writing

Who am I NOT to?

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I write amazing blog posts.

In my head. While I am in the shower. The words and water flow with equal force and cleansing power. I am profound, smart, funny. I am fired up and ready to break the writing slump.

Then I sit here and…doubt. Insecurity. Fear. Creep in. Actually, not creep. More like trample me. They pummel me until I give in and the blinking cursor becomes too much and I distract myself with Facebook and Instagram. And if it were not Lent, also red wine.

Social media is the worst place to be when spiraling in impostor syndrome. Except today. While scrolling a writer I admire and respect posted this link to an article about the real meaning of self-care.

It often means looking your failures and disappointments square in the eye and re-strategizing. It is not satiating your immediate desires. It is letting go. It is choosing new. It is disappointing some people. It is making sacrifices for others. It is living a way that other people won’t, so maybe you can live in a way that other people can’t.

Looking failures in the eye. Letting go. Choosing new. Oof. I am not particularly strong in any of these things. I’ve stopped myself from a lot, mostly writing, because I doubt the universality or applicability of my experience. If it doesn’t resonate with everyone, then it’s not worthwhile.

This afternoon my ten year old son participated in a student-led parent teacher conference. Twenty Google slides and 10 minutes of talking about himself and school. Friends, favorite subjects, what he excels in, where he needs development. It was totally awesome (Yeah public schools and tax dollars at work!) and inspiring. He was terrified. He did it anyway. He was awesome and inspiring.

Brene Brown says that we need to stop looking for proof of our un-belonging, because we will always find it. If this is true, which I believe it is, then, the opposite is also true. If we look for evidence of belonging, then will also find that.

I found validation in a quote on Facebook. I found courage in the hazel eyes, messy hair, and shaky voice of my ten year old son. I re-found my voice and went back to the notes I had hastily scribbled after I got out of the shower this morning.

Questioning the value of my story is a huge disservice to the work it took me to get here.

Who am I to write about myself, life, parenting, writing, coaching, friendship, love, family, faith?

I am the expert on my own life. Who am I not to?

Who am I not to blog post idea

Say Yes. Think After.

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(I posted this on LinkedIn on 4/5/2017.)

My son is a cancer survivor. Stay with me, this post is not about that. He was diagnosed with stage four cancer at age three. He beat the odds stacked against him and is now 11. I have been writing our memoir about that time for seven years. That’s not a typo. Years. There are all sorts of reasons and excuses for this, but if I’m truly honest with myself, the main reason is that… I stopped saying yes to myself.

I’ve been pretty unhappy in one area of my life. I allowed that stagnation to seep into every other aspect of who I am. I didn’t even know it was happening. I stopped listening to music in my car. I never took my full lunch hour, choosing instead to watch stupid TV while sitting at my desk. I gained weight. I gossiped with and about others (and I know they gossiped about me; if someone does it with you, they will do it about you). I was not creating.

A few weeks ago, in a moment of desperation (or clarity?), I signed up to participate in a “Pitchapalooza” event with The Book Doctors. I didn’t think I would get picked to pitch and honestly, I forgot I submitted my name. But, in that moment, I said yes. I would figure out the how later.

A few days before the event, I got an email outlining next steps. “Whoa boy, I guess I am doing this!” The pitch itself was one minute. Whhhhaaaat? One minute to summarize the most traumatic event of my life? I worked furiously. I wrote. I edited. I wrote and edited even more. I went inside and created. I wrote from the heart and it showed in my pitch. I didn’t think. I didn’t over-think. I walked on stage and told.

Here’s my Dear Boys pitch. (Please note that the video was captured by a dear friend of mine whom I recruited one hour before the event. He’s not a professional and my phone is a four year old Android, so be kind, thanks!)

The best things have come to me when I stopped thinking, or really, stopped doubting myself, and said yes. I said yes to the opportunity to stand in front of two incredibly helpful, thoughtful, and successful writers and tell our story. Then, I got three minutes of feedback from them. What a gift!

I learned two important lessons last week. 1: There is indeed an audience and a need for my book and I have the writing chops to make it happen. I will make it happen.

And more important, 2: Start saying yes. I need to think less and do more. Say yes to whatever creative outlet makes me feel alive. For me, those outlets are career coaching, writing, and obsessively redecorating the mantel in my family room. I’ve done a lot more of all three since the event last week. It was less than a week ago. I have made more progress on my memoir than I had in the last three months! Creativity fuels creativity. It is not a well that will dry out, it actually feeds itself.

Say yes first. Think after. Maybe. Say yes to yourself. I’d love to hear where your “yes” takes you!

P.S.- I also recently finished Shonda Rhimes’ Year of Yes, so I have no doubt that her advice was whispering to me when I signed up. I recommend her book to anyone feeling stuck and looking to make a leap.

#WisdomWednesday #amwriting #memoir #careercoaching #resumewriter

Blank Pages

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It is always surprising to me how the various areas of my life converge. Not surprised in a “Oh my gosh, how did THAT ever happen?” way but, more of a sheepish, “I shouldn’t be surprised, because of course that is how life is!” way. Lately, I have been wanting to write more. Professionally about my dissertation research and my own journey as a mid-career mom. I have also been wanting to write about our journey through childhood cancer and how it is has impacted our marriage, our family, our faith, and our future.

Yet, excuses always stop me.

I don’t have time (not true).

Who am I to pretend to know about these things (well, I am someone who has lived them).

No one wants to hear what I have to say (if true, who cares?)

Two things recently happened within weeks of each other that have finally pushed me to sit here and write.

First, I was invited (thank you godesses!) to a meeting about how to write for publication. In that meeting, the Dean of my college asked me, “so Monica, when are you going to publish your dissertation?” Later in that meeting a colleague whom I deeply respect and admire said about her own research, “well, it’s not research if it’s not disseminated. I owe it to my participants.”

Gut check.

Isn’t this why I landed on my own topic as well? To learn something from my amazing participants and then, have the profession learn from their experiences as well?

Second, a young cancer warrior named Zach Sobiech died on Monday morning. Many people the world over know Zach because of his beautiful, soulful song, “Clouds.” We “know” Zach because he is a student in my sister-in-law’s youth group in Stillwater, MN. I am friends with his mom on Facebook and have occasionally written to each other as the moms of cancer warrior sons. Laura has documented Zach’s journey on his Caringbridge site. Her words, Zach’s life are awe-some, in the truest sense of that word. Laura recently wrote:

“Blank pages can be very frustrating and intimidating.  Where do I start? What words do I settle on this blank page when there are so many words clattering around in my head?  Sometimes it’s just easier to walk away and leave it blank. But, it’s our story.  It’s Zach’s story.  And I need to reign in these words and lay them out for today and for tomorrow.”

Gut check 2.

So, with that, no more blank pages on this blog that I started almost 2 years ago. I now have 2 goals for Summer 2013:

1. End the summer with a submittable journal article about my dissertation research. Submit to peer reviewed journal by August 31, 2013.

2. Blog, about whatever I want/feel, once a week.

The ten amazing women who were participants in my dissertation research have a story. I should help them tell it. I have a story. My son has a story. Maybe he will want to have these words to go back to someday. Maybe not. That’s okay. Either way, I have a voice. I want to write. I am going to try harder to do more of it. I appreciate your cheering along the way. Thank you.