I am scared.
I am nervous.
I am hopeful.

And, I am depressed.

I have been depressed since July. Many people have asked me why I stopped writing so much, why I became some quiet on Facebook, why I didn’t reply to emails. Am I pregnant? Nope, but yes, I am dealing with my first bout of depression ever. I have casually written that I will tell everyone what is going on soon, when the time is right. And then whenever I thought that the time was right to share this deep, uncomfortable truth, I became really nervous. Nervous that sharing about my personal life was perhaps too much, too much for you all to know, too much for me to bare sharing.

And then, if I actually overcame the nerves and focused on the fact that I am desperate to write about my struggle, I became scared. Scared that people will judge me, scared that people will judge my family; scared that people will treat me and look at me differently; scared that people will think less of me, that I am weak and should “just get happy,” and scared that people will think I am too much of a downer and therefore not worth hanging around because I am uninspiring and a real party pooper.

And then on a good day, like today, for a brief moment I stop feeling nervous or scared and I just feel like the “me” that isn’t struggling with depression. I feel passionate about sharing my story and my struggles because I want other people who feel like I do, to not feel so alone. I want to share my story so that the stigma around depression can lessen and people like myself don’t feel scared or nervous to talk about his/her struggles, but instead feel welcomed and encouraged so they can get the help they need, or just feel loved and not so scared and alone.

And then, like today, I become hopeful. Hopeful that maybe, just maybe, that sharing my story will help just one person get help. I don’t know if that is true, but I do know this, writing thus far has already helped me. I feel lighter and a little happier. I have kept this struggle secret since July and it has been eating me up because I feel like I am keeping a really, awful deep dark secret from people I care about and I can’t stand it. Yes, I feel like The Orange Rhino Community is my extended family, seriously. And not telling you about my struggle daily feels like I am not being fully honest and I don’t like that. So here is my story (the short version.)

This has been one of the hardest years of my life, there is no doubt. I have experienced struggles like I couldn’t imagine. From numerous trips to the Emergency Room for one son’s seizures with concerns that he might have epilepsy to my marriage boulder to my foot injury that just won’t go away, and to everything in between (there is a lot in between!), it has been a long, long trying year and the hits just keep on coming, and coming, and coming. Some of the factors grew this July and my stress hit a whole new level. I felt sadness and pain like I have never felt before.

I didn’t want to get out of bed and I couldn’t wait to go to bed at night and yet, as soon as the kids were asleep I just sat on the couch cuddled up flipping through the same websites for hours because I couldn’t find the motivation to actually go to bed. I didn’t want to do things I love like playing with my kids, blogging, participating in The Orange Rhino Community, getting ice cream or sitting outside to enjoy a beer in the summer night. If I ever had a quiet moment alone during the day and a slow song came on I cried my eyes out. I ate everything in sight just to feel better (it didn’t work). I started drinking every night to feel better (that didn’t work either.)

Nothing really worked to make me feel better. Nothing has really worked to make me feel better. Right now I still feel the same sadness and pain, although perhaps deeper. In fact, it was deep enough and worrisome enough to me, because it has lasted so long and is growing, that I decided it was time to do something I have thought about, but vehemently fought since July. It was time to let go of my fear of being judged and do what my family needed me to do.

It was time to get help.
It was time to go to a therapist.
It was time to go on anti-depressants.

This was an incredibly hard decision to make. I wanted to believe I was strong enough to get through this tough patch on my own. I mean, I have hit tough patches before in my life, whoa nelly have I ever! I have felt sad from some of my traumas, but never so badly that just getting out of bed felt like an unbearable chore. I have never been so unmotivated in my life and not cared about not achieving anything as I do now. I have never wanted to run away as much as I do now. I have never felt truly depressed. Until now.

Six weeks ago someone asked me if I was depressed and I said, “no, of course not. Things are just tough.” And then my stomach curled and my feet twitched because I knew I was lying. I knew I was depressed; it was obvious to me because the intensity of my emotions was on a whole new level, but I was scared to admit it. I was scared to share just how bad I felt because I didn’t want to believe the depth of my pain; I didn’t want anyone to worry about me. I didn’t want to be taken away from my kids.

But now, now I can say without fear, that I am depressed. And I don’t just feel this new sense of not being scared to share this hard truth that will undoubtedly bring judgment just because the anti-depressants are helping, but rather I feel the need to share it after several emails I have received. Turns out, I am not the only one in pain. Numerous people have emailed me lately and shared that they are struggling and think they might be depressed and might need an anti-depressant but that they don’t want to go that route because they fear what people will say and … because they fear what they will say about themselves.

Because they fear what they will say about themselves.

Oh, oh do I get this. From the onset of my struggles, I haven’t wanted to go on anti-depressants because I feared it meant that I was weak for not being able to mange on my own. I feared it meant that I was screwed up and a bad role model for my kids. I feared it meant that I was different than everyone else. I feared that it meant I had just given up and stopped trying and sought the easy way out.

And, I feared it meant that I was pathetic…because that is what I have heard people say about those who go on anti-depressants; that those who need anti-depressants and can’t get just “get-happy” and “choose to be happy” are pathetic. I feared it meant that I was choosing to be depressed…because that is what I have heard people say about people on anti-depressants. Let me tell you, I am most certainly trying my hardest to not be depressed; it is just really, really hard under my current circumstances. There isn’t a day that doesn’t go by where I think, “UGH. Come on. I just want to feel better now and forget the pain! Please, help me to feel better!”

So, I write this post now to stand up for all of us who are struggling with depression, whether it be chronically or situational.

I write this post now to say you are NOT alone. We are not alone.

I write this post now to say you, me, we are not weak, pathetic, or screwed up because we need and seek help and choose anti-depressants. No, you, me, we are none of those things.

We might be scared, sad, embarrassed, confused and hurting, but we are also more. We are courageous to admit we need help. We are strong to actually get it.

I write this now with fire in my heart and with conviction to end all convictions, and I hope that I remember this in five minutes when I press “post” and in five hours when I take my new little pill and inevitably think, “shit, I needed a pill because I am in so much pain, why couldn’t I just do it on my own.” And I hope that I remember my conviction that I am courageous and strong when I feel overwhelmed by pain and sadness because I don’t want to go any deeper into this hole.

And, I hope above all else that I keep on fighting to get past this period of depression in my life. I hope that despite what people say about taking an anti-depressant and despite what I feel about taking one, that I do keep on taking my new little pill because the truth is, I need it right now. Right now I need a little extra help. And that is okay. There is no shame in needing help. None. Especially if the little help makes me a little happier which means my kids are a little happier too, for at the end of the day, this is why I am doing all this hard work, so that I can be the best person for me and my family.

Last week was Mental Health Awareness Week. I intended to share this post then but got scared. Please share this post so that others out there like me can start to live without fear and can get the support they need. 

If you have not read, “Parenting on Empty” it is the post that drove the post below. Click here: Parenting on Empty

A month ago, on a whim, I packed up the mini-van with my boys and headed to the New Hampshire Mountains and the Massachusetts coast. I had been parenting, well living really, on empty for weeks and I knew I just needed to go to my two sanctuaries to fill up. I so very much hoped that the fresh mountain air would fill me with a fresh perspective; that the quietness of the lake would quiet my mind and fill me with peace and that the lack of Internet connection would fill me with greater connections with my kids. And I so very much hoped that the calming breeze off the ocean would fill me with a sense of inner calm; that the soothing sound of the crashing waves would soothe my anxiety; that the time spent at my favorite childhood spots with my boys would fill me up with so many new favorite memories with my kids that I couldn’t help but to overflow with joy and personal fulfillment.

And it did. Oh did it.

After two great days in my childhood hometown building Legos together and eating at all of mommy’s favorite spots, we packed into the mini-van again and headed towards the New Hampshire lake where I basically spent all my childhood. As we pulled into the state park and I rolled the window down, I couldn’t help but to stop and breathe in the fresh pine tree air. It smelled exactly how it did over twenty-five years ago; I felt as I did twenty-five years ago. I felt invigorated, carefree and relaxed. Just one breath of fresh air and I already felt a wee bit more full.

We pulled into the parking lot and I just stared at the lake, a smile creeping onto my face. My mind flooded with memories of swimming until sunset, finding the perfect stick for roasting marshmallows, and eating ice cream as fast as possible so it didn’t melt down my bathing suit and into the pine needles. I couldn’t wait to get out and do the same exact things with my boys! Oh did they ever have an absolute blast splashing in the lake and building in the sand just as my brother and I had done years before. The only difference in our day was that the lake now had boats to rent, so rent we did! We went canoeing, kayaking and paddle boating, a first for all my boys. At one moment I stopped in the middle of the lake just to take in the peace and to gaze at my four beautiful sons. My boys urged me to keep paddling. I urged them to enjoy the silence and the beauty. I felt even more full.

Swimming at sunset. Beautiful Sunset. Happy Child. Peaceful Mommy. Parenting less and less on empty…

The sun started to set and we headed towards the cabin. I knew that a night of sleep didn’t await any of my boys so I had let them linger at the lake to enjoy some last moments in their inner tubes. This of course meant that they were beyond hyper when we did roll into the cabin. The lake had relaxed me though so I went with the flow and embraced my two year old figuring out how to put underwear on his head and then inspiring his brothers to do the same. I have never seen them all laugh so hard TOGETHER. They ran about with underwear on their heads and joy in their hearts. It was totally awesome. But it was also totally late. I couldn’t calm down the underwear party because the ringleader wouldn’t stop. He just kept putting more and more underwear on his head. So I picked him up, informed my mom that a night time drive was needed, and confidently headed to the door, so proud that I had found a solution to calm the night down.

Who needs party hats when we have underwear? Oh, #4 you totally destroyed bedtime but laughing so hard that I almost needed to change my underwear made it all worth it!

I of course was so proud, confident and gun-ho with my plan that I forgot to look before I walked out the door. I am not sure what transpired next except that somehow I ended up with my face down in the dirt, #4 cradled safely in my arms, and my two feet still in the cabin. I tried to stand up but couldn’t put any weight on my feet. I thought I had broken both ankles and immediately feared that I had no way to drive 6 hours home. I hobbled into the cabin, #4 saying,“Mommy boo boo” as my dad raced out to get ice. And a beer. I really felt that I needed a beer too at that moment!

The pain subsided and when we woke the next day, I confidently put my sneakers on and walked to breakfast with the boys. There was no way I was missing breakfast at Rosie’s! And then I ignored my mother’s orders (never a good plan) to spend the day resting with my feet up and we took to boys to an amusement park where I had to walk around all day. It seemed fine. The pain literally had subsided, or perhaps all the joy from going on roller coasters and eating fried dough with my boys just masked it.

There was no swelling or bruising the next morning so I again assumed my feet were fine and we piled into the mini-van again, this time headed to Rockport, my favorite Massachusetts coastal town.

My four boys at my favorite place with gorgeous weather and delicious ice cream so completely helped to fill me up!

My foot might have hurt but the joy of my boys dressing up as fisherman and sailors and taking the most adorable, perfect picture EVER at the same studio where I took pictures dressed up in fancy dresses as a thirteen year old most certainly continued to mask the pain. So did having a pizza party with my boys on a hotel floor that night and then watching the sunset over the ocean and the moon rise up as my boys snuggled in bed next to me.

Oh how my tank floweth over!

Yes, injury aside, it was an amazing week with my boys, everything I hoped for and more. Was the week go-go-go, chaotic, and exhausting? Absolutely. Did the boys hardly sleep because we were on vacation? Absolutely. Did their exhaustion lead to some questionable behavior? Absolutely. Would I do it all over again? ABSOLUTELY.

Because as tough as it was at times, it was nothing short of magical to share experiences with my boys that I had as a little girl. Those experiences, those moments where I just really focused on enjoying and connecting with my boys, well they more than helped to re-fill my tank. Combined those with nature, natural beauty like sunrises and sunsets, and fresh air and yes, my tank floweth over by the end of the trip.

This. Beautiful sunrise. Lighthouses in the distance. Waves crashing against the rocks. This made all my stress and exhaustion from a night of “seizure watching” disappear.

You know, I often times forget how getting outside, how getting fresh air really helps me to “fill-up.” Oh, how I am grateful that I re-learned this and hope that I remember this when I sense I am headed towards empty. The good news, it’s easy to get fresh air!

And you know, I often times, far, far too often, forget that playing and enjoying my kids, like REALLY enjoying them, laughing with them and creating memories with them is one of the best remedies for an over-tired, over-cranky, over-whelmed mommy, also known as me! I am so grateful as well to have re-learned this and I really, really hope that I can hold on to this insight and use it keep me from feeling empty. I know this will be harder than just walking outside to get fresh air, but oh, I hope I remember it. The upside to this remedy to parenting on empty? I am fairly certain it fills my kids hearts with such joy that they too feel a little more full! Oh the other upside, the obvious one? I am less likely to want to yell when I am filling up by enjoying my kids. Their hugs, kisses, snuggles, laughter, and smiles of awe and wonder and love not only calm me and fill my heart helping me parent on “fuller,” but they also fill my heart with more determination to keep on not yelling so that I when I want their love and affection, they want to give it to me.

When I loaded the boys into the mini-van for our four-hour drive north last month, I assumed that no one would sleep and that we would need to stop every hour for someone to go pee. I mean assuming anything else was just setting myself up to be frustrated and annoyed, right?! So I mentally prepared myself for a long trek with lots of noise and lots of stops. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t try to make a peaceful, quick trip happen though! Yep, I had everyone try to pee twice before we left and I timed our departure with naptime for #3 and #4.

Well wouldn’t you know it. Within fifteen minutes of driving, not one, not two, not three, but ALL FOUR of my boys were sleeping! And wouldn’t you know it, an hour and a half later they were all still sleeping! Which is great, right? Miraculous even. Well yes, and no.

No because I had drunk a cup coffee to stay awake and had forgotten to try and pee twice myself! Yes, this mama had to pee wicked bad and there was absolutely, positively no way in hell I was going to pull over and wake up four sleeping kids to pee. Nope, wasn’t gonna happen. I didn’t even entertain the idea! You couldn’t have paid me to pull over and end my quiet, peaceful and easy drive up north. Sure I had to pee so badly that I had stomach cramps but the downside to that was far less than the upside of my boys not yelling at each other, asking me “are we there yet?” over and over, and complaining that they had nothing to do.  Pulling over just wasn’t an option. And then again, peeing in my pants wasn’t really an appealing option either.

So I did what I think most parents would do in said situation; my boys slept and I squirmed.

And I crossed my legs. And I squeezed. And I looked out the window for distractions. And I tried to think about everything but peeing. And I told myself over and and over “that I can do this, just a little bit longer, I can do this.”

And then, well then I had an Orange Rhino moment and I laughed so hard at my absolute ridiculousness that I had to squeeze even harder because after four natural births, well, you know, sometimes pee happens.

You see it donned on me at that moment that learning to hold pee and learning to hold a yell are very similar.

They both take paying attention to signals that you are about to explode and then acting accordingly to avoid said explosion.

They both take focus and putting mind over matter.

They both take practice and doing it over and over so you can go longer and longer.

They both take distractions so that you don’t think of the strong desire to do said action.

They both take positive thinking, telling yourself over and over that you can do it.

They both take choosing to do all of the above no matter how hard because the alternative is not really a desired option.

And they are both behaviors that can be learned and achieved over time!

Seriously, all ridiculousness aside and the fact that it is a wee bit crazy that I compared not yelling to not peeing in one’s pants, just think about the similarities. It is kind of uncanny, right? When I stopped and realized the similarities (which by the way was a great distraction and kept my mind occupied on something besides the growing need to pee my brains out), I couldn’t help but to think,

“Wow, all the skills that I thought I developed to not yell I didn’t really just develop, I already had them and had them since I was a child when I got potty trained! I just applied them to a new situation.”

My point in sharing this story and risking looking like a total fool for comparing something as difficult and personal as learning to not yell to something as trivial as not peeing in one’s pants is this: you already have some of the skills to yell less. You already know how to work hard to control yourself physically.

Yes, the desire to yell is a heck of a lot more intense and frustrating; it’s a heck of a lot more anger filled and most definitely a heck of lot more emotionally charged. I am not in any way trying to diminish that. I guess what I am trying to say in a most absurd but also light way to combat the heaviness of yelling as a topic is that…

You can do it.

You can yell less.

You have the skills within you already. You just need to apply them in a slightly different manner. Here’s how:

1. Pay attention to your personal signals that a yell is coming on so that when you feel them the next time you know to run to the bathroom and scream in the toilet instead of exploding at the kids.
2. Focus all your energy on one task, one goal, that of yelling less. Focusing on too many goals at once is too much stress!
3. Practice not yelling over and over again. Accidents happen, trust me, since my fourth son was born I have had two. Totally mortifying. But hey, it happened and I learned that I need to focus harder on not laughing on a full bladder! So if an accident does happen and you do yell, forgive yourself. Let the shame and embarrassment go and know that there will be another opportunity to practice and succeed.
4. Set yourself up for success by placing distractions around the house, or rather reminders to not yell. Place pictures of the kids in yell zones (great way to feel love not anger) and place orange rhinos up to remember to be warm and calm.
5. Be positive and believing in you; tell yourself over and over that, “I can be calm and not yell.”
6. Choose to not yell because you know not only does yelling not work, but that is just isn’t a good option. Choose to hold it together, to squirm, and to squeeze your hands in frustration instead of yelling. Choose to try your hardest even on days when you want to scream your brains out.
7. Tell yourself that you are learning to yell less and that it takes time, just like potty training. I know wasn’t born knowing how to hold my pee or um, other things. Just ask my parents or the nice couple at the beach sharing a romantic picnic. I may or may not have walked over to them totally naked at age two and squatted on their blanket and left them a present. Like, a smelly one. Moving right along…. Seriously, it takes time to learn how to not yell but it can be done!

Okay, it’s official. This post is weird. I just told you that I pooped on a blanket as a kid and that I have pee accidents at the age of thirty something. If nothing else is achieved from this post, I hope you are laughing with me. Because laughter is a great way to be in a good space to achieve all of the above!

Happy holding your yells (and pees!)

I distinctly remember my need to “nest” before each of my son’s births; it was an instinct that my body just couldn’t fight. From washing onesies to perfectly folding burp clothes, from picking out birth announcements to printing labels for said announcements, from arranging the temporary changing station in the family room to setting up the night time one in the nursery, I did anything and everything I could to prepare for the arrival of my son. I know there is real research about why moms-to-be nest; I don’t know exactly what it says, I just know that for me, nesting brought me calm.

Nesting made my mind feel an ounce of being prepared when the rest of my mind knew that it wasn’t even remotely emotionally or physically prepared for the joys and challenges motherhood would bring. As excited as I was to be a mom, I was also so incredibly nervous about breastfeeding, lack of sleep, crying fits and about whether or not I would have an ounce of a clue as of what to do! Somehow hanging clothes told me that none of those worries mattered; as long as the cute clothes were hung in size order and by color, I would be okay. I nested intensely for every single son, each time with a different focus.

For my first son, nesting was all about the nursery and basic baby necessities as those were the things that I thought mattered the most. For my second, I knew better. Sure I did those things but I focused on getting organized in a new town, finding doctors and friends to ask for help, as I knew from my first that a support network is more important than folded burp clothes. For my third son’s arrival my focus was all about getting all my nagging house and personal to-do’s done because I knew for certain that once my third child came that my time to do anything for me would be gone. I was accurate to that accord (mostly.) Yes, nesting for #3 included a 142 item to do list, color coded by priorities and arranged into a schedule. Such items: birthday invites for #1, Christmas card, baby book for #2, etc. It was a bit obsessive but again, it eased my fears and nerves about how crazy life would be with three because I knew there were no “to-do’s” hanging over my head. Oh did that list keep me calm. And oh did I ever kick that to-do list’s butt; 142 items done. I still look back and smile at that accomplishment!!!

And then there was nesting for #4. We literally finished construction and moved into our rooms again at week 37. I had been having the urge to nest for weeks and it was driving me crazy that I couldn’t “get ready.” I had theoretically three weeks to unpack every box and get every room and the nursery organized. Every night I talked to the little man and said, “Dude, you can’t come until the house is ready. I need the house to be ready so I can be relaxed for you? Kay? Please just wait.” He listened quite well and arrived on the same day as I unpacked the last box and the handyman installed the last doorknob. I felt such gratitude that I got all my “need to nest” urges done before #4 arrived because I knew that being organized before my life got completely disorganized would be one thing that could keep me sane. And it did. Oh did it.

And right now “parental nesting” is keeping me sane. Parental nesting is keeping me from yelling by keeping me calm. Parental nesting is making my mind feel an ounce of being prepared for what will start out as an incredibly difficult school year. This year will be filled with three different schools, four different children’s schedules, mommy going back to work part-time, and other personal challenges that are working overtime.

Yes, parental nesting is helping me find an ounce of calm when the rest of my mind knows that it isn’t even remotely emotionally or physically prepared for the joys and challenges that the year will bring. As excited as I am for the year: for my youngest to keep on learning to talk, for #3 to start soccer, for #2 to start reading and #1 to continue blossoming in his confidence, I am also nervous. I am nervous about the growing demands of four children. I am nervous about finding the balance between letting go so my kids can cherish their moments and holding on so that I can cherish the fleeting moments. I am nervous about working part-time, about feeling guilty even though it is something I wanted and continue to want. I am nervous about the complexity of it all. Because unlike when I prepared for my first son to be born and I truly had NO idea what to expect, I kind of have a clue here.

I know there will be days that within the same hour I am going to drive two kids two different places and then the other two will drive me to a frustrated place.

I know there will days that one son will come home from school crying because his teacher is bossy and the other will come home proud that he learned to read and I will end up crying.

I know there will be days when I throw up my hands in the air and say “I just want summer back when I didn’t have a schedule” and then moments later “I am so incredibly grateful for the routine!”

I know there will be days when I watch all four boys eat breakfast on time and together without putting a fork in each other’s arms for sh*ts and giggles and I feel grateful I have a large family and then there will be a time when the chaos and demands of four kids will make me think I was crazy to have a large family.

And I know there will be days when I feel confident about my parenting and days when I feel absolutely lousy and lost.

And I know that all of these mixed emotions that the school year and motherhood bring will make me stressed and on the edge of losing it vis a vis unnecessary yelling at my kiddos.

So, I nest. I have finally put a bath mat in the kids bathroom so that morning fights about the water on the floor aren’t an issue. I bought a toothbrush holder for the bathroom so that toothpaste doesn’t also cause an issue. I installed a huge calendar and bulletin board on the wall with each kids daily schedule printed out so they they, and I, know who needs to be where, when. I bought bedside table lights so that I read before bed instead of surfing the net which inhibits my sleeping.

Yep, I have been nesting for the school year for the last two weeks. It’s interesting to me that when pregnant, nesting was a natural instinct. My body knew that nesting would calm me; that it would give me something to focus on other than my nerves. My body knew that getting organized would give me confidence that I was ready to handle the upcoming challenge. Yes, nesting before mamahood was natural. But afterwords? Not at all. It seems that my body didn’t know what to do to calm down in order to prepare for a challenge.

It took me until The Orange Rhino Challenge to figure out what I needed to do to calm my nerves and gain confidence that I could handle a tough situation. In labeling my triggers, I forced myself to figure out how to stay calm so that my stress wouldn’t push me to yell. I figured out preventative measures for most triggers, but one of the big ones has continued to remain: the stress and “overwhelmingness” of managing four kids different schedules, different needs and different personal challenges. Lately, this has taken over my life. This has made me want to yell on a daily, no hourly basis because the stress is immense. This, has led me to nest because I know how to nest. I nest well. Really, really well.

Before The Orange Rhino Challenge I wouldn’t have allowed myself to nest. I wouldn’t have allowed myself to take comfort in getting organized or doing small, seemingly inconsequential to-do’s. Shoot, six months into The Challenge I wouldn’t have. But now, now I know that it is necessary. It is necessary to do what I need to do to stay calm.

And so, again, I nest. And I will keep nesting until I feel settled enough to fully tackle the challenges and joys this year brings me. Although part of me really wishes it had been a natural instinct to nest last year and the year before to relieve some of my stress, I am just grateful that at least now I know that I need to. I am just grateful that it is become a natural instinct to parentally nest because it does prevent me from yelling which we all know I am grateful for as well!

Do you know what you need to do to “nest” to ease the stresses of parenting and life? Do you let yourself do so? 

The other day as my boys and I drove up north to visit my family, we saw a car on the side of the road getting serviced by a tow-truck.

“Why is that car stopped mommy?” Asked my increasingly inquisitive four-year-old.

“He probably has no gas. That’s what happens when you have no gas you know. You stop working.” Said my increasingly know-it-all five-year-old.

“Oh.” Replied my increasingly trusting of anything his big brother says.

And that was that. The conversation ended and they resumed complaining to each other that we weren’t there yet.

And I resumed complaining to myself that we weren’t there yet because I too was tired, because I too am tired.

I am tired of feeling like that car on the side of the road: broken down and out of gas, stranded on the side of the road with a destination in mind and no power to get there. I am tired of running on empty; which is exactly what I have been doing for the last four or five weeks, maybe even longer.

I am go-go-going in all aspects of my life: physically, emotionally, socially, maternally, and personally and it is nothing short of absolutely exhausting and absolutely alarming. Alarming because I see what running on empty looks like. I am missing doctors’ appointments. I am walking like a zombie. I am planning birthday parties way later than usual.  I am not doing things that I enjoy doing because I am “too tired,” I am not writing as much because I am “too tired.”

I am giving half-hearted “uh, yes, I see, that is great” replies to my sons as they proudly show me things and this breaks my heart. I am struggling to keep promises made to my sons that really matter to me, like focusing on yelling less and loving more. 

And while generally speaking I love to go-go-go, and in fact I thrive on it and have never had a problem running my life as such, for the first time in my life, my body is saying to me STOP. SLOW DOWN. Actually, it is begging. I have never physically craved a vacation as much as I have in the last two weeks. And while I have “a lot” that I want to do but don’t need to, “a lot” that I should do but don’t want to do, and “a lot” that I need to do and well, just need to do, my body is telling me I can’t.

My body has physically slowed down. At night it screams, don’t “do” just sit on the couch. In the morning it screams, “don’t do” just cuddle in the bed with the boys and be lazy. In the day it screams, “don’t do” just go outside and soak in the sun and the fresh summer air.

Don’t do, just be.
Don’t do, just breathe.
Don’t do, just don’t do.
Take a break.
Please.

Yes, my mouth has stopped yelling at my kids, and now my body is yelling at me. Yelling at me to stop and slow down. And I need to listen, because running on empty, parenting on empty, well, it doesn’t work! It not only does me no good, but it also certainly does my children, my family, and my friends no good.  Running on empty means I am shorter, snappier, moodier, grumpier, everything “-er” except calmer, friendlier, and happier. Running on empty means I am that much closer to yelling than I have been in months and that is a part of me that I do not want to welcome back.

Running on empty means, well it just means I am not feeling entirely fulfilled in anything I do because I do not have enough energy to fully embrace each moment as much as I wish.

Running on empty means that I need to pull over and fill ‘er up. I realized this about two weeks ago. The problem? When I asked myself, “okay, self, you need to fill up the tank,” (and yes, I literally used those words with myself and referred to myself as if I were a car) I found myself replying, “but how? How do I fill up the tank?”

You see I have run on almost empty before and I knew then how to get more into the tank when I felt my energy siphoning out. I would find a way to get a night out laughing with close friends or family and how to squeeze in a few workouts. And you see, when I have run on half a tank and felt I needed a boost, I would just have an extra coffee or two and go to bed early and voila, tank much more full.

But empty? I have never run as empty as I am now (maybe I have never cared so much about the impact of running on empty as I do now?). When I pushed myself to figure out how to “fill ‘er up” a few weeks ago, and struggled to find an answer, I actually felt emptier. Was there nothing that would get me back on the road? Had I gone-gone-gone too long and finally truly broken down from exhaustion (eh hem, just as everyone warned me I would?!) How would I possibly stop and “fill ‘er up” because that would mean not doing something that I should be doing and that doesn’t feel right, I need to be productive. And then it hit me.

I literally needed to get on the road and drive.

I needed to get on the road and breathe in fresh air. I needed to go to my Sanctuary, my place that fills my soul with calm and beauty, peace and joy. I needed to go to the rocky coast and sit on the rocks and hear the waves crash and crash and crash. I needed to go to the woods and smell the pine trees and stare at the pitch-black sky with only stars and no city lights. I needed to get away and “be productive” by just connecting with my boys, enjoying my boys, loving my time with my boys uninterrupted because that is always what gives me the most energy.

So that is what I am doing. And I already feel rejuvenated just being home and just being with my boys and with no blaring to-do lists (okay, just ignoring the blaring to-do list.)

Figuring out how to “fill ‘er” up wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t the only thing that was hard. It is hard to step away and actually make it happen. But I know that I need the break, that I need to take care of me. I know that it is essential, you know, just like an oil change, so that I can keep running smoothly and take my children places. Oh I want to take my kids places, and I don’t just literally mean to school and therapy appointments, but also I mean to happy places, like happy memories and happy feelings. I can only do this if I take care of me. Repeat: I can only do this if I can take care of me.

I cannot do this if I parent on empty. I will not parent on empty. I will not live on empty. I will fill up as frequently as I need to.

If you enjoyed this piece, check out my new new book, “Yell Less, Love More: How The Orange Rhino Mom Stopped Yelling at Her Kids–and How You Can Too!” It is a 30 day guide to yelling less but also a parenting memoir with each day sharing an honest, heartfelt  story from my Orange Rhino Challenge Journey. Also included are simple steps to follow for your own journey to yell less and daily alternatives to yelling to try. It hits shelves this October but you can be one of the first to receive it by pre-ordering it here

I remember so very clearly the beautiful October day my husband and I left Carolinas Medical Center in Charlotte, North Carolina with our first son. The sky was bright blue with pure white wispy clouds. Some of the trees had just started changing color and those red, yellow and orange leaves shone gorgeously under the sun. My husband and I love the fall, and love days just like that one. It could not have been a more perfect day to bring our first child outside, into the world for the first time.

We clicked his car seat in and I hopped in next to him. The thought of him riding in the back seat alone for the entire six-minute drive home was just too much to bear! As my husband starting pulling out of the hospital parking lot I noticed that he was driving even more slow and cautious than usual to the point where I had to say, “Babe, can you drive a little faster?!”

“I just don’t want to get into an accident.” he replied. “We have a child now. We need to be safer.”

He was right. Our world had just changed. We were no longer responsible for ourselves, but also for this beautiful little being sleeping in the backseat in his adorable sailboat outfit. We continued on at the snails pace, cars honking at us and pacing us. They obviously had no idea that we had brand new precious cargo…or that we were brand new parents who suddenly interpreted the words “drive safely” on an entirely new level.

We got home safe and sound and officially began our journey as parents.

Getting ready to have some dreams and wishes of my own!

Our son finally settled into his bouncy seat immediately next to us at the dinner table (of course), we settled into our own seats and began pondering all that had just occurred the last four days. My husband paused from shoving food in (we had already learned to shove food in, not knowing then #1 would cry and need attention), and looked up at me,

“Isn’t there a manual that comes with babies? Like how to do all this stuff and what each cry means?” I smiled and replied with,

“I know, right? I mean I can’t believe that the hospital just let us walk out of with this fragile person, trusting that we would know what to do, that we would care for it well, that we would love it enough. I mean wow, are they nuts?!”

We both laughed and then #1 woke up and those ten minutes of peace and reflection passed. It was a good thing we had stuffed the food in!

As I look back at the arrival of my first son and that first night home and all the things we didn’t know what to do, I don’t wish that someone had told me before hand how to do them. I don’t wish someone had given me more explicit directions about burping, feeding, sleeping habits, soothing, bathing. Nope. I knew in due time that experience would teach me those things. But what I do wish is that someone told me to take the time BEFORE he was born to write down my wishes and dreams for him. I wish that someone had told me to write down which values I want to teach him, both through example and through experience.

Oh I wish that I had written about both of these topics because often at the end of the day I find myself wondering, am I doing a good job parenting? Am I being the parent I want to be? And when I start to think these thoughts, I find that I don’t have the answer.

Maybe it’s because of my analytical nature (or maybe it’s just because there is no real answer), but for me, how can I know the answer to such questions if I don’t know what I am measuring against? If I don’t know what kind of parent I am aiming to be? I mean sure I know in the back of my mind what I want to be teaching and how I want to be loving but I also know that with all the chaos that life brings that I don’t keep these thoughts at the front of my mind. And I know that I want to. Desperately. Because they matter more than “did I teach my son to tie his shoelaces today?”

And I know that making a visual cue, perhaps a typed up list of my wishes for my children, my dreams of what I hope to teach them, would help me remember the kind of parent I aspire to be. I could look at it and say, “Okay. I didn’t do the dishes today, but I did work to make a wish of mine for my children come true so I am doing okay at this parenting gig.” Oh how I have wanted to get around to making that visual. I just, you know, have never gotten around to doing it. Sigh.

But then this past weekend happened. I was at a baby shower for a dear friend who is having her first child this fall. The activity was to fill out the form “Wishes for Baby.” I knew the activity was intended for my friend, but I felt like it was really intended for me. I felt like it was the push to get me to do what I have wanted to do for almost seven years but have been pushing off. I filled out the form for her and then took a blank one for me.

The way I see it, it is never too late to have a wish, to share a wish, or to make it happen.

For my sons, who I love so very much, these are my “Wishes for Baby” that I have always had, just never shared. While you are no longer babies per say, you will always be my babies and I will always have these wishes for you, and more. I hope that I can do my part to make them happen!

I hope you learn to: Dance in the rain, literally and metaphorically. There will be storms in your life. When you can, embrace the storm. Know that it will pass and will leave you stronger and with a new perspective. So put on the rain boots and go outside and let the rain pound down on you. You’ll feel refreshed and alive.

I hope you love: With all your heart. It might get broken and that’s okay. It will just help you appreciate what real love is when it comes along.

I hope you aren’t afraid to: Believe in your dreams and passionately pursue them. Don’t let anyone ever tell you that your dreams are foolish and unachievable. Ever.

I hope you get: To experience success, but also, failure. Success will give you confidence, but failure will keep you humble and will teach you how to persevere.

I hope you laugh at: Yourself whenever you can even if you have made a mistake, and never at someone else (unless of course a joke was made.) Laughter makes life lighter and more enjoyable.

I hope you grow: Kindness in your heart and plant it everywhere you go. Random acts of kindness are the most wonderful gifts, a gift that is always needed, always treasured and always impactful in ways you cannot imagine.

I hope you respect: Yourself and all the decisions you make. You will sleep much better at night knowing that you spent the day honorably, wisely, and kindly.

I hope you become: A man who follows his heart for happiness, a man who treats women (and men) with respect, a man who stands up for others, and a man who is not afraid to be true to himself and who he is.

I hope you never forget: Just how very, very much you are loved, appreciated, needed and supported. I hope you never forget how grateful we are that you are in our lives. I hope you never forget how proud we are of you. And I hope you never forget all of the above wishes we have for you.

* * * * *

I share one of my favorite promises to my boys (and favorite stories that always makes me tear up!) in my new parenting memoir/guide, “Yell Less, Love More: How The Orange Rhino Mom Stopped Yelling at Her Kids-and How You Can Too!” Full of 100 Alternatives to yelling, Simple, Daily Steps to follow, and honest stories to inspire, my book shares my journey to yell less while gently guiding you on your own. It hits shelves in October but you can pre-order it now by clicking here (you’ll hit my Publishers site which lists all the online retailers!)

Well, I did it.

Yesterday I woke up and thought, “today, today is the day I am going to conquer my current trigger (my weight)” and I did. Just like that. Snap of the fingers, ya know? Super duper easy. Or easy peasy as my seven year old would say.

Ha! As if!

The day started at 4:30 as littlest man is getting his two-year molars and the poor thing was howling like a wolf and completely inconsolable. My go-to coping method for exhaustion? Eating and eating and eating some more. I guess I think that if I keep my arm and mouth moving it will literally keep me awake?!  But yesterday for some reason I didn’t give into my desire to eat and eat when I was tired but not hungry.

Come round 2:00 pm I wanted to crash my head into my kitchen counter. You see next to eating and eating my go-to method for exhaustion is drinking lots of Diet Coke, like lots of it. The problem with this plan? It most definitely makes me want to eat more and more and it most definitely makes me crave the “bad stuff.” But yesterday for some reason I didn’t give into my desire to have more than one.

Then 7:00 hit like a ton of bricks. All four kiddos were tucked snug in their beds and it was time to work out. It was time to actually do what I told myself I would do tonight no matter what. It was time to remember that working out is important to me, that it does make me feel good physically and emotionally, that I do have time for it. But oh, oh I wanted to just plop on the couch, grab a glass of wine and do nothing. But yesterday for some reason I didn’t give into my desire to not exercise.

Nope, the only desire I gave into all day was my desire to achieve my personal goal. Again, it was super duper easy, easy peasy. Ha! As if!

Even though I plopped into bed last night giddy and proud and pumping with adrenaline that I finally “did it,” that I finally got back on track and found the energy and determination I needed to focus on eating healthier and being healthier, I plopped into bed UBER exhausted, perhaps more exhausted than I started the day. And not just because I had just exercised and been awake since 4:30, but also because I had mentally spent all day talking to myself. Looking back at yesterday, It wasn’t just “some reason” that I didn’t give into my desires that would steer me off track; it was this reason. It was these conversations with myself.

“Orange Rhino, you don’t want to eat the kids pancakes, you aren’t hungry.” I said to myself. Myself replied, “Right. You are right. I don’t want to. I can do this.”

“Orange Rhino, I know you think you need another Diet Coke but you don’t, you need some water and a walk or a dance party.” I said to myself. Myself replied, “Right. Water will make me feel way better. I can do this. I can do this.”

The most dominant and recurring conversation though, the one that felt like I was in ground-hog day? That would be this one.

“Orange Rhino, stop it right now. Right now. Stop telling yourself that working out for 20 minutes instead of 30 doesn’t count. Stop looking at your achievements from today as small and pathetic; instead look at your achievements as a step in the right direction, a step better than yesterday, a step better than nothing.” I said to myself. Myself replied, “Right. I know, I know. Baby steps are big steps. Stay focused on the good. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”

Or wait, would it be this conversation?

“Orange Rhino, stop it right now. Right now. Stop worrying about how you are going to get through the day. Stop worrying about how you will lose all the weight you want. Focus on now. Go one moment at a time. All the moments add up and will lead you to your goal.” I said to myself. Myself replied, “Right. I know. I can do this. I can do this.”

Oh yes, I spent much of yesterday reminding myself to stay in the moment and celebrate what I was doing right instead of thinking of all that I was doing wrong. And oh yes, was it exhausting but worth it! All the constant chatter with myself helped me to stay on track, to get through each tough moment. Each successful moment gave me confidence and my confidence just grew and grew over the day and carried me well into today, just as I knew it would, or rather, as I hoped it would. So tonight as I sit here writing, I am celebrating two days of feeling back on track, feeling good about myself and I credit it mostly to talking to myself.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, I have had a lot of experiences in my life where I lacked enough confidence to get over a hurdle. As a result, I just stayed in limbo, wallowing in self-pity really that I couldn’t just “snap out of it” and find the courage to jump the hurdle. Whether it be as small as having the guts to finally accept my first kiss (I was shy, okay a prude), trying a new food as a young adult at a business meeting (I don’t like new tastes, at all), sharing a contradictory opinion (I greatly fear offending people), going down a really high slide with my boys at an amusement park (I fear heights, big time) or as big as not yelling at my kids (this one is self-explanatory) I have so greatly struggled to often times just do it. I have let fear and lack of confidence stop me. But every time I finally “just did it” by telling myself “I can do this.”

Okay, that is a partial lie. I did it by telling myself “I can do this, I just a small win to believe in myself, I just need to go one small step at a time.” Just go for a peck on the lips. Just take a small bite. Just share part of your opinion. Just get to the top of the slide. Just go one moment not yelling. And then two, then three hours, then six hours, then a day.

Yes, telling myself “I can do this one moment at a time” has always helped me finally find the courage, energy and determination to get on track towards meeting a goal or overcoming a challenge. While it might not be easy-peasy to remember to say this to myself, it certainly makes it a heck of a lot easier to accomplish something than telling myself I can’t.

(P.S. The other thing that helped me have two really good days? You all. Just sharing my struggle helped it be more real, it helped me realize how important it is to me. And you all sharing your support gave me the strength to wake up and get going. Thank you. Now it is my turn to return the favor. You can do this “yelling less, loving more” thing. You can! I know you can. Just go one moment at a time…..)

My weight is up right now and boy does it have me down. Now, my weight being up is not a new thing to me; I have struggled with my weight and body image issues for at least fifteen years. (Okay, that was kind. I think since I was fifteen is more like it.) Anyway, what is a new thing to me is that I am lacking the determination, the will power and the ability to get to where I want to be to feel better about myself. As a result, I am feeling many of the same ugly, heavy feelings I used to feel when I yelled.

At the end of the day, I feel guilty that I indulged in an ice cream sundae…again. I feel disappointed in myself that even though I told myself “today is the day I will gain control” that I didn’t stop myself when the bag of chips called my name. I feel like a failure whenever I look in the mirror and my face and arms are noticeably puffier. I feel out of control, as in completely out of control and unable to stop myself once I start. And I feel embarrassed, frustrated, and hopeless that I will ever get back on track.

And I don’t like it.

While many people would say “hey, don’t worry about your weight, you like fine and it is what is on the inside that matters” and I would say back “I know, I know” the reality is that right now, neither statement matters to me. What matters to me is that my weight isn’t making me happy, or confident or comfortable in my own skin. In fact, all these negative feelings are making me miserable and well they are making it a lot harder to actually accomplish what I want to accomplish! I know that I need to stop beating myself up in order to move forward. I know that I need to not just give up on the entire day, my entire goal, after one bad snack. I know that one “weak” moment doesn’t mean that I am a failure; it just means that I need to let that moment go and seize the next opportunity to be a little stronger. And I know that telling myself “eh, I don’t really care” is complete bull. I do care, it is just easier to say I don’t care because then when I feel frustrated with my weight I can say to myself “oh, you don’t care, it’s okay.”

But again, that is complete bologna; it is just an excuse to hide behind. I care immensely.

I care immensely that right now I am binge eating because I am feeling overwhelmed, frustrated, tired and emotionally spent. I care immensely not just because I am physically and emotionally unhappy with my weight, but also because I know it isn’t healthy, physically or emotionally. I care immensely because even though in the moment I “really want and need to eat,” in fact I know that what I really want is to stop this behavior. And I care immensely because my weight and my eating habits are huge, gargantuan triggers for yelling and even though I am not yelling right now, I am finding it very hard to stay calm.

You see, when I feel confident and happy with myself, it is so much easier to parent with love and patience.

When I feel like I do now, unconfident and crappy about myself, oh is it hard to parent with love and patience…oh is it hard to be an Orange Rhino and yell less and love more. Why? Because all I want to do is yell, yell, yell!  Do I want to yell at the kids? No. What I really want to do is yell at myself! I want to yell,

“Why can’t you find self-control and not eat all that junk? You know how. You’ve done it before. Like 5 times before. Just put the fork down. Get with the program.”

And “Why can’t you find just 15 minutes to exercise when you know it is important to you and that it makes you feel better in so many regards?”

And “Why are you making yourself miserable? You know you would rather eat healthy and feel healthy than eat crappy and feel crappy.”

Oh yes, I want to yell big time. But just like yelling at my kids does no good, yelling at myself doesn’t either. What would do me good would be to do many of the same things I did to support myself in my quest to stop yelling at my boys. Telling myself I can do it, telling myself that I can lose weight, that I do know how, that I will get there, now that would do me good. Going one moment at a time, celebrating any small success, that would do me good. Practicing and practicing and practicing “self-control” and forgiving myself when I slip up, that would do me good. Loving myself even when I feel fat, and gross, and like a total utter failure, now that would do me a lot of good!

And while all of the above would do me a lot of good, the one thing that I know would really do me a heck of a lot of good would be to start tracking what I eat. This is ultimately what always works for me because it helps me to see where I struggle (can we say night time indulgences after the kids are finally asleep?) and therefore where I need to focus my efforts. I have been trying to track for weeks now. But I can’t stay committed to it. And I know why – because it is hard and it takes focus, energy and honesty. Yes, honesty. Writing down everything I eat means admitting that I am binging on food to feel better and that is hard to admit.

Kind of like how writing down all the times I wanted to yell was hard because it meant admitting that I yelled way too much and that I needed to change. It is one thing to think, “I yell too much.” It is another to actually see just how much I yell on paper. Ouch! Oh tracking my yells and my triggers was a brutally honest but wonderfully helpful tool. In fact, I decided to do it in the first place because get this, I had tracked my food intake before when I lost fifty pounds and I knew that keeping a diary of sorts works wonders.

And it does.

As does waking up each morning and trying again despite what happened the day before. As does being awake for each moment, each opportunity and trying again despite what supposed “failure” thirty minutes ago.  Yes, I have been struggling for weeks now with my weight and it really has me down. But I will not let it keep me down; I will not keep putting myself down for failed efforts, because that just makes it harder and harder to move forward, and easier and easier to say, “Screw it, I quit, I give up.”

Instead I will embrace wholeheartedly what I heard a stranger say today: “Never. Stop. Trying.“

Never. Stop. Trying.

I can do this. I want to do this. I will do this.

P.S. For the record, I continue to be amazed by how much The Orange Rhino Challenge is the gift that keeps on giving; how what I learned on my quest to stop yelling has been so applicable and helpful to other challenges in my life.  

To learn more about The Orange Rhino Challenge, check out  my book “Yell Less, Love More: How The Orange Rhino Mom Stopped Yelling at Her Kids–and How You Can Too!”

Since May, I have wanted to write about my five year old’s birthday and how proud I am of his growth this year; how proud I am of him for wanting a cooking party even though he thought boys might make fun of him; how proud I am of him for his social progress making him ready for Kindergarten. But I decided that had nothing to do with yelling so I haven’t written about it.

Since June, I have wanted to write about how exciting it is that my almost seven year old can really, truly read; how incredible it is that he figures out new, long, complicated words; how frustrating it is that I can no longer spell or write out secret notes to my husband! But I decided that had nothing to do with yelling, so I haven’t written about it.

Since early July, I have wanted to write about my struggles with my weight and how I need to get back on Weight Watchers, how I need to get exercising again, how I need to drink less, eh hem, alcohol at night. But I decided that had nothing to do with yelling so I haven’t written about it.

Since last week, I have wanted to write about how I took my four year old to camp and was most certain he wouldn’t last an hour; how I was most certain his major social anxiety would eat him alive; how my anxiety over his potential anxiety was eating me alive before he even went; how he went and loved every minute of it and asked to go another week. But I decided that had nothing to do with yelling, so I haven’t written about it.

And since this past weekend, I have wanted to write about my ambivalence that my “baby” was turning two; my sadness that this was my first 2^nd birthday party without a newborn in the house; my realization that this was my last “baby” party. But I decided that had nothing to do with yelling so I haven’t written about it.

Oh, I have wanted to write about this or that, that or this. I have wanted to write about positive things and not so positive things but for some reason or another, I decided that the subject was “off topic” and “not relevant to yelling” and therefore not worth writing about.

It donned on me two nights ago though, as I sat staring at my computer typing and deleting, typing and deleting, that it is ALL relevant to yelling. The good, the bad, it is all more than relevant.

My happiness over my 5-year-old’s personal growth this year? It has filled tough days with huge smiles. It has taken what would have been disastrous at home battles into small tantrums. It has made my  “am I failing as a mother” concern and the “does he need more help” concern and the “do we need to hold him back a year concern” all disappear, lifting a huge source of stress of my shoulders. Oh my son’s incredible progress has made me lighter, happier and therefore less likely to yell at not just him, but also everyone.

My son learning to read? It has had the same effect at my 5-year-old son “growing up” a bit. It has filled me with wonder, pride, happiness and awe all which put me in a good mood and make it way easier to not yell. At the end of the day when I am just ready to bark at my 7 year old “just get in bed now, I’m tired!” before I can even do so, he pulls out a book and says “it’s time to read” and my bark disappears. I then can’t wait for the next 10 minutes of listening to him sound out en-cy-clo-ped-ia and other long words in his chapter books. Yelling becomes the farthest thing from my mind.

My struggles with my weight? It means I start each day feeling frustrated and guilty and angry with myself. It means before the kids even come in to say hello I have already put on a pair of shorts that are too snug for my liking…right along with a bad attitude and shortness that is also not to my liking. I know my weight shouldn’t impact my outward attitude and behavior, but it does. When I feel “fat” I feel physically and emotionally disgusted most moments of the day. I feel impatient with myself (why can’t you just start eating healthier already?!) and that impatience and frustration just seeps out into my interactions with my kids. Oh how, my weight struggles are indeed a trigger for yelling (and yes, oh how I know they “shouldn’t” be.)

And my four-year-old going to camp successfully, like really, really successfully? It meant for two weeks I started each day busting with excitement and anticipation of what he would have to tell me four hours later. It meant that in the middle of the day I got a huge burst of joy when he came bouncing out of camp with the biggest, sh*t eating grin ever and talking a mile a minute, all about is day and how “rific” it was. Oh the joy brought me so up that those days it was easy to not yell (and not just because he was at camp for so long but because I was on a “mommy-happiness-high” all afternoon!)

My sadness over being done having children? It leaves me down a little when I see a sweet baby and I get a pang of sadness. That sadness sticks for a bit and takes me to a place where I am not present with my four beautiful boys making me snappier if they talk to me at that precise moment. Does the sadness last more than a minute or two? No. But if I am interrupted during that brief time of sadness, I do find that I am apt to snap (or want to yell, WHAT?!!!!)

Yes, the more worried I am, the more frustrated I am, the sadder I am, the more apt I am to yell. It is that simple.

And yes, the happier I am, the more joyful I am, the more relaxed I am, and the less I am apt to yell. It is that simple.

I have learned that at the end of the day, all emotions, good or bad, are related to my ability to yell less and love more. As I write that, it seems so obvious and straightforward, it’s kind of like, duh! But in reality, while it is simple on paper, it isn’t in reality. It isn’t simple and straightforward (or possible) to always do the things that make me feel happy and relaxed, just like it isn’t simple and straightforward (or possible) to always avoid the things that make me feel worried and sad.

But what is simple and straightforward is the awareness that trying to fill up on what makes me happy (laughing with my kids, running in the rain, reminiscing with my husband, taking pictures, writing on my blog, talking with girlfriends, walking on the beach) and trying to process and acknowledge what makes me sad are BOTH very important. Letting all my emotions matter is important. Writing about all my emotions is important. It might not always be easy to fill up on happiness and handle the things that aren’t so happy, but it is important to just keep on trying to do both so that I can yell less and love more. It is that simple.

And on that note, I am back to watching a very cheesy Hallmark movie. It is totally filling me up with happiness galore!