Photo c/o Tutti del Monte

For five years, I worked a Monday through Friday 9-6 with a lunch break.  Growing up an athlete where I lived, breathed and ate on the tennis court, and later coached this was complete torture.  To be in an office by myself for 40 hours a week was a test of my will.  But I knew in order to get to where I wanted to be not only was it necessary; it was actually a blessing.

The first thing I did when I got into the office each day was turn on the computer, printers, and scanners, check the calendar to see if there were any meetings or events that day.  Then I would take out my yellow pad of paper with blue lines on it and write my daily to-do list.  During busy season I would easily fill out two full pages of things to-do and then add-on throughout the day.  But during our winter slow season it was a different story.

I remember it being early January one year, and we were slow(wwwww).  I came into the office Monday morning, turned everything on, checked the calendar to see no appointments for that day, week, and even the next few weeks.  Then I grabbed my pad of paper and pen and just sat there for  a few minutes drumming my pen on the edge of my pad of paper racking my brain:  What in the world am I going to do (not just today), but for this whole month!  What is the point for me being here this week.  It’s all pointless busy work at this point.

I was fine packing my stuff up and calling a spaid a spaid and saying ‘hey boss see you next month, I’m going to the beach’.  But I knew that wouldn’t sit well with him.  After staring blankly for what seemed like an hour I finally came up with two things for me to do that month day:

• Organize my email into folders with labels and tabs.
• Clean and organize the supply closet.

You can imagine how inspired I was.  How in the hell was I going to make that into a whole 8 hour work day, let alone what was I going to do for the next 4 weeks?  Surely I was going to die from boredom or the fumes of all-purpose cleaner as I cleaned the closet for the 29th time.  But alas I did not.  I made it through.  I found things to do, and I did not die of boredom.

What I remember about that day, and days like it was this though:

When I run my own business I want to work hard and efficiently.  None of this 60 hour work week business.  And on days that were slow I wanted to give myself permission to enjoy those moments.  Pack up and go to the beach on a Monday for a few hours.  Go to a midday workout class.  Have a long lunch.  Because inevitably there will be a time a few months down the road when we’re drowning in work and 12 hours days seem as normal as breathing and I’ll have wished I took some time off in the dull days of winter or spring.  The calm before the storm.

Now three years into my running my own business now I’ve learned a thing or two.  For starters:  I’m a harder boss on myself than any other person I have ever worked for. I can just be straight mean to my employee (me).  Instead of letting her go out with friends I boss her around, and make her work through the night just to hit a self-imposed deadline.  Anyone with me?

I’ve also learned that when it’s your own the amount of ownership you feel over every aspect of your business is infinitely more than when you are working for someone else.  I’m always thinking of things to do, portfolios to update, hard drives to triple back up, meetings to set up, articles to write, people to reach out to.  It’s been three years, and I still am looking for that ‘off’ switch that seemed so readily available to me when I worked for someone else.

Giving myself permission as a business owner to enjoy the perks of running my own business is a hard thing to do.  It’s an actual muscle that needs to be strengthened, and is actually a good thing to have in your ‘arsenal’.   I try to remind myself of what I wanted when I started my own business.  What type of lifestyle I was looking for.   And enjoying beautiful middays in the park, and taking trips and working really hard in between was what I wanted.

This week giving myself permission looked like taking a few hours off to ride bikes with my best friend in Brooklyn.  After I got over the initial ‘guilt’ of not working I enjoyed myself so much, and was able to get back to the office and work really hard later that day.

If you’re a business owner or freelancer like me, how can you give yourself permission to enjoy your lifestyle more?  Maybe it’s just taking a 15 minute break, and walking to get an iced tea or maybe it’s finding an airbnb in Paris for an off-month to work and live remotely.  Or maybe you struggle with balance or giving yourself permission.

Whatever it is, I’d love to hear it.

XO,

Kat

*This giveaway is now closed! Congrats Lexi on winning! And thank you to everyone who commented and entered!*

Today we are excited to feature Purpose Boutique!

We truly believe that how you shop matters to the world. Supporting companies that are good for the environment, ethical, and promote justice seems like the least we can do.

Em’s wearing the Navy Christine dress from the Purpose Dress line and today we are hosting a giveaway for one Purpose dress and one accessory!

These dresses are not only comfy – they are cute, versatile and an awesome wardrobe staple for any closet. And the most beautiful thing about this line is that these dresses are made by survivors of injustice in Austin, Texas – giving them hope and dignity as artisans is a pretty rad mission.

TO ENTER :

Leave a comment below and tell us a fun fact about yourself and you’ll be entered to win!

If you share this blog post on facebook/twitter/instagram please tag us @therefinedwoman and @purposeboutique and leave a comment with a link to that post for extra entries!

Winner will be chosen at random on Thursday 5/8 and notified via email. Open to US Residents only.

GOOD LUCK!

xo,

Em

This post is in collaboration with Purpose Dresses. Thanks for supporting posts that keep The Refined Woman’s doors open. 

A few years ago one of my best friends Erica + I made the drive up to LA from Newport Beach on a hot summer afternoon to take a Beyonce dance class.  We showed up, didn’t know anyone, and placed ourselves strategically in the back row.  Since we were in LA I’m pretty sure we were one of the only non-professional dancers there.  Even though we could hardly keep up with the choreography, after class we were sweaty and ready for round two.  Crespatrick was the dance instructor, and came up after class and introduced himself to us (but I’ll be honest…he really introduced himself to Erica:).  At that time none of us had any idea that a few short years later Erica + Crespatrick would be planning their wedding!  Moral of the story:  GO TO YOUR LOCAL BEYONCE DANCE CLASS TO FIND YOUR HUSBAND. #duh.

But really I could not be more excited for these two + their journey together.  Crespatrick is an incredibly talented dancer (among many other things) + is a man of honor and integrity.  He truly is a Refined Man + I’m so excited for you to get to know him!

XO,

Kat

Photos C/O Lindsey Shea Photography

Before I even got pregnant I knew that I wanted to hire a doula to help with my birth. I appreciate hospitals and what they provide and I trusted my doctor and his methods… but I wanted to have a go-between for me and Aaron and the hospital staff in case things got tense at any point. I also wanted to have someone to assist me in laboring at home as long as possible, so that I could avoid unnecessary interventions and deliver naturally – although lots of well-meaning older women told me I wouldn’t be “getting any prize” for not using the drugs. I just wanted to avoid the epidural potentially slowing labor down for me, and I’ll be honest that big needle freaked me the heck out.

In any case, we made it to game time a bit faster than I anticipated.

(If you missed Part 1 of the story you can stop for a moment and READ IT HERE. I’ll wait….)

So Aaron arrived home from work that evening and I began to labor. My doula had dropped by quickly around 6ish to give me a cool doohickey (I actually didn’t know you could just buy this on Amazon until I wrote this post so – you’re welcome!) that sends some electronic waves to manage the contraction pains. Nifty! I was doing pretty good for a while, just me and that yoga ball. Breathing. All that jazz.

The last few weeks before I went into labor I went into full-on nesting madness and redid three out of three bedrooms in our house. YUP. You heard that right. Every room. We had a large dresser that some friends of ours were picking up to get out of our bedroom and while I was breathing and bouncing on that yoga ball in full-on labor.  So I was trying to convince Aaron to tell our friend to come pick up the dresser. I was convinced I’d be doing this thing for a while and they had time. I was also encouraging Aaron to eat something! He was also finishing up sending our tax paperwork to our tax guy. Talk about multi-tasking! We were crushing it.

But it got pretty crazy pretty quickly. I didn’t know this at the time (cause how would I know any different) but I was mainly having what’s called Back Labor. That means my little darling babe was turned so that her head was pressing into my tailbone. And that meant it #1 – it hurt like a mofo and #2 I could really only labor sitting up/squatting/etc. There was no laying down for me. And these visions I had of laboring in a warm bathtub or shower didn’t end up working out so well. So eventually I call Lucia (my doula! she’s great!) to tell her things are getting good and to come over at her earliest convenience.

I swear she was only at our house for 10 minutes (my sense of time is probably skewed so who knows) before I started to feel like I’m leaking a little. She helps me over to the toilet (I think she was using a doula secret here) and BAM! my water breaks. Just like that…It’s really not like in the movie where that’s the first thing to go! It can happen at any time! You might know all this stuff but I didn’t before I got pregnant. Maybe it’s better that way. Save a little mystery. There’s not much left in life once you’re an adult.

After my water breaks – at this point I think my contractions are probably about 3-4 minutes apart- Lucia tells us we should head to the hospital and honestly my head was a little fuzzy. It’s around 8:40pm. We don’t have a hospital bag packed (That was on my to-do list for earlier that day! I swear.) Aaron did manage to send our tax docs in.  But I’m not sure how much of his dinner he managed to eat.

We roll up to the hospital and they pull out a wheelchair. As they are wheeling me in I don’t even look up at the nurse’s station but I say something like “I’m having a baby tonight!” and I tell them my doctor’s name. He pops up behind one of the nurses like “Hey! How’s it going?” So as they are getting us settled into our room I want to get in the shower since things are feeling pretty real and as soon as the water hits my back I feel like whoa. Something’s different.

I turn to Lucia and Aaron and I’m like – “I think I need to push” – and my tone is probably implying “Is that possible?”

I’m still under the impression I was gonna be at this whole labor part a bit longer but since my doc happens to be there they get him in and he’s like – “do you want me to check you?”

Sure! Like why not? I’m not doing anything else tonight.

He looks down there and I don’t know the specifics really but he’s like:

“YEP. You can start pushing now!” He’s practically gleeful delivering that news to me.

Great. It’s Game time folks.

To Be Continued….

Part 3 : BEAST MODE. Coming soon to The Refined Woman.

photo by elizabeth messina

Today Kat + I are styling some new sandals from JCrew! aka The Mothership.

Something about gold and white together just feels right! I love this drapey white skirt, it’s a little sporty and super comfy.

It’s been a lllllong winter here on the East Coast, and I am so ready for spring dresses, sandals, and anything but my puffer jacket.  I like simple, easy, comfy, and when I find something that is all three of those things and chic?  Well, I’m sold.  (I’m pretty sure I’m going to live in these Metallic-trimmed sandals this summer).

It may still be chilly here in New York City, but I’m bringing out sandals + sundress in hopes that the weather will soon follow suit!

Photos c/o Tutti del Monte Photography

The last thing I want to do is write this post.  (Anything but this post).

The post where I tell you it ended, and it hurt.  The post where I tell you I blew it.  He blew it.  We both made a giant mess of things.

I want to tell you about all the good moments that I had with him.  How I felt more swept up with him in the short time we were together than any man I’ve been with in years.  I want to share how he cared for me, made me laugh, treated me like a woman, and reminded me what it feels like to be pursued.  That part is easy.

But the heartache?  No.  I’d rather keep that to myself.

I’d rather be in a quiet lonely corner to lick my wounds, and go outside with a shiny mask that says “Oh ya we dated, but it was so brief.  It was nothing…I’m fine”.

But for me, the reality is that it was something.

It may have been brief, but it was significant to me.

And he meant a lot to me.

Sharing this feels like I have a bruise that people keep accidentally knocking into.  It’s not unbearable, just tender.  Really tender.

So it may sound a bit vague and ethereal, but for now it’s what I can share with you.

It’s over, and just like that, the heartache begins…

Late on Saturday night, I knocked on my best friend’s apartment door. She opened and the tears had already started. My heart was aching, no … actually it felt like it was bleeding full of remorse and what ifs. Like the best friend she is, she held me and let me cry. Not judging. Not trying to fix. Not giving cliche answers. She just let me be, and I felt safe.

She made me hot chamomile tea and sweet potato fries and as I laid on her lap she fed them to me.  Something about it felt holy. I cried some more, and then called a cab to take me home. Right before I left, as I zipped my puffer jacket to enter into the freezing cold New York winter night, she hugged me and whispered,“The sun will rise tomorrow, my love,” and I wept into her arms before heading downstairs to my waiting cab.

I climb in the cab exhausted with questions swirling through my head.

Less than ten minutes later the cab stops, and I quickly pay my fare through muffled sniffles.

My legs, like lead, take me upstairs.

As I open the door to my bedroom, I finally give myself permission to come undone.

And I do.

My clothes fall to the floor and, like a robot, I change into my pajamas, curling into a tight ball beneath my covers.

This hurts so bad.  My hands grip my chest and belly as if the pain were physical.

Why does it hurt so bad?

I wish I didn’t care.

Why did I let myself fall for him?

Maybe it would be better if we’d never met.

How long will it feel like this?

Does he feel it too?

Seconds or hours later, I’m not sure, with mascara tears falling onto my pillow, I drift to sleep…

And you know what happened?

The next morning I woke up, and the sun also rose.

With puffy eyes I