An open letter to the 'loud' women who I wish I was more like

My friendship love affair with the so-called "brazen hussies" of the world began in kindergarten. My teacher assigned me a seat next to a pocket-sized blonde who looked like Tinker Bell but had the mouth of a pirate. While my plan was to pretend I didn't have a bladder that first week of school, she'd stand up in the middle of story time and announce to 23 5-year-olds that she had to pee.

Before our teacher gave her permission to go, she's be halfway out the door with a bathroom pass attached to a string dragging on the floor behind her. If the boys required a verbal ass-kicking, she could slay them in three words and win back the toys they stole from us. One day, while coloring pictures in our phonics books, I looked over and noticed Tinker Bell had taken a purple crayon to all of our perfectly nice, beige two-dimensional phonics people. After that, I made it my mission to become her best friend.

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Tink now lives in Massachusetts with her wife and three children, where she continues to defy stereotypes and pee whenever the hell she damn well pleases. The world needs Tink - and quiet introverts like me need bold, nervy and, yes, vocal women like Tink. You are the peanut butter to our chocolate. We're both delicious enough on our own, but put us together and we become the most mind-blowing of combinations.

Tink eventually moved from our neighborhood and changed schools. Over the years, we grew apart. But other Tink-types would replace her and it didn't take long for me to realize I mesh well with vocal women. While I refused to settle my gaze within 10 feet of my junior high school crush, my daring BFF was moseying up to hers every morning in the gymnasium and slipping him love letters. She couldn't have cared less whether he felt the same way about her.

The important thing was that she felt the love and she was going to make him know she was the best thing to ever walk in Doc Martens. I didn't understand how she could be so bold and she couldn't fathom why I'd waste precious time pining in secret and penning poetry about this boy when I could find out, that very afternoon, where I stand and simply move on if my love was unrequited.

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Smart girl.

In the years that followed, other strong, but totally not silent types, would enter my universe and fill it with adventure and life lessons. People would always label me the "quiet one" and call my friends the "crazy ones" or the ones with "big mouths." Most couldn't understand why we chose each other at all. Each time I brought a new friend home and my mother heard that laugh - the uninhibited, throaty, gorgeous laugh all "wild" girls share - she would raise her eyebrows and tell me in private that they were going to get me in trouble. Their moms, on the other hand, loved me, which pissed off my friends to no end. "It's because you're quiet. She has no idea how you really are."

I sometimes wonder what my brazen friends got out of our friendship deal. Loyalty, maybe, and trust. The knowledge that whatever they confided in me was never repeated. I gave them a white room where they could paint their thoughts in bold, squiggly streaks of crimson and, when I contributed my own, they appeared in straight lines of China blue. Neither style nor shade is better than the other and we both purged in ways that were comforting to us, without judgment and without competing for the brighter color.

And I love them - their madness, their ability to live on 11 and shout "fuck you!" and throw their arms around someone without wondering if there will be a consequence.

But I can't help but feel they've given me so much more.

The co-worker-turned-friend who realized I admired her lax attitude toward casual sex and her amazing stories, but encouraged me to honor myself and not aim to be a person I'm not.

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The friend who told me I'd be crazy not to wear that short red dress on my first date with my husband.

The friend who pointed me in the direction of therapy when she noticed I was running away from past issues. Being the "quiet one" isn't the same thing as being the "emotionally bottled-up quiet one" and she was honest enough with me to not allow me to become a shadow of myself.

The bold sister-in-law who wouldn't let me stoically suffer in silence in the hallway of a hospital when I was in labor - who told my doctor to get his F-ing act together.

Brazen, outgoing women, we love you, we need you, we honor you. Never change.

The View scored big-time with their new co-host Sara Haines

The View secured another official co-host today. Sara Haines is set to join Whoopi Goldberg, Candace Cameron Bure, Joy Behar, Raven-Symoné and Paula Faris for the 20th season of the show's run. Haines isn't as much of a household name as some of her other co-hosts, so we thought we'd take a second to introduce you to the newest member of the Hot Topics table.

She's sorta great at everything

Haines is an all-around talent. She was born in Iowa and moved to Massachusetts to attend Smith College. While she was there, she played basketball and volleyball for the school. She obviously didn't pursue a career in pro sports, but she still participates in triathlons regularly. The girl cares a lot about being active!

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She's totally comfortable in front of the camera

Haines comes to The View from ABC News and Good Morning America. She started her career on The Today Show, playing around with Kathie Lee Gifford and Hoda Kotb during their fourth hour. She was there for four years before she moved over to lifestyle reporting for ABC News and became a pop news anchor for Good Morning America. This morning show routine is second nature to her by now.

You've probably seen her on The View before

If she looks familiar to you, it's because Haines has actually been a guest host at the Hot Topics table more than 30 times. That experience may be her most valuable because the women of The View aren't known for backing down from their opinions. We have a feeling she won't have any problem getting her voice out there.

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She's a total dog person

Sara Haines dog

Sara Haines dog

Haines' Instagram is full of two things - her awesome times on set and her adorable Chihuahua puppy. She's not shy about how much she loves her dog and wants to take him everywhere she goes. For any dog lovers in the audience, this is a sign she can be trusted completely.

She's part of an adorable family

Sara Haines family

Sara Haines family

Haines lives in Brooklyn with her handsome husband, Max Shifrin, and her adorable baby son, Alec. Honestly, there might not be a cuter baby than Alec.

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She's always working

Back in 2014, Haines wrote an article for Cosmopolitan telling everyone how she managed to land her spot on Good Morning America, and this girl doesn't stop working. She talks about having total hustle and making sure not to waste a single opportunity.

She wrote, “The biggest thing I learned while I was a page is that you have to be a sponge and soak in everything because new things, people, lessons are all around you if you are open to letting them in. The problem many people have is that they are so busy worrying about what they are working toward, or the 'next' in their life, that they miss out on the 'right now.'” 

It sounds like The View picked an incredible co-host to add to the team. It'll be fun to watch her add her point of view to the show in the fall.

Before you go, check out our slideshow below.

Image: ABC

6 Ways to Help You Find Your Writing Groove

Writing is a compulsion, a necessity, for me. A voice, from somewhere deep within, keeps telling me that I need to write to be happy, to make sense of everything that goes on around me.

Basically, it tells me that to live I need to write. This nagging voice somehow perceives my innermost feelings, even desires. It knows too well that I love to write. And I must admit, the voice is right. I may not be a great writer, but writing gives me perspective, solace and helps me go on in life. So, write I must.

Image: Aaron Burden via Unsplash

But wanting to write and actually being able to write, on any given day, are entirely different things. Trust me, I know.

If juggling work and writing weren't hard enough before, it has become more so with an eight-month-old at home. Well, what can I say, a baby takes precedence over everything else! So, no matter how well I plan my day, words refuse to form when I finally get a chance to write.

Truth be told, most of my days are filled with activities carefully planned, one after the other. Everything needs to fit into a tight schedule, writing being no different. Of course, the problem with that is, you never know if you are actually going to be able to write at that given point in time. It just doesn't offer the cushion that spontaneity does. But you have got to work with what you got, don't you?

Going through a period of not being able to write spells discomfort for me; more so if the reasons are the lack of time or fatigue. Going too many days without being able to hit that publish button on my blog is never good for my sanity either.

Hence, with that in mind, here's what I do to enable myself to write even on the longest of days. Here's what I do to create an atmosphere to write within my crazy schedule. These are just simple things that I do to forget the fatigue, the mental block and basically just shut off the outside world to get lost in the written word.

Get my writing groove on, so to speak. These are things which help me concentrate and bring about spontaneity, even in a planned schedule.

Music

Everything is somehow better with music in the background. I always knew that music was therapeutic, but I've learned that writing is more enjoyable and spontaneous when done while listening. So, music is what I turn to for writing at the end of a long hard day.

Just like the body swaying to the melody while dancing, my pace slowly picks up, my fingers type almost in tune, my mind sways to the symphony and word after word start forming in front of my eyes. It is especially satisfying when the music is instrumental mixed with sounds of nature. I may be exhausted but somehow all that vanishes when my fingers type in sync with a song. Words and music really do form the perfect harmony!

Books

I have seen that every time I read a good book or even a good piece of writing somewhere, I'm filled with an eagerness to put pen to paper. A drive engulfs me, and then it's just a matter of typing the words. So, all you need is to spend some time on a good piece of writing -- books, blogs, newspaper articles, anything -- for the desire to create something compelling take over you. Once that happens, a good post is just a few keystrokes away.

Tranquility

To write is to listen to your innermost whispers. And the best way to listen to yourself is to be away from the noise that everyday life is full of. Of course, it is not possible to find this invigorating silence when you have a baby at home or when you are running from one task to the other at colliding speeds.

But look for it, you must. I find my quota of calm when everyone at home is asleep. I just go to my corner and give time to my thoughts. And most times, those few moments of peace and quiet are my stimulus to write. After that, it flows with the force of a mountain spring.

Meditation

If I can be honest with you, meditating is not really my cup of tea. Well, the day just doesn't have enough hours in it for me to make it a steady companion. But some days the office work gets too hectic or the little one gets too cranky, writing threatens to become a chore rather than an enjoyable activity.

It is during those trying moments that a few minutes of deep breathing to still my nerves comes to the rescue. If only I could include it in my daily schedule! Once you quieten the upheaval within you, writing goes back to being a joy.

Reading Old posts

One of the best ways to push yourself to write, and write better, too, is to go through your old posts. I often do this. You not only get the pleasure of seeing how you have grown as a writer, but you also sometimes realize how much your thinking has changed. It fills you with the zeal to create something new again. And voila, there you have a new blog post. All you need to do is translate those thoughts into words.

Community

There are times when none of the above work. None at all. That's when I turn to my blogging community which has been with me for the better part of my writing journey. Whenever I'm stuck or can't find time, this very community somehow helps in overcoming that deadlock.

A community which shares your love for writing is indispensable. While your family might know about your love for it, they might not necessarily understand it like a fellow writer.

So, these were some of the things I try to do or turn to when my writing needs rescuing. Or, when I need to warm up to write on a busy day. Tell me about you. What do you do?

PS: A version of this post was published on Write Tribe.

Stop Asking Your Partners How Many People They've Slept With

What's the correct number? If they've slept with “too few” people, you'll look at them as some kind of chaste prude; but if they've slept with a number you deem “too high,” something must be wrong with them. 

In my short lifetime, I feel like we've made a lot of developments in regards to relationships, sex, and sexuality. 

While homophobia is by no means a thing of the past, marriage equality is law in the United States and is becoming more normalized. Sex doesn't immediately frighten us the way it used to. While most of our other social issues are still wildly out of control (see: racism, police brutality, transphobia, fatphobia, sizeism, classism, xenophobia, etc. etc. etc.), we're slowly cultivating a society in which we're capable of discussing these topics openly and free of judgment.

Though that isn't perfect, it's an important first step.

That being said, I'd like to open the floor to a discussion I think is long overdue, but somehow still manages to rear its ugly head in our casual conversation as well as our pop culture.

Can we please stop asking our partners how many people they've had sex with?

I'm trying to find a way to explain the importance of this without simply typing “It's fucking 2016, c'mon already” over and over again.

Let's take a moment to address the obvious sexist connotations that come with this idea. While disparaging someone based on their number of sexual partners is something I've definitely heard from men and women, this idea is heavily skewed towards degrading and slut shaming women.

Image: Emma Craig via Flickr

Growing up as a cis dude among mostly straight cis dudes, I've heard a lot of men make comments about how sleeping with a woman who's “been around” would lack any pleasure because she'd be “stretched out.” I've heard (and made, in my shittier days) a lot of bad jokes about sex with a woman being like “throwing a pencil into the Grand Canyon.”

See all the sarcastic quotation marks I'm using? I hope it properly signifies what bullshit that is.

I'm not going to give you a detailed lesson on how the vagina works. I'm far from an expert on vaginas (ask my ex - ba-dum-TSH!).

But here's something you should know, Shitty Dude making Shitty Comments: The vagina actually loosens up during arousal to allow for successful penetration.

If all the women you're sleeping with are super-tight, it's possibly because none of them are aroused by you, your backwards fitted cap, your pinky rings, or your soul patch.

 

As long as you are using any appropriate protection (and getting tested every 3-6 months -I know, it sucks, but better safe than sorry), let's stop feeling the need to treat your significant other like you're saving them from a life of debauchery and bar bathroom quickies.

 

Now that the awkward Sex-Ed lesson is over, let's talk about the underlying issue with asking your partner how many people they've slept with: Why the fuck does anybody care?

I'm not writing this in order to get defensive about my number of partners, by the way. I've had sex with around 25 people since the end of 2012, and I'm perfectly proud of and comfortable with that number.

However, asking someone you're dating about how many people they've slept with is a question meant to make them feel ashamed.

What's the correct number? If they've slept with “too few” people, you'll look at them as some kind of chaste prude; but if they've slept with a number you deem “too high,” something must be wrong with them. This idea is a trap, made to shame and guilt people with different sexual experiences and ideologies than you into feeling as though they've done something bad.

When I've asked people I'm sleeping with why they care how many people I've slept with, they often respond with, “If you've been with a lot of people, I wouldn't feel as special.”

First of all, no.

What you're doing is equating sex with intimacy, and though there's often a crossover between the two, one doesn't inherently mean the other. I'll discuss that in another piece later this week, so let's focus on another aspect of this problematic idea.

You don't feel special, just because I've slept with other people in the past?

I mean, I don't want to be all there's enough Matt Diaz to go around, but there's at least enough Matt Diaz to sleep with multiple people years apart and still have a romantically and emotionally fulfilling experience every time.

One of my favorite writers, John Green, once described this ridiculous idea using a metaphor that I love but will almost certainly misquote. Here's the general idea:

Let's say I start eating Ben & Jerry's ice cream. As I go along, I try different flavors I come across and think I might be interested: Cherry Garcia, Americone Dream, Chubby Hubby.

Over time I come across Chunky Monkey and decide that this is it - this is the flavor I want for the rest of my life.

However, Chunky Monkey says to me, “You've tried 28 other flavors before me - I don't feel special!”

Well damn, Chunky Monkey. I can't go back and un-eat all of those ice creams, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate your banana-flavored goodness.

(Shit. Now I want ice cream.)

Your sexual history does not increase or decrease your worth.

You aren't a napkin that's used up and deserves to be tossed aside; you're a human being, and no number of trips to the boneyard can take that away from you.

As long as you are using any appropriate protection (and getting tested every 3-6 months -I know, it sucks, but better safe than sorry), let's stop feeling the need to treat your significant other like you're saving them from a life of debauchery and bar bathroom quickies.

If you and I are in a monogamous relationship, our number of current sexual partners is the same: one. That should be all that matters, because regardless of how many one night stands or prior relationships I've had, those experiences do not detract from my ability to love you.

If anything, those experiences have granted me the perspective and knowledge to care for you more thoroughly.

My compassion for you is not a fuel gauge that starts at the beginning of my life and dissipates as the wrong people come into and walk out of my life. My compassion for you is a wick, a flame ignited each time you come into the room and demand to be seen in the light. I am not at risk of running out of love to give just because I've given love to others before you.

We shouldn't be made to feel ashamed of our pasts, just because they're different from what we want in the present.

Also, I mean, it's fucking 2016.

C'mon, already.

---

This story by Matt Joseph Diaz originally appeared on Ravishly, a feminist news+culture website.

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Dear male writers writing sexist think pieces about women in Hollywood: Stop!

As a writer, you always kind of hate to take a fellow writer to task. We're an eclectic bunch with opinions as sharp and varied as shards of glass, yet there's an inherent solidarity in the way we lay our voices (and souls) bare for the world through our words.

But, as is often the case in life, sometimes you come across something you just can't let fly under the radar - and, today, that something comes by way of a specific subset of my peers: The male journalists who are spinning the sexualization and oversimplification of women into a trend.

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You may know them as the dudes who write sexist think pieces about actresses, female musicians and other women in entertainment.

This think piece is for you, guys.

Last month, you - and very specifically music critic Art Tavana - penned an overtly inflammatory think piece in LA Weekly about 23-year-old musician Sky Ferreira. It started by comparing Ferreira's breasts to that of Madonna's.

"Boobs", "knockers", "killer tits", all were qualifiers you used in describing these women who, last time I checked, didn't play guitar or sing to sold out arenas with their breasts.

And just when we thought there was a sliver of a chance you were attempting to (and failing at) being satirical, you described Ferreira as being "too nasty to be anyone's schoolgirl fantasy."

Image: FayesVision/WENN

Congratulations! In one article supposedly about the promising future of an up-and-coming pop star, you managed to reduce not one, but two incredibly talented women to little more than the sum of their actual, anatomical parts.

The focus stalled out on Ferreira's perceived sexiness and never shifted into her actual craft. Because a woman's talent is, what? Contingent on her sex appeal?

For her part, Ferreira did not take kindly to being the wet dream you wordsmithed - she responded accordingly in a series of scathing tweets underscoring that she is "obviously a lot more than my 'sex appeal' or my 'knockers.'"

Sadly, though, Tavana isn't the only male journalist getting his rocks off by weighing in on how women in Hollywood look and why that's important to him.

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Last week, Variety's Chief Film Critic, Owen Gleiberman, devoted an entire think piece to why he is so damn concerned about Renée Zellweger's face. In an article titled, “Renée Zellweger: If She No Longer Looks Like Herself, Has She Become a Different Actress?" the writer cited his concerns with how our "vanity-fueled image culture" is sparking an epidemic of women in Hollywood suffering from a "rejection of self."

In no uncertain terms, Gleiberman admits he feels betrayed by the fact Zellweger doesn't look exactly like she did, say, five or ten years ago. And, what's worse, he tenders this complaint under the guise of concern... a sexist, ageist insult cloaked in a compliment.

Sure, Zellweger was beautiful, he said. Just not Julia Roberts beautiful, he said. Like Barbara Stanwyck, Joan Fontaine and Bette Davis, Zellweger was never one of Hollywood's "beauty contest winners," he said.

Image: WENN

Gleiberman wrapped up his reductive observations about women by lamenting the "fascist standards of the new American beauty." Here is a man, writing an entire article devoted to devaluing a woman's professional worth based on her appearance, wondering why women in Hollywood feel so compelled to alter themselves to conform to such standards of beauty.

The irony of it is almost too much to bear.

Then, on Thursday, yet another illuminating commentary emerged from the camp of men who write about women in the entertainment industry through the lens of their looks, their sexuality.

This one comes courtesy of Rich Cohen, the co-creator of HBO's Vinyl, author of several books and a contributing editor at Rolling Stone and Vanity Fair - the latter of which housed his ridiculous think piece on cover subject, Margot Robbie.

"America is so far gone, we have to go to Australia to find a girl next door. In case you've missed it, her name is Margot Robbie. She is 26 and beautiful, not in that otherworldly, catwalk way but in a minor knock-around key, a blue mood, a slow dance. She is blonde, but dark at the roots. She is tall but only with the help of certain shoes. She can be sexy and composed even while naked but only in character."

Wait, what? On my first pass of Cohen's first paragraph, I felt certain this was some sort of misunderstanding. Perhaps he was going to use this unabashedly sexist introduction to segue into something more meaningful. Perhaps he was going to make a point other than the one everyone was reading between the lines: Cohen was sporting a stiff one for Robbie.

But, tragically, that was pretty much the gist of it. And when - after expounding at length about how her seductiveness nearly overshadows her ambition - he asks her point blank about her graphic sex scenes in The Wolf of Wall Street and how she prepared for them, you can basically picture her "painfully blue eyes" searching for the nearest exit.

Which, for the record, she found and took with little hesitation.

"We sat for a moment in silence. She was thinking of something; I was thinking of something else," he wrote. "Then she stood, said good-bye, and went to see a friend across the room."

For the record, Cohen, we're all pretty sure we know what you were thinking about. As for Robbie? Well, aside from scanning for that exit, she was probably wondering how she just sat through such a sexist exploitation of her time.

So, here's the thing, guys - don't. Just don't. For the love of all things holy, don't. If you start to write an article and think writing about women in a way that is undeniably misogynistic is somehow avant-garde and appropriately provocative, just don't.

Women's bodies are not foddered for your entertainment; women's bodies do not exist for you. Not for your viewing pleasure, not to sensationalize your think pieces, not to sub in when you have no other original thoughts rattling around in your head.

Women's bodies and our looks are not tied to our worth.

Who told you it was a good idea to start writing about women like this? Who gave your obviously sexist article the stamp of approval and set it live? They did you a disservice, dude. Unless you grow ovaries sometime in the near future, please refrain from writing about women's bodies in a way that is marginalizing and, quite frankly, gross.

Women can do whatever they want with their bodies. You cannot do whatever you want with women's bodies, and speaking about them like this makes you seem predatory. It feels like a violation. You see how that works?

I'm not saying there aren't any male journalists who write about women with the respect they deserve and who direct the focus of their think pieces where it belongs: On women's talents and contributions to the entertainment industry.

More: Kit Harington is taking a stance on Hollywood's sexism against... men?

And I'm not saying male journalists shouldn't write about women at all. The respectful ones I just described are doing a damn good job of it.

In fact, I encourage men to write about women in Hollywood from an allied perspective - we need more men taking a firm stance against pressing social issues that women struggle with like ageism and gendered double standards.

What we don't need are any more Tavanas, Gleibermans and Cohens churning out ill-conceived sexist think pieces.

I'm never going to top the pregnancy prank I pulled on my husband

Seventeen years ago, I was three months pregnant with my second son and staying at home raising a toddler while my husband, an active-duty marine, went to work each day. On March 31, I had a prenatal checkup at the nearby military hospital and went alone so that my husband could watch our son and I could get some much-needed “me” time.

When I came home that afternoon, my husband and I got into an argument, and although I can't remember why, I know it was big enough that we stopped speaking that day - and the next morning, when he went to work, he didn't even say goodbye. I didn't think much about the argument and I knew that it would eventually blow over.

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To occupy myself that morning, I decided to do some light housework while my son napped, and I turned on the local radio station to make cleaning less dreary.

As I was sweeping the floors, I listened to the DJs mention April Fools' Day pranks. I had completely forgotten about the day and had always wanted to play a prank on my husband. I heard the DJs tell listeners to call in to the station to have them play a prank on someone.

Jackpot! Even though my husband and I weren't talking, I knew playing a prank would be a great way to end our silly argument.

I called the radio station and got through to the DJs right away. I told them about my prenatal appointment at the hospital the day before and that I wanted to trick my husband into thinking we were having twins.

“Why not triplets?” the DJ asked.

“Sure, why not?” I answered.

The set-up for the prank was perfect. One of the DJs was going to call my husband at work and pretend to be my doctor. I gave him the name of the hospital I was seen at and the name of my obstetrician and waited eagerly by the radio to hear the prank play out.

Finally, 20 minutes after my initial call, I heard them mention my husband's name.

“All right listeners, we are about to call Corporal Salazar and tell him that his wife is pregnant with triplets.”

I was glued to the radio and already laughing. When my husband came to the phone, he sounded confused.

“This is Corporal Salazar,” he said. “Is everything OK?” 

“Yes, yes, everything is fine,” the DJ said. “I tried to reach your wife at home with the test results, but no one answered. This number was listed as a secondary contact number, so that's why I'm calling you.” 

“Test results?” my husband asked.

“Yes, the test came back this morning and it looks like you are having triplets. Congratulations!” the DJ lied.

I should mention here that my husband would have had no idea about prenatal tests, so he wouldn't have realized that none of what the DJ said made any actual sense.

“Wow,” was all my husband could say.

“Are you OK?” the DJ asked.

“Yes, I... I'm just shocked,” my husband replied. “I must have super sperm!” 

This really happened, live on the air.

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The DJ laughed and told my husband that he was right; his sperm must be exceptionally potent. I laughed so hard I almost choked at that point. Then the DJ asked my husband what he planned on doing with three babies.

“Shoot, I don't know. We can barely manage the one we have,” my hubby replied. Way to make us look like crappy parents, babe.

“You know,” the DJ said in a low voice, “I know someone. He could get you $10,000 per baby if you'd be willing to sell them.” 

This bit was all improvisational on the DJ's part. I hadn't thought of asking to sell my imaginary triplets, but was eager to hear what my husband would say. I expected my husband to raise his voice in indignation, to scold the so-called doctor and ask how dare he suggest selling our babies.

Instead, my husband said this: 

“$10,000, huh? Hmmm.” Apparently, my husband needed a moment to mull over the idea of selling our offspring for cash. After an unusually long, awkward pause, the DJ finally broke the silence and informed my husband that not only was it a prank, but that he was live on the air and thousands of people were listening.

“Oh God,” my husband replied. “Who set this up?” 

“Your wife, man,” the DJ replied.

“I need to talk to her!” my husband said, laughing before hanging up.

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He came home 15 minutes later and pointed at me. His face was red, he was laughing and could barely talk.

“I can't believe you did that,” he said.

“Well, that's what you get for not talking to me!” I replied.

He came and hugged me, kissed me on the lips and told me he loved me, and that he was sorry for arguing with me.

“You know, everyone in the battalion knows about it,” he said. “Everyone was laughing at me.”

“Even your boss?” I asked.

“Even my boss,” he replied.

The prank had been so funny that his commanding officer had allowed him to come home early. It turns out my prank was good for more than just a laugh - it got my husband a half-day off from work.

To this day, we still laugh when we tell the story, and my husband is forever vigilant every April 1 in case I might decide to prank him again.

One day, when he's least expecting it, I totally will.

Coming Clean to My Kids About My Cutting

A couple of months ago I picked up my kids from school. Like any other day, I asked how their day was.

Q told me that she cried in health that day.  I asked why.  She set it up for me and told me they were talking about good and bad stressors.  They talked about ways stress can be helpful as well as the negative side of stress.  

They talked about eating disorders, alcohol and drug use, and cutting.

She told me she started to cry when they talked about cutting ... because she knew that I did that.  "I didn't know what would be so stressful that you would cut yourself, and it made me sad ..."  Something along those lines is what she said.

I had no idea, on that afternoon drive, that would be the day I talked to my teens about cutting.

Public Domain Image via Pixabay.

Of course I'd assumed it would come up some day. Some day when they were much older, all of my kids would know this about me.  They would be mature, well past the years of even thinking of doing this to themselves.  It would be an easier conversation because they wouldn't be in seventh and sixth grade, asking about something they have so little life experience to comprehend!  

Yet here I was!  I have nothing to hide, this is a part of me, that is by no means a conversation starter nor is it anything I like to highlight, but if brought up, is something I am not afraid to talk about. 

I asked how she knew about my cutting, taking in all information, deciding in the few minutes we had, what was necessary to share.

She had read about it on my blog, a draft that has been in there forever, waiting to be finished.  It is written in one post, my "10 Things You May Not Know About Me" post.  

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p>Awesome! After reading my one line, in that draft, she still didn't even really know what it was, until they talked about it more in depth in health.  How are we talking about this in seventh grade?  Are kids doing this to themselves so young?  Do we really need to open this door for them in seventh grade?  Of course, if she hadn't learned that piece of information about me, the whole subject may have just flown right over her head.

Sweet!  

Here we go.  How do I fit in all that I have to say, all that I have felt, all of that I have experienced, learned, into my five-minute drive home?

The answer is, I don't!  Nor do these two need to hear all of that at this point!

Because of my life experience, because of what I believe, because they are mine and I love them and know them, I want them to talk to me, about ALL things!  This thing is no different, and so we talked about it.

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p>I stuck to, and talked about these truths for me.  

1 - Cutting is a way of coping.  

It is an extremely unhealthy way to cope, but knowing it is a way to cope, gives us power to see what it is and make a different choice.  It is used to escape from something else, that's what coping mechanisms do.  There are damaging, unhealthy ways to cope BUT there are also many good ways to escape from that same thing.  That brings me to No.2 ...

2 - Talking is the best release.

I explained my own triggers, feeling like I don't have the words to express myself, not feeling understood, or feel confused by what I am feeling, feeling out of control/like there is no escape.  I expressed to both of them, in all cases when I can just talk and get "it" out, whatever "it" is, I am 100 percent less likely to cut.  Talking is the absolute best release!  

And, (I told my kids) I am so proud of my kids.  They talk so much better than I did/do, so far at least!  

3 - It is ok to feel.

This was taught to me and I think I'm teaching it to my kids.  We feel things!  That is part of this experience.  Trying to get through life without feeling sadness, anger, anxiety doesn't work.  Telling yourself that something is wrong, because you feel this way only creates emotional distress!  We talked about feeling things and being honest with it.  Honoring those feelings, releasing them into the universe gives us freedom!  

If you need to cry, cry!  If you need to be physical, punch your pillow or go for a run, throw a ball into my mitt!  If you need to scream, do it into your pillow, let it out!  If you need to write, do it!  If you need to talk, I am always here, you can kneel down to pray as well, or go to someone else you trust.  Honor those feelings, because they don't magically dissapear!  

It was an interesting experience for me, and I'm sure for them.  

We talked candidly.  There were just a few questions at that point.  They each told me what they have done/do when they get really mad and frustrated.  We came up with healthy things we can all do to relieve stress and negative feelings, when we feel them.

We ended with big, reassuring hugs.  It was a new feeling to be on the receiving end of the reassuring hugs from my kids!

I want my kids to share things with me!  I want my kids to trust me and be able to talk to me, and come to me with things that are hard, embarrassing, things they are sorry for, things they question.  I want it to be safe for us to talk.

This day caught me off guard!  This was a issue of vulnerability for me.  This is a facet of me that demonstrates I don't always have it all together, that I indeed make mistakes, that I haven't always handled life in the best way.

Of course my kids know I'm not perfect, but as they grow and mature, as we get to know each other better, I'm sure they will see the "dark and twisty" I've overcome in becoming "bright and shiny" (Grey's Anatomy fan here).  I hope that my honesty becomes a tool for them.

I hope that sharing this part of me, being honest about it, has built a bridge of trust between me and my kids.  If I want my kids to do it, I'd better be willing to do it too!