Category: Expectations

Naked in the woods

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I’ve just had the delight of Mother’s Day weekend with my two grown daughters at Gray Bear Lodge in the hills of Tennessee. The event was a Red Tent retreat, named after the ancient tradition of women separating themselves from the rest of the tribe during menstruation, resting, recuperating, and nurturing each other in a separate tent. If you’ve not read Anita Diamant’s great book by the same name, check it out. Who says this is an out-dated tradition? Imagine the reduction in stress levels if once a month we retreated from the world to spend time in connection, sharing stories, laughter, and pampering, with our sisters, mothers, and daughters. Let alone in a setting like this.

Healing abounded in the woods: scenic beauty, sauna followed by cold plunge in spring-fed creek, sand shower, rock pool and hot tub, natural facials–all anticipated and welcome experiences. Unexpected aspects of the weekend abounded–like group drumming. My less than musical self could keep time slowly, and even enjoyed it once I got out of my rational head.

Most wonderful– and most surprising of all– was the afternoon spent by this pristine waterfall, sunbathing in the buff. Two dozen women, all ages and shapes, easily shed clothing and communed comfortably together. No judgment in the air, either woman to woman or in any woman’s head. No air-brushed models here. With a few young exceptions, these were Rubenesque bodies that had birthed and breastfed babies, weathered life, cradled dying spouses. Cellulite be damned, we all reveled in soaking up the warmth radiating from sunshine on the table-size rocks. We waded into the freezing water, stumbled across the stones, and rubbed green-tinged mud all over. After the mud dried, we scrubbed it off until our skin glowed pink and alive.

The lack of self-consciousness and total acceptance flowed as freely as the cadence of our leader’s drum on the hike to the waterfall. And caused me to reflect on how rare–and powerful– it is, to free ourselves from our body image obsession (does this look good on me? is my butt too big?) and immerse ourselves in complete acceptance. Who says we can only feel beautiful if our bodies fit some arbitrary, waifish standard?

The phrase repeated throughout the weekend about our generous bodies was “goddess flesh.” As in (as we sank cross-legged onto the floor for meditation) “reach under your buttocks, adjust your goddess flesh so you can sink in and get comfortable.” This is a phrase we all can adopt each time those self-critical, culture-driven appearance obsessions pop into our heads. We’re all goddesses–embrace this body that works for you, which is all it needs to do.

And if you want to protect this lovely spot, check out the Gray Bear Land Trust.

A perfect Mother’s Day–blah, meow, woof.

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Unless you’ve been orbiting in the space shuttle or hiding in an Afghan cave this week, you’re aware that it’s a big week for moms. Media hype and advertising = skyrocketing expectations about the perfect way to honor mom this Mother’s Day. Blah, blah, blah. Just as with any holiday–or for that matter, any regular old run of the mill day–unrealistic expectations are the most powerful, direct route to disappointment. The more we expect, the more hopes can be dashed.

I remember the painful first year that I didn’t have a daughter at home on Mother’s Day. My husband tuned in to my angst and made plans (earning many husband points!) I’d always loved the fancy hotel Mother’s Day brunches, and he surprised me with brunch reservations. Given the holiday crowd, the hotel moved the event to the massive, dim, chandeliered ball room, away from the usual intimate, sunny garden cafe setting. There we sat at a tiny “two top” in the midst of lively parties of dozens of family members, from great grandmothers to infants– most clad in gay spring hats! Just our little 2 person table, awkwardly adrift in this sea of flowering families. Given my expectations for a great time, I was surprised at how bereft I felt.

What’s a mother to do?

1. Ask for what you want. We’d like to think that on this day, out of the whole year, our loved ones will just know what we want. But family members are simply human, and likely not psychic. And don’t be afraid to ask for them all to disappear for the day, if time alone is what you truly crave. Or here’s a fun list of truly invaluable gifts.

2. Stay in the moment, and recognize the love in the intent. Embrace whatever is offered in celebration.

Too often we’re like cats in our expectations: we demand it all. At least silently, in the solitude of our minds, we expect to be pampered, stroked, fed all earthly delights between lengthy, luxurious naps, as the world revolves around us. At least for one measly day a year.

Not that mothers don’t deserve it. Parenting is the hardest job we’ll ever do, and a cat’s life is what moms deserve. However, “deserve” and executed reality don’t always align, and then disappointment can rush in. Unless we meow, or maybe howl, really loudly, for what we want. Refer to #1 above!

However, a better way might be to live in the moment like dogs. To dogs, every day is the best day ever: “I chased a squirrel!!!!” “I smelled a rotten smell!!!!” “I got scratched behind the ears!!!” “I got to go for a walk!!” Most wondrous day ever!!! In the current issue, Psychology Today explains that those who are happier, and luckier, definitely adopt this canine attitude, embracing wonder in every twist and turn of life. Woof, woof!!

On <em>The Sanity Hour this week, guest Cheri Ruskus shared this poem written by her mother Jeannine Landreau. Cheri discovered the poem after her mother’s death last year.

Do not take this moment lightly for it is the most important moment of your life
It is all there is of the present. Live it to the fullest for it will never come again.
All that has gone before it is a memory and all that will come after it is only a hope or dream of future things.
It is more than the beginning of tomorrow and the end of yesterday.
Make it a great moment, it is your life right now and you will never live it again!

Rein in your expectations this Mother’s Day, ask for what you want, and hope for perfect moments, not a 110% perfect day. With canine expectations for every moment, every day, the joy of Mother’s Day might extend throughout the year.

Happy Mother’s Day.

What size?

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“I’m not trying those on!” “I’m not wearing size Y.” “Wow, I fit into a size X!” Who says a six (or a four or a ten) is a badge of honor? Then there’s that ridiculous size 0 or 00!! Does that make me a size nothing, or double nothing? Sounds like I’m invisible–or the incredible shrinking woman.

Lots of chatter about size as spring blossoms, with the allure–or horror–of summer clothing just around the corner. Too many women fixate on an arbitrary number to feel good about themselves, whether in terms of size or weight. With all this talk, I remembered that sizing changed, at least in home sewing patterns, in 1967. Intrigued by this vague memory, I did a little digging about the history of clothing sizing.

Standardized sizing first arose in the 1930s, with the growing middle class and availability of assembly line clothing. Prior to that time, most clothing was individually sewn, tailored to fit the wearer. Around 1940, about 15,000 American women were measured, 59 body points in all, as part of a USDA survey. The goal was to standardize sizing for mass produced clothing, for the first large-scale scientific study of women’s body measurements. Marilyn Monroe-esque curvy was the shape of most women at that initial assessment, with pronounced bust and hips and thinner waist. Not unlike an older standard of beauty–think Renaissance painting. Sizing numbers were arbitrarily assigned. Until 1956 a size 12 was for a 30 inch bust. In 1956 sizing changed again, as the average American woman no longer resembled this glamour girl body type. With the rise of Barbie, women looked less and less like her. Size 12 was assigned a 32 inch bust. Beautiful bombshell Marilyn would’ve worn size 16! In mid-1967 the standard changed once again and size 12 became a 34 inch bust. I was not yet twelve years old, but my size dropped from a 14 to a 12. I was thrilled. And I hadn’t had to give up one beloved Twinkie.

Fast forward to today: sizes are firmly anchored in the realm of ˜vanity sizing.” At Anne Klein, J.Jill, Target, and Land’s End, a 34 inch bust is size 4. Size 12 is now a 39 inch bust, and surgical enhancement trends notwithstanding, that’s some change. Store to store, designer to designer; you know where you like to shop: where a smaller size fits. Manufacturers know this and lure you in by labeling ever larger sizes with smaller numbers. In fact, my research this week revealed that the fashion industry resists any effort to standardize sizes, as was done in 1940, fearing loss of a customer if the size she wear gets upsized.  Upsized like a value meal? Who would stand for that?

It’s a numbers game. Do you like how you look? Do you feel good? Does this outfit feel like you? Define your style and stick with it and ignore the size, especially if it makes you feel bad about yourself. Quit the second-guessing–feel good at a healthy weight, reasonable to maintain, rather than a weight fueled only by carrots, grapefruit, and seltzer. Every model–on TV, the internet, or those hefty fashion magazines–is air-brushed. Watch The Evolution of Beauty here, if you’ve never seen it or need reminded. And the cultural standard of attractiveness is just that: defined by where you live. Check out The Hidden World of Girls on NPR. In some cultures skinny women are not desirable; they are considered poor and sickly. Curvier, more substantial women represent wealth and health.

Embrace your well-fed, rich look this summer at whatever size and weight. While we’re at it, let’s join forces and bravely bare arms. inspired by the First Lady, who has gone sleeveless where no first lady before has dared venture. No more fear of lunch lady arms!

Green Guilt

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Happy Earth Day. Today is the day we’re cheered and chided to take care of our planet by adopting environmentally sound strategies. Simply can’t escape the “shoulds'” all week long– the directives to adopt reusable shopping bags, hybrid cars, CFL lightbulbs, nontoxic cleaning products, and try carpooling/mass transit. To take shorter showers in water heated to lower temperatures. To recycle cans, bottles, papers, grass clippings, batteries, cell phones, and rain water. To buy local, conserving the fossil fuels involved in shipping. To go vegetarian, as livestock emissions balloon the cloud of greenhouse gases. To remodel with nontoxic paint or carpet and tile made from old soda bottles. Add this to any week’s usual list to clean, nurture, work, feed, pay, play, drive, and get a full night’s sleep. Are you exhausted yet, keeping up with the never-ending expectations of responsible citizenship?

Green guilt. I first heard about it from Lynn Colwell and Corey Colwell-Lipson, the hosts of HerInsight Radio’s Celebrate Green on the March 30 show (airing Wednesdays, 1-2 pm ET). Green guilt is what we feel when those “shoulds” invade our brains–we really do have good intentions about doing the best for our planet. But we can’t quite keep up with the expectations, our own or those of others. Last year, The New York Times ran a story saying that fewer Americans feel green guilt, down from 22% in 2008 to 12% in 2009, because they are doing more for the environment. The percentage of Americans who recycle at least one item grew from 89% to 92% in that year, as well. Almost all of us are pitching in on some level.

What if you’re like me, mired in green guilt because you’re not doing it ALL?

Time to recite my “DID DO” list again. I tossed the growing pile of corks on my kitchen counter from all those champagne bottles, even though I know I cut out an article from something, and saved it somewhere — now lost in the bin of recycled papers, no doubt — that listed where I could mail them to recycle. Rather than fixating on what I throw away, I need to focus on the tons of papers, bottles, cans, and batteries that I DO recycle religiously. Guilt about those full throttle gallons per minute showers I prefer? I really don’t want to give them up, replacing that 1964 shower head with a new low-flow variety. So I keep them really short, reveling in the heart-awakening morning blast. And skip a few flushes of the toilet, letting it ‘mellow’ if prudent, to save water.

It’s all about perspective and balance–as always! Aim to be a perfectly good citizen of planet Earth, picking the pieces that ARE readily accomplished. Maybe add one additional ‘green’ task every Earth Day, rather than engineering a complete overhaul of your domestic life. Just like New Year’s resolutions, the tsunami of Earth Day ideas can only be surfed for about for ten days before it’s simply too much. Remember those reusable grocery bags once more each month. Replace one more incandescent bulb with one florescent. Buy carbon offsets for at least one plane trip.

Who says you have to be Super Green Woman, champion of the environment? Persevere! Take pride in each effort you DO make rather than succumbing to the inevitable green guilt when you can’t keep up with the ten zillion ideas bombarding you this week. You’re doing the best you can.

If you need ideas for big impact with a tiny investment of time, check out this article on five ways to save the planet in thirty minutes or less. And then pick just ONE!

What works?

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I know everyone is busy–but can I tell you about my week? Two evening events, the arrival of the corrected book proof and the flurry of first bulk orders, and a day held hostage to the carpet installers (you know, when you must stay home all day because workers are in your home). I could have written a blog entry–or at least a “sh*tty first draft– as in Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
author Anne Lamott says, on that day. Then, during one evening event, my house of course, the cat with interstitial cystitis decided she’d join ranks with the Tea Party activists in the nation’s capital by placing dime-size circles of urine on every other tax document the tax preparer (i.e., my husband) had spread out on the bed. Interstitial cystitis, chronic inflammation of the urinary tract, flares up under stress. Stress, to a cat, you ask? Stress to this cat (and her sister/litter mate, who in true sibling copy cat fashion also has developed interstitial cystitis) is any change to her environment that prevents her from sleeping 22 hours a day. Like carpet installers who bang on floors, drag carpet around, and prop the door open so scary neighborhood cat smells can waft into her territory. Phew. All of this is to say forgive me for the lack of lengthy, meaningful post this week. Simply don’t know where the time went. Now you know you’re not alone–and this is a week when I need to honor my own advice and write a “Did Do” list. However, this does not mean that I haven’t been thinking about my devoted readers. I’ve collected a short list of events that triggered “who says?” in my head this week, bringing to mind two of the thinking traps from Even June Cleaver Would Forget the Juice Box: Cut Yourself Some Slack (and Still Raise Great Kids) in the Age of Extreme Parenting. (Thinking traps are the culturally-ingrained myths about expectations of women and/or mothers that we keep in our heads.)

More, better, all is essential for success Always striving for the newest, fastest, latest improvement in anything and everything? A friend related how she and her husband just had to have a king-size bed. That was the pinnacle of “we’ve made it” adult success. And now they need not touch, ever, in bed. With plenty of room for avoidance, could the allure of king size mattresses be a factor in the epidemic of sexless marriages? A revved up, satisfying sex life is not easy if you never touch your bed buddy.

My grandmother shared another version of this same cultural drive to junk the old for the new. In the 70s, brass beds were all the rage. I was wishing aloud, hinting that one might lurk in the dusty, dim corners of her wondrous attic. She told how they had put the old solid brass bed frames out for the junk man, in favor of spanking new wood bedroom suites of furniture. The Pottery Barn catalogue look was not the sign of success in the 1930s and 1940s.

Moms have to protect their children from everything. One mom was lamenting that her children eat many French fries each week. Her preschooler was stuck on fries, eating only fries, as that age often fixates. Some say (my mother, a nutritionist by training) French fries are saving this country from scurvy because potatoes are rich in Vitamin C–and the only source of vitamin C for many. Another mom confessed guilt as all the other moms at the park slathered their kids with sunscreen. She chose not to do battle with her toddler over the process. Ah well, sunshine is our major source of Vitamin D. By slacking off on the sunscreen for that one hour, she decided she’d saved her kids from rickets.

Challenge the thinking traps, buck unrealistic expectations, and keep perspective. Does a king-size bed really define us? Is it really devastating to let your child eat French fries four days a week for three months, to make sure something passes her lips, if she eats healthy food before and after the terrible twos? Does one sunscreen free hour–or even several a season– over the course of your child’s life equal a certain health risk, if overall he is protected from serious sunburn? What works is what matters–not some arbitrary ideals about timetables we should keep or standards we should enforce or achieve. Embrace what works for you: a smaller bed, more fries, an hour of play sans sunscreen. And I’ll keep my own brain chatter going about the fact that this week, this late entry is what worked for me.

Stigma

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A mom was lamenting the difficulty women have relating honestly to each other, which I’d addressed in this week’s The Sanity Hour and last week’s post. Women in her circle simply DO NOT admit that life with kids is hard. Living in an extremely affluent community, she shared that women are heavily invested in “I’m so lucky to get to stay home with my kids.” There’s a strong taboo in her neighborhood about acknowledging any real life stress because, given our culture’s habitual black and white thinking, if a mom ‘is blessed’ to stay home with her kids, she has to love every hectic minute. I’d offered one of my favorite mantras, “love the kid, hate the job” and suggested she start a more realistic conversation by pointing friends toward my show and blog posts, where I’m SLIGHTLY invested in ‘letting it all hang out’ (to revive a phrase from the 70s.) She exclaimed “I couldn’t do that–then they’d know that I go to therapy!”

Really? Have we really not come any further than this stale stigma about mental health? Rates of depression and anxiety in women are twice the rates seen in men. Before puberty, boys with mood issues outnumber girls. Between 9 and 13 years, the rates of anxiety and depression in girls shoot up to twice those of boys. And stay there until age 55, when rates even out between the sexes. With statistics like these, women are the majority consumers of mental health services.

The origin of the differences is a perennial question. One popular explanation is that women simply admit to mood issues more often, while men are less likely to seek treatment. If women are guarded with close friends because of the stigma, it’s not a stretch to imagine that this is true.

However, serotonin synthesis is 48% lower in women versus men. Serotonin is one of the main neurotransmitters that affect mood. This fact, along with the stats about male vs. female rates across the life span, suggests that women are biochemically predisposed to depression and anxiety. Women can’t will themselves to make more serotonin any more than individuals with diabetes can will themselves to make more insulin.

Brain chemistry is not the only culprit. Powerful expectations for women to do all and be all mean women are running on empty. Given my demanding work, listening to problems day after day, I’ve devoted myself to the routine of a real lunch break. Out of the office, with a friend or a good book, ideally with a beautiful view, every day. No working through lunch to finish paperwork. I need the thirty minute break that labor laws in this country mandate. Who lunches around me at a leisurely pace? Men–a preponderance of men. Women, weighed down with the second shift of childcare and housework, must be eating at their desks or on the run with errands.

Who says women are the weaker sex? Is it a flaw to need support and inspiration from mental health professionals? Enough of the stigma! Our biochemistry predisposes us. Our cultural expectations drive us to forgo restorative activities in favor of more work. It’s a foolproof combination for feeling overwhelmed.

Invest in yourself. Breaks for basic bodily renewal like sleep, food, or exercise; connections with other women, and learning to battle your counterproductive brain chatter through therapy are powerful tools for survival. Be a model for other women by embracing the old adage “we don’t have to be sick to get better.”

The Pearl Illusion

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Time to tear off those pesky June Cleaver masks. Women work day in and day out to put up a good front. Not only is it exhausting to appear decked out in our pearls as we vacuum, but a new study shows that we’ll be happier through honest connection, engaging in depth with others, than when we chatter on at only surface level.

In research at the University of Arizona, the happiest people engaged in only one-third as much small talk as the unhappiest participants. Happy people engaged in twice as many substantive conversations, and spent 25 percent less time alone, than unhappy people. The link is well-documented between loneliness and depression. Even when I was in grad school thirty years ago, research was clear that feeling connected to others was a key factor for happiness and for health.

Women often battle the urge to conceal their troubles, rather than speak honestly about the challenging, tedious parts of their lives. Why invest so much energy in projecting the image that we’ve “got it all together?”

1) We secretly suspect that we’re the only one for whom it’s hard. Everyone else has twenty balls in the air and a smile on her face. We think “there must be something the matter with me,” as another ball goes careening out of reach. “If I were only stronger, smarter, more organized, a better multitasker. If everyone else’s life is smooth, it must be me who is defective, weak, or less than.”
2) We are certain others don’t want to hear us kvetch. Complaining is not attractive. People will tire of it, shy away, judge, or label the complainer as a downer or even a bitch.

Straight thinking is helpful. Is everyone else truly surfing breezily through the stresses in their lives? Are you the only woman out of 82.8 million who forgot her pearls today? Really? Are you accurately judging the ratio of calm versus chaos that you are expressing? Is 100% of your conversation constantly stewed in negativity?

Aim for moderation and middle ground. Yes, perhaps, if all you ever do is bitch, others might tune you out. I believe most women err on the side of minimizing life’s thorns, blocking honest communication and connection, than on spewing complaints 168 hours a week. Besides, it’s not the complaining that drives others away. Listeners shy away if they feel uncomfortable with the topic, or when the complainer doesn’t listen to suggestions, can’t be consoled, or goes on like a CD on repeat, ignoring possible remedies. If a friend is interested and listens, we need to honor her efforts with action on our problems.

I find that a simple expression of “poor baby” is incredibly helpful. When we kvetch, we validate each other. We empower our friends by saying “I get it, I know where you’re coming from.” We feel less alone and less defective.

Remember, June Cleaver only had to parent 20 minutes per week. She had no carpools to drive and no boss-imposed deadlines for her pies or her dusting. We feel better when we acknowledge that life is hard for women in this century–maybe the challenges are different than in previous generations, but hard nevertheless. None of us is perfect. All of us have trials. There’s nothing the matter with me–I’m just part of the whole race of women, tromping through the overkill of daily demands. When we connect through honesty, we feel happier, less alone, and healthier, too.

Life’s Prizes

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It seems to be the season for life’s big prizes, from the Winter Olympics to the Oscars. Tonight on The Sanity Hour I will talk to moms of aspiring kids. We’ll look at how moms support their children in pursuit of big dreams, and what it takes to balance their own and their children’s lives. On the line-up are moms of aspiring/accomplished actors, athletes, singers, and authors.

One of my favorite topics, perspective, is sure to come up as key in keeping our lives sane and balanced. Too often, parents get stressed when they lose track of long-term goals versus the quality of daily life. As parents, we need to remember that parenting is not a competition, and our success as parents does not hinge on external rewards for our kids, even when those prizes are mind-boggling.

That’s why I love this United Technologies Corporation ad from years ago, and try to count these kinds of successes in my own life.

Most of us miss out on life’s big prizes.
The Pulitzer.
The Nobel.
Oscars.
Tonys.
Emmys.
But we’re all eligible for life’s small pleasures.
A pat on the back.
A kiss behind the ear.
A four-pound bass.
A full moon.
An empty parking space.
A crackling fire.
A great meal.
A glorious sunset.
Hot soup.
Cold beer.
Don’t fret about copping life’s grand awards. Enjoy it’s tiny delights.
There are plenty for all of us.

If you want to hear this group of dynamite women between 7-8 pm CDT on Monday March 15, 2010, just click on my link under RESOURCES in the right-hand column of this page. Then click on the box on the top right hand of the page that has blue lettering and says Toginet Radio Live. If you miss it live, you can still listen to the podcast by following this link.

The broken libido link

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So which would you rather live without? Cake or sex?

A friend sent me this Hallmark ShoeBoxcard. (Visit a Hallmark store today.)

Women’s missing libido is legendary. Consider the accepted “fact:: men think about sex every seven seconds; women think about sex seven times a year. There’s the classic bit from Woody Allen’s Annie Hall. Annie and Woody’s character, Alvy, each tell the therapist that they have sex 2-3 times per week. Alvy labels this “hardly ever, never.” Annie says that it’s “all the time.” Books lament today’s sexless marriages.

The problem lies in expectations –and unquestioning acceptance– that a woman’s libido goes missing in action for years. Sex drive drops as work demands pile up. Children come along, constantly tugging, clinging, and creating mommy “touch fatigue.” Sometimes, women believe “mothers don’t do those things.” Fluctuating hormones take a toll, with breastfeeding, perimenopause, and menopause. Not to mention when women are constantly running on empty and even simple self-renewal like sleep, exercise, or fun stays on the bottom of the list for weeks on end.

Women can reclaim this most basic need by tuning into the benefits. Feelings of closeness to your partner rise with levels of the hormone oxytocin, which jumps to five times normal levels. Oxytocin increases drowsiness, easing sleep. Research has shown that orgasm releases endorphins, like a runner’s high, relieving pain of cramps and headaches. Endorphins boost mood and ease PMS irritability, too. Finally, the neurotransmitter dopamine rises, enhancing lust and the relaxation response. This explains why libido is enhanced by an active sex life. “Use it or lose it” is not a myth.

Acknowledging the benefits encourages us to put satisfying sex back on the list ,for ourselves, not just to assuage our fears of a wandering partner. But how to rebuild the missing link?

Cynthia Kling in A Bitch in the House nails it: “eventually the pure animal rutting feeling stops rising out of your depths, and that’s when you need … your brain to take over and bring it back.” Plan to ignite that sleepy part of your brain by simply allowing yourself to think about sex.

Read a sexy novel. Watch artfully crafted sex scenes in a movie –no porn required. Sex scenes are often labeled “gratuitous sex,” designed to lure young movie-goers. Who says we can’t enjoy them –if we allow ourselves to embrace this basic human response.

Then make time for sex, by handing over household/childcare chores, a carrot on a stick, to that hopefully willing partner. Young moms, in particular, can delegate bedtime rituals to dad for at least one night. Take the free time to relax in the tub, daydream, delve into erotica. Brent Bost, MD, author of The Hurried Woman, affirms it: the best aphrodisiac in the world is a man with a vacuum cleaner.

The Tiger Affair

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The Tiger Woods affairs and his confessed sense of entitlement have revved up an ugly old myth: “if I’m not satisfying my man, he’ll look elsewhere.” Low level, anxiety-provoking brain chatter for many women goes likes this: “Keep the sex lively, or at least frequent, or he’ll stray. He’s only a man. Men have needs. My man’s needs are my job.”

The pressure of this expectation can be as tight around the loins as too tight control top pantyhose. (I love the line from “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” The mother of the bride shrieks to her sister, heading to the store to buy pantyhose. “But not queen size. They make me look fat!”) The expectation that a good woman satisfies her man leads right into blaming the woman if her man has an affair.

When couples show up in the therapist’s office after he has committed a Tiger, inevitably he is penitent about straying and she is equally penitent about neglecting him. Nearly 100% of the time, in her head the “shoulds” and “if onlys” abound. “I should have enjoyed sex more.” “If only I was less tired.” This puts men into the category of one more person women need to take care of –and/or police. Not equal partners in a relationship, both committed to preserving that imperfect union.

This blaming stance is an outdated view. Personal responsibility comes first. If either party is dissatisfied with how needs are met — or not –in the relationship, it is that individual’s job to address the problem in the relationship. Problem= no sex? Not enough sex? Not the right kind of sex? Talk about it together. No emotional connection? Feeling neglected, secondary to kids or other life demands? Solve it within the context of the relationship.

In Tiger’s apology last week, he rightly claimed total responsibility for his behavior. When cheating occurs, physical or emotional, it is the sole responsibility of the cheater. Not the wounded party. Women need not blame themselves if the problem was never offered up as something to solve. No blame game. (See caveat #2.)

Differentiate sins of omission from sins of commission. He strayed because he made a bad decision about how to solve his unhappiness or his horniness–NOT because she was too busy, too tired, or too angry for sex. The cheater made a choice and wasn’t “driven to it.” A couple may need to solve underlying issues, but responsibility for the transgression still falls with the cheater.

Caveat #1: The above assumes an unfaithful “he,” because women frequently fall into blaming themselves if their significant other strays. I don’t know how commonly men blame themselves if she cheats. Women are unfaithful in lesser percentages than men.

Caveat #2: Exceptions exist. Sometimes, la Scarlett and Rhett, she banishes him from the bedroom, declaring “I don’t care about sex — or you — just leave me alone.” With this action, it’s arguable that Scarlett has relinquished the right to complain about Belle Watling.

What about women and sex? Why does sex end up last on the list? Tune into the next blog for an exploration.