Category Archives: life stories

What I Learned from Dogs

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From the What I Learned series

I’m slightly obsessed with dogs. If given the choice to pet a dog or hold a baby, I’m choosing the dog. I do not really consider my dogs pets; they are my children. But they are a lot of work and responsibility. No one should go into dog ownership thinking it will be all wet kisses and cuddles. But it’s all worth it. My life has been forever touched and changed by my sweet girls.

I’ve always loved animals, but growing up, we only had outside pets. Except for my mom’s collie that she had before kids came along. I was young when he passed so I don’t remember him too much. I knew one day I’d have the chance to have my own animals. It took me a while to be prepared for a dog. I had cats, but they aren’t as needy as dogs.

I started considering it more a little over six years ago. Even though it didn’t seem ideal at the time because I lived in an apartment downtown and had three cats, I was longing for companionship and somebody who needed me. Then I saw her. Her picture was on FaceBook, posted by North Mecklenburg Animal Rescue (NMAR), which is an amazing nonprofit, no kill rescue. She was in need of a forever home. Those kind eyes and perfectly pointed ears made me fall completely in love. Her name was Honey, and she was 10 months old. I just knew when I saw her in that picture that she was for me and that it would work out.

A few weeks later, Honey came home with me. Although not all of her background was known, I knew she had been adopted once before and returned and that at some point she had been abused. She was very timid and shy. She was fine with the cats, more afraid of them than they were of her. She became my instant companion. She went everywhere with me including work!

For the first three months, she didn’t even bark. We had some challenges. She had to be potty trained again and suffered from anxiety mostly from storms or loud noises. We were a team, and she was a big part of how I survived the death of my eldest cat.

Being Honey’s mom taught me a lot about being selfless. Her needs really came first, and I was focused on letting her grow into a wonderful dog. It’s amazing how her love helped me grow and vice versa.

Eventually, she found her voice. And as she aged, her anxiety showed signs of getting worse. She was so protective of me; too much so at times. She didn’t like for people to talk to us when we were out on walks. Even though she was very popular because of her beauty. And oddly, people asked me all the time if she was a dingo! I also followed her intuition on men I dated. If she didn’t like them then it wasn’t  going to work.

I can say she never wavered once on her acceptance of Justin. True she did know him from going to work with me, but when he became a part of our lives, she was all in. At this point, I had changed jobs so her routine was now staying at home all day. She seemed depressed and more withdrawn. We tried different activities, but she was starting to react badly to other dogs and people.

Our solution was to get her a sister. Justin and I went into it a little rose-colored. I wanted to adopt an older dog again; not a puppy. I like the dog that needs a second chance. Enter Fawn, who I found through PetFinder. She had been saved by the Australian Cattle Dog Rescue (ACDR). ACDR is a volunteer run association that saves dogs that would have otherwise been euthanized. She was beautiful with her red brown coat and funky patterns. She was a little over a year when we got her. We were her last shot. It was rough the first few weeks. We didn’t get much sleep. But Fawn and Honey got along pretty good from the start. Their differences complimented one another.

Fawn came with her own assortment of challenges. She wasn’t scared of much. She was full of energy. Cattle dogs are herders and that’s what she often tried to do to us. Nipping on heels is her go to. And don’t even let her see the Swiffer. Brooms are okay, but the Swiffer is like her arch nemesis. Fawn also has incontinence. It wasn’t that she couldn’t be potty trained. A lot of female dogs have this issue; it’s connected to when she was spayed. But there’s a solution. She takes an estrogen supplement, and it works!

Although Fawn’s still a bit wild even though she’s three now, she has really helped Honey overcome some of her fears. Because Fawn is not scared, it makes Honey braver. On the other side is they react off each other. Instead of one bark, we’ve got two.

We talk all the time about how different they are. Fawn watches TV and reacts to dogs and other animals. Honey could care less. Fawn is affection-aggressive (yes, that’s a new word I made up), meaning she doesn’t take no for an answer. Honey wants attention on her terms. She’s a bit of a loner. I have to force affection on her!

I’ve learned a lot from my dogs. They’ve helped me heal a lot. The unconditional love and sheer joy they share every time I come home is pretty amazing. Hard to hate the world when doggies love you.

I’ve also learned that it’s better to take a chance on a dog that may need some rehabilitation. They’ll love you more for it. After all, someone took a chance on me.

I still get frustrated and wish they’d stop reacting to other dogs so much. I wish they’d both calm down a bit and chill out. Not every noise needs to be investigated. I also wish they’d be less interested in the cat. They, like me, are still a work in progress (and after over a thousand dollars in training, I’m guessing that this is just who they are). I know that when we move, they will be happier. They’ll have their own little space to run around.

It’s hard work. We don’t just think we have pets. They are our family. And we totally realize that the majority of our lives revolves around their bathroom needs, which seems ridiculous but will ring true for any dog owner. But we wouldn’t have it any other way. And please remember adopt don’t shop.

How I Explained Anxiety

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Anxiety is kind of Depression’s first cousin. They often go hand in hand. And they feed each other, but anxiety is somewhat different. Whereas depression makes me want to cocoon and pull away, anxiety makes me feel like I need to do something. I’m just not sure what. In my early 20s, anxiety manifested itself as panic attacks that were often triggered by being in large social situations. I felt pressure to act normal, but I felt invisible and had no desire to be chatty. It was a push pull. I was pushing myself to be social while really wanting to be alone. For some reason being in big groups of people made me flashback to funerals, and my mind would go to places I didn’t want it to.

I didn’t really understand it as anxiety then. I was more like, “Get it together, Beth!” I have and will probably continue to be super hard on myself. Isn’t it funny how hard we find it to be kind to ourselves? It’s something I still wrestle with, but I’m much better than I was in the past.

But anxiety is still part of my life. It’s not something easy to explain even if you have awareness. Yet it’s something I think is important for those to understand who don’t suffer from it. I’m blessed to have an amazing man in my life who accepts all my flaws and wants to genuinely understand what I go through. Recently, I was able to explain it to him.

Something happened (a trigger) a few months ago that really spiked my anxiety. Our HOA sent us a letter claiming that someone had reported that one of our dogs attacked another dog. I got the letter after work so there was no way I could respond or find out more information. Logically, I knew the accusation was false. Our dogs don’t run wild. They are always with us. To our knowledge, nothing like this had occurred.

But anxiety doesn’t mesh well with logic. Suddenly, I was thrust into fear and panic.  My dogs are my children. I love them more than just about anything or anyone. This letter made my mind race thinking someone was watching us or deliberately making false accusations. I felt as though my dogs were in danger. I was really upset. I couldn’t eat dinner or focus. It may seem like an inconsequential event but for me it was much more. So I took the time to explain it to my significant other.

I told him that when something irritating or upsetting happens to you, it’s just this one thing. You can be mad or frustrated but still think clearly toward a resolution. He’s a super chill kind of guy (I’ve heard him yell once in three years) so not much ruffles his feathers. I then told him that when something like this happens to me, I’m not just contemplating this one incident. It’s like a wave of every trauma I’ve ever had sweeping over me. It makes me feel like I can’t breathe, like there’s something stomping on my chest. For him, it would be like standing under a waterfall and there’s one tiny drip.  For me, the levee just broke, and the water is furious.

My therapist gave me props for being able to take him through my experience.  It was one of the first times, I could step outside myself and express the feelings and thoughts I had. I think it gave him a greater appreciation of my struggles. Anxiety affects millions of people. It can be debilitating, and lots carry around shame on top of it.  Our brains are highly complex and often because of trauma we’ve experienced or chemistry, it can’t always look at a situation clearly. And that’s okay. There are ways to get through it. Deep breaths and focusing on ways to manage or resolve the situation work for me. But I’ll be honest, I also take medication. You can find something to help, just don’t suffer in silence.

After I wrote this and before I posted it, I thought maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe someone might judge me or not want to hire me. Then I remembered that I must live what I say. I can’t be scared. I can’t control what other people think. I am taking this opportunity to be honest so that maybe it might help someone else be able to accept their own struggles. That’s all and to admit I’m human. I think most of us are all doing the best we can every day. I’ve always believed that life will rarely turn out as expected but that doesn’t mean it can’t be great.

P.S. The HOA sent the letter to the wrong unit. Our dogs were cleared of any allegations. Deep breath; crisis averted

Surviving Renovating: Deep Breaths Required

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Renovations aren’t near as fun as they seem on HGTV. We’d love for Chip and Joanna Gaines from Fixer Upper to come save us, but the reality is we are the renovators. And we’re living in the area we are renovating. We can’t escape. It’s our home. And I might be just teetering on the edge.

I’d say we’ve been renovating for months, but it’s really been years. The other projects were smaller. I was conveniently traveling so my exposure to it was less. I’m sort of longing for airports and hotels right now.

But this project that includes the kitchen, dining room and living room was close to a full gut. The hope for a six week timeline went out the door fast. First, we have real jobs; the kind where you don’t get home until after six and then have responsibilities like walking dogs, making dinner and doing laundry. It’s hard to get motivated to work in the house after a 9 or 10 hour workday.

I have to interject that the majority of the work has been carried out by my love. He’s amazingly skilled at anything, and if he doesn’t know how to do it, he just watches a YouTube video on it. However, I’m not completely on the sidelines. I have some skills. As a young girl, I loved to build things from scrap wood. In high school, my bestie and I took shop class (we were the only girls). And for most all other relationships I was in, I was the handy one! I’ve painted many walls and done my fair share of small projects.

But this is mostly over my head. And he’s been reluctant to let me help too much. I was actually fired from taping but later reinstated me (something about a labor shortage). He’s very particular about the prep work. I’ve sanded a lot. And painted like it was my job; thankfully it’s not. One of the hardest parts was scraping the popcorn ceilings. If they’ve never been painted it can be easy, but nothing’s easy about this place. Nothing is square or even or was done correctly the first time. We’ve spent a lot of time repairing and fixing things right.

We didn’t have a stove for two weeks. You don’t understand all you can’t do without a stove. But we have it back now that the new countertops are in and the cabinets are painted. It’s just little things and clean up right now with the final step being the new floors, which are set to be installed (by us) in about six days.

Then these rooms will be back in order. The couch will actually be somewhere you can sit. Then we will start on the bathrooms. Why are we doing all this? Do we want to punish ourselves? Test our relationship? No, not at all. We are doing all this because we want to sell our condo. It just doesn’t work for us. It’s a great location, but we’ve encountered many challenges, mostly do to having some of the worst neighbors in the history of neighbors (more to come on that). Most importantly, we just want the pups to have a little yard to run free.

Home is an important place. It should be a place where you feel safe. It can get a little rough out there in the world. We all need a soft place to land. I’ve never needed a huge house with rooms I’d never even use. I do adore my closet room; it’s nice to be able to see everything I have, but I’d give it up in favor of a house with a nice yard for the girls.

We had this chat the other day that the house in this state has become our new normal. We’ve become complacent. So I had to light a fire under us, and set a firm date for the floor install so we can get back on track. We need to be done by the end of the year, and we have to account for the fact that we can’t be dedicated to renovations during football season (that’s not just a mandate from him; I’m just as crazy about it as he is).

So please keep us in your thoughts that we survive this and don’t kill each other (okay I’d probably be the one to kill him). Deep breaths…..

So This Happened: Life Gets Wet Sometimes

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From the So This Happened Stories

That sudden summer storm always hits at the worst possible time. I drove into work last week because I had an appointment that afternoon. I have to park in a lot about eight blocks away because it costs the bargain price of $7 (compared to $25!).

The sky was looking dark, but I had an umbrella. Only a block in, the sky opened up, angry with rain, wind and hail. I was able to take shelter. I think storms are worse downtown because the wind gets trapped between the buildings. Things started whipping around. The top of a trash can flew off and came down about a foot from where I was standing. So I’m trying to hide, thinking it will pass. But it’s going to cause me to be late. I send a quick email to advise I’m running late to be courteous. After about five minutes, it’s not getting any better. So I just go for it. The water is about two inches deep. It’s hailing on my head; I can feel it through the umbrella. But I’m determined. I press on. Finally, I get to the lot. I’m on the sidewalk about to turn into it when a car speeds by and splashes me. When something like that happens, you think really? Am I in a freakin bad sitcom? But it happened. This is real life. At this point, I can either laugh or cry. I chose to laugh.

I get to the car. I’m wringing out my dress. Luckily, I have other shoes. I also happen to have lots of supplies in my handbag, which has been categorized as being very “MacGyver” like because of my many supplies. I turn the air on to dry out. I suppose I could have just given up at that point and not gone to the appointment. I was wet, tired and defeated. But a lot of life is about showing up. So I did, apologizing for my appearance. We laughed about it.

So it was embarrassing and funny, and I wanted to share it. Little things like this are just part of my believable life. And there’s a story and lesson to be shared.

How I Redefined Family

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Family doesn’t have to be conventional. Blood and DNA need not apply. Because if that was the only way to define family, I’d be all alone. I have no parents, children, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles or first cousins. By the time I was 20, my immediate family was gone, all deceased.

My ideas of family have always been outside of traditional or nuclear definitions. I didn’t grow up with a large family. It was just my mom, brother and grandparents. I did experience somewhat of an extended family. Although my mom was an only child, she had many aunts, uncles and first cousins, many of whom she had grown up with. Although none of them lived in our town, many weren’t far away. We visited my great aunt and uncle (my Pop’s brother) often in Greenville. I considered them my aunt and uncle and loved to visit them. Their children, my mom’s first cousins, were around a lot too growing up. They visited us; we visited them. I think she considered them more like brothers. They teased each other a lot because she went to the University of South Carolina, and they were all Clemson grads. I am thankful for these memories and how lovely they were to me growing up.

My paternal grandmother came from a large family. She had I think eight siblings, most of whom I didn’t know or passed before I was born. I did spend a lot of time with her two closest sisters: one taught me piano and always had fun stories to tell me. The other was a painter and traveler, who always shared pictures and stories of her adventures. I’m glad to say I still have several of her paintings hanging in my house.

As the only grandchildren on either side, I’m sure my brother and I were spoiled. If not with stuff then with attention. I was so lucky to have so much one-on-one time with my grandparents. And even though they’ve been gone a long time, I still think of them often and what they taught me: to play cards, sew, bake cakes, be curious, be brave and much more.

Because my frame of reference of family was small, I never gave much consideration to if I wanted to have a big family. As a girl growing up my aspirations were not centered on getting married and having kids. My dreams were about a career.

When my family started to disappear is when I started to rethink the idea of family. Thinking about humans on the most primal level, family is about ensuring a bloodline. Early on in human history, it was about survival, not just of one’s own genes but the species. Now we’re overpopulated so I think we’re good on species preservation for now.

In thinking about the beginnings of what family was and what society paints it to be, how would I reconstruct what family means? And since I have no way to pass along my genes or traits, what does that mean? Should I believe that the gene pool didn’t need my bloodline to continue? I’ve wrestled with many questions about family for years; here’s what I’ve concluded.

Family is my choice now. It’s way beyond genetics. Having the same genetic makeup really has nothing to do with love. Family is people who are there when it matters, unconditional love and feeling like you can just be you. It’s people that love you in spite of yourself and will fight for you and with you. 

I wouldn’t want anyone to ever be sad for me because I know what real family is. Most people probably won’t ever know this. Justin and I have made our own little family with Honey, Fawn and Ellie. And I’m very thankful to have his kids in my life, too. I shouldn’t call them kids because they are adults, and really fine ones at that.

And the heart of my reimagined family has been my besties, wonderful women who I couldn’t have made it without: Heather, Jenn, Caron, Kelda, Cortney and Jennifer. You are so much more than friends, you’re family! Thank you for believing in me and loving me.

Everybody’s family looks different. No matter what anyone else says, if it’s built on love and trust then nothing else should matter. There were times I felt incredibly alone because my first family was gone. Now, I know it just helped me know what love is so I could build my own.

Go Find Your Best

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Depression is part of my life. Maybe a lot of people wouldn’t admit this. Depression is still one of those whispered words. However, I’m not ashamed. It’s something I want to talk about. It’s something we should all be able to talk about. I don’t believe suffering from depression makes me deficient or that there’s something wrong with me. Depression for me isn’t just an episode or something that comes and goes. It’s always there, but with a great therapist and medication (also something I’m not ashamed of), I’m doing okay. Some days are better than others, but I would dare to say I’m pretty emotionally healthy.

It’s been a long road though. I went to see a therapist for the first time at 15. My mom had enough insight to know that whatever was going on with me wasn’t just typical teenage angst. At that age, I had already been through a lot, but this deep sadness I had didn’t seem linked to one specific thing, and it wasn’t something I could really articulate yet. I couldn’t just have a good cry and be back to normal. I couldn’t get happy. I didn’t really understand how therapy worked then. I was scared and had no intention of being open with someone I didn’t know. She was a very nice lady and didn’t pressure me to talk about my feelings. It was a good first step.

As my teen years progressed, life got even more complicated. I was thrust fully into adulthood after my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Gone were worries about boys or popularity. I was watching my mom die. I had to be strong. I had to quell feelings of fear. I had to survive.

At 17, I started going to a new counselor who was a really wonderful woman. Eventually, I began to trust her. I also began to understand how therapy works. It’s not simply about going in and talking. Part of it is, but it’s about what you do with the words and feelings that start pouring out. It’s about redirecting internal dialogue, learning coping mechanisms and being open to change. Although cognitive therapy helped, there was still a lot of crippling darkness. By 18, I would begin taking an anti-depressant to help. Medication didn’t solve everything or make me feel “better.” It just kind of got me to a point where I could function better.

When I went away to college, I stopped therapy. I thought I was capable of facing the world and had learned some tools to manage the depression. And honestly, I felt like it was a stigma to be depressed or go to therapy. Very few people knew that I had been in therapy or was on medication. It wasn’t something I wanted to broadcast. At that time, I was ashamed and embarrassed. Even though I knew therapy was a good thing. Why couldn’t I just get through life on my own? After all, I was beginning to understand that the only person who would always be there was me.

So there I was on my own, coping. Just not in a healthy way. I tried to push darkness and worry away. Then my mom died, and the world kind of stopped. I had just turned 19, halfway through my freshman year of college, and I just kind of froze up. I have never been the same. But I did a good job of seeming fine. I was the person that wouldn’t fall apart.  I was the person that didn’t need help. I was the person that would survive. But those people that really knew me, knew that I was not okay. They knew that I was pushing them away and fading away. So one of my friends made me find a new therapist. I agreed to go back to therapy.

My next therapist got me back on meds and met with me sometimes twice a week. She was a very smart lady. I wasn’t going to lie my way out of this or hide things. We talked a lot but also did a lot of role play, where I could have conversations with people in a safe environment. But in a way I told her what I thought she wanted to hear. I still wasn’t convinced I needed therapy. I had a right to be sad. It would pass. This was a whole lot of denial. But we believe what we want to believe about our lives. We build our own house of lies. And feelings were just too much. I didn’t want to feel them or talk about them. My preferred feeling was numb.

So I quit therapy again. I was fine. I was making my way through life, graduating college, surrounded by lots of friends. Feeling like a pretty normal early 20-something. Except my life was nothing like my friends’ lives. I bought my first house in college and that was my home. There was no other home to go to. But I had my life together. I got a job, met a great guy, made plans for the future. And then I was married and working in the industry I wanted to be in. I had a nice house, a closet full of beautiful clothes and plenty of money in the bank. Why would I be sad?

Then I turned 30 and realized everything was a charade. My preferred feeling was still numb, and the truth was I had dealt with nothing. A friend recommended a therapist, and for the first time, I think I was really ready for therapy. I connected with my therapist like none of the others. It was here I began to learn how to save my life. And she helped me feel feelings, which was something I had avoided for over a decade. It was overwhelming, even paralyzing. I started to understand that feelings aren’t permanent. It’s okay to feel them. It’s good to feel them. They don’t last.

It took me years of focused therapy and trying lots of meds before I fully became aware of everything that had happened to me; to look back over all the pain and loss. I’ve dealt with some things better than others, learned a lot about forgiveness and acceptance. But I’m not “cured” or no longer depressed. It doesn’t work that way. Even after you become aware, depression doesn’t disappear. It’s been 8 years since I first walked into my therapist’s office. I still see her every other week. It’s a good gut check. It’s a time I can be brutally honest about my choices, my past, my fears and most importantly my hopes.

I’m not perfect! I consider myself to be beautifully damaged. And I know that “damaged” may seem like a negative word. But we’re all damaged. Life changes us. It beats us up a lot, throws us down dark holes, surprises us with grace and shapes who we are. I don’t let depression define me, but I accept it as part of me. There’s nothing “wrong” with me or anybody else who suffers from mental illness. So it’s okay to say it out loud. To say, “I’m depressed.” If I can say it, you can say it. If you’re depressed, get help. If you are getting help, keep at it. After all, you’ve already made it through the worst. Now go find your best.

An Honest Conversation about Migraines

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On the outside, I don’t look like I have a chronic disease. But I am fighting a disease – one that doesn’t leave me with scars or a tremor or limp. I walk around probably 90 percent of the time in pain. I try very hard for it not to impact my life, but that’s simply impossible. I’ve learned how to manage it and deal with it. After 13 years, it kind of becomes part of your life. That’s what migraines do to you. They become this uninvited guest, much worse than your rowdy neighbor or weird uncle. They infiltrate your life and make it all about them. They don’t want you to be able to work or go for a walk or even sit in a room with light.

Before my first migraine, I never even got headaches. I was someone who was well and active. Pain wasn’t something I thought about, at least not my own. But my mom did have bad headaches, and I believe they would now be categorized as migraines. I’m not sure if anyone knew what they were in the ‘80s and ‘90s. Migraines are often hereditary and that could be one reason I have them. Another thing I’ve always found interesting (although my physicians have never seemed to think there was a connection) was that the migraines started around the same time I was first diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Often, migraines are tied to hormonal changes, and this was definitely the beginning of major hormonal changes in my body.

So I can’t really answer the questions of why. Most doctors cannot. Migraines have been studied, and there are lots of drugs on the market. But I don’t think it’s something that most neurologists or pharmaceutical companies are really researching. I have some theories on this: migraines are more often a woman’s disease, there are more serious neurological diseases like MS or Parkinson’s or simply there’s no money in it. I’m not an expert on any of this; it’s simply an opinion.

I am an expert on living with chronic pain. Not because I want to be. I’ve had to adapt. It’s the only way I’ve been able to survive. I could probably be in bed most every day from a migraine. But what kind of life would that be? I could also be strung out on opioids. There’s a lot of talk about opioid addiction in the U.S. right now, reignited again in the media by the death of Prince. The number of overdoses has skyrocketed. It’s become an epidemic. Everyone wants someone to blame. For over 10 years, I had a prescription for an opioid to combat my pain. I never tried to acquire meds in any illegal manner either on the black market or by doctor shopping. I did not take the meds every day, but I took them several times a week, depending on my pain levels. They helped, but I became tolerant to them and needed to take more just to get some relief.

But I knew these meds were not helping me. They were making things worse and giving me many other side effects. So I took myself off the meds. For the first three or four months, I felt horrible. I went through withdrawals, which included sleeplessness, night sweats and lots of nausea. After about a year of being off the meds, I began to feel “normal.”

I still take medicines for my headaches but no opioids. And I won’t ever take them again unless it’s for a very short term due to a procedure or surgery.

I’ve been through a lot with my migraines. I never know what the day will bring. One of my biggest triggers is cold fronts or rain, which of course I have no control over! I’m thankful to have a great physician who is adamant about helping me find relief. I’m going to keep writing about migraines and all the different things I’ve tried. It’s a topic that needs to be addressed. It shouldn’t be something people try to hide. If you’ve never had a migraine, and that’s the majority, you wouldn’t understand that it’s much more than a headache. Migraines have become part of my life whether I like it or not. And since I have the ability to express myself with words, I wanted to write about the toil they have taken on my life. It’s not just the pain; it’s all the things I’ve missed. It’s forced me at times to be a bystander to my own life. That’s not okay with me.

I wanted to start a conversation. I want to say that I have migraines, but they don’t define me. If migraines have affected you or someone you love, please share this message and how you’ve learned how to live with pain.

The World is Different for Women

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Being a woman is different than being a man. Even in such a civilized and progressive country as ours. I had to pause for a moment after typing those words because these days I’m not sure how civilized or progressive we are. But this world is different for a woman; I don’t have every option that a man does. Everyone women knows this to be true. This is a reminder for all men.

Women, in this country and most others, are too often defined by their relationship to men. Women have prominence or celebrity because they are someone’s wife. After all, a billion dollar franchise was created on this notion yet many of the stars of this show aren’t even housewives.

If we are not defined as a wife then we are praised or shamed based on our ability to be a mother. The president of Turkey recently said women are deficient if they don’t have children. Great to know so much progress has been made. When you really consider where we are, at least in the U.S., remember it’s not been that long since we couldn’t vote, own property, get jobs outside of female professions or have an opinion.

I was lucky in that being raised by a fierce, independent single mom, she never mentioned that my gender would somehow hold me back. Maybe this gave me a false sense that anything was possible. Maybe I should have been prepared a bit more. Ultimately, I think she was aware of the still present barriers for women; she just didn’t want me to see them.

I never noticed the differences while pursing my education. I never saw favoritism toward males, and I had many female professors. Things got more noticeable when I entered the working world. I have not had many female managers. Unfortunately, the one female boss I had until now was no role model. She was the stereotypical female; almost a caricature of the role, something you’d see in a bad rom-com. She was arrogant, petty and jealous. She had no desire to develop the talented women that worked for her. She only wanted to keep us in our place and take any opportunity she had to humiliate us. Years later, I had the opportunity to manage several women. I can certainly say I had a different approach. I worked hard to coach them up and let them know they could trust me. I’m still not impressed by the number of female leaders in business. I’m in an industry (marketing) that seems to skew somewhat female, but there still aren’t that many female CMOs (Chief Marketing Officers).

And while we are on the topic of career opportunities, the pay gap is still a real thing. Men are considered the breadwinners who need to support their families. So does that mean women just work for fun? And we don’t need the money? I’ve seen men get raises because they had a child on the way. I’m not saying that those men weren’t deserving of a raise, but the reasoning isn’t fair. Your salary should be based on your skills, education, experience and what you produce. The mentality has to change. Women should have the opportunity to earn the same salary and seek the highest position. I have worked with a lot of great women who were great leaders. They just weren’t given the opportunity.

This cycle of inequality is not just because of our patriarchal society. Women are the problem, too, as I’ve described above. Women believe they are second class citizens. They don’t want to be seen as emotional or too aggressive. Women are constantly reining it in so as to not seem too intense. I want to see women working together to lead, not tearing each other down or feeling threatened. I have no idea how to solve the disparity. I can only say that I support other women and celebrate their successes. I’m also not afraid to call any man out who is being misogynistic.

What I hold on to is the example set by my mother and grandmother. I grew up believing I could be anything with no thoughts of a glass ceiling. The ceiling for now has been raised but not shattered. It’s there every time a female leader is criticized for being a woman or when a women is asked about her appearance rather than her ideas. That ceiling is still visible every time a woman is identified as the wife of even when she has her own identity or every time a woman is paid less than her male counterpart.

I’m glad to be a woman. I have no desire to walk in the shoes or the shadow of a man. I know in this country I’m, at least for appearances sake, on the same level as men. There are many women in the world who have to deal with all kinds of atrocities simply because of their gender. My great hope is that eventually there is no hesitation when a woman assumes leadership or speaks her mind; that we are simply considered based on our abilities and that gender isn’t part of the conversation.

What I Learned from Riding Transit

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From the What I Learned Series

My commute changed dramatically recently. I’m now an official public transportation commuter. After years of spending up to 90 minutes in the car in a day, I simply take the light rail to work now. I feel liberated. First, I hate to drive so just being a passenger works fine for me. I also don’t miss the regular routine of dodging bad drivers on the interstate. I didn’t mind the commute as much in the mornings. It gave me time to reflect and listen to the Two Guys Named Chris Show on Rock 92.3. Love that show; it is spit out your drink funny!

I do still have to drive about five minutes to park. I don’t live close enough to walk to the light rail. I suppose I could, but I’d be a literal hot mess. So it’s been an interesting change of pace to take the train to work. I would say I’m an observant person. I’m not trying to be nosey. I just enjoy seeing how people interact with one another or react to situations. I actually think it makes me a better writer, especially in fiction. I wrote recently about the bad behavior I’ve seen at the airport, but thus far on the train, I haven’t witnessed anything that made me gasp. People are actually pretty courteous and observe other’s personal space. And the train is very clean. 

Here’s what I’ve observed. As you would expect, most passengers are on their phones. What else would they be doing? We aren’t a society that knows how to disconnect, but this is not a judgment, just a statement. Many have earphones in, and some are actually reading books. I don’t use my phone or read – my propensity for motion sickness keeps me from being entertained by my devices.

Until last week, my commute had been mundane. The most shocking thing I had seen was some questionable skirt lengths (I’m thinking are you really wearing that to work?) and interesting outfit choices. I had heard snippets of conversation (it’s hard to believe people can talk on the phone – how can they hear?) but nothing juicy.

Then last week, I arrive at my stop to see a man being arrested. He was handcuffed sitting on the bench. I have no idea what his offense was. Maybe I’m naïve or just have little reference, but it was bit shocking. I’ve seen people be arrested before, but it made me wonder about the circumstances of the arrest and how that person got to be where he is. And how I was standing on the other side of the tracks, dressed nicely ready to go to my job in a skyscraper. Could that have been me? I don’t attempt to understand what that man’s life may be like or if he deserved the arrest. There have been so many choices and roads taken that have brought us to here to who we are right now. Just taking one detour from that path could’ve meant a different outcome. As I was standing there not thrilled to be going to work, it made me think: be glad for what you have even if you think it’s not enough.

Then I boarded the train, and within a minute there was a woman screaming on the phone. We all heard it. I have no idea who she was talking to, but the gist of the conversation was that she was upset that a man wasn’t taking care of his kids. She seemed embarrassed and even said so while on the phone. This woman’s plight isn’t unusual. There are plenty of fathers and mothers who don’t take care of their kids. I have no idea how that woman must feel or what her struggles may be. But again, it made me think: be glad for what you have even if you think it’s not enough.

When I began to write this, I thought it would be one of my lighter posts; that I would share some funny anecdotes about people acting foolish. But perspective often shifts based on experience. We shouldn’t necessarily compare ourselves or our lives to others. I can’t look at the young girls in their 20s and compare myself to them. I’m not in my 20s anymore. I’m not ancient, but I’ll never have that youthful glow again. However, when you witness real life unfolding for others that’s so different than yours, you can be glad for what you have even if you think it’s not enough.

Summer, It’s You Not Me

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I’d like to break up with summer. Summer might say it wasn’t aware we were in a relationship. Yet here it is breathing down my neck.

As a child, summer was worth counting down to; it was the ultimate break. It meant playing outside all day (yes, kids actually did this unattended at one time), swimming, beach trips, visits with relatives, camp and all the good stuff!

In the adult world, summer is just a hotter time to go to work. My teacher friends still look forward to the freedom, and they’ve earned it. But for me, there’s no break. We don’t vacation during the summer: too crowded and expensive. Since we don’t have to worry about kids, we travel in the fall and winter.

I try hard not to be negative, but here are my summer struggles:

1. Humidity is the worst. Just horrendous. You do not get used to it. Ever walk outside and feel your shirt get wet in like 2 minutes; that’s humidity at its finest. Having naturally curly hair is real fun, too. On the bright side, it may actually add a few inches to my height.

2. I’m fair skinned, bordering on translucent. I do not tan. I burn. I stay out of the sun. Hats and umbrellas are my friends. I religiously use sunscreen and always have it with me. I can burn in about 10 minutes without it. I use spray tan. Yet still look Scandinavian. For those of you who do love to tan, please be careful. Skin cancer is a serious thing; so are wrinkles.

3. The Thigh Stick. If your thighs don’t touch, I’m happy for you. For the rest of us, it’s super annoying and causes a rash. I wear Spanx under dresses and skirts to avoid the walk rash.

4. I could literally get burned by my steering wheel. I should probably put oven mitts in my car for the afternoon drive home.

5. Swimsuit. No explanation needed.

6. Mosquitoes.  I try not to harm any creatures. Mosquitoes are the exception. I’m happy to see spider webs on my back porch with hope they’ll do all the dirty work.

7. Pop Up Storms: I don’t mind them. They are just unpredictable. They’re also scary for my poor Honey.

To be fair, I should also say a few nice things about summer since we can’t break up indefinitely.

1. It’s lighter longer.
2. Football technically starts in summer.
3. Flowers blooming.
4. Lots of birds and creatures around to watch.
5. Sandals.

That’s all I’ve got! Do you love summer, or are you already wishing for fall?