Tag: resilience

A Story of Resilience, Love and Thriving

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“One day you will tell your story of how you overcame what you went through and it will be someone else’s survival guide.” -Brene Brown

One of the things that Vicki Atkinson and I hear from podcast guests is that we are warm and welcoming. A lovely thing to hear. But I’d flip that around and say that what makes it work is that our guests are open and courageous.

We met author, public speaker, and parental advocate Vickie Rubin through our mutual blog friend, Ab. I love that because they both have such genuineness. We get to see in action how they show up for life. Whether at home or in their roles as advocates, they come alongside others to see them and share stories that make everything a little clearer and brighter.

So in the latest episode (and last episode of 2024) of the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast, Vickie gives us the elevator pitch for her book, Raising Jess. She jokes that it’s long enough to require an elevator in the tallest building in Manhattan. Fitting, because there is so much goodness in her book about raising her child with a chromosome deletion: mother’s intuition, decisions about whether to have more children, the grandparent’s point of view, and more.

Vickie’s openness and support of others are so inspiring. In her work supporting other families trying to navigate the systems to get resources for their children and in Facebook communities, Vickie is a powerful parental resource and advocate. By telling her story, she continues to help others navigate their own challenges.

Vicki and I ask about what’s next for Vickie. She’s recently published an article in Newsweek and she tells us about the writing classes she taking.

This is a great episode that not only focuses on the resilience, love, and thriving of one family but also inspires the same in everyone who listens. When we share our stories, we empower others and Vickie illustrates this so well.

I’m confident you’ll love the scenic and beautiful places we explore as we share the power of storytelling – in our books, our podcasts, and our lives.

We know you’ll love it!

On a programming note – this is the last podcast for 2024. Our next episode featuring the amazing Beth (i didn’t have my glasses on… blog) will drop on Jan 10th, 2025.

Search (and subscribe!) for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Apple, Amazon, Spotify or Pocket Casts OR Listen to it from your computer on Anchor: Episode 97: Raising Jess with Vickie Rubin

Episode 97 transcript

AND subscribe to our YouTube channel to see a video clip of each story: @SharingtheHeartoftheMatter.

Links for this Episode:

Vickie Rubin | Author & Advocate | Special Needs Parenting
Thankful for Superhero Healthcare Folks: Bones, Scopes & Hopes
Newsweek Article: Mom’s Diagnosis Was Crushing Enough, Then She Gave Me an Ominous Warning

From the hosts:

Vicki’s book about resilience and love: Surviving Sue; Blog: https://victoriaponders.com/

My book about my beloved father: Finding My Father’s Faith

(featured photo from Pexels, quote from Finding My Way to Forgiveness by Vicki Atkinson)

Resilience and The Right Team

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“Children, marriages, and flower gardens reflect the kind of care that they get.” – H. Jackson Brown Jr.

I know it’s bad form to brag about your kids. So I’ll ask for your apology in advance. I want to set the expectations appropriately, and then still do exactly what I want to do. Because I was so inspired by my four-year-old that it seems worth passing along.

Two days ago, I saw my son, Mr. D, pull off an incredible feat of resilience. He went to an Aikido class expecting that he could test for his yellow belt. Not only did he expect this, but he’d told his teachers at school, and we’d gotten my mom to come to the class to watch. Plus his favorite person on the planet, his darling older sister, would be there.

But when he did his practice test, he screwed up the forward rolls. The Sensei is a very good teacher and won’t let anyone take the test until they’ve got it down. So, she let him know before his class started that he wouldn’t be able to test that day.

He lined up for class with his bottom lip quivering and he kept glancing at me to commiserate his disappointment. The crestfallen look on his face was enough that I felt like crying myself. But about halfway through the 50-minute class, he took a deep breath in, squared his shoulders, and visibly moved on from the disappointment.

By the end of class, he was fully participating and laughing. When we went home, he kept practicing the move he messed up. He was still only landing on the correct foot about fifty percent of the time.

Then yesterday morning, he popped up out of bed and wanted to show me his rolls. He thought hard about it, and nailed it. After about a half dozen correct ones, he announced he was ready to test. When we went to Aikido class yesterday afternoon, he stepped up and nailed the test.

Expectation, disappointment, then coming back to earn it – kids do these things in such quick succession that they make it look easy. It makes me wonder if as grown-ups we remember these are part of a cycle. We just have to keep rolling to get through it.

One other thing strikes me. Kids have a whole network of people cheering them on. Teachers, coaches, parents, grandparents, and often even random bystanders will jump in to tell them they’re doing great.

Which makes me wonder if adults have the same. Are we cultivating the friends, partners, colleagues, and mentors that help us continue to be resilient? Are we being those people for others? It might make all the difference.

In Our Element

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“As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.” – Carl Jung

We rented an AirBnB over the weekend that touted bunk beds in the laundry room. Clearly the charm of this place lay in its location on a beach on Whidbey Island. And that it accepted dogs.

Mr. D has been calmed by water since day one. The babies that don’t like their first bath? Nope, not Mr. D. What did we do for at least an hour on his first day of daycare? Play in water.

I watched him this weekend pouring water with a clam shell for thirty minutes from one hole to another and then back. An incredibly long time for a four-year-old to stay with one focus. If it weren’t for the tide coming in, it looked like he would have done it for hours.

I wonder if we all have an element we are born with that calls to us. For Miss O, it seems to be singing. First mine and my mom’s, and now her own.

If given the option between beaches and mountains, I’d say “mountains.” One step onto a hiking trail and my stress level drops by five notches. Every step gives me further improvement in my mental health, resilience, and sense of humor.

But I’ve spent more time on these rugged beaches of the Pacific NW than mountains since I’ve had kids. And I’ve found the beaches remind me to breathe out all the stale air I hold in. Whether it’s because Mr. D has water and Miss O can sing by the campfire, or because I can walk along the sea and the surf, I’m not sure. Whatever it is, it works magic.

Who cares if the bunk beds are in the laundry room if the location puts us in our element?

(featured photo is mine – Mr. D by the sea)

The Glass is Refillable

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“Only the closed mind is certain.” – Dean Spanley

This was previously published on 9/28/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

I was traveling last week, something I haven’t done without my kids in 7 years. I’d perfectly engineered the school drop-off and transfer to the nanny, filled the fridge with food, done all the laundry, and even unloaded the dishwasher. I thought I had everything well in-hand.

But then I got to the airport and all my planning fell like a stack of cards. My flight was delayed. My transportation to the hotel when I arrived at the destination changed so I needed a last minute rental car. I took a wrong turn and had to back up in a strange car on a dark road. I didn’t know how to navigate New Jersey turnpike tolls and was guessing. I got to the hotel so late that they were no longer serving food so I ended up eating the cup-of-soup noodles you get by pouring hot water over and they are only marginally less chewy than styrofoam. Then as I gave up and just tried to sleep, I could hear a very faint security beep if I lay on my left side so I had to only lie on my right. Anytime I forgot and turned over, I woke up.

I was tired, pissy, disappointed and completely spent.

More than that – I was surprised. My congenital optimism as described in  Rose-Colored Glasses had predicted none of this. When a couple of days later I talked this over with my friend who is a self-proclaimed pessimist, I asked if optimists and pessimists suffer the same amount: optimists from disappointment and pessimists from catastrophizing.

My friend asked something like, “Why can’t you set your expectations differently?” Well, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get that right either. I could imagine how things would go wrong but I doubt I’d be any closer to reality.

“People who wonder if the glass is half empty or full miss the point. The glass is refillable.”

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Refillable – yes! But first I have to empty it of all the bubbly stuff I put in there to begin with. What works for me is to get up every morning and meditate to make friends with uncertainty. That practice of mindfulness helps me to embrace that I have no idea how things are going to unfold, no matter how much I’ve planned…or maybe even more poignantly, how much I’ve dreamed.

Whether we come at it from a perspective that everything is going to be great or that nothing is going to work, the truth remains that we don’t know. Even the people that I’ve met who identify as realists don’t know how something will unfold. Being optimists, pessimists or realists might set the tone of how we feel about the day before us but the mystery of life remains that we can’t predict how life will turn before us.

This brings to me something I heard Franciscan Priest Father Richard Rohr say about certitude.

“The thing called certitude is a product of the enlightenment, and it did so many good things for us, science and medicine but it made us feel that we have a right to something that we really don’t. Our ancient ancestors grew up without expecting that. So they were much more easily able to hold on to mystery in general, God in particular. Whereas we worship workability, predictability, answers – we like answers.

We think we have a right to certitude.”

Father Richard Rohr

With the help of meditation, I come back to knowing that I don’t know and then I feel more able to improvise. When I touch uncertainty, I let go of my plans. When I empty my head and hands of the vision of me being in charge, I more readily accept the mystery unfolding before me.

The glass is refillable. Indeed it is. I concede that it might be my optimism that gets me up and ready to practice refilling it. But whatever it is, I have to work at it every day, meditating in order to make friends with uncertainty in a practice to embrace the mystery again and again.

Meditating on uncertainty on my recent trip helped me enjoy the experience: it wasn’t as I had expected but it had lots of twists and turns that fed me in significant way. That interpretation might sound optimistic but it’s much deeper than that – its meaningful. And isn’t that part of what we ultimately want from life?

(featured photo from Pexels)

Thank Goodness It’s Monday

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“If we want stability in our family, society, nation, and the world, we need to create stability in individual human beings.” – Sadhguru

This weekend I:

  • Walked a half marathon (27k steps over 2 ½ days)
  • Celebrated the achievements of this youngest generation of scientists and explorers (took my kids to a 5 year old birthday party and set up marble tracks, cheered for kids figuring out how to slide fast and slow, )
  • Practiced medicine (2 boo-boos, and tummy ache)
  • Work to help prevent disease and disorganization (did 5 loads of laundry, supervised young hands wiping down counters and sinks, changed the sheets, mowed the lawn, organized a utility closet, and did at least 1000 dishes)
  • Exercised hearts and minds (played 2 games of family soccer, reenacted light saber scenes, played Chinese checkers, read a half a dozen books aloud, and told a dozen stories, played at least a dozen rounds of keep away with Cooper the dog)
  • Fed the hungry (prepared seven meals, a bazillion snacks, five meals for the dog, three meals for the cat)
  • Coached positive techniques for conflict resolution and expressing healthy boundaries (settled at least a half dozen power struggles and fits of big emotion)

No, I’m not aiming to do a victory lap here (for one thing I’m too tired 🙂 ). But my weekend reminds me that:

  1. We don’t give caretakers nearly enough credit for the amount of energy and skill it takes to keep other beings alive.
  2. I’m a much better parent because I work. The dozen things I need to get done at work on Monday seem like child’s play… compared to a weekend of playing with children.
  3.  Kids and pets reflect the care they get…and so do caregivers. None of it is possible unless caregivers fill up their tank.

Happy Monday, everyone!

Sharing Wisdom

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“Resolve to be tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant with the weak and wrong. Sometime in your life, you will have been all of these.” – Buddha

This is something I posted on 1/26/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

In March of 2001, I trekked to Everest Base Camp with my friends Phil and Sue who were attempting to summit Mt. Everest that year. They had invited a few of their friends to join them on the 30 mile trek in and we’d assembled in Katmandu, Nepal to gather our last few supplies before flying in to the starting point of the trek.

It was on a rickshaw trip around the city, that one of my fellow trekkers that I’d just met, a 59-year-old man told me “Life begins at 40.” Given that I was only 31-years-old at the time, this particular piece of wisdom irked me. Taken literally, it implied that I should just waste the next 9 years.

Over the next few weeks as we were trekking, I found out his back story. He had been married in his early 20’s, had two kids but that marriage had broken down and he was divorced by the time he was in his mid-30’s. It was a contentious divorce and his relationship with his sons suffered.

By the time he was in his 40’s, he’d found success as a business owner, gotten remarried to a woman he adored, and shaped his life to look more or less like the balance of freedom and love he’d always wanted. Hence his statement that life begins at 40.

Why is it so hard to pass wisdom from one human to another? We have to pack it up in a suitcase so that it’s portable and then the recipient needs to have some hooks to hang it on when they unpack it.

In this case, I didn’t think much about the wisdom he’d offered me until I was about to turn 40-years-old. It was a tough time in my life – I’d recently been told of my husband’s infidelities, and I was struggling with the idea of failing at marriage while trying to hold it all together.

While I believe the age was just a coincidence, when I thought back to my fellow trekker’s story, it held a lot of comfort for me. Because it represented an example that life can rebuild itself even better after it’s all fallen apart. The wisdom, when I distilled it for me, was that we can have multiple chapters in our lives that still add up to a glorious story.

Isn’t that why we share our wisdom and stories? So that someone else can take them, draw strength from them when needed and they repackage them in a way that’s meaningful?

On that trip in 2001 to Everest Base Camp, after we’d been trekking for a few days, I woke up one morning a couple of hours before anyone else was up. I was so excited to be in the Himalayas, I decided to hike around to see if I could see Everest in the first light of the day. After about 40 minutes, I finally found a place to sit and watch the sunrise illuminate one of the most distinctive mountains in the world.

When I’d finally hiked back 40 minutes, everyone else was up. One of our guides said, “Does anyone want to get a first look at Everest?” and I joined the group. About a 5 minute walk from our campsite, in the opposite direction I’d gone, was a magnificent view of Everest.

Packaging up this story, I’d pass along this wisdom. “You will take some wrong turns in life, go down the wrong path and expend a lot of extra energy. But even in that case, enjoy the view, laugh about how you got there. Whether you go the short way or whether you go the long way, always look out for the presence of Wonder.”

What’s a piece of wisdom you share?

I’ve posted a related piece about wisdom gleaned during my podcast conversation with playwright and author Jack Canfora in a story about Laurence Olivier on the Wise & Shine blog: Do It Again: The Gift of Having to Repeat Ourselves

(featured photo is mine – a view of Mt. Everest from the Tengboche Monastery. Everest is the one with the snow plume caused by winds from the jet stream.)

What Blocks the Way

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“We tend to make the thing in the way the way.” – Mark Nepo

In The Book of Awakening, Mark Nepo tells the story of the time he and his friend, Robert, drove 400 miles to visit the Botanical Gardens of Montreal to visit the largest bonsai collection in the world outside of Asia.

“We strolled toward the Chinese Temple Garden, a lush yet simple retreat from the streets that covers acres, a place of renewal originally constructed in the 1600’s in China and moved stone by stone to Montreal in 1990.”

The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo

Only to find it locked. Mark feels grumpy as he follows his friend as he starts to walk the perimeter.

“Suddenly, when we had walked farther than was originally in our view, the walls disappeared. It turned out that the Garden had no walls, save for the façade at its entrance. So we simply walked through the open grass to a path that welcomed us.”

The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo

That lesson in having enough resilience and belief to find the way around what seems locked resonates with me. In fact, it’s the topic of my post for The Heart of the Matter today: Stuck on the Path to Freedom.

And while you are there, check out the rest of the site and subscribe!

(featured photo from Pexels)

Called Out

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“May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.” – Nelson Mandela

The other day I received a message from Mr. D’s preschool, “Good afternoon families. Since we have several new families who have recently joined us, I thought it might be a good time to remind everyone that our classrooms are parent free zones.”

Even though this message was sent to the about 45 families in the school and I’m not a new parent to the school, I knew this message was aimed at me. Because I love going in the classroom and getting to know the teachers, especially in the last couple weeks as Mr. D has moved up to a new classroom. These COVID years as a preschool parent have been tough and the drop-off at the door is the worst. Mr. D does fine but I suffer from lack of community and continuity when it comes to my darling son and the people important to him.

I could feel the shame creeping up my cheeks as I read the message. It was like I imagined they all got together and cooked up a message to nicely keep me out. Which is very ego-centric of me but I think not uncommon when we feel called out.

I think staying open to feedback is one of the biggest growth areas for me. Not shutting down with shame or defensiveness. Sitting openly long enough to feel the meaning and intent and then react. It’s a very meditative response to life for me instead of reactive.

As Victor Frankl said, “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and freedom.”

Freedom to find what need I was trying to meet, growth to expand into other ways to meet it, power to find my center and respond from that true space.

What I really want is to show affection and interest for the amazing people who are caring for and teaching my son. So I’ve written them all cards and put chocolate bars inside. It’s not perfect, but I find if I don’t wither from the shame of being called out then I can still engage and get to know them from afar.

How do you react when you feel called out? Any thoughts on the situations in which we can take our loved ones only so far and the rest they have to go on their own?

(featured photo from Pexels)

Growth and Comfort

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“In any given moment, we have two choices: step forward into growth or step backward into safety.” – Abraham Maslow

“How’d the paddle boarding go?” my friend Rachel asked Miss O who responded, “Good.”

Unfortunately that wasn’t the case. I’d planned a special outing for me and my almost 7-year-old to rent paddleboards and go out on the small lake near our house one afternoon after camp last week. Both of us were so excited to have the time together and to get out on the lake. Miss O has paddleboarded in a little inlet by my brother’s boat and seemed to get the hang of handling the board and the paddle so it was going to be a great expedition to be able to go together. We’d talked about the fact that it would be a little choppier and windier where we were going and made a plan if either of us fell in. Miss O said she was prepared.

But when we got out there, the wind pushed her around and at her light weight, she had trouble controlling the board. She got frustrated and it seemed like every sentence that she said out there started with “I can’t…” I offered to tow her and she didn’t want to do that because she wanted to do it herself. We talked about setting our sights on somewhere she could paddle to but she said she couldn’t do anything but circles. I asked her what she thought she could do and the answer was nothing.

I was flummoxed. I know Miss O can step it up to a level of toughness with teachers, coaches and other family members. She has been going to a different camp every week of the summer and when she’s nervous she takes a deep breath and says, “I can’t skip this first day because if I do, then tomorrow just becomes the first day” and then she squares her shoulders and walks inside.

But when I’m around, and this has happened in many different scenarios, she doesn’t show the same resolve and instead tends towards tears and hugs. In the choice Maslow presents in the quote for this post, she chooses to step backwards into safety more often than not when I’m present.

I asked her about paddleboarding in the quiet, calm time before bed that night and, she said it’s because she doesn’t want to cry for anyone else but she can with me.

It strikes me that this might reveal that support and education are mutually exclusive for most of us. That is to say, we can’t be in our comfortable spot and grow. I think about all the times that I’ve done business projects with more experienced colleagues or climbed mountains when someone else was leading the group. I know in those cases I relaxed in a way that made it harder for me to access mental toughness.

That is a beautiful part of being part of a group or family or partnership. But I’m starting to see that when I’ve grown the most, it’s when I’ve moved outside my comfort zone and in many cases, done things alone.

Which brings me to the heart of her answer to my friend, Rachel. Miss O knew that paddle boarding hadn’t gone well but has reached the age where she wanted to cover it over with a “good.” But that makes me very grateful that she, at least for now and maybe forever, can cry with me.  She’ll have plenty of other opportunities to learn from other people and experiences but even when growing, we all need a comfortable spot to come home to rest.       

No Name Calling

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“Success is going from failure to failure without losing your enthusiasm.” – Winston Churchill

About ten days ago, a week before my daughter’s elementary school let out for the summer, there was a school Field Day where the entire student body of 400 kids played games at 28 stations to earn food and prizes. They were looking for volunteers so I tended the soccer kick station with another parent.

It was an easy 10 feet kick into a goal. We had a lot of kids come by – Kindergartners who had feet about the size of a deck of cards, differently abled kids that came by with their instructional aides, and most of the student body including the 5th graders who looked like they were ready to take on the world.

Everyone was displaying great spirits until one girl, perhaps in the 4th grade came by with a friend and gave the ball a kick. I shouted “Wuhoo” and she said, “Don’t say ‘Wuhoo.’ I’m a failure.” And I said that she kicked the ball with lots of strength and she repeated, “I’m a failure.”

Her ball hadn’t gone in (we didn’t really require that) but most kids could get it in, even the little Kindergartners. So I gave it her the ball again and said, “Kick it again.” And she did – without even really trying and it didn’t go in. She said, “See, I’m a failure.”

I was flummoxed. Her assertation that she was a failure was a wall that seemed to keep everything from going in. With that up, it didn’t seem like anything could penetrate.

With the first post I wrote about confidence, I can, I quoted author and psychiatrist Neel Burton who distinguished confidence from similar concepts by explaining confidence is feeling “I can,” self-esteem is feeling “I am” and pride is the feeling of “I did.”

When the little girl came to the soccer kick station, she both asserted that she couldn’t and that she was a failure. And once that was in the air it seemed to operate like a foregone conclusion for which there was no quick fix.

Because we can fail over and over again and still be confident. Here are some examples.

“I’ve missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. 26 times I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.” – Michael Jordan

“Failure is only an opportunity to begin again more intelligently.” – Henry Ford

“A woman who never gives up can’t fail.” – Abby Wambach

The distinction seems to lie between admitting we’ve failed without calling ourselves a failure. I hadn’t thought much about that small difference until I heard researcher and author, Brené Brown tell a story about when her daughter was in pre-school. The pre-school teacher told Brené that one day after Brené’s daughter had been doing art at the glitter table the teacher said to her, “You are a mess.” And the daughter retorted, “I might be messy right now but I’m not a mess.”

In the retelling, Brené laughed and said that her roots as a shame researcher were visible. We can describe our current situation without calling ourselves names. No name calling is a rule in my household since I heard that story, and I apply that to the conversations I have with myself as well.

My daughter overheard me telling my mom about the little girl who called herself a failure at Field Day and was fascinated by the story. It was a great opportunity to talk with her about what happens if we believe the names we call ourselves. I hope the ripple effect is that she won’t call herself names and maybe even say something if she hears someone else doing it.

This is my fifth post about confidence. Here are the others:

I Can

Fear and Confidence

Growth Mind-set

Bossy Pants – Confidence and Leadership