Tag Archives: chaos

Make Each Moment Yours


I am so glad to be back here. Typing away. I have been very busy, of late, tending to several things that have either brought me great satisfaction or consternation; sometimes both.

The quote in yoga last week was along the lines of choosing a life for yourself. That no matter how laudable the pursuit, that if it’s not your idea or it doesn’t set your heart on fire, then it’s not for you, and pursuing it may very likely leave you feeling empty.

I have been faced with several situations which fit right up that alley, a few of them lately. Most of them were foisted on to me as a child and then I just learned that fighting someone else’s battle or managing someone else’s business was just the way the world worked, even though I was rarely the benefactor, nor did my life advance much because of my involvement.

When one parent is unavailable for one reason or another, the other parent will likely enlist a child to either manage the deficit or solve the problem, sometimes both. If that scenario rolls out enough times, the boundaries get blurred so much that it’s like wiping Crisco on a windshield. The only way to cut through and see what’s going on is to eliminate all the smears. If you’re in a situation where that simply didn’t ever really happen, then the wipers just glide over the haze and the boundaries are never really established or even imagined. You can’t see what isn’t clear.

That’s how a lot of my life went for many years. I took on way too much because I thought I was there to solve everyone’s problems. Adult responsibilities were abdicated on to me (I can’t speak for anyone else so I don’t) and slipped and slid through the Crisco.

The boundaries and responsibilities aren’t vetted and established until someone with a clear mission in mind and a strong sense of advocacy comes along and wipes down the glass with a really firm hand, soapy water and a brand-new squeegee. There it all is, laid out before you: what’s yours and what’s not yours.

Suddenly you are lost. The sun is too bright. The air is too cold, clear. The ground is too stable. The items are to large. The items are too small. The items look totally different than they used to. The items don’t fit anymore. The items aren’t familiar. You want your old items back: at least they were predictable in their unpredictability. You want the grime and the haze. You miss the instability it all assured: at least you could count on the crazy. You miss the confusion because now, you aren’t a fixer or the blame or the cause or the cure. You are just … you. Responsible only for your Self and the choices you make, and you’ve made all along for your life.


So you get used to that after a while. Sometimes you even enjoy it, this not having to apologize for the weather if it rains on a picnic day; or if the store is out of the requested ice cream; or if there are no close-enough parking spots outside the movie theater / restaurant / boutique / bookstore / psychiatrist…

I used to feel responsible for stuff like that. When you grow up with a parent who says you’re the reason s/he gets up every day, then the algebra would also dictate that you’re the reason s/he DOESN’T get up every day… It’s a double-edged sword.

The relevance any of this has to my current life is that I’ve recently attended to some things and made a few choices that have not always been “mine.” I have not always chosen them with My Interest in Mind. I chose them because it felt socially appropriate, or I wanted to Be Someone to someone else, or because the void existed and I didn’t have enough guts to say “no.” PTA vice president, PTA president, Sports Club President, rowing partner.

Always a recipe for disaster: following through on someone else’s plan because you don’t want to let them down. HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I DONE THAT?!

That’s me on the left.

You learn who you are real quick when you’re in a tiny boat with another person in the middle of a river committed to a six-mile row, three miles of which are dedicated to competition. The good news is that we came in second. The could-be-better news is that I likely lost my patience and sacrificed an otherwise amiable friendship because I wanted to stick to my commitment and see my way through the race because I was not going to let any static take me under: either I was jumping out or we were going on.

My therapist would tell me that blending personalities in a confining space (be it a racing shell, a marriage, a dorm room or an airline cabin) is a tricky endeavor no matter the context. That blending is ok as long as respect is shared and the work is doled out fairly. In a rowing shell, it’s possible to not do your share of the work, but it’s unlikely if you make good time (and we made good time, we could’ve gone a little faster, but seeing as how we’d only been together six times previous, I’m pleased with how things turned out). It’s also possible to confuse your perception of the work due to stress or in my case a conscious effort to counter the stress load borne and expressed by the other person in the boat.

I wanted to row in a race this fall. I didn’t get to last year because Mom died and I was overwhelmed with grief. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to this year because I didn’t get on the water very often, so when the chance popped up to row a double with someone as equally interested and dubious of her own performance, I was nervous, but grateful for the chance. Her enthusiasm was contagious.


The thing is (and here’s where we get back to the yoga quote and the lessons I had to unlearn earlier in life by not taking one someone else’s program): just because you can, it doesn’t mean you should.

When things get crazy in my world now, I tend to go quiet. I used to jump in and lose my mind and amplify the craze (i.e., act like an idiot) because it was easier and way more fun than rationality, but those bells can’t be unrung. So now, after years of couch time and a ton of mat time, I just breathe deeply, sit on my hands and do my best to wait.

The first day we sculled in the double I chalked up the chatter to jitters and newness. I thought a few things about some of the drills we did right after warming up and I wondered about the near-constant outflow of commands at me. It had been a while since I’d been coached, and about four years since I’d had a coxswain, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to always be about drills and racing starts and other things so early in our pairing — after all: this was casual; we’d not even discussed a race yet. (We’d discussed plenty else.)

The second day, the chatter continued and I have to tell you: as a yoga person and someone who’s used to being alone a lot in a shell, the talking became unnerving. I didn’t mind talking while we stopped for breathers and breaks, but it wasn’t like that. I decided I could do a race, hopeful that things would ease down.

I also started to fall into a creepy and familiar place, the Crisco. The boundaries were getting blurry and I started to feel responsible for this person’s ease and I also wanted to be liked, be trusted and be considered a help. (Bad move.)

So I talked to my husband. I described the scenarios and conversations. He told me he was getting antsy just hearing about it. He noticed I started ramping up too, taking on the anxiety / jitters I was steeped in in the boat. “You have to get to a place where you’re comfortable, Mol, or this is going to be a disaster.” I noted internally that I felt like I was with my mother when I was in the shell with this partner. She expressed so many verbal observations, too many issues with the rigging, the oar locks, the slides, the water (it was too dark), the position she was rowing, the footstretchers, the boat itself… Ordinarily, I’d consider what I could to make it all better — make it stop, just make it stop! — solve the problem. Be the fixer. But not anymore. Something switched in me and I knew the difference between what was mine and what wasn’t.

The following week, I asked my coach to observe us in a launch, it was great. She was super helpful and really got us to work on some of our stroke habits and errors. She said, “No talking in the boat. When you talk in the boat, you screw everything up; you lose place of your hands, where your breath is, where your blades are, where you are on the slide… just be quiet. Eyes ahead and no talking.”

‘No Talking!’


A funny moment occurred between my partner and me after a row later that week. She expressed her awareness of her chatter and said kindly but without apology that when she gets nervous she talks a lot. “I understand,” I said, because I did understand. “I used to be like that,” I said.

She asked, “Oh? What do you do when you get nervous?” I laughed a little and paused. I said, “I just get nervous. But I don’t talk anymore. I get quiet and try to focus. My nervous chatter is wasted energy,” and I finished to myself, “I still seek a moment to learn to be OK with the silence.” There was no comment.

A couple more days of practice and she made a few more asides about seats we rowed and inquiries about the shell. I took on one request which made sense for safety and fitting concerns and that was taken care of. I also took on another request, despite my better instinct to let it go. I paid for that one. After that, I was out. I realized they weren’t mine. (There was that old Crisco lurking again: solve someone else’s problem.)

I decided ahead of time that regardless of how the event was going to end up, that I was going to hold fast to whatever fraction that belonged to me: that I would make it mine and I would make it good.

The night before the race we had a disagreement because of a late-night email she sent me which I considered an unnecessary distraction / spill over from her continued apprehension about the class in which she registered us and boat we’d rigged and were promised. I was done. I offered to drop out and let her go in a single. I was determined, even at this late juncture that I was still going to brand for me whatever I could of the training and of the moment: the choice was going to be hers because the problem was hers. I had to leave her with her stuff.

This was a big moment for me. I’ve been faced with many of them before and I know this won’t be the last. The more experienced I become with familiar personalities and Crisco moments, the faster I’ll be looking for the squeegee to cut through the muck and show me what’s mine.

We spoke by phone the next morning and agreed to race. We smoothed over what we could. There’s a song “Loving a Person” by Sara Groves which starts out, “Loving a person the way they are isn’t just a small thing, it’s the whole thing …” and it goes on to say “it’s the beauty of seeing things through…” and that was the message for me in this situation. I was going to accept how she was and how things were, but I didn’t have to own what wasn’t mine and I was going to see it all the way through — we’d worked hard to get here in a short amount of time and if parlayed properly, we were both going to be each others’ teachers.

When we pushed off to row the 2.5 miles to the starting line, my further (Crisco) attempts at smoothing things over were received but brushed aside; she made it clear, there would be no group hug. That’s the part about being in a small boat in the middle of a river that teaches you about yourself: just get it done (seeing it through). Sometimes you gel, but not then. It felt pointy and perfunctory for the most part, but I can’t own that. It was never mine. What’s great for me is that I realized it and we had no choice but to work together to get it done. To me, it was a success!

It was a “head race” which is a longer distance and thus is usually following the curves of a river. You’re also racing a clock. The starts are staggered to allow for room on the water. We came in second of three boats. Although we were the first to start, we had our asses handed to us by the boat which started immediately after us. It passed us in the first two minutes but we kept the boat which started after that one where it belonged. I knew we wouldn’t likely win, but I didn’t want to finish last. That was my intention.

And I’ve decided that it has to be this way for all of my life. That if I grew up with dysfunction, that I have to find a way to make it worthy and valuable: mine. That if I have a crappy time at a party or event, that I find something about the occasion that makes it mine, so that it doesn’t belong to anyone else: I wore my favorite shoes or scarf or the weather was gorgeous that night or I heard an old favorite song I’d long forgotten.

So it was with the race: I made mine what I could. The weather was perfect, the water fair and I had a great workout. Are you wondering? The chatter in the boat continued but I just did what I could to listen for “need to know” content and I want to say we kept our spirits up even though we were both pretty raw from the previous night’s discourse.

We made good time, about 25 minutes and docked well “That was very professional!” the dock master said and he was right, she’s a terrific bow seat even though she is convinced she’s terrible at it. I disagreed once and moved on.

So I guess this is a long-winded way of inspiring you to know the difference between what’s yours and what isn’t yours. What’s yours feels good and it fits. What isn’t yours feels forced and might cause you some struggle — but you can always make it yours when you find the beauty in it.

Thank you.

30 Days of Jung — Day 21: #Feeling #Thinking #Wisdom #Psychology #Jung #Chaos #Chaosaholic #Shame


Hello! Today is day 21, meaning I’ve been at this for a long enough time to be making it a habit. Did you know that? It takes 21 days to create (or break, which is obvi, also creating, just in different form) a habit. Confession: I’ve not written anything for this series for 21 days straight. I ruefully admit that; if I’d not gone on vacation though I would have. The technological restraints made it next-to-impossible.

Rueful. Hmm. That’s a feeling. Let’s get on with it… writing in the moment for the moment.

Welcome to Day 21 of “30 Days of Jung,” my series, wherein (soon, I will start repeating myself, like now) I take a famous quote of Carl G. Jung‘s and try to make sense or refute or invert or disembowel it or where I turn into a heaping pile of mush because of it in 1,000 words or less.

If you don’t know who Jung is, he formulated the theories of introverted and extroverted personalities, the stages of individuation, the basis of the “Meyers-Briggs” personality (INFJ / ESFJ, etc.) tests. He’s the “father” of modern-day psychoanalysis. In short, he’s a badass. But he’s dead, so he can’t be with us today.

Here is today’s:

“Where wisdom reigns, there is no conflict between thinking and feeling.”
― C.G. Jung

I said ‘rueful’ above. I know what it means and I meant it. ‘There is no conflict between thinking and feeling.’ Where is the wisdom in my situation right now? Oh, it’s there alright; it’s just being ignored because I sense I’d rather (which I really can’t believe, but yet I can due to my unconscious penchant for chaos) get down on myself for not doing something for 21 days in a row because it was nigh impossible technologically.

Some, Jung for instance, might even go so far as to suggest that I chose to begin this theme, “30 Days of Jung” with my vacation in the midst of it (truly in the midst now that I think about it) because I knew it would be impossible and that I knew it would cause myself some angst and then I could beat myself up about not actually writing about Jung for 30 days continuously and then I could then challenge myself to do the impossible again which is to write about it during my upcoming yoga teacher training retreat.

A wise chaosaholic, such as myself, would further suggest that I’ve added on that task so that I could create more drama and problems for myself which could then distract me from getting even more proactive things done and effecting healthy behaviors.

I hate that wise chaosaholic. She’s always right. The wisdom in her knows the limitations were there and that despite those limitations, the posts were written or seemingly written daily for anyone who is following them and regardless of whether or not I was writing them every day, they were certainly on my mind, percolating every day.

But then there’s the skeptic (active chaosaholic) in me who says, “That’s just an illusion; you weren’t really writing those every day… sometimes you wrote three in one day… that’s cheating.”

Like any normal person, I turn into the wise recovering chaosaholic in me and say, “Shut the hell up. You’re just beating yourself up. What matters is What Matters, and this little argument doesn’t matter. You prepared for the vacation, you put the quotes on your reading list to access offline, you read the quotes, you thought about them, you ‘whateverized’ them and they showed up. The rest is details. The fact is: you got this done on time and in time on ‘on budget’; don’t listen to the pot-stirrer, little Miss S-disturber. You rocked it. This is beyond ‘good enough’; you’re honoring the commitment you made and you’re doing it. Whether you’re writing every day isn’t the issue; you’re thinking more about deep stuff in 30 days than most people do in a lifetime and that is Work.”

So I win. The wise recovering chaosaholic reigns and the conflict between thinking and feeling is neutralized.

Do you do this to yourself? Do you have loved ones who do it to themselves? This negative self-talk that can take up an entire day or for some an entire lifetime and then we cycle back with guilt and then shame for the guilt and then we do something irrational (meaning unrelated) to move on from it?

On the way back from Canada, we listened to The Little Prince on CD. This year marks the book’s 70th anniversary. It was read by the amazing Viggo Mortensen, who does such an enviable job of getting into the Little Prince’s mind and thoughts and feelings. I remember seeing the book at my aunt’s house as a child and thinking it was for boys, so I never got interested in it. But now, having three boys as a mother, when I saw the copy at the Barnes & Noble (sorry, no indie bookstores near me) I scooped it up.

There’s a part in the book where the little prince visits seven planets and each one was inhabited by at least one man whom he happened to meet. All the men on the planets seemingly represented by the seven deadly sins and the one that kept striking me throughout the story was the “drunkard” (who probably represented gluttony); which “plunged the little prince into a deep depression.”

“What are you doing there?” he asked the drunkard, whom he found sitting in silence before a collection of empty bottles and a collection of full ones.
“Drinking” replied the drunkard, with a gloomy expression.
“Why are you drinking?” the little prince asked.
“To forget,” replied the drunkard.
“To forget what?” inquired the little prince, who was already beginning to feel sorry for him.
“To forget that I’m ashamed,” confessed the drunkard, hanging his head.
“What are you ashamed of?” inquired the little prince, who wanted to help.
“Of drinking!” concluded the drunkard, withdrawing into silence for good. And the little prince went on his way, puzzled.

I think this attracted me so much because I know that shame. I know that feeling of hopelessness and sadness and the need to ‘forget.’ But this quote of Jung’s, about wisdom tells me this: don’t try to forget. Try to learn from what you are ashamed of, try to learn from the feeling of shame and sit with it and honestly ask yourself, as the little prince did, “why are you trying to forget it?” Instead: turn into it, pick it apart and examine all its folds and in those folds we will see things we hadn’t before; we will have a truer understanding of what makes us tick. We will have wisdom.

Thank you.

ps – I was afraid of this quote when I looked at it last night; I was afraid I’d not be able to do it justice. But as usual, it wrote itself today. The vacation was good. I will try to remember this post for awhile. Staying in a place of shame because of the standards we brace ourselves against certainly doesn’t help us forget it. And forgetting does us no good; we can’t learn.

30 Days of Jung — Day 17: #Chaos #Psychology #Order #Jungian #Disorder


Ahh. My old neighborhood: chaos and order. I’m still doing these posts early, several in a day several days before publication, which is unlike me. While I do “write in the moment” and I don’t edit much unless I add on content at the end once I get access to a decent wifi, these aren’t written The Day they’re “due.” Nonetheless, all of this so-called planning “unintentionally jibes” with today’s quote.

Welcome to Day 17 of “30 Days of Jung,” my series, wherein (soon, I will start repeating myself, like now) I take a famous quote of Carl G. Jung‘s and try to make sense or refute or invert or disembowel it or where I turn into a heaping pile of mush because of it in 1,000 words or less.

If you don’t know who Jung is, he formulated the theories of introverted and extroverted personalities, the stages of individuation, the basis of the “Meyers-Briggs” personality (INFJ / ESFJ, etc.) tests. He’s the “father” of modern-day psychoanalysis. In short, he’s a badass. But he’s dead, so he can’t be with us today.

Here is today’s:

“In all chaos there is a cosmos, in all disorder a secret order.” ― C.G. Jung

Heck to the yeah there is! This singular concept has earned me many of my stripes and likely you, yours.

As I expressed above, I’m having to plan the writing of these posts based on the availability a suitable wifi. There is a good wifi nearby, but it’s created a conundrum for me wherein every paragraph is equal to a donut “munchkin” which is known in these parts as a “Timbit” named after Canadian hockey legend, Tim Horton, who I believe played for the Maple Leafs, eh? (No, his donuts are not as hard as pucks; they are melt-in-your-mouth good enough to help me forget all about the Cap’n.) So as much as I adore both of you for reading these posts, I am not willing to do that for you, or for the dead Carl Jung. I will write tham first and then goh baiy a coffee, eh, and let them upload en masse.

I will admit that being on vacation has lent an air of “whatever” to my adherence to these quotations. I tend to meander, as though in search of dry land (of which there is none around the house we’re renting becuase of Brazilian rains the other night; the water has receded, leaving the grass in a swamp-like state), and then come back. Writing three in one day as I did last week just about killed me though, so I don’t think I’ll do that again unless I’m totally into the quotes.


Chaos. Disorder into order. My life.

Being here with all my relatives and their perspectives on their lives and my own and our growing up together has given me a new appreciation for the chaos of my youth and how my parents coped with the ginormous event of uprooting not only their children, but themselves from the hometown that their own parents were born in. That was a huge event and it despite all outward assurances that my mom could cope with it, it caused undeniable unrest.

Having my aunt (who was like a second mother to me honestly) to talk to about those days and her perspective with myself as a healing and real adult, has been so gratifying, honest to goodness. It has ushered in a sense of “order” from all that disorder and has helped me speak freely with her with humor, candor and tenderness. Being able to look back on those days with her as a peer to my mom (they were both about my age with kids when we moved) without anger and fear has given me a sense of reliability in my memories and an ability to express them without the specter of judgment. I can be vulnerable with her without being afraid she would hold it against me — which she NEVER has. Because I hold her so close to my heart and always have, the time I’ve shared with her on the beach the past couple of days has been medicinal and fulfilling.

I feel as though my healing is starting to gel and that it’s not lip service anymore, a lá, “I loved growing up in the broom closet under the steps and using tin foil scraps to reflect the light coming in from under the door…it gave me such training for when the earth would implode…”

I feel very much that “it is what it is” now; and I have a sense of settlement with it all, and that if it weren’t for the chaos I experienced as a kid that I’d not know how to plan a trip, pack for it, make lists for my kids to pack for themselves, schedule outings with friends while on the trip, make plans with people to take care of the house while we’re away and deal with curveballs which inevitably fly our way. I see now, not only the manifestation of the use of all that chaos, but also the benefit.

Would I recommend it? Would I want to experience it all again? Not on your life, one time is enough, but I do see how for some people that growing up without adversity is not exactly the best plan. I see the beauty in what as Jung said, “… in all disorder, a secret order”: when we survive a break-in (literally or figuratively) and having our “things” robbed from us, that we learn afterward, that we survived it; that even though the things we loved were indeed stolen from us, we learned to regroup and heal. In the vent of an actual break-in (we experienced several in my youth once when I was asleep and they came in through my bedroom window), once we shook off the fear and rage, we could appreciate that no one was hurt, that material things can be replaced. In both instances, those feelings of vulnerability are not only survivable but are actually useful because they show us how fear can be overcome.

For survivors of chaos and disorder there can be a tendency to relive it, to talk about it, and to keep it alive. For me, that reliving and re-relating with people has indeed allowed me to keep the story and the pain alive and has not really allowed me to see, once I step back, the “secret order” in all the disorder.

You can’t straighten your bed while you’re still in it. You need to get out of it, see where it’s uneven, see where it can use a re-tucking (I like the foot of my bed tucked under), where the pillows need to be fluffed and whether or not you need to just pull all apart and start over.

Jung, again, is very specific: he’s talking about such a distant view, such a detachment from where we were that he used the word “cosmos.”

So, as this quote goes, in order to see the order in the cosmos in the chaos, the order in the disorder, we must take many steps (be they minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, or years) away from the disorder to see the order, the lesson, the richness of the intensity (the violence of our beginnings as I described on Day 12 when I wrote about Jung saying how we have our lifetimes to figure out who we are truly meant to be and the violent creation of the universe) and the reason for it all.

We can give ourselves that gift, that cosmic detachment, but it’s scary isn’t it? Some of us might like (secretly) the story to hang on to; it gives us relevance, or so we think.

I think, for me, it truly becomes a point when I am bored to tears with this story and when I can finally close the book on the past and get that perspective enough, that cosmic detachment from my space capsule with Cap’n Crunch floating about my pod with the milk all self-contained and lofty and my spoon and my beautiful sons and fluffy dog, fantastic husband and the miracle of life we’ve created for ourselves and see, FINALLY and REALLY see, that if it weren’t for all that tumult, turbidity, and chaos that I wouldn’t be able appreciate the order that has come of it.

When we back up from the bed, we can see heat needs straightening.

Thank you.



When you return a gift, it doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of it in the first place. It just might not be right.

I’m not rationalizing, but I am coming to terms with the past 2 weeks. The last 7 days in particular.

So I wrote last week about someone who wrote me a check for $3,500 to pursue yoga training after I volunteered my time for the benefit of Survivors of domestic and sexual violence.

I am registered. I am committed and I’m all in. Every dime of that check (and beyond some) will be spent on this endeavor, not to mention a total dietary turnaround. I will be participating in a mostly vegan (including dairy, so it’s still technically vegetarian) diet for 16 days. I’m not psyched about that; we humans have fangs for a reason. But I will submit because it’s part of the philosophy of this training regimen: compassion for all living creatures, and so I’m in.

Here’s what’s new: I returned the funds.

I am going to do this on my own steam.

I began to feel some really uncool familiar feelings in the midst of all this (that’s a good post if you’re at all wondering about why you have psychic vampires or codependent issues that you can’t seem to shake or resolve). My feelings don’t mean any of it is true, universally, but they do mean they’re true for me.

I am a studious person. I sat with those feelings, let them process, gave them a chair, a napkin and a cup of Earl Gray.

They did not really go away.

The feeling: chaos. That I was not in control of my own … hmm … my own person. That despite any statements to the contrary by any parties involved: I would owe someone something; I would be beholden. I could’ve signed a contract: “Molly will never owe me one thing ever, not ever, not even a smile or a good thought, if she takes this Gift and uses it to improve the lives of other people, including herself,” and it wouldn’t have been enough. In my paranoid, damaged and experienced brain: everything comes with a price, there is NO such thing as a free lunch, and any gift, especially a monetary one, comes with expectations, or it would be anonymous which would then create more chaos because I’d have to find the person to thank them and then feel beholden to.

I’m not right in the head. I know this. I hate blaming my childhood, but another inconvenient truth is this: 95% of any action we conduct is rooted in our experiences as children before the age of 5. IT JUST IS. So we must pay attention.

So if you’re normal and weren’t raised by wolves (whom I’ve come to discover are actually quite kind to their young), you would take this gift and be totalllllllly okay with it. But what if you’re me? You’re hosed. You need to change.

How do we change? We pay attention. So I dissected and gleaned and examined this whole thing, how it went down, what else was going on in the community when it happened, any commonalities and changes in our shared recent social experiences and I came up with more than a handful of subtle yet significant items.

Giving back the funds was only part of the equation. I wanted to understand two things: why I took them in the first place, and why I wanted to give them back.

I took the funds because it was a fantastic gesture and I’m not at all good about taking extravagant gifts from people.

I gave them back because I realized a couple things: what I really needed was the shot in the arm, the kick in the touchas, the cheer from the sidelines, that the funds represented, from an uninterested party (i.e., not my parents and not my spouse).

Keeping the funds, to me, meant a forced allegiance, a false loyalty, worse: a sense of obligation … and no one wants that. Especially with me. I would’ve second-guessed everything: from any enjoyment in the course “is this happy enough? Am I grateful enough?!” (I told you I’m damaged) to any fears or regrets, “gah! If I don’t like it I’m not fulfilling my end of the deal! If I am afraid I can’t do it, I’m not worthy of the endorsement!” All the way down to a sense of unending and misappropriated gratitude: that I would have to be forever grateful for the gift.

No, this had to be all me. This sponsor did not want my anxieties and potential resentment on top of any sense of obligation. I did that person a favor…

So how do I model healthy detachment for my children? I take the gift, I say thank you for the gift, I deposit the gift, I follow through on the commitment the gift is supporting and then I return the gift and do it on my own. Wanna take it one step better? How do I model health self-esteem for my kids? I do it on my own from the start. I just say, “Honey, I shrank the kids I am going to be certified to teach yoga” and as long as it’s a healthy decision, then we’re good to go.

So I dropped off the check this morning and we are taking care of this training on our own steam, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

Thank you.