Tag Archives: Motherhood

When Parenting Overwhelm Makes You Want to Escape: What Helped Me Stay Sober

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Here’s the thing: I was so livid after what I heard that I wanted to break something. I wanted to scream louder than I ever have.

But I had eight teenage eyes watching me. My brain decided that the little-bit-better solution would be a stiff gin and tonic. I mean a beverage is better than broken pieces, right?!

Except it had been 549 days without one. I could smell the lime being squeezed. I could taste the gin hitting my tongue. I could feel the instant relaxation going down my throat, sip by sip by sip.

And I could see what would come moments later: an empty glass held by a person filled with disappointment, shame, and regret that she had let herself down. That she hadn’t kept her promise not to drink.

So I didn’t make the drink. The decision Was. Not. Easy. One would think that going 549 days without alcohol would make it easier. Kinda like how people say to parents with young kids, “Don’t worry, it will get easier!” As a parent to teens, 20 years later, I can assure you…it has NOT gotten easier. It has simply changed. 

Some days are easier than they used to be. Some days are harder. The same goes for my journey not to drink.

I can go weeks or months without thinking twice about alcohol, and then BAM—the struggle is so real it hurts. The double hurt is that in those moments, when I feel so crappy that a drink seems like it will wash away all my pain and bring me back to a better place—it won’t—it becomes abundantly clear that I’m doing the right thing by choosing not to drink. It becomes as clear as gin that my relationship with alcohol is no good.

And I didn’t even drink *that* much. But I saw the intake creeping up. I saw the craving increasing. I saw my desire, my enjoyment of one drink… become a need for one drink.

And that is very hard to swallow. Because it means this journey is about more than making it through the day. It means making this choice every day for years and years to come. And I’m not gonna lie. I miss alcohol. I miss the taste and the rituals (not what alcohol supposedly did for me, I’ve found good enough substitutions).

But oh how I love a good margarita by the pool. A glass of red wine by the fire at Christmas. Champagne to celebrate. The substitutions for these just aren’t the same or even good enough.

And I know me. Sips of the real thing won’t stay sips. So I will keep doing what I did that day when I wanted to break something, but pouring a stiff drink wasn’t a choice I was willing to make either. I’ll ask myself: What do I really want to feel? What feeling am I chasing? What need do I have? That day, I put on my sneakers and went for a walk around my neighborhood. In my wet bathing suit. If you want to know whether it was an awesome look, the answer is totally not.

Rest assured though, it was a skirt bottom so it wasn’t totally awful. And I felt less awful afterward. I called a friend while I walked. I shared my frustration about life. Then I did a second lap.

And I got back to life. I made it to bedtime without a drink. Today is day 559. The last ten days have had their moments too—moments when gin told me it would make life better. That it would be the sugar to make the medicine go down, so to speak. I didn’t listen. I found other orange to help me carry the gray. If there is one thing that has become even more clear during my journey of not drinking—and during The Orange Rhino Journey Part 2—it is this: When gray happens, which it will, it doesn’t just poof! disappear.

Drinking certainly didn’t make it go away. It usually made it heavier. Not drinking doesn’t magically make the gray lighter either.

But it makes it easier for me to manage. So does acknowledging the gray. It keeps it from taking up every inch of space in my mind. I can’t make the gray disappear.

And I don’t think carrying it will magically become easy. But every day I don’t drink, I get a little better at carrying it without adding more weight. And isn’t that what so many of us are doing? The heavy, non-disappearing, perhaps permanent gray may not get lighter.

But we get better. And somehow, that makes it feel lighter to carry. Sending warmth to you today, especially if this post hit too close to home. Solidarity my friend.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

When Family Traditions Change as Kids Grow Up

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I’m shaking as I type, and I haven’t even had my coffee. For the first time in fourteen years, I didn’t buy my sons the matching Old Navy 4th of July T-shirts.

And it’s hitting harder than I expected. I know. They’re T-shirts. Basic, silly T-shirts. Except they were never basic to me. They were the one thing that stayed consistent, no matter how much our 4th of July changed.

And it turns out, there are several other changes today I didn’t plan for…so yeah, I’m wishing I had the shirts. And yeah, I’m wishing change wasn’t happening…again. July 4, 2023 was Change 1.0. The experienced moms told me it would be okay. There would be new memories. They were right. And also, here I am. Change 2.0 is happening today, and once again, I’m feeling every bit of it. I feel it in my bones. Literally.

I’m jittery. I’m anxious. My body knows something is changing even as my rational brain keeps saying, “Sheila, not everything is changing. At least ALL your boys are here, together. That wasn’t even the plan a few days ago!” But still…. The back story. My boys and I used to go to Stone Harbor Beach every July 4th week. For years. First as a family of six, with my ex-husband. Then one year with him even though we were separated.

I can laugh now. We must have each had our own internal fireworks. We came home, went to couples therapy and promptly decided, yep, divorce is the right thing to do. Then I went to the beach with just my boys, then with my fiancé and his kids.

And then, in 2023, it stopped. My boys had jobs. The week was no longer an option. A three-day weekend didn’t always happen. It was heart-wrenching. I love traditions. I love the stability they offer in a world full of chaos. The knowing. The having something to look forward to. The ability to take the same picture year after year and pretend, for one second, that nothing is changing as fast as it actually is. (Did I mention I’m sentimental too?!) I did my best to make new traditions at home in NJ.

I mean, after all, we still had the annual Old Navy 4th of July shirts, right? At least I had the picture and the bickering to go with it?! Everything turned out okay. We were together. Laughing. Eating hot dogs. Doing sparklers. Fireworks in the local park didn’t compare to those over the ocean—and basically overhead—but I survived. It wasn’t the end of the world like I imagined. Anxiety sure can create the worst-case scenario. Then last year, a three-day weekend aligned and we made it back to Stone Harbor.

Oh, how my heart filled. And my pocket emptied! This year, another three-day weekend presented itself. So did my rational self. I decided it wasn’t worth the price. The boys had outgrown the hotel pool since we have one now. And since they are six feet tall, the small beds also weren’t working so well.

So we are home, again. I thought I was okay with that. We’d been home before. And Change 1.0 wasn’t actually so horrific.

But then I realized: for the first time in fourteen years, I hadn’t bought the shirts. A small detail. A massive impact. That is the thing about traditions. To everyone else, it can look like a shirt, a meal, a picture or a silly little ritual. –> But sometimes that tiny thing is what holds every memory over the years together; holds everyone together, BRINGS everyone together. At first, I was okay. I was even proud of myself for all the “self-growth” of being able to just roll with it.

I may or may not have high-fived myself. Then yesterday some conversations started popping up in the house and my pride turned into a little bit of panic. I had a vision for tonight: a family bbq like always, my boys and our picture. Apparently, my boys had their own vision: friends, more friends and a few people I haven’t met yet. Times have changed. The tide has changed. As it should. I know it will change again.

As tides do. But today? Right now? It’s a hard adjustment. And I know it will be okay. I really do. But knowing it will be okay doesn’t mean it feels okay right now. Right now? It feels blech.

And I need to let it feel blech for a minute so it doesn’t follow me into the fun later today. I’m just wishing I had the shirts to at least hold onto….one thing to bring me back to the past, ya know? And honestly, I don’t want to share the day I pictured as ours, with others. I could say no. I’ve been practicing that more and more. But my heart also wants to say yes. It wants to see my boys happy just as much as it wants to hold onto the version of today that would make me happy.

And if that ain’t motherhood. So I said yes. Seeing them happy will make me happy. Just in a different way than I planned. I will still get a picture before everyone arrives. Maybe I’ll make them hold up paper that says “Red Old Navy Shirt 2026” or “Blue Old Navy Shirt 2026.” There will probably be eye rolls. There will definitely be bickering.

But there will also be laughter. It will be a different memory…and it will still count. And actually, I think it will probably be a better, funnier picture.

Now that I think of it, I’m scared about what my boys will write on their pieces of paper. Maybe I should just find colored paper to give them and cut it out in the shape of a t-shirt?!

Today is definitely not gonna go as envisioned. No beach. No t-shirts. A little extra heavy on some emotions today. And also. Extra people. Which will bring extra laughter, extra joy and all that jazz. Both/And. Gray/Orange. Sending warmth to you today, especially if something is different today, a tradition is missing, maybe someone you love. I get it. I’m right there with ya. 

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Someone Else Has It Worse — and Your Pain Still Counts

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Do you ever have those days where you feel like your pain, your struggle, isn’t worth sharing because someone else has it worse? Have you ever been told not to complain because, guaranteed, someone else has it worse? And have you ever been in the middle of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day… wondering how you’ll make it to bedtime without collapsing… when the doorbell rings?

And there’s a delivery. And it’s for you. And for one small second, something in you shifts as a small smile spreads on your face. Not everything. And not completely.

But enough. Enough to make your struggle feel a little lighter. Enough to make you feel seen. Enough to remind you that you might actually make it through this moment. I have. This was me two days ago. Laying on the couch. Feeling crappy and crappy for myself. The doorbell rang. It was a flower delivery. I was confused. Mother’s Day had passed. The note simply said: “Congratulations.” I didn’t even know what the congratulations could be for.

I called the florist to ask who it was from. The flowers were from my fiancé. “Thanks for the flowers,” I said. “Um… what’s the congrats for?” “Congrats on making your new nonprofit official.” You read that right. Nonprofit. I’ve been dreaming of creating this for as long as my heart can remember. And it’s one step closer to happening. This happened last week. Even signed a contract for an office.

So more than one step closer actually. In all the preparation for my procedure, I lost sight of these very exciting milestones.

And then the recovery took over fast and furiously. The flowers? They didn’t fix my day, my mood, or my wound(ed heart.) They didn’t erase the hard. They didn’t make everything suddenly okay. They didn’t magically turn me into a glowing, productive human. But I didn’t go back to the couch. The flowers gave me just enough strength. Just enough energy. Just enough oomph to do a little work. They gave me just enough warmth and oomph to not lose the entire day to the couch.

They brought me back to life a little. Made me feel a little less sorry for myself. A little more seen. A little more able. Simply stated, they interrupted the gray. They brought in a little orange.

And that? Oh, the irony. Because what that moment did to me? That feeling. That pause. That tiny shift in the middle of a gray moment? That is all I’m going to say for now. Except this: It reminded me exactly why I’m building what I’m building. Why I’m so excited. Why I believe it’s needed. Why I cannot WAIT to share more.

My only wish? That I had 48 hours in a day, a team of 100 people, and fewer gray moments interrupting the progress. But alas. We build anyway. One step at a time. As Orange Rhinos do.

Sending my warmth and a little oomph.
xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

When Your College Kid Calls Upset: How to Listen Without Fixing Everything

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Your college kid calls upset. You hear their voice on the phone. And you hear all the other voices in your head. The voices reminding you of how you’re supposed to respond.

Let them vent.
Let them share.
Let them be.
Let them fly.

The voices in your head remind you this is their chance to grow. To learn. That’s it’s okay to hurt. That they will heal and come out stronger, wiser. As you listen, you hear it. You hear their hurt. You hear their frustration. You hear their fear. And oh, do you feel it.

You feel it so very deeply.
And you want to give them advice. You really do.

Because you see the path to feeling better. Faster. Easier. With so much less pain. But you know that easing their pain today, right now, can just create more pain in the future. You know that letting them figure things out now, even though it hurts, might actually help them hurt less later.

And so you bite your tongue. And you fight like heck to hide your own pain.
To sound confident in their ability to figure things out.
To not sound concerned.

And you struggle right along with them because this is not easy. In the moment, their pain is your pain. You hurt with them. Oh, do you ever. And you worry right alongside them.

But you don’t offer advice. And you don’t ask leading questions. And you don’t dig for more hard stuff.

You offer love.
You offer a soft landing place.
You offer “uh huhs” and “oh, that’s hard” and “I’m here for you.”

And then you offer to make homemade chocolate chip cookies even though you simply do not have the time.

Because that is all you can do to make them actually feel better. And then you think, not to them or of them, but to yourself:

Who is making me chocolate chip cookies to help me feel better?

Because this stage of parenting? Honestly? It can be brutal.

He is okay, to be clear. This wasn’t a crisis. Just one of those tough, emotional, figure-it-out moments that comes with being away at college. Having our college-aged kids, especially our freshmen, far away from us, struggling, and not knowing which adults in their life are there to support them, guide them, help them find the answers they need? B.R.U.T.A.L. The letting go here is an incredible act of strength.

Of course I will lean in when I have to.
But I will also let my kiddo fumble a little.
I have to. It is part of this stage. This journey. His journey.

And also? My kiddo wants to. He is in his independent era. We have returned to the “I do” phase. Except now it’s a more complete sentence, not that of a toddler.

It’s: “I got it, Mom.”
I know you do, kiddo. I know you do.

He sent me this text last night:
“Good night. Love you. Thanks for the support (even though I keep denying I need it or want it. When I’m ready I’ll ask for it. Let me know when the cookies are coming.)”

Ooof. That hit hard and heavy in a wonderful way. That’s the whole ache of this stage. Being needed in a whole new way. A quieter way. A farther away way. Not to fix. Not to solve. Just to stay close enough that they know you’re still there.

Sending my warmth and a little oomph to you all this Monday morning.
You are all loved and appreciated, near and far.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

You Don’t Need Alcohol to Be Fun: What My Kids Taught Me

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Someone once told me I wasn’t fun and needed to take the pole out of my ass or drink more. True story. Someone I trusted too. I think my sons would say otherwise. Actually, I know they would. I went to pick up my college kiddo at the airport this week. It was perfect timing. No traffic. No cops. Plenty of room to sit curbside and wait. That was the plan until… I saw my son walk out of the airport. I did what any totally normal mother would do.

I turned off the car, jumped out, and ran full speed toward my son, jumping up and down, waving my arms and yelling: “JAMES! JAMES! IT’S YOUR MOM!!! OVER HERE!!!” To be clear…he already knew where I was. He briefly tried walking away like he didn’t know me.

But eventually he turned around with the biggest grin. “Hi, Mom.” “HI KIDDO! I missed you!” “I missed you too. But please don’t ever do that again.” “Yeah, no promises.” “Okay, fine.” And then I got a hug. Honestly? I’ve been wanting to do that ever since seeing people impersonate Will Ferrell’s Elf character running around yelling names. Good news: I still have three other sons to embarrass in the future.

And that wasn’t even the funniest part of the week. Before my college kid came home, one of the younger boys said, “Oh man…James is screwed. He’s not going to understand the new dinner rule.” (Back in January we started eating dinner at the table instead of the counter.) “You know what?” I told the younger three. “You guys should totally play it up. Shower. Collared shirts. Perfect manners.” Zero pushback. 100% commitment.

The night my college kiddo came home… Three brothers showed up to dinner showered, hair done, collared shirts and khakis. Dead serious faces. I, however, struggled. It was just too much. (My boys? Fully, fully listening to plans?! What was happening?!) “We don’t just eat at the table now,” they told him. “We dress up. You need to too.” So off he went…to quickly shower and change. He came downstairs, saw one brother vacuuming and said, “What is happening here???” “Oh yeah,” they said.

“We also do chores while Mom cooks.” The perplexed look on his face? Pure awesomeness. We finally sat down at the table. Mid meal my son goes, “This is so weird. This family feels…normal.” I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I told him the dress code was a joke. He laughed. He loved it. And even took a family picture after dinner. No hard feelings. I’ll treasure it always. All boys, dressed up, laughing, and home in the same room again. Acting like young men. It was weird;) And priceless.

Turns out you don’t need alcohol or a personality transplant to have fun. Who knew? Sometimes all you need is an airport, a ridiculous idea, and four boys willing to commit to the bit. Tell me I’m not the only parent who embarrasses their kids in public. Happy Monday everyone.

Sending my warmth and a little oomph to you today and always,

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Letting Go as Your Kids Grow Up — Without Missing the Beautiful Parts

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I didn’t have kids so that I could be away from them; I had kids so that I could be with them. I didn’t have kids so that I could be around just for the tough times; I had kids so that I could witness, actively participate in the really beautiful times. The milestones. The celebrations. The achievements. Their excitement. Their joy. Likewise, I didn’t get married so that I could get divorced and then have to split up special days in my kids’ lives and therefore miss out on some pieces.

But here I am. Divorced and missing out.

Today, my second son is heading out for two weeks to go to a college for a science course he is wicked excited about. I helped him find the course, apply to the course, and pack for the course. I’m not taking him to the course though, his father is. I am taking him to another course later this summer, which is at my alma mater, so that’s cool. And we agreed to this arrangement for a few reasons so it kinda sorta makes sense that I’m not going today and also…and also…

It SUCKS. Like, a lot, a lot. I want to be there when his eyes go wide open as he sees how beautiful the campus is that he got accepted to for this summer program. I want to be there when he smiles with excitement as he sees all the events he gets to participate in. I want to be there to help him unpack and set up his dorm room. Sure, it isn’t “college” but it is a dry run. He’s my first kiddo going away for more than a weekend and well, it’s a big deal, for him, for me.

I want to be there to make sure he knows the this, the that, the that, the this. I want to be there to do the mom things, you know? To answer his questions. To ease his anxiety (which I know is high.) To support him in any way he needs. I just want to friggin’ be there.

But I won’t be. I’m missing out on a really, really big moment. And it sucks. It hurts. Like so, so much. I didn’t have kids so that I could be away from them; I had kids that I could be with them. I didn’t have kids so that I could be around just for the tough times; I had kids so that I could witness, actively participate in the really beautiful times.

The milestones.
The celebrations.
The achievements.
Their excitement.
Their joy.

And also, their worries and their needs, expected and unexpected. I had kids so I could be there for them. Life is both/and. Life is both orange and gray. We can understand something, and also not like it. We can support something, and also, strongly, strongly dislike it. Part of me is really friggin’ mad at myself for not saying I wanted to go as well but…it’s just the way the cookie crumbled. I just don’t like the crumbs.

Because that’s the thing, divorced or not, as parents, we do miss out sometimes. Even when not divorced, I missed out, rather, I opted out.

I remember my ex wanting to take the boys skiing for the first time. I really, really, REALLY wanted to go. But I was so overwhelmed with writing my book that I knew for me, I needed the day to myself to enjoy the quiet so that I could show up better for everyone that week.

So I missed out by opting out. MOOO lol. Even though it was my choice, it was still a hard call. The right call, but also the hard call. Same with the divorce. Same with today. And even though I have not missed a lot, and even though my ex and I have beautifully shared a lot, and even though I am so grateful for how well we have done, today, today is still hard and… I’m not feeling all the warm fuzzies about life.

I’m feeling them about my son though. I’m bursting with pride and excitement for him; with amazement at how he follows his heart time and time again. Life is both/and. If there is one upside to my divorce, it’s that because I do miss out on things now, I am much, much more intentional in living and much, much more intentional in my times with my kids.

People talk about FOMO oh so casually and almost make fun of it sometimes. Well for some of us, it’s real. So I make sure, when and where I can control things, I don’t miss out. I don’t want to miss out on anything because of my own doing, because of my own actions. Sure, I will opt out for my mental health so that I can show up better, so that I don’t get so burnt out or sick that I do miss out in the long run but… I won’t set myself up to miss out in the present.

I actively work to set myself up to be as present as I can in the moment. I didn’t used to be so good at it, but now, now I try harder than ever. It’s hard. (Okay Sheil, that is kinda a realllly big understatement lol. You couldn’t find a better word?!) And, it does put a lot of pressure on myself. No doubt. It’s extra hard now that I am actively working to effectively launch a new company. Trying to be the fully present mom I want to be so I “don’t miss a thing” while also trying to launch a company so that I fulfill my needs (which by the way, fuels my heart which helps me be more present) is a lot. It’s a juggling act, one I’m still learning.

This week, the company got dropped. It didn’t feel good. But I didn’t miss out on what mattered with my kids and that felt wonderful. My son and I packed all day yesterday. I was as present as I could be, pushing all my feelings aside to focus on him. Not easy. I’m going to post this and wake him up to see if he wants to go for breakfast, then send him off with his dad with a big hug and smile, and fight like heck to hold back my tears so I send him off with warmth, strength, and my confidence and happiness.

I don’t want to send him off with my baggage, just his. It won’t be easy. But when is parenting ever easy? Thinking of everyone today who is feeling the reality of life being both/and today knowing that we will all, yes all of us, get through these tough both/and moments. We will, we will. I promise. Truly.

Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always, especially if you know all too well what I mean about missing out, divorced or not.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Mother’s Day Can Be Complicated: Making Room for Joy, Grief and Everything Else

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It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow, a day intended to be filled with joy, celebration, acknowledgement, rest and more. But in reality, it’s a day that for many is a day filled with sadness, loss, grief, disappointment, exhaustion and more. This post is dedicated to all the women who, like me, are feeling ambivalent about tomorrow. I see you, I feel your discomfort, your sadness, and I would do anything to make tomorrow a little brighter for you.

Truly. Since I can’t physically send you all flowers and cards telling you how special you are, know that I’m thinking of you and you’re not alone in these feelings. * I’m a single mom to four boys, teenage boys to boot. Mother’s Day will not look like it did when I was married and my son’s dad worked with my kiddos to ensure the day was special and I was acknowledged for all my hard work as a mom. I will not receive a card that says, “Thank you and the boys are lucky to have you as their mom.” The loss of the appreciation will be felt deeply.

Mother’s Day will not look like it did when my kids were toddlers and made cute hand printed gifts and took naps during the day so I too could rest. The loss of thoughtful, unrushed gifts will be felt. Mother’s Day will not look like it did when my kids were in elementary school, and I was newly divorced, but the teachers helped the kids to make cards, ensuring that I was thought of on that first Mother’s Day as a single mom.

The loss of carefully written cards with caring messages will be felt. Mother’s Day will not look like it did when my boys were just pre-teens and had less intense bickering matches because well, they weren’t fully teenagers yet and hormones and stress hadn’t fully entered the house. The loss of more family time together, laughing, will be felt. And Mother’s Day will absolutely, positively, 110% not look or feel like I imagined it before I ever even became a mom.

The loss of that dream will be felt. Life is different today. My dreams of what my life would look like as a mom, how it would feel, how I would be supported, are entirely, 110% different. On many days I have come to terms with that. And on many days, it still hurts. Mother’s Day is confusing for so many. It isn’t just a cheerful, “I love you” holiday. It’s also a cheerful and “I lost…” and “I long for…” holiday.

I lost my mother.

I lost a child.

I lost a relationship with my mother.

I lost my spouse, the one who helped make me a mother.

I lost a partner, and now I help my kids celebrate me because I am alone.

I long to be a mother.

I long for more children.

I long to actually be appreciated as a mother.

I long to find motherhood less overwhelming. 

I long to have a day off, an hour off, a mere break.

𝑴𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓’𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒖𝒔, 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆.

It’s a tough day. It isn’t all flowers and brunches and cards and family dinners. There are also tears and quiet wishes for things to be different and reflective moments and feelings of loneliness and “is it Monday yet, but wait, this moment is special too.” Many of us, myself included, will go through the day, smiling then wiping away tears. Smiling some more, laughing even, then wiping away tears. Mother’s Day will be long and exhausting for me, and perhaps for you too.

I will be thinking of you tomorrow and all the moms and women whose hearts are full, but also are hurting, healing, and hoping for things to get better.

Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always,

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Why Parenting Teenagers Is Hard in Ways We Can’t Always Talk About

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Having teenagers is hard and not for the reasons everyone talks about. It’s for the reasons no one talks about. Or writes about. Because we can’t. Or at least, I can’t. Or rather, I choose not to.

When my kids were younger, you know, the infant stage, the toddler stage, the pre-school stage and maybe even all the way up to third grade, I could more easily write and talk about the struggles of parenting them. I could share discreetly about their struggles, my struggles, our struggles. There was less wider judgement of them, more understanding that they were kids, they were still developing. There was more grace for them, for me. (Well, for the most part.) And, my kids’ friends were not on social media then and couldn’t read what I wrote which yes, is a current, problem.

Now, given my kids’ ages, I respect their request to honor their privacy. We have a pact about what I do and don’t write. I ask permission when needed and well, they sometimes tell me what I need to write, should write. All that said, years ago… I could share more freely when I wrote as The Orange Rhino and even when I spoke with friends. Sharing my struggles, my doubts, my hurts, well, we all know that when we share those things, when we no longer carry those heavy feelings by ourselves, that we feel lighter, brighter, better. That we feel less alone.

On my way into the house yesterday, after a few moments to myself in my minivan, thinking of all my boys and all the different stressors, it hit me hard just how much I am not sharing. It hit me hard how I am feeling.

I am carrying A LOT by myself right now. So very, very much. There is so much my heart is carrying that I can not share. My heart is heavy from worry, from sadness, from hurt, from exhaustion. My heart is heavy from loving my kiddos so gosh darn much. Parenting is wonderful, but whoa, is it a hard and heavy job to carry. But alas, I carry it the best that I can.

Yesterday, at around 3:30, after the last activity of the day, I announced to my boys, “Guys, I don’t feel well. I’m coming down with my annual winter cold. I’m wiped. And I need to do some things for me so that I feel better. So I’m going to focus on me all afternoon. Dinner is take-out. No fighting over where. I need a peaceful rest of the day. I need to re-charge and just chill.”

I needed to lighten my mental and physical load because well, the load of my life is heavy right now and I am carrying it mostly alone (save a few very special people whom I am so grateful for.) I feel a little better today. Slept a lot. Organized some cluttered spaces that were weighing me down. But of course it wasn’t enough to outweigh all the heaviness. That’s okay.

Today, I will do what I’ve been doing. I will find beauty where I can to add brightness to my day. I will call a friend and share some good laughs to lighten my day. And I will remind myself to just keep going, one step at a time. I’ve got this.

Parenting teens might be hard, but it is worth it. They are worth it. If you are carrying a lot on your heart that you can’t fully share, I get it. I see you. I’m sending you and your kiddo(s) my love. Sending warmth and strength to you today and always,

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Our Christmas Tree Came Crashing Down — and It Became a Beautiful Family Memory

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Some say they are just traditions, that teens don’t care so much. Some say it’s just a tree, to not worry about it. But trust me, after this year, I know more than ever, it is more than a tree and those traditions do matter.

In our family, in my family growing up, and in both of my parents’ families growing up, a Christmas Tree was something that brought people together.

That brought memories from years past, represented by special ornaments, to the present.

That brought excitement for the future upcoming big holiday, and even for unknown memories that would turn into ornaments, to the present.

A Christmas Tree brings the past, the present, and the future together in one beautiful place.

A Christmas Tree brings out old stories, new stories, and “I wonder what will happen” stories.

So when our Christmas Tree came crashing down the other day, I was crushed. I thought it would just be me. But it wasn’t. My four sons – 17, 15, 14 and 12 – stood in solidarity with me. Mouths wide open, just as shocked as I.

But the most beautiful thing happened next. After we all felt all our feelings, we came together. WE CAME TOGETHER, as Christmas Trees do to people.

My teenage sons generally don’t like working together lately.

But they did. Two helped clean up and cut the tree base so it would stand better. One took care of the dog so as to not get glass in her foot. One came with me to get the pizza which was no doubt now sitting cold at the restaurant.

But no one really ate. Instead, my sons wanted to keep working to clean up, to get the tree up, and to sort out which ornaments were broken beyond repair, which were saved, and which needed gluing. They wanted to fix all the strands of lights and replace the broken ones. They didn’t want to stop – and didn’t stop – until the tree was up, once again. I had kept my mumblings to myself about, “oh, there must be a lesson here.” I had accepted that sometimes crud happens and there isn’t a lesson to be had.

And yet…and yet… as we worked, my boys started sharing their thoughts, their insights, their takeaways.

“Mom, I’m so glad this one glass ornament of Great-Grandma’s didn’t break. It meant a lot to you. It represents a lot to our family.”

“Maybe the tree wasn’t balanced. Maybe it was too heavy in the front. Gravity stinks.”

“Sometimes things just fall over. That’s life. It’s not the end of the world. We’re fixing it.”

“If a Christmas Tree falls in a house, does anyone hear it?” hahaha.

“At least nobody got hurt.” “At least we still have a tree.”

As they shared all their thoughts, I couldn’t help but to reflect myself. Our tree came crashing down and I am so glad it did. YEP. It gave me a chance to:

  1. See my boys come together, which gave me pride and hope for their future as better friends. And in the process, witness them be resilient AND use tools of how to shift perspectives so they could productively move forward. Yeah for good ‘ole “at least” statements!
  2. Hear them share about the importance of the family ornaments and what they represented: being grateful for all we do have. Some ornaments were made during the Great Depression and others were made by my parents when they didn’t have extra money to buy ornaments. Oh, oh they were listening all these years! They do listen!
  3. Experience their sadness and joy in the whole Christmas Tree debacle of 2023 which showed me that yes, yes family traditions matter and I’m so glad that I kept going this year to make sure this tradition happened, no matter what.

And lastly, well, it did make me think about balance. In all likelihood, the tree was too heavy in the front. When we bought it, it had a huge area in the back that was missing a branch. Didn’t dawn on me that there would be a problem with ornaments on the front. The tree was out of balance. It was too heavy. I want to write, I started to write, that I am the tree. That I am out of balance. Yes, I feel it a bit. I am struggling with balancing motherhood with me-hood with Orange Rhino-hood.

However, our Christmas Tree mattered to me from the start. I made it happen no matter every obstacle I faced. And it turned out, it really mattered to my boys too. I got my priorities right.

So I am not out of balance, life is just heavy and hard right now. I am just figuring it all out. Balance comes from wobbling left and right, back and forth. That is what I am doing. I might fall down because of the weight. I might fall down as I wobble.

But like the tree, I will stand tall again. And I will shine bright, again. SO WILL YOU. So. Will. You. Sending warmth and strength to you today and always,

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Part 2: How a Spare Fuse Taught Me to Repair a Yelling Moment

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Did you know there is a spare fuse in the plug of Christmas tree lights?!?! I, did not lol. Don’t get me started. But there is! I found them and I replaced three blown fuses and voila! Light returned! Brightness returned! The strands were repaired, reconnected to each other and I moved onward with getting the Christmas tree lit. It was a beautiful reminder to me that when I “blow a fuse” (i.e. yell) I have a chance to repair.

The holiday season is stressful – for adults and kids alike. This isn’t a secret. It’s just full of MORE. More to do, more triggers, more overwhelm, more energy, more anxiety, more meltdowns, more stress. More yelling most likely 😉 Yelling happens from time to time. Yes, myself included. Yes, I wrote a book about how I stopped yelling and yes, I still yell on occasion. And no, no I am not ashamed to admit that. And no, no it doesn’t make me a bad mom, a bad parent, or a bad anything.

It means I’m human. It means I was having a tough moment and I responded in a way that likely showed how I was feeling on the inside about myself or my life. AND also, it doesn’t mean I can’t come back from that moment. Just because I blew a fuse, just because I yelled, doesn’t mean I can’t turn the moment around. My Christmas lights – all three strands that I blew the other day – reminded me of this.

So if you find yourself having just yelled from all the go-go-go of the holiday season, look around and find a light to look at and remember, The moment can be repaired. You too can bring light and connection back to the moment. Apologize for hurting the feelings of the one you love. Validate how it must have made them feel to hear you yell. Explain what you could have done differently to not yell, what you could have done to help yourself calm down.

Then perhaps go take that moment to yourself to get a little more grounded. Sending warmth and strength to you today and always,

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

P.S. Tune in tomorrow for Part 3 of this story, it gets even better. Which I didn’t think was possible 😉