Tag Archives: Teen Parenting

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

Why Meditation Doesn’t Work for My ADHD Brain — and What Does Help

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Fastest way to make my blood boil? Besides, “take a deep breath?” Tell me to “just meditate.” Here’s the thing –> I can’t. I’ve tried. I cried once when I tried to meditate because I felt so frustrated. That was shortly after my marriage ended.

Okay, maybe that is actually why I cried. Either way, super fun times. Meditating just isn’t my thing. It makes me feel like I want to crawl out of my skin. It makes all the chitter-chatter in my ADHD brain even louder. More obnoxious. I know, I know. The irony is far from lost on me. These are all reasons why I NEED to meditate. Noted. “Keep trying,” they say. “Your nervous system needs it,” they say. “I know,” I say.

It just isn’t my thing right now. So…I beach instead. I walk in the waves. I listen to the seagulls. I stare out at the ocean. I don’t meditate. I beach. And wouldn’t you know… I recently read an article about how spending time near the ocean can have some of the same calming effects as meditation.

When you stare at the ocean, there’s very little visual disruption. The mind naturally rests a bit. And then there are the blues, the sound of the rhythmic waves and the gentle breeze. All of it can be soothing to the body.

When I go to the beach… my mind focuses on the sounds of the ocean. On the breeze. On everything in front of me—which isn’t a lot—instead of everything in my mind, which is a whole lot of heavy.

The beach is an entire sensory experience for me. And my mind focuses on just that. My mind settles. Everything in my head quiets. The only noises I hear are the soothing ones from the beach. The gulls. The waves. The breeze.

Sometimes even the laughter of kids. I don’t hear the noise of worry. I don’t hear the noise of stress. I don’t hear the noise of “Mom, Mom.” I don’t hear the noise of my to-do list. I don’t meditate. I beach. Unfortunately, I don’t beach enough.

But today I do, and it feels great. My biggest problem today is that someone’s gonna have to get me off the beach! I never, ever want to leave. I know a lot of people feel that way.

But for me, I also know it says something about how much my mind and body need places where everything feels quieter. I don’t live at the beach or even near it.

But my backyard feels a little bit like an oasis, and inside my house, I chip away at making it feel more and more like a beach house. With minimal visual interruption and maximum blues.

And I do all of this happily…even though everyone reminds me, “You don’t live at the beach, so why do you make your house look like one?” Um…because I don’t live at the beach. Obviously! Or, as a teenager recently said to me: “Obvi.” Obvi.

Okay then… If you don’t meditate—and you feel guilty like I sometimes do because everyone seems to do it and you should “just meditate”—please know there are other ways to find a similar feeling. Find what quiets the noise for you. I don’t meditate. I beach.

And I beach happily. Sending my warmth to you today, especially if you are seeking a little more quiet too.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

When Parenting Overwhelm Makes Sobriety Feel Hard

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Sometimes the hardest part of parenting isn’t the moment. It’s managing your own overwhelm when all you want to do is escape.

Last week, mine had me reaching for a glass of scotch after 450+ days sober. That’s when I knew just how overwhelmed I really was. Two of the three boys were hangry, hangry teenagers. I couldn’t breathe right. I couldn’t blink right. I couldn’t be anything… right. And yes, they are good kids having human moments.

I mean, I get hangry too and um my mood swings are fun at times. This said, I’ve parented from this philosophy for years: De-escalate, don’t elevate.

Don’t elevate emotions.
Don’t elevate tension.

Which also means: de-escalate, don’t evaluate.

Trying to assess what is actually going on, trying to figure out how to help them when they are amped up? Useless. Not gonna work.
Trying to “teach” them how to do better next time when they are amped? Also not gonna work. That will definitely just escalate.

I mean, try telling me how to better handle my emotions during a sudden moment of hormonal rage. Ask me how well I will listen and take in your lesson plan. Amirite?

So when they were stomping around the kitchen, nitpicking at each other, complaining about my meal (the one I was so excited to have made them) and my efforts to de-escalate were not working…

And I realized I was getting frustrated and starting to make things worse, so I left the room. I needed a break. Leaving the room was easy.

“I will not be treated this way.” Turn and walk away. Easy.

The hard part? I still felt all the overwhelm.
The sadness that we weren’t having a family dinner over a meal I thought they would love. The letdown. The clearly other emotions about other stuff I apparently wasn’t aware of.

On the way to the safety of my couch, I saw my fiancé’s glass of scotch. I guess I was bottling up more stress than I realized. I picked it up without hesitation.

What’s one sip? That doesn’t destroy my 450+ days of not drinking, right?

I immediately spit it out, poured the drink down the drain, and the tears fell. Dammit. Parenting is exhausting. I love my kids and still, it’s exhausting. They are human, they act human, and so I give them grace and still, it’s exhausting.

This happened last week. It had been a hard week. As I sat curled up on the couch, crying, letting all the stress out, I decided I needed to change clothes. I needed cozy. I needed to regulate myself so I could handle them better. So I could ooze out more comforting, chill vibes. Sweatshirt and sweatpants on, I returned to the kitchen.

They had fizzled out, thank goodness. One had left. The remaining one apologized, thanked me for going out of my way to make his favorite dinner and get cookies. The other one appeared shortly thereafter and said thank you for the cookies too. (Lol, not dinner. I knew it would be hit or miss with him.)

Walking away was the right thing.
Spitting out the scotch was the right thing.
Neither was easy.

Naturally, I decided to take a picture. The one who hadn’t lost his shite with me saw the glass. “MOM! What are you doing? Put that down! You aren’t drinking.” Oh bless my heart. He was so worried I had taken a drink. That moment made spitting out the scotch, made deciding to be sober, worth it. One of the reasons I’ve chosen to be sober is to show my kids that life is okay without alcohol; that it is not needed to numb during hard times.

My son witnessed it in action. May he remember this. And may I keep remembering that I can do it because honestly? Seeing how quickly I wanted to numb when parenting hurt so badly… when I hurt so much… even after 450+ days? That’s why I personally have chosen to be sober. I know I need to be.

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

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Sensory Overload, Clutter and Yelling: What My Teen Understands About Me

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My teenage son totally has my number. And it’s because I taught him well. Ever since I was little, I’ve been super sensitive to certain sounds, textures, and visual clutter. I used to sit in movie theaters thinking, When I grow up, I’m going to invent popcorn that isn’t crunchy sounding… and chip bags that don’t wrinkle when you put your hand in.

So yes…having four loud boys did not exactly help my sensory processing. When they were younger, my nervous system was often fried from the noise, the chaos, the constant touching, the overwhelm, and the exhaustion. A lot of my yelling came from that place. My body was screaming on the inside and it needed somewhere for all that overload to go. Once I started The Orange Rhino Challenge®, I began understanding that better.

And I started handling it differently. I took breaks. Splashed cold water on my face. Turned on music to dance out my energy. Put in earbuds to listen to calming music and tune out the noise. I talked out loud about what was happening in my body. As the boys got older, and it became more obvious we’re a pretty neurodiverse family, I tried to make two things clear: It is my job to take care of me (likewise goes for them!) If I’m overwhelmed, it’s my job to step away, get my earbuds, regulate, and do what I need to do to feel better and less snappy.

And that in a family, it’s loving to consider each other too. If someone says they’re overloaded, the kind thing is to be considerate, help if you can… or at least maybe not chew chips like you’re in a sound effects competition.

Well. Fast forward to last night. I was super off. Later I realized my ankles were massively swollen, so apparently my body was not happy. Then my son started eating potato chips. I was about to absolutely lose my mind. And this child looked at me and said: “Mom, stop telling me to chew quieter. Where are your earbuds? You need them.”

Then he got up, found them, handed them to me, and said with the most loving and playful as possible but irritated voice, “I’ve had enough of you. I want to chew my chips in peace.”

Honestly? Fair. I put them in… but not before I blasted music on my computer and he chewed as obnoxiously loudly as possible. It became a full-on sound off. We both ended up smiling.

And I told him, “Thank you. I appreciate it. And you’re right… it was my job to get up and find them. Sorry, kiddo. Enjoy your chips. But first, may I have one?!”

We teach them and hope it lands. And then one day, it does and you feel so grateful. For the loving help and the potato chips. Sending my warmth and a little oomph to you, today and always,

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Anxiety vs. Depression: What I Misunderstood About My Own Symptoms

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I was shocked to receive the diagnosis: anxiety. For years, the word used to describe some of my grayer days was depression.

Turns out, a lot of what I thought was depression was actually anxiety. But I didn’t realize that at the time. Something happened when my oldest was about 6 and my youngest was about 1. One of my friends made a loving comment that I seemed a lot less anxious around my kids that day. At first I was aghast. How dare she? What? Me? Anxious? I’m cool. Calm. Collected.

But she was right. My heart wasn’t racing as much. My brain also wasn’t. And my shirt, well, it didn’t need to go to the dry cleaner that day. My oldest has severe ADHD. My anxiety was through the roof when he was younger, driven by my worries about what people would say about us in public or in private settings. Her comment made me reflect on how I acted and how I parented. It helped me start to change some of my behaviors. (Which was a good thing, because those were the early days of The Orange Rhino Challenge®.) Fast forward five years to my divorce era.

I was talking with my therapist about how hard the days were. She mentioned treating me for situational depression. I agreed. Then she said, “And I think you should mention anxiety to the psychiatrist too.” There it was again. The A word. “What?” I said. “I don’t have anxiety.” But then I paused. My therapist was right. And you know what? It was an incredible relief to accept that.

Turns out, so much of my “depression” was actually driven by anxiety. (Not long after, I also learned ADHD was part of my struggles. Like my skin cancer, that diagnosis took a lot of advocating. A story for another day.) I’ve learned a lot about anxiety since that day in my therapist’s office. She taught me a lot of skills. I taught myself a lot about, well… me.

But the best thing I ever learned? This: Try your best to not worry now. Wait until you know facts. If your fears don’t come true, you wasted energy and felt bad for no reason. If they do come true? Then they hurt twice — in the moment, and in all the anxious moments leading up to it. Mic. Drop. The picture in this post? It’s my current hairstyle.

And it is sooooo much better than I expected. My anxiety was understandable — I don’t dismiss it. I try to understand what it’s telling me.

But I’m also grateful I didn’t wallow in it for weeks leading up to the procedure (a few hours here and there? Yep. Totally did. I’m human) Because when I used to wallow in anxiety, I snapped at my kids more. I wasn’t as present as I wanted to be. And when I was present? I wasn’t exactly fun to be around. I was on edge. Which meant I enjoyed fewer moments. I spiraled during the day, got off track, and then felt even more anxious at night.

My relationship with anxiety still needs work. (Don’t most relationships?) Teenagers driving, going to college, making big decisions on their own will absolutely test anxiety. But I’m doing better. And I’m grateful for my therapist. And for that friend years ago who planted the seed. Sometimes one honest comment is the beginning of a completely different life. We just have to be open to hearing it. I know. Easier said than done.

So. Much. Easier. Kinda like managing anxiety. If depression, anxiety, or ADHD are part of your story, welcome. I get it. And if you don’t have a formal diagnosis but perimenopause has brought on some very similar symptoms… also welcome. Heck, welcome everyone. Sending my warmth to you, today and always,

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

What Teenage Boys Taught Me About Competition, Connection and Hope

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Earlier this week, my son’s basketball team had a big win. But it had nothing to do with the score. It had everything to do with what happened after. They were playing a team from across town. The last time they faced each other, the game was tight—my son’s team won by just a few points. And at the end of that game, something unexpected happened.

The teams came together.
Laughing.
Taking selfies.
Teenage boys—competing hard, not knowing each other—connecting anyway.

It gave me so much hope. Fast forward to this week. This game was a blowout. My son’s team was on fire. So the coach did what good coaches do—he put in the kids who don’t usually get playing time. Eventually, the other coach did too.

And that alone said a lot. This coach is intense. I remember thinking during the first matchup, whoa—this guy wants to win at all costs.

But here we were. New kids on the court. Winning wasn’t the goal anymore. Experience was. My son is almost 6’2. One of his best friends is about 5’2—and because of that, he hasn’t gotten much playing time this season.

But this night? He was in. The players on the court worked to get him the ball. The players on the bench were on their feet, cheering—hoping he’d score his first basket of a quickly ending season. And let me tell you—this kid can shoot. Always has been able to. He started hitting shots. Then threes. Then foul shots. Thirteen points in two minutes. For real. The gym went absolutely insane.

When the buzzer sounded, his teammates rushed him and carried him off the court. And do you know who else rushed over? The other coach. And players from the other team. The coach even took a selfie with him. It. Was. Beautiful. And this wasn’t a one-off. Earlier in the week, my son’s team lost a blowout. Late in the game, another kid who rarely plays took a shot just as the buzzer sounded. SWOOSH. A three.

They lost the game—but no one cared. Their teammate had scored and made an incredible shot. No one talked about the loss, they talked about their teammate. And in yet another blowout loss, both coaches put the B teams in again. The A teams were on the benches, kinda. They weren’t obsessed with the score. They weren’t sulking on the bench. I saw teenage boys standing, cheering, screaming—for each other to have their moment.

My faith in humanity was restored a little this week. On a high school basketball court. And I’m holding onto these moments tighter than ever, especially this week.

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

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

When the Other Shoe Drops in College: What I Learned as a Parent

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I’m still processing what happened yesterday. The range of emotions I feel is unreal. The event was scary, worrisome. It was also incredible, surreal, beautiful, uplifting, inspiring. It also gave me valuable insight into several things I need to do as a parent that perhaps you all already do but if not, here is your chance.

Okay, here’s what happened. First off, remember how I wrote Saturday that I was waiting for the other shoe to drop for my college freshman?

Well, it dropped. He ended up in the ER yesterday. He is fine. Why? Because of the amazing friends he has met that were raised by some amazing parents that I would love to meet. And because of an amazing school that I need to thank for having a great emergency system. My gratitude runneth over. Last January, my son had a cardiac event. It was scary to witness.

Yesterday morning, my son called to tell me about his night and again, how happy he was. I’m lucky that our relationship is strong enough that I got all the details about the night. Even the ones I didn’t want lol. More on that tomorrow. He sounded fine. We talked about how he was going to find a way to watch football that day. He hounded me for the Verizon password and yada yada. Two hours later he called telling me he didn’t feel well.

He was exhausted. He felt like his heart was racing. I told him to not drink any caffeine that day, but lots of water. To rest. To make sure to wear his apple watch and to check it on occasion but to not worry. That maybe he took his medicine twice by accident – that I’ve done that. It happens. He called an hour later. His heart rate was 165 when he walked. He felt hot.

“Mom did you pack me a thermometer?” Did I pack him a thermometer?

I held back my chuckle and remembered his snarky “you packed too much crap” comment when I moved him in. “Of course sweetie. It’s in your medical kit in your closet.” I said.

“Oh, by the pulse ox and my inhaler?” he asked.

“Yep.” I said, holding all loving sarcasm to myself, not the time;)

“No fever.” he said.

“Okay. Well, covid is going around. Let’s see if you spike a fever. You could be getting sick. Last time you had a cardiac event it was when you were sick. Take it easy. Call me if it gets worse or find a friend and go to the health office.” I said.

Phone rang again. “Mom. My friend and I couldn’t find the health office. My legs are weak. I can’t walk. I’m dizzy.” He said. I could tell he was about to pass out. He was practically slurring his words and barely making sense.

“Ok. Where are you?” I was oddly calm. Oddly friggin’ calm.

“My friend took me back to our dorm. We are in the lobby. He called Public Safety.” he said.

 “Okay. Can you put him on the phone on speaker?” I asked, again, eerily calm. He did. I walked his friend through what he needed to do. How he needed to keep my son awake and upright. How he needed to stay with him but look around and watch for any stranger to help him.

How if he could, to call another friend to come help. He did GREAT. Great. I could tell he was nervous as my son was going in and out. Public safety showed up and drove them to Urgent Care. Urgent care eventually said he needed to go to the ER. Public safety came back and drove them the 5 min drive as Urgent Care said it would be cheaper, faster and he was stable enough. (Not sure about that looking back as his blood pressure was 158/98 when he arrived at the ER….) And then his friend called me saying that he and 4 friends had all forgone watching football and were in the waiting room with him.

Bless those kids. Be still my heart. I just can’t. My son – who struggled to have friends in high school – was surrounded by true friends…in a waiting room…on the kickoff day for football. I have no words. NONE. Parents, good job. You did good. I then had a major debate about whether or not to drive down. Do I let go? -or- Do I go? His friend asked me to come so I went. He was on the front lines so to speak and could see him.

I trusted him. Worst case I would be told to turn around and I would have had time in the car enjoying my choice of music! Friend #2 kept me updated as I drove down.

Honestly these kids. First class kids. The universe was on my side. No traffic. Perfect weather. I made it there in the shortest time ever. My son’s blood pressure was stable when I arrived and he was turning the corner thanks to IV fluids and time. The nurses and doctors were the kindest people ever. One nurse in particular. She also has a freshman in college. She validated my driving down and praised the kids for how well they did.

She talked to my son about how well he did for knowing he needed medical help and shared her experience with making a similar mistake. No shame. Just support. As it should be. Shame doesn’t leave room for learning. Shame slams the door shut real fast on any opportunity for connection and therefore learning. Beautiful, truly. Again, gratitude runneth over. And here is where I share advice, which I rarely do (at least directly) but feel moved to.

My son’s phone was at 10% by the time he got to the hospital. –> If his phone died, his friends would NOT be able to reach me because they would not have my number. Nor would the hospital be able to get the information needed to reach me. One of the scariest things about our kids being away is the “what if there is an emergency” bit. We all have “in case of emergency” in our phones…but… Do your kids’ FRIENDS have your number to call in case of emergency, especially your college kids?

I know our college kids just got there, and maybe don’t have friends yet BUT do they have 1 or 2 kids they trust enough? Does their roommate have your number to call in an emergency? Listen, I am not about bribes BUT kids “yes” us. “Yeah, yeah mom I will do it.” NO. Offer $20 to Wendy’s to have your child’s friend send proof and call you. IT MATTERS.

This applies to any kiddo with a phone, high school, middle school. Shoot. This applies to OUR friends. Do our friends have our partner’s phone numbers?! Why? My son’s phone died and his friend had my number and called to tell me what hospital he was at. I couldn’t locate him otherwise. It was one of the first things I did when I found out what was going on.

If your child takes medication, do they know the names and doses? My son was smart enough to write it down and bring it with him. (Also, WOW and I’m still in shock. Like, what?! Bravo kiddo. Bravo.) I’m going to write it all on a credit card size piece of cardstock and laminate it so he always has it. Along with his birthday and my phone number. 

This was his second cardiac event. We think it was his medicine but…what if it wasn’t? If your child is over 18, do you have the necessary legal forms in place to be able to talk to doctors if needed? Luckily I did, BUT I forgot them;) Thankfully my fiancé scanned them and sent them to me.

I used Mama Bear Legal Forms. Super easy. So there you go. An uplifting Monday morning story with several nice little lessons too. I hope it made sense. I rolled in late last night and like I said, I’m still processing it all.

Today I have to figure out how to send cookies to these kiddos and find a way to let the school know how incredible their system is. And rest 😉 Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always, especially if you’re worrying about your kiddos. Parenting is a lot and ain’t easy. End of story;) but even the hard moments have beautiful moments within them. Thinking of you all.

xoxo Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

College Move-In Is Coming — and I’m Already Grieving

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I’m still a mess, six days later. And my son hasn’t even gone to college yet. The official move in day is Tuesday. 48 hours from now.

So, um, yeah. How about no?! Ugh, I just choked up…again. This isn’t far off from how I felt a year ago when I received the big manilla envelope from the high school about all the things “Senior” year related, like ordering a cap and gown. The anticipation of the year to come was brutal. It was a wake up call that time was going too fast. Too, too fast. It made me stop and think, “shoot, did I do a good job?” And not, “did I do a good job teaching him” but did I do a good job being the mom I wanted to be?! Did I live up to my ideals, goals, dreams? Or am I filled with regret?! And there’s the pit in my stomach…again. Sending a kid to college is hard. Full stop. Period. Whether it’s the first time, the last time, whether it is your child or grandchild, it is hard. It. Is. Hard.

This post though is also for anyone who isn’t sending a kid off to school…but is close or remembers college life themselves. This post is simply for anyone feeling the grays in life right now and feeling how this monumental milestone that we all see everywhere (every single store is screaming college!) is about a heck of a lot more than college.

It’s a friggin’ wake up call, forcing one to take stock in their life. And now I know why my gut called this month, “Au-dit-gust.” Blech. Do know, this is not a rah-rah, you’re going to be okay post. I don’t do toxic positivity around here. Nope. Not how I roll. I face the hard, the gray, the REAL tough and not-so-tough feelings head on. Otherwise they knock me down even further and getting up and getting going is that much harder. (And that isn’t even taking into account my joints or lack of flexibility these days) I don’t have time to be knocked down more than I already am, please and thank you.

I’ve got packing to do…so that I feel reassured my child is taken care of. I’ve got pictures to print…so that I feel confident I’ve set my child up in a space that feels like home. I’ve got letters to write…so that I feel satisfied that I’ve said all I want to say, mostly, “I’m so friggin’ proud of you and I love you. Have fun. I’m always here.

Also, don’t forget to return my texts or I’m showing up and will embarrass you.” I’ve got administrative crud to do…so that I feel content knowing I did my last job in this stage and my child can focus on adjusting. I’ve got moments to cherish the best I can…so that I don’t feel the weight of regret, which is a beast. I’ve got things to do so I feel the best I can in a hard situation. I don’t have time to pretend my feelings aren’t real and aren’t happening.

Ironic, right? So many people tell us to stuff our feelings and move forward. I agree with the moving forward – but not if stuff is not processed or at least seen and acknowledged. Moving forward will be a wicked workout instead of a walk in the park.

So here I am. Seeing all of you and the comments you wrote on my post about my firstborn going to college. I’m humbled by the attention the post received. As a “writer” I should be ecstatic. Want to know something? I’m not. I’m sad, heartbroken actually (and not just because of my kiddo going off to college officially, officially on Tuesday.) My post resonated for lots of reasons, but a few are because so many of us, too many of us, don’t feel fully seen -or- don’t feel fully free to express all the feels we feel -or- don’t know feel fully supported, but instead pressured to find the positive, feel better already, and just move on.

And this breaks my heart. I know how it feels to go through hard times alone. I know how it feels to have to bite one’s tongue, hold their feelings back, pretend everything is okay. I know how it feels to be misunderstood, judged, ridiculed for feeling fully. and I know how it feels to feel all the feels and wonder, how, how will I feel better and when will I feel better? It just doesn’t feel great and I wish, I wish we didn’t feel this way.

But…feeling sad happens….feeling lonely happens….feeling worried, overwhelmed, scared happens. and…feeling unsupported and misunderstood, sadly, happens.

But it doesn’t have to happen totally alone. All this to say, I see you all. I’m not joking when I say I wish I could be with you all in this moment and let you just be real. Let you feel seen.

But I can’t. Like I said, I’ve got packing to do 😉 So here’s what I’m thinking. This is what WE are all going to do, if we can.

  1. We are not going to hide. We are going to keep feeling all the feels out loud, here, so others can see and not feel alone. This will bring comfort to so many. And if we have the strength, we will reply to another comment to show love and support and to spread warmth.
  2. When we are out and about, if we see someone who has that same look we saw when we looked in the mirror this morning – maybe puffy eyes, maybe sheer exhaustion, maybe a sense of loss – we are going to share a gentle, loving smile. Maybe a tissue (lol, if we have one to spare.)
  3. We are going to keep sharing the heck out of the post in the comments (about my firstborn going to college.) Not because I want it to go viral (lol, kinda busy right now for this to happen, but my son is THRILLED) but because it is clear that people need it.

They need to know they don’t have to rush through their emotions right now. They need to know they aren’t broken. They need to know they are surrounded by others who get it. We all need each other – in person and virtually. Let’s lift each other up, the Orange Rhino style. With compassion, understanding, and real, honest to goodness, vulnerability.

Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always, and especially if you are in the hard right now with me. I have so many more thoughts. They will be pouring out all week.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

The Surprisingly Simple Way I’m Connecting Better With My Teenagers

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Yep. It’s true. I’ve discovered a secret to connecting with my teens: being playful. It is legit working wonders in our relationships. The challenge though? It seems they are returning the favor. See photo for evidence.

I woke up at 5 am per usual. The thing is though that as I have been caring for my fiancé all weekend (he had neck surgery and is recovering and not sleeping well) I am EXHAUSTED. Like beyond.

So when I sat down in my chair this morning to write, I promptly passed out. The half cup of coffee I had poured didn’t keep me awake (obviously.) Anywho, I called out to sweet son #4, “Oh sweet child of mine, would you mind pouring me some coffee? I feel asleep, I have to post by 7 and I can’t get up. I’m exhausted.” He started walking towards me, not a complaint coming out of his mouth. That should have been an alarm in my mind.

I looked up. I saw the twinkle in his eye. “Oh thank you sweetheart, you are the absolute best.” I said as he poured the coffee. Then I realized he WASN’T STOPPING. Then again, the twinkle in his eye wasn’t either.

And the smirk had started and it wasn’t going anywhere either. “There you go mom, how is that?” He was so proud of himself, his playfulness, his cleverness. It was adorable. I laughed. He smiled even more. WE CONNECTED. We both relaxed. We both enjoyed the moment. We both enjoyed each other. No bickering. No nagging. No nothing except joy.

This is becoming a regular – the connecting over playful moments that is. The other stuff still happens, I want to be very, very clear. Bickering? Me nagging on occasion. Him complaining on occasion. Us not getting along. Me wanting to call it quits on this parenting gig. Yes, all the not connecting is still present BUT so are these positive and playful moments. The difference? These ones are intentional. They are being made on purpose, by both of us. All of us actually.

My other boys are doing the same. They do stem from me. I admit it. I’m actively being more goofy with them. I blast songs they hate as they get out of the car. And I see their smirk. I unmake their beds when I can tell they will accept a playful silly gesture. I go into their rooms when the mood is chill and jump onto their beds and say, “What’s up doc?” I talk in their language but 100% intentionally WRONG, I mean lamborghini pork chops just sounds ridiculous anyways. If it annoys them, I take it up a notch and they actually love it. The eye rolls are plentiful but also have a sparkle to them.

I’ve lightened up and am stepping out of my comfort zone and it’s working. We are all having MORE FUN together and wow what a difference. Again, the yucky moments are still present but these lighter moments are making the other ones more bearable because (1) I know a lighter moment will come (2) I know our relationship isn’t just the yucky moments I rarely give advice, you all know that isn’t how I roll, but I am going to today.

Go be silly with your kids. Being silly isn’t just for kids or toddlers or babies. EVERYONE loves to be playful and laugh. Even your partner. *Edited to add…in a way that works for your family. Playful is different for everyone.

And that is 100% okay. i.e. I hate to be touched or snuck up on. That is 100% off limits. Playful can be singing together * I didn’t used to be as silly. I was afraid to be.

But my word, now that I am? Oh my gosh life is so much for fun. I mean duh, but not duh you know? Tell me what playful thing you did today. Share the joy with all of us. Inspire us. Maybe we can get 50 comments and then I can create a 50 Playful Things to do to Connect with Your Teens.

Okay that idea just came to me and if anyone steals it I’ll be annoyed lol. There – my not playful side came out 😉 but kinda being playful hahaha. For real though LET’S DO THAT. Goal set! Go! -OR- another edit to add, how did you connect with your kiddos in their, your families, love language? Everyone connects differently. For some of us, it’s cooking a favorite meal.

Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always, especially if you are wanting to connect with your kids or partner right now and are longing for it so very much. I know that feeling. I will probably be there at some point this week and then I will come to this comment thread for inspiration. Thinking of you.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

When You’re the Glue Holding Everyone Together — and You’re Exhausted

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A very personal, transparent post.

You know how sometimes you hold it together because you have to?

Because if you let go, something will fall and break?

Because if you stop moving, everything will come to a screeching halt and crash?

Because if you show your real feelings, others will reel in pain?

Because if you aren’t the glue, everyone comes undone and that is worse than being the glue?

So therefore, you aren’t really holding it together because you have to, but because you CHOOSE to, because you know it is the right thing to do, for the moment, for the season.

Well, I have chosen to hold it together for at least eight years, arguably thirteen. There have been moments where I have sighed and had some relief. Moments where I *gasp* dared to think to myself, “Yes, this is it. I’m done holding it together. We’re in the clear.” Hardy, har, har, har. NOT! I realized Thursday morning that those moments? They weren’t really as full as I thought. Thursday morning I realized what an enormous weight I’ve been carrying around all these years.

One of loneliness. Exhaustion. Doubt. Worry. Oh, oh such an intense worry. Sadness. Pain. It is a weight that comes with having a child that is neurodivergent and not widely accepted. (I write that with 100% approval and encouragement by my child by the way.) And this morning, I realize there are weights I carry in being a mom of divorce. Weights I hadn’t fully acknowledged to myself. Weights I cannot write about. Weights I need to work to put down because they are equally exhausting and equally filling me with fear.

I’m tired, my friends. Not just because I recently had shingles. But because of the weights I carry. It is no surprise that I got shingles twice within 8 months. Stress brought it on, I have no doubt. The pressures in my life right now, the demands, are immense. They are (mostly) easy to see and can be managed. They are just A LOT. They take a lot of time, planning, and mental management.

And they are compounded by the invisible stressors, the invisible weights we carry. The invisible weights are so much harder to manage. They can only be managed when we do the work to acknowledge them…FULLY. Like fully, fully.

But let’s be real…it can be hard to do so because they are sooo heavy and yucky. Thursday morning I found myself EXHAUSTED beyond words. I was so confused as to why. I slept well. The night before had been GLORIOUS. Beautiful. Hopeful. Incredible beyond words. It was then I realized all the “mental weight” I had been carrying for thirteen years regarding my son. All the weight I had not fully acknowledged on a deep, deep level…because I couldn’t.

Wednesday night my incredible, neurodivergent son was honored as an “Unsung Hero” in our community. One senior per high school in our county was selected.

He was seen for more than his “label.” He was seen for who he truly is. He was seen for who he is today and how far he has come. He was seen for his heart, his compassion, his resilience. He was seen in a way so many people don’t dare to see him, because they are stuck in the past, they are stuck on labels. He made it. We made it.

And actually, he didn’t just make it. He friggin’ crushed it and then some. He inspired people along the way. He’s changed lives. He is a beacon of hope. Truly. Thursday morning I finally put down one heck of a heavy weight. And my body has collapsed in exhaustion. I will share more as I recover. I have run a marathon with this dear child in ways I haven’t shared. It takes a toll.

But I have held it together because I had to, because I chose to. And I have kept it all in to mostly myself, because if I dared to fully acknowledge what I felt, I wouldn’t have kept running alongside my son, cheering for him and he needed a cheerleader. I gladly played that role; as we all do for our children. I always believed in him, even when others didn’t.

Yesterday was admitted college student’s day. He is becoming a special education teacher. As he says, it is his turn to give back to others, the way a few very special teachers gave to him. 

Recovery is a beautiful journey. It can be equally long and exhausting though because you must still heal from the past. Because you must let go of your past identity and embrace your new identity. I am rebuilding. I am breaking through. And I am exhausted.

And I still have other weights to put down…not to mention the new weights I gained yesterday as I accepted that come fall I will be letting him fly as a college student. This mom’s heart is oh so proud and oh so heavy and oh so light at the same time. This woman’s heart is oh so hopeful and oh so heavy and oh so light at the same time. And hence, she is exhausted. And coming a little undone;) And that is okay. It is more than okay.

There are seasons to hold it together and there are seasons to not. Both are beautiful and have their purpose. Where are you?

Here’s to breaking down, re-building and breaking through to where we want to go and who we want to be.

Sending my warmth to go with your strength, today and always, especially if you too know the feeling of carrying extra weight because of some extra parenting – or life – challenges. With so much love, understanding, and encouragement,

xoxo, Sheila


🧡 The Orange Rhino