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What Working Moms Really Want

May 13, 2012 By Leave a Comment
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If I could write a letter to Santa for Mother’s Day on behalf of all moms out there, I’d ask for just these ten things:

1.  An end to the “mommy wars” and universal gratitude for the moms who’ve opted for full-time parenting, because without them there would be no Teacher Appreciation Days, no booster clubs, no cookie sales, no field trips (duh, no chaperones), no one to take an aging mother to the doctor, and no rides home when a neighborhood kid misses the late bus.

2.  A boss who values quality over quantity, and who understands that someone who gets all of her work done in six hours might just be hugely efficient and smart, rather than underemployed and, therefore, overpaid.

3.  Co-workers who support a mom’s priorities, such as getting to the game before kick-off, or being assistant Girl Scout leader, rather than begrudging her the “time off”. [see the quality vs. quantity idea above]

4.  HR professionals who see an employment gap as something to be lauded and praised, rather than as a bar to career advancement.

5.  A supportive and true partner who sees socks that need picking up, and picks them up; who cooks regularly; who cleans without prompting; who changes diapers; who fetches a teenager who calls from a party after midnight; who thinks the mom in the house is the most amazing, gorgeous woman on the planet. And tells her so. Frequently.

6.  Equal pay for equal work.

7.  Sensible yet stylish shoes that can go from pre-school drop off to the office and on to evening ballet lessons without prompting bunions, callouses or plantar fasciitis. [dreaming big here]

8.  Girlfriends who support the mom-part of their friends, and who willingly allow children to call them “Aunt”.

9.  Space and time for moms to learn, grow, rest and rejuvenate. Space and time for them to receive as an antidote for all the giving they do.

10.  A communal sense of pride, meaning and purpose in the life of a mother, who manages to work/start a business/run a family/bake cupcakes at the last minute/smile/love/find the shoes/plan the summer camp schedule, and do it with grace (most of the time), flair (some of the time) and true genuine caring (always).

Yes, it’s Mother’s Day, but you can play Santa by simply checking off one or two of these items for the mom in your life – and you might want to start with the picking up the socks thing.

You can trust me on that one.

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The Roots of Shame

April 29, 2012 By 6 Comments
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Let me throw some stats at you:

The average American woman stands five foot four and weighs 164.7 pounds. She wears a size 14. Her waist measures 37 inches.

The average American man stands five foot nine and weighs 195 pounds. He wears a size 44. His waist measures nearly 40 inches. (CDC stats)

And,

The recent economic downturn hit men harder than women. Forbes says, “The share of men in the United States with a job is at its lowest point ever.” And forty percent of working wives are the family breadwinner according to the Chicago Tribune.

Now, allow me to pull in some other interesting data for your perusal. According to research at Boston College, the accepted societal norms for women are to be:

Nice.

Thin.

Modest.

Use all available resources on her appearance.

Men are supposed to:

Be in emotional control.

Put work first.

Pursue status.

Be violent.

I learned this from a powerful and straightforward new TED talk by Dr. Brene Brown on the subject of shame, and vulnerability.

What got me thinking while viewing Dr. Brown’s new talk is the wide gap between what we expect ourselves to be and who we really are.

Women should be thin – but the reality is that most of us are not a size zero.

Men should put work first, and pursue status, but the recent recession put more men out of work than ever before. Hard to put something first when you don’t have it, huh?

Women should be modest, which I figure means quiet, self-effacing and non-confrontational. Exactly the recipe for career success, don’t you think?

And speaking of time, what working mom has the time or energy to put all available resources on her appearance? I don’t know about you but I find it’s easy to spend money on my kids’ clothes, shoes, haircuts, dermatologists, orthodontists and dentists, and if there’s any money left maybe I’ll get myself a new t-shirt on sale at Target. Maybe.

Yes, the gap between who society says we should be and who we are is often quite large.

And it’s right in the gap that shame nestles.

Shame keeps us a far distance from feeling real happiness and fulfillment. Because it’s shame that says, “There is something profoundly, critically wrong with you. You should be different than you are. ”

[There's that word again - Should.]

You all know I have no fondness for that particular word. Because The Word That Must Not Be Named usually comes from an external source, and often is in conflict with what’s truly best for us.

“You should be a doctor.” says your father, even if you have it in your heart and hands to be a glassblower.

“You should be thin if you ever want to catch a husband,” says your mother, even if she’s heavy herself. And her sisters are heavy. And her mother was heavy.[ And they're all married, btw.]

If shame has roots in the conflict between what’s expected and what’s real, then shoulds are its potting soil.

Now, here’s what I know – if you can break the Should Habit, you’ve got a shot at breaking the round-and-round shame circle.

And it’s easy. Stop shoulds by simply substituting a wonderful word – choose.

Without any shoulds in your life, you are free to choose to be that happy, outspoken size 14 bread-winning woman that you are.

Without any shoulds in your life, you are free to choose to be that fantastic at-home dad whose size 44 suits found a new home at Goodwill.

Without shoulds, you can be you. Finally. Without any shame.

That’s what I choose. How about you?

 

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300 Daggone Blog Posts

April 15, 2012 By 4 Comments
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This is my 300th blog post.

Three hundred.

That’s three hundred Sundays. Three hundred individual posts of about 600 words each – more than 180,000 words over the last six years.

And, upon review, probably at least ten thousand exclamation points! [What can I say, I'm enthusiastically excitable!]

That first post, on October 26, 2006, didn’t even have a title.  It just said:

“Each week, I’ll be writing here on a topic of interest. As an Executive Life Coach, I work everyday with people who question whether they’re in the right job — or the right relationship. They ask how they can have more satisfaction in their lives, how they can be clear on their values and goals, how they can find and live their passions…

I’ll be addressing these things and others — so check back in every Monday for thoughts, tips and resources to help you make the most of your life!”

[Note how I laid down an exclamation point right at the end - first of many, obviously.]

The next blog post, Context is Everything, makes me wince, and squinch up my eyes like I do when I hear nails on chalkboard. Perhaps I’m like those actors who can’t bear to watch themselves on film – frankly, I prefer to write, get it out there and not look back. Re-reading this one, I sense my first-time uncertainty, anxiety, worry, what-the-hell-am-I-doing fear. Poor little old nervous 2006 me.

But you have to start somewhere, and that was my start.

People often ask me how I can write 600 words every week for so many years. Where do the ideas come from? What’s my process?

I usually make up an elaborate story about struggle, sacrifice, and angst (and pirates or Vikings) that seems to satisfy them, they go away and I feel extremely relieved.

Because the truth is, I have a weird process – if you can even call it that.

Here’s what I do: I start looking for a topic in the beginning of the week. I keep my ears open and hear what my clients and friends are talking about. Throughout the week, I turn ideas over and play with phrases and concepts.

And then on Saturday, or even Sunday, I sit down to write. Doesn’t take too long.

Because it’s pretty much fully written in my head.

When I look at that very first post – where I promised to write on topics of interest to you – kind of astounding in retrospect that I’ve hewed pretty close to those subjects for nearly six years.

And I appreciate each of you who read what I write. I appreciate your kind notes to me after you’ve read something I’ve posted. I appreciate the thoughtful comments you leave at michelewoodward.com.

I love when you suggest topics.

I really love that.

But most of all, I so very deeply appreciate that every week you invite me into your lives. You allow me to share my thoughts, my learning and my experience. You give me a place to be fully myself, and I write each week in the hope that you can have a place to be fully yourselves, too.

Yes, writing this blog has taken focus, and diligence, and – sometimes – courage.

But it’s been fun. And I’ve liked it. And you seem to like it.

So I’ll make this deal with you: If you’ll keep having me, I’ll keep going.

Who knows where the next 300 Sundays will take us, but it’ll be so great to get there together.

Exclamation point.

 

 

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Small Green Shoots of Faith

April 8, 2012 By 2 Comments
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On a cool October day, I knelt with my knees in the dirt to plant tulip bulbs. I used a special bulb planting tool that I’ve owned so long that I’ve forgotten where it came from. Dig the hole, drop in the bulb flat side down/tip up, fill the hole, scooch over, dig another hole. Water the whole lot in.

I love the rhythm of bulb-planting.

And the very best part?

Every bulb planted reminds me of  how important it is to have faith. And to be able to wait.

Because when you plant a tulip bulb in October, then all you can do is… wait.

Wait through the snows, the torrential rains, the short, dark days, the gloom of January…. you patiently wait.

And if you got all worried and anxious about the bulbs – were they okay? would they come up? – and you went out on a frosty February Saturday to dig them up just to check, you’d kill ‘em.

So tulip growers must wait, and have faith.

Faith that you dug the hole deep enough.

Faith that nature will take its course (which, naturally means you plan that 25% of what you plant will feed the neighborhood squirrels).

Faith that on one March morning you’ll see tiny green shoots pushing up through the earth.

Tiny, mighty green shoots.

That’s the magic moment for me, the moment when my faith pays off.

Every time I see those small green shoots of possibility.

You see, I plant mixed tulip bulbs and never know what color will come up where, which makes that small green shoot a promise of the surprise to come. Doubling my delight.

All because I had the faith to plant them that October morning and resisted the urge to dig them up just to check.

Oh, plenty of us are too cautious to plant the bulb in the first place – we’ve been told for far too long not to get our hopes up. Why make the effort? We’d probably plant the bulbs upside down, or they’d rot, or the squirrels would have a family reunion feast in our front yard, leaving us with nothing.

And some of us need constant reassurance that we did the right thing by taking the time to plant bulbs. Are other people planting? Did I do it right? Do you think it’s working? How can I know for sure it’ll work?

Then there are those of us who are in-between and wonder why to plant anything at all when we’re just going to be moving on before anything happens.

Fear, insecurity, hopelessness set in and the opportunity to create something truly beautiful escapes us.

You know this is a metaphor, right?

Planting = your best work.

Waiting = faith that consistently doing what’s right is the most fulfilling part of the journey.

Green shoots of possibility = proof that you did the right thing most of the time.

Fully grown tulips = your beautiful, precious reward.

You, my friend, are the master gardener of your life and your career.

Every single day, with your choices, you are planting seeds and bulbs, trees and shrubs – in the ways you talk to others, the ways you show appreciation, the ways you collaborate, the ways you encourage, the ways you take responsibility.

Every single day, you have the choice to plant your seeds in your own rhythm, with the faith that – someday – you’ll see those small green shoots break through the earth with the promise of something quite spectacular on the way.

It’s all up to you to create your fabulous garden of a life. What will you plant today?

 

 

 

 

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3 a.m.

March 25, 2012 By 7 Comments
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When my belly got big with my son, I started routinely waking up around 3 a.m. as the pressure on my pea-sized bladder got to be too much. Same thing happened with my daughter – up at 3 a.m. like clockwork.

Then, for several years in a row, I found myself awake at 3 a.m. nourishing hungry, growing babies.

Of course, for any child there are night time fevers, and bad dreams, and then my own grief which prompted quiet 3 a.m. checks to make sure they were still breathing. Sometimes I needed that silent nighttime check to reassure myself that everything was going to be OK. So I could sleep.

And after so many years of that routine, I guess I got used to it.

Today, I find myself awake at 3 a.m. more often than not – an echo of the past lodged deep in my bones.

[Plus, there's still that pea-sized bladder issue.]

And I have come to love 3 a.m.

It’s wonderful. Unless you live in a college town, there’s no one coming home at that time of the morning. There’s no one heading off to work, either. There is nothing in the sky except stars. No cars whooshing by on the streets.

Even the birds are asleep.

It’s so still. So quiet. So calm. Creating an open, inviting space to just… be.

3 a.m. is a drink of cold water to a thirsty woman in the desert of busyness and doing-doing-doing that seems to be the way of our modern world.

At 3 a.m., I find I can breathe. I can lean against the door jamb for a minute and just be in the stillness, full of remembrance. And gratitude for this life, this time.

Aware of the gift of it all.

Which never fails to usher me back into a restful sleep.

The other night at 3 a.m., I heard a fox call in the night. Perhaps – a mom, too – she was up nursing her kits, and was looking for a kindred spirit who loves the morning.

She certainly found me. And me, her.

And, you know, I would never have heard her call in the regular hubbub of the day.

Your time for stillness and gratitude may not be at 3 a.m., but you’ve got a special time. You sure do – we all do – maybe you’re just too busy to recognize it.

But you need it.You need your own still, calm time as the antidote to the stress of your day.

So find it. Ready?

Deep breath.

Discover stillness.

Locate gratitude.

Hear the call in the quiet.

And live happier.

 

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