Attempts at Parenting, Blogging Shit, I Dreamed a Dream

Would You Be Mine? Could You Be Mine?

spacer Won’t you be my neighbor?

I have the words to Mr. Roger’s timeless song at the forefront of my mind these days. I recently had the pleasure of meeting Tim Madigan, an esteemed journalist who became friends with Fred Rogers during a very difficult time in his life. Tim was at one of those low points that I believe most people encounter in their lives at some point, perhaps in a different form.

For Tim, the low point was his battles with a deep depression and what seemed like an imminent divorce. During this time, he looked to his friend, Fred Rogers for counsel and most importantly, acceptance.

In his book, I’m Proud of You: My Friendship With Fred Rogers, Tim explains the bond he had with this man who so many of us remember fondly from our childhood. (Well, for me, I remembered him fondly, but I wasn’t so crazy about those puppets. They freaked me out a little.)

Back to Tim. As he was contemplating getting a divorce, a divorce that he was driving, he wrote a letter to Mr. Rogers and asked him if he could still accept his friendship and forgive him as a man who would make this life changing step.

Mr. Rogers wrote him a long letter back, but the words that captured me the most sprung out at me from the first paragraph.

“Please know that I will never forsake you, that I will never be disappointed with you, that I would never stop loving you.”

I will never forsake you.

What a powerful thing to say. And what a powerful gift to receive from someone you love and admire.

I often think of the shame and hurt we carry in our lives due to the disappointments we feel. These disappointments might be ones we believe our family, friends and employers feel towards us. Or they might be deeply buried disappointments we feel for ourselves.

This shame and these disappointments build over time. And they place an unfair burden on all of us – one so heavy to hold that we sometimes fall beneath the weight of it. I have fallen before. In some ways, I believe many of us are continually looking for ways to get back up, because that weight can feel constant. The burden can be tremendous.

But imagine that your life was one where you were given the gift of acceptance by all the people you love and care for. Imagine that you took the stance that you would not place judgement and plant more seeds of shame for the people that you love in your life. What a gift that would be? What better gift could you give?

Human beings are prone to criticize. We are wired to look for how things can be improved, enhanced, fixed, made to shine more. We don’t stand still and accept things for what they are, because we know that the 2.0 version of it is just around the corner.

We do the same things with the people in our lives. We do it to our parents, to our children, to our friends and to our employees. We often do it without even realizing that we are doing it, because it’s what we know. We have watched our parents, teachers and spouses do it to us. And ultimately we learn that it’s what we do with our children and loved ones.

But just imagine, for just a minute, what it would feel like to know that despite your imperfections, despite your perceived shortcomings, or mistakes, or disappointments, that you knew that without question you were accepted, loved. And never forsaken.

Would you be mine?

Could you be mine?

I believe we already belong to each other in a way. And we are here on this crazy planet to help each other navigate through the highs and the lows of life. I believe each of us would feel a freedom in living without armor and realizing that we can’t control what others accept about us, but we can give acceptance and love freely and without fear. Our lives would be so much better for it.

I thank Mr. Rogers for his wisdom and his open heartedness. For teaching us about civility, grace and acceptance. He lived wholeheartedly, which is obvious from the words he used with Tim.

His words remind me of one of the most important responsibilities we all have. Think of the gift you can give to people in your life. Whether it’s in the form of forgiveness, acceptance, or just opening yourself to listen. You have that power and you have the ability to impact someone’s life today.

I will never forsake you, friends. As I hope you will never forsake me.

Peace and light.

Kiran








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Attempts at Parenting, Family, Feminism

Can You Picture This?

I look at the picture, disappointed. Wait … it is just the angle, or am I starting to get a double chin? When did the circles under my eyes get so pronounced? Shit. Are my arms really that big? Well, at least my hair looks good, I think, until… I notice that the single strands of grey have multiplied and my decision of what to do with my roots is becoming something I have to address.

Sooner rather than later.

“Can you take another one?” I ask. “And can you make my face look less, um, round this time?” Asking for small miracles is something I am good at. I know though that photographers can only do so much with the raw materials they are working with.

As the years go by, I have become exceedingly critical of the way I look in photographs. As someone who always used to feel comfortable in front of a camera and even went so far as to dabble in some light commercial modeling in my youth, it’s strange feeling completely uncomfortable in front of the lens. I no longer know how to present that carefree smile. My mouth almost trembles as it tries to mimic what used to be my natural expression. The pictures that result seem forced somehow. Unnatural.

And in my mind, altogether unflattering.

So I shy away from the camera. I shy away from the flash. If it’s not captured on a digital medium, maybe everyone can ignore those extra pounds that have seemed to creep up on me. They can act as if the lines around my mouth are not there.

Perhaps if I don’t take any pictures, I can remain the glossy image from my past, where Photoshop wasn’t a word that needed to be part of my vocabulary.

I think about the many times I make myself absent when there is a camera around. Pictures of my children and my husband abound, but in my mind, there was always a reason to justify my absence.

I can’t take a picture with my hair looking like this!

I didn’t have time to do my makeup.

Talk to me after I lose some weight. Then snap away.

I toy with the idea that the image I can’t confront of myself is that of me aging. I think there is some truth to this. But at the crux of it is also something deeper. It’s the fact that I never give myself any lenience to be less than perfect. Commemorating my imperfection by capturing it on camera is something I can’t easily do.

My kids will look back at the way I have documented our lives and they will know that special attention was taken to capture them at every age. They will see pictures of themselves where their hair was rumpled, their outfits were mismatched, they were covered in chocolate. And what they will see reflected in these pictures is the love we held for them as we stood on the other side of the lens, capturing these moments.

My kids will not see the mother they are most familiar with in the regular pictures of our lives. They will see the pictures that at some point I deemed acceptable enough to share on Facebook. The shiny, polished images where I look remotely like the former me I don’t want to let go of from my past.

The image they won’t see years from now is the mom I am most days. It’s not the mommy in the yoga pants with her hair swept up in a messy ponytail with the traces of exhaustion in her eyes. It’s not the mommy who is vulnerable, less than perfect, less than anything that has been deemed acceptable to share on social media.

And I think to myself, how can I let their memories of me and what I capture be so different, so separate? How can I let myself not allow the reality of who I truly am to them merge with the recordings of me that they will have, long after I am gone, to confirm the memories they hold of me?

And I also think to myself, “Crap!” The mommy I am memorializing for them isn’t human. She’s spent time on her makeup, her hair shines and she’s coiffed to perfection. She’s not real. She’s NOT the me that they are used to seeing.

Perfect Mommy versus Real Mommy. Perfect Mommy may be a lot prettier, but ultimately she seems a whole lot more flat than the mother they have become accustomed to. While she may shine in her glossiness, well, she also kind of sucks. Because here are some of the things that the imaginary Perfect Mommy I allow to be revealed on anyone’s news feed would NEVER do.

Perfect Mommy will never:

Show any signs of the stress of being a full time working mom while attempting to be an engaged parent and spouse.

Embrace the extra pounds and padding that come from living a life more fully, with my priorities on my children and not on the hours logged at the gym.

Be caught DEAD without mascara.

Wear yoga pants. All day and every day.

Have boogers on the shoulder of her shirt, the kind which were wiped there while she was holding her kids tightly to let them have a good cry.

And most importantly.

She’ll never exist. Not really.

I try to stress so much to my children that they are perfect, unique and wonderful so they can grow up to be balanced, self- actualized individuals. But the messages I send them are conflicted and hypocritical. Sure, they love me just as I am. Yet, I seem to want to wash away the existence of the mom they carry in their heart. Replace her with a two dimensional facade.

In my harshness in the way I look at myself, the biggest disservice I am doing is to my children. The life I am documenting for them is one where I shine for them in a way that simply does not align to reality. It won’t tell them years from now that mommy wasn’t always 100% pulled together, that mommy put more time and attention into things other than her appearance and that mommy sometimes struggled with depression so heavy that she didn’t have the energy to pull on more than, well, yoga pants. That mommy exists too and while she may not be as pretty, she should not be edited out of their lives.

I have come to the realization, however delayed, that our best memories are not the ones that always capture us in our best light, they are the ones that are grounded in the true lives we lead. They have not been Photoshopped to make them more appealing, their very authenticity is what makes them so special to us.

This mother is making a promise that I will make myself more present in the memories I have the power to craft for my children.  Their reality and the mementos I leave them need to be rooted in the truth, not in a fantasy. Perhaps they will learn then that true beauty is rooted in accepting and embracing our realities.

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Civil Rights, Uncategorized

Lean into Glass Ceilings: Letter to My Daughter

 

spacer Dear Shaila,

I have always leaned in. Long before Sheryl Sandberg penned the book about how women could excel in the workplace without giving into the double standards. I was leaning in. Before Sandburg espoused about the challenge that so often impact women as we approach the duality of balancing motherhood with our careers, I was leaning in.

Sure, I didn’t know it. I just thought I had bad posture. But I was leaning in so far forward that I’m surprised I didn’t fall smack on my face. To be fair, that only happened a few times in college and it was because alcohol was present when I was leaning. So the lesson learned is do not drink unless you are sitting in a recliner or at least an upright chair.

Really, the lesson is just don’t drink.

Ok. Ok. You can have Sprite.

Without understanding at the core what was driving me, I sought perfection in all that I did. I wanted to be the first kid to learn the times table by heart. I wanted to be the fastest girl in my class. I wanted to beat the boys. At everything. I wanted to get the best grades in the class. I wanted to make it to the spelling bee for my school every year. I wanted…

I just wanted. To be the best, the brightest, the hardest working and while I may not have understood it deeply at the time, I wanted to be all those things while also earning respect and feeling appreciated.

Those things mattered to me.

They mattered to me when I won a competitive academic scholarship into one of the best private high schools in New Jersey. They mattered to me when I made the decision to rescind my scholarship a year later because I was too much of a public school student at heart.

They mattered to me when I spent laborious hours trying to transform myself from a mediocre jogger into a legitimate runner, one who would later be a Captain of the Cross Country team in High School.

They mattered to me when I worked my little hiny off in High School (Yes, little. I was doing a lot of cardio, see above) to fulfill my dream of going to my reach college, The University of Virginia. All the arduous hours I spent practicing for the SAT and years of passionately reading and studying had helped me pave that road.

Leaning in mattered to me during the trials and tribulations of college, but perhaps during this time in my life, I will concede that I relaxed a little and learned for the first time that I could also lean back. That I could breathe a little. That I wasn’t meant to be an automaton striving for the next best thing always. I think the fact that I did start drinking and also dating when I went to college may have had something to do with my more relaxed stance on leaning. I mean, I still leaned, but maybe it was more like a slouch?

Again, lesson learned. Don’t drink. Also, you can slouch sometimes, but not with boys.

That brief respite was just that though – a respite. The leaning in began aggressively again after University as I paved a way for myself in technology consulting when Accenture first opened its doors to me after college. I found myself working my way up the corporate ladder – sometimes making small jumps and other times, large leaps. I changed companies a few times, but I was always hell bent on growing.

I was leaning in so far that I was like a downhill skier. I think you would have been proud. Especially since Mommy can’t ski!

Over the course of the years, I got married, because that’s just what you did. Don’t get me wrong, I love your father very much. But the idea that I could be “complete” in some way without being married was just not how it was generally done.

So me and your daddy went all “Jerry Maguire” (One day you will understand. There is some mild nudity so you will have to wait) and “completed” each other. But I quickly realized I wasn’t complete. I was in a job that I was no longer going to grow in and so I decided to take a leap of faith and join a burgeoning start up.

I worked my butt off, to put it bluntly, my dear. Because you and Nico were not yet here, I could work some crazy hours and travel to Europe for last minute meetings at the drop of a hat. (Or Dallas. Yeah, most of the time Dallas.) During this time, I found myself on a fast path to growth that further continued after my company was acquired multiple times.

You came along and then your brother. Sure, things changed. Of course – they had to. But we managed and got the help we needed while both your father and I pursued the opportunities we felt were best for us and you guys.

Then came the BOOM. In 2011, something happened to me professionally which threw me for a massive loop. Suddenly, my fast track path had a roadblock thrown in the way and I could do nothing to move it. I felt powerless and not at all the the strong woman I had always been, nothing like the girl who used to beat boys at the 100 yard dash in the playground.

Professionally, I retreated a little. I took some time to lean back and evaluate what I needed and what I was looking for. I briefly took a role at a software company as the Director of Consulting, only to realize that the company didn’t just want me to proverbially lean in – they wanted me to work myself to death in the process and forget the fact that I had you and Nico at home. I was there very briefly, but just to give you an idea, within a five week period, I had earned around 30,000 miles on United Airlines. And not the kind of miles you earn by spending money.

I couldn’t function like that. That wasn’t leaning in – that was just losing me. And you guys.

(They also just weren’t very nice. One day, we’ll talk about how important it is for you to be kind to people if you manage them. Yes, lean in all you want, but never do it by treading on those around you. Kindness matters, even at work.)

I shortly thereafter found my footing again and then Sheryl Sandberg wrote that gosh darn, Lean In book and I knew I couldn’t just throw away the years and years of consulting, software and management experience that I had amassed.

So I rejoined corporate America, working for a company where many knew me, where I was known for delivering excellent work and had worked closely with members of the leadership team.

And then a funny thing happened, Shaila. Well, not funny like “ha ha.” More funny like, WTF? (Just so you know, that means “Why’s That Funny?”).

I found that no matter how hard I tried to lean in, that for the first time in my life, I could feel very firm hands pushing me upright again. Almost pushing me to lean back. Encouraging me to not look at the path forward but to be happy with where I was and maybe even take some steps back.

And I reached up in the air and for the first time in my life, I felt it.

Knock, knock.

Are you GD kidding me? (GD stands for “Good Dog”).

The glass ceiling. The one I’d heard so much about but never really encountered myself. There it was, taunting me with its steadfast smugness while I watched others being escorted around its enclosures.

The thing was, Shaila, I was still that girl in elementary school who wanted to be it all. The one who wanted to achieve great things and dream as big as my dreams would allow me to.

I felt like for the first time in my life, I was being told that my dreams were too big for me. And that I should dream smaller.

It hurt me, Shaila. I felt demoralized in a way I hadn’t for a long time. I started to doubt who I was and what I was capable of. The realization that there was no longer a seat at the table for me, the one that Sheryl tells us to so boldly take, stung. I couldn’t sleep at night and it really impacted my emotional well-being.

I guess what I’m getting at is this. There may come a time in your life when all you want to do is lean in. You may be fully revved up and ready to go. You may have all the experience, all the tools and all the talent you need and yet …

When you lean in to push that door open, it may remain locked. And you’ll be all like, “That miserable SOB!” (That means “Sister or Brother”).

Here’s what I want you to do. Never forget who you are. Never for one second. Be the girl who leans in and pound and pound on that door till it opens for you. Don’t worry if you’re knocking too loud. Sometimes, we women have to use our voices to be heard above all the other BS we’re being told. (BS means “Baloney Sandwiches”. Baloney is a processed meat. We’ll discuss another day).

And if you keep knocking and nobody lets you in? Well, darling. It’s not your door. That’s all there is to it.

I don’t know whether you will decide to lean in on motherhood and stay at home with your children and give them some of the things that I was unable to give you in my desire to stay the professional course. But if you do decide to go back to the workplace, remember the following:

If you want something badly enough, you will most likely have to fight for it. Leaning in is not always going to give you what you need.

No matter how badly you might want something, there is always another path forward. You can’t lean in to stone. Course correct and find another path where people will support you and embrace your dreams.

If you knock on that door and it doesn’t open, it doesn’t mean that there isn’t something for you on the other side. It just means you picked the wrong door.

Always carry yourself with integrity and kindness. At the end of the day, no promotion matters more than your character.

Glass ceilings were meant to be broken.

I know this was long, but I hope one day it means something to you when you’re ready to understand it.

Love,

Mom








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Uncategorized

The Truth About My Blog

spacer When I first started blogging in 2009, I remember loving the freedom I felt from writing and sharing my words. Sure, maybe I wasn’t a published author in the traditional sense, and I was willing to table and maybe set aside that dream. But for the first time in many years, I felt a new found freedom in my words filling my screen as they poured out of me in enormous gusts of relief and revelation. When I started to build connections with people, who also shared their own stories with me and trusted me with glimpses into their own lives, I felt like I had stepped into something very special.

Since 2009, I have been both very active as a blogger while being completely invisible at other times. I have not always had the time, the energy or the wherewithal to share some of the rougher times of my life. I admire bloggers who can put their lives fully out there, but I am also always contemplating the price I pay any time I reveal something about myself online.

Will this affect my family?

Will this hurt someone I care for in any way?

Can this be misconstrued in a way I can’t recognize right now?

Will this impact my professional life?

And so during these times, I find that I retreat. I write quietly in journals that nobody but me sees and I hold tightly to my burdens and some joys, which are not always for me to share with the world. During those times, I may not feel the sense of relief and revelation that I do when I blog, but in a conscious effort to keep the questions above in mind, I choose to keep certain things at bay in my public writing.

That being said, I did learn somewhere along the way within my journey that the pieces I most admired from other writers took bravery to share. And I thought about what kind of writing I myself wanted to put out there. Sure, I wanted to be witty, well-written, introspective and wise. But more than anything, I wanted my writing to be brave. Bold. To mean something – not just to my readers, but to myself. If I had to dig so deep to find the words that meant so much to me, I wanted the sharing to matter. In some ways, I wanted to feel less alone with my feelings and perhaps let others who were going through what I was going through know that they were not alone. That connection was always a huge motivator for me.

Last year, I wrote a post on my blog where I dug a little deeper than I planned. I must have written the post in less than ten minutes, when all was said and done. I titled the post, Love on the Rocks and shared in detail some of the

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