Category: Expectations

“But I should know . . .”

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“Relax” ”just follow your gut and you’ll know what to do.” Ninety per cent of parenting is instinct, right? Research (and common sense) show that, contrary to this long-lived myth, fully two thirds of new parents doubt their ability to take care of that baby. The “Listening to Mothers” Survey by Childbirth Connection found that more than half of second time moms continue to doubt their innate parenting abilities. Most parents report that the deluge of available advice (roughly 15 million hits on a Google search for “parenting advice”) simply overwhelms them, confusing rather than comforting.

It’s not only droves of new parents who lack confidence. Even seasoned parents question themselves as new stages and challenges loom: picking schools, from preschool to college; trusting other parents for play dates or sleepovers, responding to tantrums, whether in two-year-olds or twenty-year-olds. The decision-making is endless, just like the accompanying anxiety. Of course we all want to do right by our children. And we live in a mother-blaming culture, where every news story of a serial killer has a requisite sidebar about his relationship with dear old mom.

My “perfectly good mom” remedy is the family mission statement. When your child is 25, what qualities will you most wish you had instilled? What skills and experiences are most linked to your values? Pick your top five, attach the list to the fridge, and let that guide your decision-making.

And just as key — acknowledge that you have a learning curve. No one steps into a paid job they’ve never done and sails through without consultation. Give yourself permission to seek input from others. And once you find a source — an expert, a friend, a parenting philosophy — that works for you, quit searching. Step away from Google! Develop your skills within your chosen framework and allow yourself to screen out everything else. INCLUDING this blog, if necessary!

If you like my focus, though, and want help to achieve that delicate, shifting balance in parenting, please tune in — and call in — to “The Sanity Hour.” Launching this Monday, Feb. 22, 7 pm CT on the HerInsight Radio Network, broadcast on Toginet. I welcome guests who want help with the craziness of parenting. Email me in advance with your questions: ann[at]anndunnewold[com] (please translate when you email me–this is to thwart spammers) or call 877-864-4869 during the show.

The panty conversation is growing. (creeping?)

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Looks like I’m not the only one talking about panties as a women’s issue. Check out Linda Lowen’s About.com entry this week, with her link to SkunkPost.com. Love it, Linda!

Celebrate Wednesday and go buy yourself a new pair of panties–comfortable and sexy if that appeals to you. I’m preferring SteinMart for good deals these days. The amount spent is anotherdie-hard, drummed-into-me-at- an-early-age standards. Paying $15 for something that weighs less than an ounce and will be enjoyed by few stretches my envelope a bit. I feel even more empowered by discovering a sexy, lacy, COTTON thong for $3! As Dirty Harry would say, “go ahead, make my day.”

V-Day to Empower Women

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It’s the dreaded Valentine’s Day week, with the perennial torment: “will he be my Valentine?” Anxiety revs up in kindergarten: “am I good enough/pretty enough/popular enough?” And never abates completely, even as grade school fades into sepia. As we’re pounded by Valentine’s Day marketing, the brain chatter goes on: Who will be my valentine? What will he do? What should I do? Chocolates? Flowers that die by Weds.? Sexy lingerie? Am I loved? Is our relationship all it can be?
Expectations waft over us like the heady scent of roses inundating the grocery store. Holidays as a rule ramp up our expectations–leading to dashed hopes. Especially Valentine’s Day, with promises of perfect romantic love. This holiday is a hot trigger for “all or nothing” thinking. Either the holiday is celebrated in The Right Way —or all is lost and you’re left heartbroken and empty.
A perfect time for straight thinking, to stop the irrational brain chatter about relationship status or restaurant choices. I love the mantra my younger sister adopted in high school: “a woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.” Or, if you’re in a relationship: “I’ll look for the intention behind the gift” rather than putting a Hallmark card, Lifetime TV template on it. It’s a good time to challenge the myth that “if he loved me, he’d know.” Who says? If some aspect of celebrating the holiday, roses for example, is essential, speaking up beats harboring resentment that he missed the class on “Reading Women’s Minds.”
Or skip it entirely–rise above the overly-perfumed and caloric aspects of the day–and celebrate V-Day instead. V-Day was started in 1998 by Eve Ensler, playwright of the award-winning Vagina Monologues, as an international campaign to raise awareness about and funds for battling violence against women and girls. V-Day is synonymous with empowering women.
I honored Valentine’s Day by empowering a few future women yesterday. Five young girls, 8 to 13 years old, were playing in Dallas’ record setting snowfall. I was walking to the post office, just to enjoy the fairyland created by the surprising snow. One older girl, pencil thin legs in tight jeans, was chasing her friend, clumps of snow in bare hands. She was squealing about her red, frozen fingers as much as the novelty of the snow. I stopped and handed her my mittens. She politely refused at first, but succumbed as I insisted. Slipping on the gloves, she ran off gleefully toward her friend, laughing “I’ll really get you now!” The three younger girls were patting small handfuls of snow into a slightly forlorn pile. I asked if they were building a snowman, and they nodded gravely. “Do you want me to show you how to make it easier?” I asked, knowing this is not a skill possessed by most Texas children. More grave nods. I demonstrated how to roll the awkward lump across the deep snow, quickly picking up layers to make a respectable base for their snow person. Smiles lit up their faces. They thanked me in their sweet little girl falsettos. They were lifting a second huge ball of snow onto the snow person, making it taller then they were, by the time I rounded the corner.
Make a choice to empower yourself–or another woman in your life this week. Or check out five ways to empower women by celebrating V-Day.

Big girl panties?

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Maybe it’s strictly generational, but granny panties have always outnumbered thongs in my lingerie drawer. Trying to loosen up my midlife world view and eliminate unsightly panty lines, I’ve been underwear shopping lately. And was delighted to find sexy, lacy thongs with a hint of practicality (i.e. cool, comfortable, breathable cotton). With the brand name Jezebel?

Does wearing lacy lingerie make you an evil woman? Why do all the sexy panties have names like Jezebel, Temptress, Flirt, Invisible Bliss? May as well call them Tart, Harlot, Scarlett, or “O.” Definitely another automatic association leftover from my growing up years. “Good girls” wear sturdy, serviceable cotton Lollipop panties — in white or pastels (how exciting!) “Bad girls” wear the pretty, lacey panties. And have all the fun. When I was a teen, I had one shockingly bright green low-rise bikini pair with a black zipper (gasp). This is the exact purchase that my younger sisters recently admitted had marked me as a glamorous older sister. And firmly fixed a frown on my mom’s face when I came home from the mall, panties in hand.

It’s not just names. Another assumption is lurks within: wearing lacy lingerie is for him, not for you. Certainly all that lace and trim and thong between the cheeks is less comfortable than soft cotton, right? So why suffer the indignities and itching, except to entice or excite him? As an empowered woman, I wasn’t about to buy into that.

Reminds me of a T-shirt my older daughter had when she was 13, distributed by Candie’s, maker of sexy shoes and clothing. In large, legible letters it said “Be sexy.” And in the fine print: “it doesn’t mean you have to have sex.” Some mothers scorned me for allowing her to wear it, as if it were an advertisement. Women can claim their sexuality, even enjoy it. Without turning into bad girls. Objecting to that slogan seemed like buying into the sexist view that if you are dressed to kill, you deserve to be raped.

Black and white thinking is the culprit again: chaste lingerie equals pure of heart/mind/body. Black, lacy, and low cut is the stamp of a bad girl. Is this really a fact? Do clothes really define the woman, so that I can’t enjoy a fun bustier under a power suit? Time to challenge those expectations. Even the little girls get fun princess panties, Barbie panties, Dora panties — or as my younger daughter had, Pink Power Ranger panties.

One of my friends likes to say, “put on your big girl panties and deal with it.” In this case, the grown-up panties of choice are lacy, cheekiest (in the parlance of Victoria’s Secret, referring to amount of cheek exposure), and surprisingly more comfortable than constant adjustments of creeping leg elastic. My new power panties can allow me to please no one but myself, a rare opportunity in my good girl life. That’s dealing with it.

As on everything else: NO absolute thinking. I did find one exception to the naughty names: Victoria’s Secret has one thong called “Angel.” Or maybe go commando, following the decree of Jill Connor Browne, author of The Sweet Potato Queens book series: “Never wear panties to a party.” Do what works for you.

I don’t want to brag, but . . .

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“I shouldn’t brag, but . . .” Fill in the blank: “I just paid off my car/student loan/house.” Or maybe “My child made it into the gifted program/the select soccer team/Harvard.” Hardly a day goes by without this example of how women are conditioned to minimize their successes, to hide their skills, to quash their good news. This is so deeply ingrained in us. Who says? Why shouldn’t we take pride in our accomplishments?

Examination of this question is personal of late, as I think about the need to announce blog launched, books published, radio show to debut — at least if I want followers. Humility was drummed into me at an early age, growing up as a preacher’s kid. Even as I sit in solid mid-life (if you’re counting years, nearly two thirds into my life, statistically) it is hard for me, as for the women I listen to throughout my life, to even announce my achievements, let alone with pride. Women I know have written admirable books, started social movements, reigned as national experts in their fields, created art that inspires, raised remarkable young adults. And the norm is to hem and haw and softly mutter about what we’ve done, lacing the speech with apologies and detractions. The equivalent of “oh, this old thing?” when someone compliments your brand-new dress. Those admonishments in our heads to be nice and not brag never seem to quiet entirely.

And why is this? We want to be nice girls. Nice girls don’t brag. Good girls don’t toot their own horns. This modesty is not for modesty’s sake, however. Nice girls are programmed to be cautious and concerned about the feelings of others. Isn’t that what it’s about? We don’t brag (or even proclaim deserved pride) in our accomplishments because we don’t want others to feel badly. We don’t want others to feel that they come up short. So we downplay our triumphs and miss an opportunity to boost ourselves up.

I’m not saying we should model ourselves after those who constantly broadcast their own victories, however shallow or magnificent, and are seemingly incapable of any topic beyond their own gold stars. As I often remind clients when talking about this life-changing switch to self-affirmation, I’m not that powerful a therapist that I can turn a self-effacing person into a narcissist. Nor is that the goal. Just calling for a little balance, swing the pendulum ever so slightly towards positive feelings about self and away from minimization of life’s prizes. Good friends and loving families want to celebrate with us. They realize that we’re not proclaiming ourselves “better than.” We’re trying on some well-earned self-praise and want to share the joy, not shouting nyah, nyah.

Let’s trust that others will share our pride. Let’s affirm that we deserve to feel good about our hard work. Let’s remember that there’s plenty of happiness to go around and our wins don’t jinx our sister’s chances. Let’s inspire with our strengths, moving other women toward their own dreams, rather than viewing life as a competition. Let’s embrace each other’s bragging, rejoicing not just in the lauded event but in the boost to esteem that healthy bragging brings.

Oh, and by the way, please spread the word about my blog. If you like my message, pass it on to your friends. And look forward with me to the launch of my radio show, “The Sanity Hour,” beginning February 22 at 7 p.m. CT on HerInsight radio network. I’ll need guests, if you want to share my fifteen minutes of fame. Link coming soon!

Mother knows best.

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No matter our age or time since we left home, mother knows best rings in our heads. One 20-something woman I know hates her job. She’s slaved away for two years, but neither the job nor her feelings have budged. She endures miserable hours of overwork at tearfully boring tasks. She’d like to explore other options. Dare she mention the idea? Her mom launches into a broken record lament: “life is hard–jobs can suck.” This mantra causes instant shut down of her dreams. Her brain chatter says “Mom is right. This is the world of work.” This translates into “I don’t deserve the best” or “I don’t have power to change my life.”

Certainly this mother means well–mothers do. She doesn’t want her daughter to take risks or lose career ground. In this mother’s generation, workers signed on with some behemoth company at 22 and retired with a gold watch at 65. This is what she thinks is best.

When I married, my mother told me “never go to bed angry.” I vigorously pursued this marital advice, until we embodied a favorite Phyllis Diller joke: “Never go to bed angry. Stay up and fight!” Too many wee hours were lost hurling vicious barbs in the pursuit of marital harmony.

Attending an anger management training seminar ended this mother knows best tyranny. The facilitator explained: when we’re angry, blood flow in the reasoning part of our brains decreases, to foster survival mode in the brain sections that control the fight or flight response. She asserted “there’s no blood in your fore-brain — close your mouth!” Saved piles of sleep and hurt feelings.

This clash of generations is one problem with mother knows best. Advice fails the test of time because knowledge of human behavior advances, as I learned in the anger management workshop. And standards and expectations evolve. When my 20 year old daughter walked in, flaunting a very short skirt and too revealing blouse, I sucked in a deep breath — me, who grew up in the dawn of miniskirts! “When I was your age,” I cautiously queried, “clothes like that would’ve labeled me a slut. What’s different now?” Jokingly jockeying her garments around, she illustrated how much more skin she could reveal. Her response satisfied my 1960s sensibilities.

The second hitch with mother knows best dictums is that they’re riddled with absolute thinking. Judgments issued by maternal mouths seem to translate into Absolute Truth, just because it’s dear old mom talking. One size fits all, do or die, laced with always and never. Nothing is that cast in stone.

Mothers are fallible beings, just like daughters. We have no magic answers or absolute truths. A mother’s wealth of experience cannot be dismissed lightly. But remember that what issues from a mother’s mouth is colored by life circumstances, cultural standards, and personalities. The next time you stall because your mother’s voice ramps up in your head, inhale deeply and ask “who says?” Think. Trust that you can try on advice, select and reject, and ultimately become the best expert on you.

New Year’s resolutions make me a better person, right? Says who?

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Just about everyone, I’m afraid. Seventy-five million plus hits on Google for “new year’s resolutions” suggest the annual lure to magical self-improvement thrives. Nearly half of all Americans make resolutions. The magic of a new decade adds hype. Certainly this will be The Time, finally, to achieve that goal–drop that weight for the final time, tone that flab, toss out that pack of cigarettes, or perhaps evolve into a more patient person, censoring those intermittent cranky verbal explosions. The collective “how to” wisdom gets more specific each year: set manageable goals, change just one habit, own your intentions to others.

Perhaps you are serious about this advice and wish to set a goal you can actually reach this year. I’m at your service–even if I’m launching this on January 4th , not 1st. I could beat myself up about my tardiness, imagining what an experienced blogger would offer (post mapped out weeks in advance, launched at 12:01 a.m. on 01/01/10.) However, a survey reported by proactive change.com says that after the first week, one in four resolutions have already been trashed, just like so much holiday wrapping paper. Perhaps it’s fortuitous that I was distracted by the end of year household mess (execute post-holiday clean-up, donate to charity, submit health savings account receipts, pay property taxes.) Maybe this post will reach you just when you’re sick of yogurt, sore from yoga–and aching to abandon those noble resolutions.

If my procrastination and distraction mean my timing is great, here’s a resolution for you: embrace your humanity. Forget being better at anything. No eating less, exercising more, Zen breathing when some maddening underling (child or employee) eggs you toward one more scream. Affirm that you are a lowly Homo sapiens, not Superwoman/supermodel/supermom. You will make mistakes, lose your temper, oversleep, overindulge in occasional fudge or champagne, miss appointments, and/or swear too much. And you will work to end the judgment about the inescapable fact that you are an imperfect–and still valuable– person. Trust that, most days, you are doing the best you can–and that’s perfectly good.

Shift the focus away from your inevitable screw-ups to your successes. You are a human being with feelings–sometimes powerful ones, which are proof that you are very much ALIVE. Embrace your humanity! You can give your children a valuable lesson: that people, even moms, get mad–and then apologize and say “I love you.” Embrace your humanity! You can leave your favorite coffee cup on top of the van as you back out of the driveway, crush it as you drive off, swerve to the curb as the tire blows, and be late for work or school. S*#! happens, and you survive it. This is a chance to pronounce that even when  life bulldozes right over you, you can embrace your sense of humor –and your humanity.

Resolve to affirm that you are who you are, with strengths that outnumber your weaknesses. Feel good about all that is right with your life, rather than aiming for improvements that are merely icing on the You Cake.  This is, after all, a resolution we all can achieve. And if you work on embracing your humanity all year, one screw up at a time, those other goals have a way of taking care of themselves–or ceasing to matter before 2011 even rolls around.