What’s Your Magic Number?

What’s Your Magic Number?

I hopped on the scale the other day out of curiosity.   I was feeling strong and alive in my body from the increased swimming and paddle boarding of summer. Perhaps I had lost a few pounds.   With shock and surprise the scale indicated my weight was at an all time high. I hadn’t seen that number on the scale since I was pregnant with my daughter.   I’m on the other side of the big birthday that comes at midlife so my body has been changing over the last year or so which included some incremental weight gain. By and large I’ve been at peace with these changes. While not perfect I eat well and get regular exercise so my weight has not been that big of a concern.   I don’t like to admit it but stepping on that scale and seeing that number initiated a panic in me.   I had passed the magic number in my mind that tells me I’m okay – that I’m worthwhile and desirable.   It got me thinking about all the other magic numbers we as women have acquired in our lives. Those are the numbers that keep us feeling safe, desirable and worthy of love and well-being.   How about you? Do you know your magic number?   Perhaps it’s the balance in your bank account; your jean size, or bra size; your age; your ZIP code; your salary; the items completed on your to do list; the number of likes on your Facebook post; or your child’s class rank?   Do you think about them often or...
Is an Apology Really Necessary?

Is an Apology Really Necessary?

Hello Lovely,   My first and only daughter just went back to school this week. While she’s very excited and a little bit nervous I’m noticing another extra layer of stress she didn’t always carry. She’s at that awkward and tender stage of becoming a young woman and seems to feel perpetually exposed and preoccupied with how she’s measuring up. While I understand this shift can go with the territory I can’t help but grieve. She used to be the vivacious and confident girl who attempted a mutiny in her kindergarten class when she felt it was being run too much like the marine corp.   As her mom it has been especially challenging to watch that powerhouse of a girl morph into a young woman who doubts and questions herself and has begun to say “I’m sorry” chronically.   To say it touched a nerve is an understatement. It reawakened an age old pain of not feeling good enough. I did years of hard time in the prison of unworthiness, insignificance, and insecurity. I spent years chronically apologizing in one way or another for who I was.   So hearing my daughter begin the apologies stoked my fire. It made me angry. I had wanted to insulate her from the legacy of apology and not feeling enough so many of us carry as women.   I am so tired of women I know and women I love and women I’ve never met apologizing for who they are. I walk through the grocery store and a woman passes before me and says, “I’m sorry.” And lately I want to tell...

Pin It on Pinterest