What I learned in 2019

In 2019 I turned 30! Gosh was this year full. As is my annual custom, I’ve enjoyed distilling a little of what I took away this past year.

I learned that oftentimes the best thing to do in any given situation is nothing. We are too reactive. Period. Take a breath, people. Take a breath, Francesca.

I learned that God’s plan is my plan. His timing is my timing. I can long for something with all my being and it may still be delayed. I will trust in him.

I learned I have been running in circles, bending over backwards, seeking approval. I was seeking approval as a child, as a high school student, as a Hoya on Capitol Hill, and as an employee. I still fall into my old patterns of conforming to others’ needs rather than being present to my truth. But I am aware now that approval would be nice, of course, but I don’t need it.

I learned that the internet and media breeds toxicity but only if we allow it.

I learned that once you acknowledge your shame…You speak the words that haunt you…You identify with that which threatens to undo you, you are free.

I learned when in doubt, respond with more love.

I learned that I can drive, and drive far. Solo trips for work all around the metropolitan area gave me a sliver of peace I hadn’t known I needed in the unlikeliest of scenarios.

I learned about rational emotive behavior therapy and it has given me such solace. I can never thank Erin enough in her infinite wisdom for seeing in me a young lady who was struggling.

I learned all that glitters isn’t gold. It’s all a farce. We are all playing pretend.

I learned that I am a powerhouse. I can do what I thought I couldn’t. I can survive discomfort, I can advocate, I can deliver, and I can do it with grace or show teeth if need be.

I learned that the future is language thanks to a fish and a bird.

As I held him in my hands and gently cleaned him, I was reminded of the circle of our lives. It was unexpected and abrupt, but oddly comforting to bear witness to. Vulnerable we are born and to vulnerability we will return. We have to take care of one another.

I learned that nothing even remotely worth having comes easily. And our true growth is in the wake of adversity. When you are on your knees with no other options, that’s when the miracle arrives. Not a minute before.

I’ve met some remarkable women this past year, and I’ve learned a multitude from each of them. I’ve learned that anything is possible with your tribe.

I learned that we need not shun our unsavory emotions; there is a place for every crayon in the box. Our humanness is pretty freaking colorful.

I learned that we have stories in our head that aren’t always indicative of the truth. Dare to question those stories.

My husband, God love him, taught me more than I can relay here. Every day another dimension of him is revealed and I am in awe.

I learned that I’m still afraid and I’m not even sure of what sometimes, but on the other side of fear is a beautiful place called life.

On approval

You don’t need anyone to approve of you.

She emphatically said to me in her calm, raspy voice while staring me dead in my frantic eyes. She picked up on the fact that I’d been struggling. She needn’t spend more than a few afternoons over tea with me to register my fear. “Have you ever actually seen your fear?” she continued. My jaw was on the floor.

In her 81 years of life, she’s been around the block a time or ten, and the assuredness and wisdom that only age and hardship can afford seeps from her every word. She spoke of her days frequenting the Albert Ellis Institute in Manhattan, and learning how to harness the dialogue unfolding in her life to reduce if not expunge her fear. She said to part ways with the ‘shoulds.’ She said it would take time. That we can’t turn the boat completely around mid-current. It would take practice. “You don’t need anyone to approve of you.”

I sat with her words and after weeks of introspection came to the following, a script of sorts, to revisit when I begin believing that the human condition and the lives we lead should be any other way than they are.

Nothing is wrong with you. You keep fantasizing about all the issues and making mountains out of everything you feel and experience because you have no tolerance for discomfort. You rely on other people to accept you, affirm you, and make you feel like you’re enough. If you fulfill all the criteria of a manageable mood, a prestigious job, an enviable marriage, a healthy body, impeccable coping skills and neat even days with no unknowns, then everything will be as you feel it should. Everything will be as you feel it must.

But the world isn’t waiting for you to thrive. Its inhabitants aren’t here to solve your problems. And until you have faith in yourself, and give yourself the approval you are desperately waiting for someone or something else to give you, you will always come up short. No amount of money, scoops of ice cream, promotions, or criticism free days will ever be enough to numb your dis-ease until you decide I approve of me, as I am. Every single part.

Every good thing. Every doubt. Every loathsome emotion. Every intrusive thought. Every poor excuse and bad behavior. Every misstep. Every embarrassment. Every shame ridden sentiment. Every sideways glance from someone you care entirely too much about. Every time you divulged too much. Every embarrassingly long social media spiral. Every argument. Every debilitating low mood. Every strand of your DNA. Every component of your mental disorder. Every bill left to pay. Every cluttered corner. Every messy room. And ribbon of cellulite. And gray hair. And eye brow untweezed. And dysfunctional family encounter. And drunken outburst. And argument. And misspoken word. And longing. And comparison you assigned too much weight to. And topic that steals your mind and heart away from the glorious albeit imperfect present.

I realize now that I have thought all along that getting approval was the goal and reassurance from others would keep me safe but being on the other side of a need for approval is where the freedom lies. You don’t need anyone to approve of you.

This is 30

You've been carrying around your fear like an appendage for a long while now. For 30 years. Making excuses for its validity and accommodations for its glaring intrusion in your life. You have been compromising each day, shaving away pieces of yourself to fulfill the perceived wishes of others because acceptance is neat and safe. Wearing a big smile, offering a hand, and carrying a plate of cookies so that everyone will let you in, approve of you. You have been afraid to stand, take up space, and demand what you want for your life.

You’re desperate to contain your emotions because their expression feels unruly. A shiny orb you aspire to. You feel good making other people happy. You hunger praise but the effects are fleeting, its incidence only fueling a need for more. You derive your worth from helping others, from saving. And in that endless pursuit, your truth is the last considered. You are relieved when others say you’re allowed to feel how you feel and it's ok to want what you want. You spend endless, valuable minutes, hours, even days in your head instead of in the world. In this, your 30th year, it’s time to actually consider precious girl, what you want your next years to hold.

What you want is to step boldly into a future that you decide and do not compromise on. And even if that future’s unbeknownst to you at the moment,  you’re committed to making room for the inquiry. You’re asking the questions, flexing those mental muscles, navigating conflict, embracing discomfort. Because the truth of the matter is you spent 30 years playing by the rules, when you could have been writing your own.

I’m not unique in the least. Human beings are riddled with fear, some can just conceal it far better than I can. Few like to talk much about fear; it’s not cute or Instagram worthy. What might set me apart is a willingness to stare at it, study it, befriend it, knowing it has been one of my greatest teachers. Fear has shielded me from the pains of disapproval, and of risk and longing. But 30 finally feels like the time that the benefits of aligning with my fear are not nearly as great as those of fear’s refusal.

I’ve been waiting for someone else to decide for me. My doting family, my husband, bosses, colleagues, books, therapists, podcasts, the list continues... I’m an open book, a sponge, all the platitudes to describe someone who is a little too honest, too feeling, and too pliable. I’ve always been looking outward for direction and I can see clearly now that it’s a woman I have been waiting for and her name is Francesca.

That was then, and this is 30.

A love like theirs

He had a setback; a scare if you will. Even at 91 years old, Papa having anything wrong with him is unfathomable. He’s unsinkable. Nonetheless he ended up in the hospital. One day turned into two. Two felt like an eternity for Nana. But his prognosis was just fine and he would be home on the third day.

She tasked me with going to the house and picking up a set of clothes for him to wear home from the hospital. It had been some time since I visited the basement. Papa’s place. Functional, yes, with clothes, a tool bench, and his own bathroom. An outpost marked by carefully orchestrated chaos: trinkets, doodads, items collected through the years. And the pictures: a shrine to our family.

Nana called to relay what Papa would need. She carefully listed all the items, one by one, accompanied by an exact description of where to locate each. She’d memorized where every blessed item of his resided, dictating instructions so I could navigate the room. The care she took with identifying Papa’s needs took my breath away. If you had been eavesdropping on our phone call, it would’ve seemed as if he was going to the Met Gala. But no, just from a hospital bed, to the car, and home. The home they filled for decades, together. 

A bond for the ages, theirs is, proof manifest in images affixed to the walls. Images of me as a baby girl. My doting older sister. Polaroids of the generation prior. My mother with pigtails, a grinning little girl. Innocent. Somewhere within us beneath the layers of thick skin remain those children. Giggly children. Nana and Papa chronicled our lives as a testament. Nana continued talking despite my distraction. “He will need a clean white t-shirt, a pair of slacks. The shoes he likes that slip on. You mustn’t forget socks and a light jacket in case there is a breeze.” I stared at the pictures and clenched his t-shirt.

Will our generation know a love like theirs? One marked by resilience. Of surpassing all of the odds and then surpassing them again. Nana and Papa lived on a milkman’s salary; they simultaneously had nothing and they had everything.  Their lives have been intertwined for the last 62 years. A love like theirs isn’t readily replicated. We will have our love stories, sure. Beautiful, though different given all the amenities and provisions time and progress have afforded us. But when I grow tired or anxious in the fabric of the day-to-day, I’ll think of the tender urgency in her voice and strive for a love like theirs. Clean underwear and a clean white t-shirt. Papa is coming home.

Stuck

I’m stuck somewhere between a girl and a woman.

I’m wavering between openness and being guarded, not quite sure how to be. To my good fortune, someone I value made the reason for my struggle terribly clear. It wasn’t a break your spirit declaration but a seemingly simple, simultaneously brilliant assessment that made my brain explode in a rush of light and clarity sort of way. “You are an adult.  You still behave respectfully like a child.”

She thought she had offended me but little did she know a flood gate of relief opened in my soul. I urged her to continue. “You’re not a child but it’s difficult to adjust when you’ve always been respectful.”  

When I was younger, more naive, I had a narrower view of the world.  I remember thinking someone can’t possibly love their parents if they move away from them. And then I moved away. I realize now how silly a sweeping judgment that was and that we can’t speak for a circumstance until we live it. That’s just one of many universal truths I had adhered to. While deeply flawed, my naïveté did lend itself to a greater degree of certainty though. Maybe ignorant bliss. Or unfaltering trust. In my adulthood I’m constantly questioning.

I’m stuck somewhere between a girl and a woman.

I thought more about what my confidante told me, her genius the antidote to my anxiety and indecision. Here’s how. Everything we learned to do without question as children shifts in adulthood. The demands and pressures of our culture require the transformation. But if you miss the transition and neglect to reassess what you learned growing up, you’ll end up ill-equipped for real life, wondering how you got this adult thing quite so wrong.

As children, we are forthcoming with love. We indiscriminately dole out smiles and affection. We trust without inhibition. Somewhere down the line, this practice needs adjusting; I missed the memo. Why can’t we develop relationships so freely, and how do we course correct when we still long for that connection?

Be honest and transparent they said. Come adulthood, don’t reveal all your cards. Particularly hard when you are forthcoming with everything, cards included.

When a child laughs with glee and waves at a stranger, it’s cute. When I’m too joyful or kind, some will look at me with skepticism. They wonder if I’m disingenuous. Whose ass is she trying to kiss, they’ll wonder. It’s not that serious; I actually was just being nice. 

Behave, they said. Behaved women rarely make history they now say.

Walk the line, they said. But now, you must go your own way. Chart your path. Break the rules.  

Raise your hand before you speak, they said. Today, speak up or you will forever be a doormat. Don’t wait for permission to act.

You should respect authority, they said. Come working age, trust few if anyone or you’ll end up under a bus. God I hate that idiom but how true it tends to be.

Share your lunch! Give of yourself.  But remember, you have got to worry about yourself first.

It’s ok to cry... Emotion is an indicator of something beneath the surface and must be tended to. Suck it up and conceal your feelings or people will prey on your vulnerability.

These are generalizations, I realize that, but there is an element of truth behind grand statements. It’s not irreparable, but surely uncomfortable if you missed the transition and are left with the obedience of a child in a world that demands the ferocity of a lioness let alone a human woman. 

Im stuck somewhere between a girl and a woman.