke a rule I would mentally and emotionally beat myself up. I was a failure. Breaking a rule broke my vision of perfection which broke my spirit which broke my day which meant that I wasn’t living or enjoying life to its fullest all because the nutrition content of what I put into my mouth or the numbers on the scale or what time I had eaten my least bite of the day.

I fixated on these feelings of out of control fatness. That if I didn’t get up and move each and every second I was nothing but a sloth. That if I didn’t workout each day that I would blow up over night. That if I wasn’t thin than I was uglier than I already was. If I wasn’t the number I wanted to see on the scale then It all mattered so much. The skin that I wore on my body meant more than the soul that my body held. What had I done? The jig was up …

Exploration of this so-called clean living fixation that I associated will power and healthy habits is leading me through a dark journey of what I’m reflecting as a mother and how I’m acting as a woman and a wife. However, where there is dark there is always light. You gotta face the storm before the rainbows and Care Bears appear.  Let the journey begin.

The jig is up and now it’s time to share. Sharing to heal. Sharing to find. Sharing to let others know they aren’t alone. Sharing so other moms begin to realize that starving isn’t healthy, working out until the body aches is not natural, that we are not the number on the scale or the cookies we eat. Most of these fixations are only skin deep. What really matters are attributes that cannot be contained by the body, the scale or the rules we apply to foods and exercise.  The jig is up …

As I was leading an open table discussion during a MOPS meeting, the topic of mothers knowing who “they were” once their children left the nest came up. It was only a point of topic for a brief moment in the larger scheme of our conversation on friendship. It was one that we all knew was important but had yet to fully dive into as to why and how.  A few days later the topic came back to mind as I waited for my daughter’s dance class to begin.  On the flat screens displayed on the walls I watch two women in their late fifties fully enthralled in a tap class. Tap shoes slapping the grown as their voluptuous bodies and boobs bounced with each step they took across the floor. It was freaking awesome to watch. Thinking,why the hell not? I commend those ladies for living out their passions and diving into their interests. These women knew what they liked, in turn they knew their selves. Tap on ladies, tap on!

Knowing ourselves. Living out our dreams or feeding our curiosities. Whether it be in the form of an adult dance class, writing a blog, running a race or even fully emerging oneself into a season of “The Bachelorette”.  Taking part in an expression where we are caring for the person we are, not worrying about the type of mother we are.

“Tap on!”

I don’t question what I will do with my time or my thoughts when Erik and I have an empty nest.  I tend to plan for it on a daily basis.

“Tap on!”

Putting myself in the shoes of my children, I try to imagine what they see when they look at me – not physically but as a person with interests.  I want to write books. I want to visit different cities and experience other cultures. I want to taste exotic foods. I want to cook difficult recipes and create amazing cakes. I want to start each day with a yoga class. I want to help others when they feel as if they have lost their way. I want to dive into the pages of the book to venture through the minds of other dreamers. I want to conquer so much while experiencing the brilliance that everyday life has to offers. Who says I can’t just because I’m a mom?

“Tap on!”

As a perfectionist it’s easy to get lost in the ideal outcome of my goals. Even easier to not acknowledge the milestones I hit and surpass. Taking a moment to acknowledge the efforts and time I put into my passions and interests today, I realize that I’m living out all that I want to do. I may not be making fists full of cash in the writing I do but I’m writing. I may not be taking classes from Dali Lama but I’m making it to my mat at least three times a week. I’m seeing new things and tasting new foods. I’m experiencing fresh ideas and technology through the eyes of my children. I’m learning and growing each and every day as a mother, a wife, a leader and a friend. Though they may be small acts and tasks, they be mighty. I have faith that it’s all preparation for the time when my little ones will push off and fly on their own. I’ll always be their mom but when I’m alone with my thoughts and my time, I’ll know exactly the direction that I will take and how to transform baby steps into long legged leaps.

“Tap on!”

The only way we end up failing as mothers isn’t by the acts that we do or the dreams that we follow, but rather the ones that we don’t do and that we don’t follow. A person will never meet their full potential if they don’t try reaching for it at all.

Be brave and “tap on”. Passions, interests, hobbies, dreams and goals never age they only grow wiser and more precise.

I’m a natural-born control freak. I’m a mom of three. The words control and kids are not two that tend to blend well.  The combination of these two means I get angry a lot.

I get angry when I can’t go to the gym when my kids are sick.

I get angry when no one eats the dinner I made with complains of being hungry an hour later.

I get angry when it feels as there is constant squabbling in the first hour of my little ones emerging from their beds.

I get angry when I just want to watch a television show with guns and sex for entertainment but can’t.

I get angry when I have the flu but no one cares.

I get angry when I just want to eat a meal in peace rather than be asked for something every time I attempt to put a fork to my lips.

I get angry when all I want to do is read a book in silence for 10 minutes.

I get angry when I just want to take a shower but everyone needs to poop all at one time.

I get angry when i want to eat a piece of chocolate without hiding in a pantry or separate room.

I get angry when babysitters cancel last minute.

I get angry when I want to leave the house without it taking 30 minutes to get everyone out the door.

I get angry when everyone has clean clothes and I can’t find a pair of socks for myself.

I get angry when other moms say that they never get angry. I get angry when getting angry as a mom is taboo. Getting angry is part of the job of a mom, how you handle that anger is another factor in the equation. I have no fear of my anger, no shame either. I face my anger straight on, I accept it and recognize it. I express it to my spouse, my mom and my friends. As a MOPS Coordinator I share it with my members to let them know they are not alone in their anger. “Mom anger” isn’t just for control freaks, it’s a reality for all moms. Rather than denying that it exists, I embrace it, I deal with it and I use it to motivate happiness and solutions to bad days and terrible mommy moments. Without anger you can’t have happy. Deal with the anger to get to the happy.

Confession: While Travis had the stomach bug, Polar Express was played on repeat for 7 hours. I’ve never hated the sound of Tom Hanks voice so much as I did that day.

That day has turned into a metaphor for my holiday season … a Bi-Polar Express on constant repeat with singing, chocolate, sparkles and Santa in my face taunting me like a relentless car salesman.

Choo-choo.

There’s so much that I want to see and do but there’s so much that I “have to” see and do. So much planning and conspiring. It seems this Bi-Polar Express is a common theme for women during the holiday season. I see it in the eyes of my friends. I hear it in the voice of strangers. I read it in the pages of my favorite magazines. I watch it on the cheesy Hallmark movies.

Choo-choo, the Bi-Polar Holiday Express is in full throttle.

Christmas menus. Christmas gifts. Christmas wrapping. Christmas programs. Christmas traveling. Christmas cookies. Christmas charities. Christmas trees. Christmas cards. Christmas elves. Christmas EVERY. THING.

Choo-choo.

Facebook is of no help during this season of Bi-Polar Express. I feel as if I have a scarlet letter across the chest of my Facebook profile picture as my feed pukes pictures of families doing each and every Christmas event in the 20 mile radius of our home as I travel only 5 minutes within the vincinity of my home.

Choo-choo.

As an introvert I find my self sweating just thinking about attending all 157,345 family events that are offered during Christmas in Chicagoland. Give me some really good eggnog, a present at the top of my list, Holiday Inn on the television, “Drummer Boy” playing on the radio and my family around my table and I am set. But some how my vision of the perfect holiday is one that isn’t highlighted on the cover of Family Fun magazine. I’m pretty sure that a picture of me holding a cup of eggnog, eating a GLUTEN filled cookie, in my robe on the couch as I watch the Bishop’s Wife would not get a single Facebook LIKE compared to the pictures I see of families decked out in matching Christmas attire as they walk hand in hand down the Magnificent Mile after a day of attending all 157,345 Chicagoland Christmas events, without a single child having a public meltdown.

Choo-choo.

Even the Gremlin on the Shelf is taunting me, judging me. Asking with his brightly painted blue eyes if I was doing enough in the world of elves? Was just placing his little felt demon body on a shelf good enough? According to Pinterest and Facebook, it was not. Articles with titles such as  “Most Creative Elf Sightings”  and “Clever Elf ”  fill my inbox and news feed. It turns out the phrase Elf on the Shelf is to ONLY be used when describing where you bought him/her, not where you are actually to place the tiny judgmental figurine.

Choo-choo.

So what if, like the little boy on Polar Express, I pulled that massive STOP lever. Would I be greeted by Tom Hanks telling me that I did the right thing? That yes, it was okay to only attend the 3 events I liked of the 157,345 offered events? That posting pictures of my kids sweaty and in un-matching outfits on Santa’s lap on Facebook was okay and that drinking eggnog is not a thing of the past?  That making no-bake cookies was A-Okay? Would he tell me that all “the other stuff” was just that … stuff? All the sparkle and the To-Do lists were just a mad commercialism cover-up?  Would this Tom Hanks sounding man look a little like Jesus? Or maybe even resemble your children as they ask to just stay home to watch Home Alone for the 10th time. Whatever he may be in your world, I bet he’d simply  ask “What’s your reason for the season?” And you better have a damn good reason besides the Joneses.

Choo-choo.

A month ago I left my home and usual schedule for 24 hours with three dear mommy friends. We began our adventure over lunch in an adult restaurant. No kid’s menu in view. The lunch was the start to a day full of massages, pedicures, lounging, talking, adult drinks and finished with a night in crisp white sheets in a dark room of a fancy hotel where no children could be heard and no beds would be shared.

The below request from Santa was inspired by this 24 hour extravaganza. I highly recommend all parents to add two electronic keys to a fancy hotel room to their list this year. (My husband and I will be cashing ours in next weekend.)

Dear Santa,

All I want for Christmas are two electronic keys to a fancy hotel room.

A suite furnished with a nice comfy bed adorned with crisp white sheets that I do not have to clean or straighten. A spotless penthouse with no children or husbands to care or cook for. A giant television not playing football or cartoons but rather HGTV, Food Network or TLC. A short elevator ride to the hotel spa where I am the one pampered and cleaned, making changing Pampers diapers and cleaning butts a distant memory. A room that sparkles and gleams with a shiny telephone allowing the only finger I need to lift is one to press the number associated with room service or housekeeping. No dishes to be done and no vacuums to be pushed. No fights or screams over toys or bedtimes, only silence and the hum of a mini-fridge stocked with free snacks and drinks.

All I want for Christmas are those two electronic keys to my fancy hotel room.