A few weeks ago I was nominated for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award and I looked to see who other the nominees were. I was not surprised to see that one of these was Megan Cyrulewski. Since her blog launched, Megan has routinely supported authors by featuring numerous author interviews on her site. I was fortune enough to be included in that list. This Saturday, August 2nd, Megan will be releasing her own first book, a memoir, entitled Who Am I?: How My Daughter Taught Me to Let Go and Live Again. In it she details her journey into post-partum depression, divorce, domestic violence, law school, and her struggle to survive with her sanity intact. Her story helps to provide hope during times of challenge that things will get better.
I am thrilled to be able to support this book launch by featuring her writing on my blog. I hope that the following inspires you as much as it did me.
Sometimes you just need to dance in the puddles
by Megan Cyrulewski
I’ve been stressed lately, I’m not going to lie. I feel like I have a million things on my plate and my plate is spilling over. I have anxiety disorder and sometimes my anxiety goes up a notch when I’m overwhelmed. This is how my life has always been. Nothing has ever happened a little at a time. I’m riding even for a long time and then everything starts again all at once.I’ve been feeling sort of like a robot lately. I have deadlines and I know what needs to be done so it gets done. Each day I have a list in my planner (my old-school paper planner) and by the end of the day, everything is checked off. I should feel a sense of accomplishment, but all I see when I look at my planner is what I have to do the next day.Yesterday when I came home from working on something, Madelyne (my daughter) was upset. I asked my mom what was wrong and my mom said that Madelyne was upset because she had a potty accident. She peed in her pants. Madelyne, unfortunately or fortunately, is already a Type A personality like her mommy. She doesn’t like to make mistakes. Everything is supposed to be right and in order. That is a blessing and a curse for both of us. Sometimes I need my life to be orderly and neat, which means I’m right on schedule. But as I looked at the tears on Madelyne’s face after her accident, I realized in that moment that bumps in the road are okay.I told Madelyne to get on her rain boots because we were going for a walk around the block. Madelyne loves to go outside so she immediately jumped up. The tears stopped falling and a smile replaced her frown. She was confused as to why she was wearing rain boots instead of her tennis shoes, but I told her it was a surprise. She took my hand, we waved good-bye to Grandma and we started on our walk.
It had rained the night before and I knew there were going to be puddles on our walk. When we got to the first puddle, Madelyne started to walk around it because that’s what I usually tell her to do. This walk, however, was different. I jumped smack dab right in the middle of the puddle. Water splashed everywhere – our boots, pants and even on Madelyne’s jacket.
“Mommy,” Madelyne said, “We have to go home now and change our pants because they are wet.”
“You know what, Pooks?” (My pet name for Madelyne is Pookie sometimes shortened to Pooks) “We’re going to dance in the puddles today.” So I continued to dance.
Madelyne stuck one booted foot in the puddle. She looked at me, her eyes questioning. I smiled. She took a few steps back and then leaped into the puddle.
“We’re dancing in the puddle!” Madelyne exclaimed.
“We’re dancing in the puddle!” I exclaimed.
“And it’s okay if our pants get wet!” Madelyne yelled.
“And it’s okay if our boots get wet!” I yelled.
“Because we can always change them when we get home!” Madelyne screamed.
“Because today we are dancing in the puddles!” I screamed as we twirled around.
When we were a couple of houses away from home, Madelyne told me how much fun she had on our walk:
“I love taking walks with you, Mommy.”
“I love taking walks with you too, Pooks.
Madelyne slipped her puddle-soaked hand in mine. “It’s okay that our pants are wet.”
I smiled and gripped her hand. “It’s okay.”
We walked up the driveway. My mom watched us from the window. She laughed when she saw us in our wet pants. After I put a new dry pair of pants on Madelyne, she gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, “I love you because you are my mommy.”
As the tears streamed down my face, I whispered, “I love you because you are my Pookie.”
I remember the day I picked out my stroller. I was so overwhelmed with the number of options out there and had a difficult time staying focused on my need versus want list with all those little kicks in my stomach. I finally selected one of those stroller systems which includes a car carrier that clicks and locks into place. It was easy to push, and could fold down with a single twist of a hand.
This last feature proved to be particularly beneficial to me as my husband went into business for himself slightly before the birth of our first child. My son was planned. The factory closure where my husband worked prior was not. At least it wasn’t planned by us. I would strongly caution others to think long and hard about their decision to start a business at the same time as bringing adding an infant to the family if there are other options on the table, or if you lack a strong local network of friends and family willing to pitch in.
We didn’t know better. He was already chewing on the entrepreneurship option, the factory situation merely sped up the time-table. As a result, I found myself spending several evenings alone with only the dog and the baby for company while the hubby acted as sales, marketing, service, and support for his fledgling business.
As neither of my two companions were exactly strong conversationalists, I decided to take us to the streets. I walked miles upon miles with that stroller, holding it with one hand and the dog’s leash in the other. Neighbors laughed. I looked like I was conducting some southern suburban dog sled race. I embraced the image. I intentionally hammed it up when there were witnesses grateful for the attention of other adults.
Then one day we were walking down our usual route when a cat bolted out from a nearby bush. My dog, a stocky 60 pounds of pure muscle, darted after it, snapping the leash from my hand. Off balanced, I fell, bringing the stroller down with me. My son started screaming as the stroller landed on its side. The sound caused my dog to stop chasing the cat and return to our side full of concern.
Passerbys also came running to help. I stopped trying to compete for the mother of the year award a long time ago, but I still felt like the lowest scum of the earth as I attempted to calm my son. My neighbor pointed to the buckles as I fumbled to release them. “It’s okay. He’s okay. The stroller did what it is supposed to.” He must have repeated the phrase three times before I really heard what he was saying. My son had been strapped into his stroller with its five point buckling system and had suffered no injury. He had only been scared due to the sudden change of altitude.
My eldest helping me to take the baby for a stroll
My husband’s work schedule eventually settled into something more manageable. He was able to join me for walks more and more. The stroller was swapped out for a tricycle. Then our other son was born and the stroller once again became a necessity, but time advances like an avalanche.
Now my sister-in-law is expecting her first child, and is experiencing that same nervous overwhelming feeling I remember so well. My husband and I are content with our two children. We offered to give her the stroller months ago. But the actual act of giving was more difficult than I anticipated. I had so many great memories associated with it. Not just of my boys’ babyhood, but great times with my dog, who has since departed as well. Sending it away felt like I was truly closing the door on that time of my life.
But sentiment was the only reason to keep it around. It might trigger memories, but in the meantime it was going to collect dust and take up space in the garage. At the same time, my sister-in-law’s need wouldn’t become any less real. I had to remind myself, it was going to be okay. It had done what it was designed to do. I had to let go of the physical object. The memories would always be mine, but it was time to send the stroller on to its new home. May it give my sister in law equally great memories.
I now have room for new adventures with wagons, big kid bikes, scooters, skateboards, or whatever else may find its way into my garage over the next several years. I may have closed one door, but that thought is enough to make me look forward to opening the next with a smile.
Meet Mr. Yellow Jacket (129 of 365) (EXPLORED!) (Photo credit: rimblas)
When I was a teenager, I was attacked by a swarm of ground hornets while hiking with a group of friends. I never even saw their nest. Someone ahead of me must have inadvertently stepped where he or she shouldn’t have and by the time they had flown to the surface in a rage I was the closest target.
A very short time later, areas of my body had swollen up like baseballs. I found my way on an express route to the emergency room.
I have a healthy respect for stinging insects of all kinds. I don’t squish them just for the crime of being bugs. I understand that the outdoors is their world. I try to remain calm and motionless when they are near, or avoid them altogether if I see them in the distance. I don’t bother them if they don’t bother me.
But when they try to build a nest in my porch, or more recently, move in underneath my children’s sandbox, I have to do something about it. I am no longer passive or kind. I don’t want to find out the hard way that my allergy has been passed on to my children. Or worse, that their reaction might be more than moderate.
At that point I have to make it clear to those insects that their continued presence will not be tolerated. Those that survive the lesson should move on to more welcoming ground.
“Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. I am kind to everyone, but when someone unkind to me, weak is not what you are going to remember about me.” – Al Capone.
I self published my first novel, and have been debating whether or not this was a path I would like to take again for my second. I’ve been reading about how little new authors can expect from large publishers and how aspiring authors are now asked to provide some potential publishers with a business plan and marketing plan in addition to the manuscript. I recently read an article entitled Publishing 3.0 detailing the rise of the authorpreneur. While the term authorpreneur may sound like one of those celebrity mash-up names, I find that it is completely appropriate in this instance. To be a successful self published or indie author, you do have to have an understanding as to what it takes to be an entrepreneur.
Like writing professionally, entrepreneurship is hard work. It too requires sacrifice and long hours, but with different results. Purchase orders are rarely aesthetically pleasing. But for an entrepreneur that first order is a work of art, one as beautiful to behold as a published novel with its glossy cover. It gets framed and permanently mounted on the wall for all the world to see.
Entrepreneurship can be at times a wonderful thing. There is something deeply satisfying about watching the business that you helped start grow and thrive. Whether you are your only employee or have a larger staff, it is both rewarding and terrifying to know that their ability to care for their families is because of what you’ve put in place.
But unfortunately, an entrepreneur is still not entirely in control of his/her own destiny. There are always going to be people out there who look upon your success with envy. They either want what you have, or are afraid that you have the ability to take something away from them. They will attack in ways you never saw coming, especially if they believe you aren’t paying attention.
During this time you have to keep in mind that these attacks are actually compliments. They are a testament to your ability and your achievements. They are recognition that what you have done has been noticed. You have to be the bigger person. Stay true to your values and out of their domain. Walk away if you can. Ignore them if you can’t.
That is until you have been stung one too many times and they mistake your kindness as weakness, your willingness to turn the other cheek as acceptance, and they threaten your baby’s life.
“There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.”
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man’s Fear
At that point, let them keep their compliments. It is time to hire the exterminator and bring out the bug spray.
We took a quick road trip over the weekend. The boys demanded a movie within seconds of the engine starting. We have a pile of DVDs ready for just such an emergency however we’ve played them so many times now that the hubby and I can repeat the dialogue by heart. Therefore we weren’t exactly thrilled to fire up the player. We told them they were going to have to wait until we reached the interstate.
We have two sets of headphones that go along with the entertainment system so that backseat passengers can listen to their movie while the front seat listens to the radio. Unfortunately my two-year old is too young to appreciate the benefit. He has no interest in keeping a large electronic accessory strapped to his head.
My eldest was patient for approximately ten minutes which I am sure felt like hours to him. He begged us once again to turn on a movie. We told him that we would put the movie on after his brother fell asleep. He immediately turned to his brother and said, “go to sleep so that we can watch a movie.”
If my youngest was any older, I am sure that would have been exactly the wrong thing to say to achieve his goal, instead my youngest smiled and pretended to fake sleep, including snoring. Snoring loudly. Then not so loudly.
I turned around. My youngest was sound asleep in his chair. He pretended he was asleep until it became his reality. I handed over the headphones to my eldest and fired up the DVD player. Three out of four of us achieved our goal.
The morale of the story is sometimes you have to fake it to make it. Or in my sons’ example, have your underlings fake it until you make it.
Mark Twain once said that “to succeed in life you need two things: confidence and ignorance.” The ignorance part is easy. We all start out as amateurs. Had I known everything I know now would I have taken the same path? Maybe. I can’t say, but I wouldn’t be the person I am today had I not veered off course or made a mistake or two hundred.
The confidence part is trickier. How can you build up your confidence when you’ve never done something before? Some people take issue with the phrase fake it to make it as the word fake implies that what you are doing is deceitful and or a lie. I understand where they are coming from, but I fear that they may be getting caught up on the literal definition. You should never commit fraud or portray yourself as anything other than authentic, but adults can and should still play make-believe. Like a toddler mimicking the actions of an adult, or older sibling, you have to act in the manner in which you believe a successful person should act. It’s not brainwashing. It’s practice. In this manner you gain experience, which reinforces belief. Belief then fuels confidence. If you can convince yourself that you deserve to succeed, then one day you may just discover that you are no longer pretending.
Definitely not my garden. Garden “butchart gardens”, Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
When my husband and I decided to start landscaping our yard, we decided that we wanted to include a garden in our plans. I thought to myself how nice it would be to have rows of flower beds. My husband, having grown up in a more rural setting, wanted to plant things like corn and other vegetables.
We wanted the same thing in theory, but had completely different ideas as to how to achieve it. It was one of those times requiring compromise. He was willing to plant things other than corn, but every plant we selected for the garden had to serve a purpose beyond looking pretty.
Blackberry-flower (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
We selected strawberries, blackberries, grapes, tomatoes, peppers, squash, green beans, some herbs, and others. Almost all of these flower before transforming. Those that don’t at least smell wonderful before being chopped up or dried for recipes. Everything is edible.
I still love viewing other people’s flower gardens. But everything we chose had to add something to our lives we both valued. As a result, our garden feeds our stomachs as well as our senses.
One of the challenges I have faced since I began writing has been ensuring the words I select for inclusion serve a purpose beyond looking pretty. For example, flowery language is fine, but it must bear fruit. If it doesn’t, then I have to cut it out like a garden weed.
It’s a skill I am still working to improve, both in my novels as well as on my blog. This article used to be twice as long, but the only value those extra words added was as an increase to my word count.
It is the same at the day job. If the assignment or opportunity doesn’t create a value for me or the organization exceeding the resource drain then I have to ask if it should be pursued. You can still be a team player even if you turn a task down now and then. Not all business opportunities are created equal either.
Yes, you can eat dandelions if you are starving, but most people would classify those as weeds. Left unchecked, weeds will choke out better crops or rob those crops of nutrients. They will grow and spread even if you ignore them. Why help them do their damage by spreading nitrogen or other fertilizer on them? The trick is recognizing the weeds for what they are before they have taken root.
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Allie Potts 