Articles
I see you
I wrote this on November 20th 2011 as a guest post for (the now-closed) Roots of She by Jenn Gibson.
Every last syllable remains as true now as it was then...so I haven't changed a single one.
Oh, how I love the timeless endurance of truth.
You too?
Yes.
I see you
I see you.
I see your compassion and am in awe of your capacity.
I see your light, even as you seek the solace of shadow.
I see your calloused hands that are soft and yielding as you massage your aging mother’s feet.
I see the scars on your heart from the times it broke and am fiercely proud that you can still love. Fiercely.
I see your struggle and adore your ability to find ease.
I see the choices you are making and how they honour your vision.
I see where you are going. You may want to consider bringing your oxygen mask.
I see your desire to be held for who you are. Just as you are.
I see what wants to be released from your life. It starts with “No, but thanks for asking”.
I see your contradictions. They’re emerging as a rich tapestry.
I see your eyes well up when the bagpipes play.
I see your reluctance. I see you as a reluctant leader. Oh yes.
I see how your presence lights the room. Mega-wattly.
I see you heal. And how you do it.
I see your belief in your intentions.
I see you dance in the space between your vulnerability and your truth.
I see your curves and marvel at your lusciousness.
I see what is busting to get out of your chest and into the world. It’s been caged for far too long.
I see your timid bodaciousness.
I see your tap root of respect.
I see the doubt. I see the fear. I see the fearful doubt and the doubtful fear. And yet…
I see your deep desire to do more. For everyone.
I see the joy in your impeccability. And I see the beauty in your hot mess.
I see your epic struggle with impatience. (You are gaining ground.)
I see you holding doors open for everyone, no matter how closed the doors can feel to you.
I see the undulations IN and the unfolding OF your story. And it quenches my thirst.
I see you.
Check out my free training on the 5 Shifts Our Clients Use to Overcome the Imposter Complex and Grow their Income and their Impact
Where I pull back the curtain on five shifts to start raising voices, rates, and hands all while being the kind, congruent, and authentic leader I know you to be.
For my Brothers.
A big man passed me on the winding staircase at a pub. In the cramped space, his broad shoulders brushed against mine. Oh, I’m so sorry, he said anxiously and hunkered in upon himself. No problem, I responded lightly. And off we went in our separate directions.
His response stayed with me. And it wasn’t that his sorry wasn’t a reflexive polite Canadian quirk. It was his shrink-back response of the sea anemone. Like his size was an affront to me. Like his maleness was a sin.
You’ve seen him too. The man who goes out of his way to cross the road so he doesn’t come to close to you at night. Because.
His discomfort with himself (or was it his discomfort with me?) was discomforting to me.
How did we get here?
Instead of saying “no problem”, here’s what I would have liked to have said to him:
You say you’re sorry. For what? For being a man? For having broad shoulders? For taking up space? For your ancestors?
Me too, brother.
But what if you didn’t need to be sorry?
(I know it’s hard. You’ve been blamed and shamed and belittled for the wrongdoings of your forebears.)
What if we stopped apologizing and just say, started from here?
Like:
Heya sister. Heya brother. I see you. We're here now. There's plenty of room for both of us. As we are. No need to make yourself smaller for me. You doing so does not ensure that I’ll take up more space. That’s on me. I bow to the divine masculine and feminine in you. (And yes, you are oh so divine, you in your magnificent God-given frame that is a reflection of your soul. And no belittling or blaming or shaming will change that. Doesn’t work. Never did.) And from here, in bowing reverence, let’s celebrate who and how we can be. Hold space for me to do my good work without trying to control me. I’ll hold space for you to do your good work without trying to coddle you.
Let’s get this thing right, from here on out.
And while we’re here, let’s make a deal: let’s save our sorries for our own missteps, mistakes, and missed turns. Let’s learn from them.
And then let's move on.
Shoulder to shoulder.
That's what I would have liked to have said to him.
The parenting post I never thought I’d write (or: 15 things I know for sure about parenting)
One of the most precious texts I ever received came from my friend Kate. We had been chatting on Skype and my daughter made a cameo appearance. The text came a day later:
Watching you with L and seeing all the bright shining light in her eyes told me two things: one, Tanya Geisler is winning at this life thing; two, I pray that I have that kind of closeness with my daughter.
No matter how wrong I think I’m getting this parenting thing, this text reminds me of at least one moment in time that I was getting it right. And to pre-empt myself from sounding falsely humble, I’ll claim this: that one moment was a culmination of a lot of moments.
Which is awesome, because this parenting gig really, really matters to me. Like, rouses-my-Imposter-Complex, matters.
And while I have miles and miles to go before I sleep, I’ve been paying plenty of attention to what makes for some good parenting in the miles that I HAVE traveled and I want to share some of what I know for sure with you.
But first, a story from my youth.
Like most Saturday mornings, I went to the corner store at the bottom of our street with a note tucked into my poncho.
I was seven. It was 1979. Back when the sight of a seven-year-old girl walking by herself to the store was as common as ponchos.
The note said:
I give permission for my daughter Tanya to buy two packages of Export ‘A’ Regulars and one package of Medallions Ultra Lights.
(It was signed by my dad, Richard. A distinct R then a double-looping trailing line with a dot. Ridiculously easy to forge, as I’d discover in my teen years.)
I loved this errand.
It meant I got out of most of the house cleaning and I generally got to keep the change for my troubles.
I loved the jangle of the door as it opened and handing the note over with great assurance of a kid on a mission and the accompanying ten-dollar bill.
I loved to help the cashier find the right packages amidst a dizzying array of available smokes.
I loved inhaling the heady scent of sugary bliss while I waited, and calculating in my head what treat I might get with my “tip”.
But this particular Saturday, my father had asked me to bring the change back to him. No treat this week as we were going to Mr. Greenjeans for dinner, and I’d be sure to get a “Here Comes the Fudge” sundae for dessert.
So instead of helping the cashier find the right cigarettes, I took the opportunity to grab a pack of gum and shove it under my poncho.
Swift and sure.
Where did THAT come from, I wondered as he turned back towards me, smiling and handing me the cigarettes, my change, and the note, wishing me a wonderful day.
Never having stolen a thing in my life I didn’t know what to do next, so I shoved the entire pack of gum into my mouth the second I was out of his sight.
Oh, the irony. In my hasty desire for sugar, I’d managed to nick the only sugar-free gum available back in the day: Carefree. The gum of choice for denture-wearers everywhere.
No matter. In went the whole pack. I looked over my shoulder furtively as I scurried home, certain that I was being sought after by the police.
So preoccupied with getting busted was I, that I forgot to spit out the gum…until it was too late. I had distractedly found my way home…only to land face to face with my parents, digging in the rose garden in the front.
An entire pack of gum is too much for anyone to swallow, so I just stood there, staring at them, cheeks bulging out.
What’s in your mouth? asked my Dad.
Mmmmthng, I replied.
I see, he said.
What’s in your hands?
I may have been a badass stealing denture gum, but I was still too much of a good girl to litter. So I showed him the crumpled wrappers.
To your room, he ordered.
I went.
I’m fairly sure the second they thought I was out of earshot they burst into laughter. But they got it together by the time they came to my room an hour later and sternly ordered me back to the store to apologize. And to sweep the store for the shopkeeper. And we didn’t go to Mr. Greenjeans that night. (Boy, was my sister pissed at me.)
I never shoplifted again. (Well, except that one time. I chalk that up to peer pressure. Ahem)
And so, I give you: The 15 things I know about parenting.
#1 Consequences are good. Stealing is wrong. Making amends is right.
Not everyone agrees with me on these points and that’s super duper okay with me.
Because I know this:
#2 We’re all trying to do the best we can.
Over the last 42 years of being parented and in the past 11 years of BEING a parent, I’ve learned a fair bit and all I can do is offer you what I know. Take what serves you and leave the rest.
Because in addition to #2, I also agree with James Altucher:
#3 Nobody is an expert parent.
Truth.
Onward.
#4 Keep your promises and your commitments to yourself. Model this for your kids. If you don’t let yourself down, she won’t let herself down. This is huge. ‘Cause there’s a whole big world out there waiting to swoop in when she lets herself down.
#5 Meet them where they are. It may not be where you want them to be. But it’s where they are.
#6 Acknowledge them truthfully and acknowledge them often. Truthfully. But often. (Don’t forget truthfully.) Let them see what you see. Being seen is a gift that you still crave to this day.
#7 Allow the tough conversations to unfold. Don’t force them…or worse, get in the way of their unfoooooooooolding.
#8 Come at said tough conversations from the place of your strength. Your strength is curiosity? Get curious. Humour? Bring it. Courage? Oh, you’ll need that, Honey. Be courageous. (But don’t forget #5 + 6.)
#9 Let them see you feel. Let them see you be messy. Let them see you be human.
#10 "Be loving, be strong and you can’t go wrong." Vivek Patel shared this piece o’ poetic truth at Sunday’s (INCREDIBLE! EMPOWERING! MAGICAL!) GDay and I can’t get it out of my head. (Hallelujah.)
#11 Don’t send your seven-year-old daughter to the store to buy your smokes. Just don't. 1979 is long gone, man.
#12 Experiences over things. Every time.
#13 No matter how busy, how stressed, or how harangued you are, there is always time for a breath, a pause or a hug as needed.
#14 Grades matter precious little in the long run.
#15 It doesn’t last very long. The sweet moments and the bitter ones. They are equally fleeting. Devote yourself fully to the ones that matter (and they alllll matter.)
I’m learning, messily and sloppily and joyfully and painfully. Over on FB, won’t you share with us one precious piece of wisdom you have as a child of a parent or as a parent of a child? What do YOU know for sure? Let’s learn this thing together.
xx
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PS – You can see that this all applies to life…not just parenting, right? Yeah. I thought you would.
Check out my free training on the 5 Shifts Our Clients Use to Overcome the Imposter Complex and Grow their Income and their Impact
Where I pull back the curtain on five shifts to start raising voices, rates, and hands all while being the kind, congruent, and authentic leader I know you to be.
The Magic of a Tidy Realm
Visualize the destination, she says. And so I do. When my home is tidy, I say to myself, there will be room to stretch, and I’ll eat better, and I’ll be thinner, and I’ll do breast massage, and I’ll be healthier, and my business will flourish even more, and we’ll travel more, and I’ll be better…at everything, and he’ll love me more, and they’ll love me more and I’ll love me more and even if they all stop loving me more, I’ll still love me more and then I’ll never be lonely. Or unloved.
So yeah, I think I can pitch that vase.
You’re the impeccable housewife, the diligent housemaid, she says. You seek a spotless emotional realm. (God, how did she get so smart? I make a note to add “I’ll be smart” to my list of outcomes when my house is tidy.)
She’s right. Of course. I tidy and scrub my metaphorical house with joy, until it gleams with great swaths of sunshine. I sit back, Instagram it, and toast myself for a job well-done, a life well-lived. Until I spy a dirty smudge of sadness and apply a hefty dose of reframing onto a rag of tenacity and scrub ‘til my arm can scrub no more.
A gleaming psyche that sniffs of zesty lemony freshness in the most satisfying way is what I want, to be sure.
The problem, of course, is that I am not alone in my emotional house. Someone always shows up with muddy boots…and I let them in. (I make a note to add “I’ll stop being a people pleaser” to my list of outcomes of a tidy home.)
So my house never stays clean. There will always be the scuffs and smears and drips and wrinkles of life going on. It will never.EVER.be.clean.
++++
Sort by category, not by location, she says.
Oh…so this is why things are chronically untidy. I’ve been sorting by location my whole life…so all the shit in the same category gets moved from one room to the next.
Things I thought I dealt with already in one bathroom are repeated in the next.
Didn’t I already pitch a water glass? No, that was in the upstairs bathroom.
What I was supposed to do was an entire house sweep for all glasses, then gather them all.
From every room, every closet, every box, every corner. Pull them all out, out, out.
All.
Survey the pile. Then pitch the glasses that no longer bring me joy.
Then all the clothes. From every room, every closet, every box, every corner. Pull them out, out, out.
All.
Survey the pile. Then pitch the clothes that no longer bring me joy.
Then all the magazines. Then all the books. Then all the knick-knacks. Then all the toys. Then all the mementos.
From every room, every closet, every box, every corner. Pull them out, out, out. Survey the piles. Pitch from there. Pitching all that no longer brings me joy.
And then my house will be tidy.
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Thoughts I thought I dealt with already in one area of my heart are repeated in the next. Didn’t I already pitch by belief of notenoughness in my business? No, that was in my parenting.
What I was supposed to do was an entire emotional realm sweep for all notenoughnesses, then gather them all.
From every room, every closet, every box, every corner. Pull them all out, out, out.
All.
Survey the pile. Then pitch the notenoughnesses that no longer serves my joy.
Then all the fear. Then all the anger. Then all the betrayal. Then all the frustrations. Then all the disappointments.
And then my emotional house will be tidy.
When my house is tidy, there will be room to stretch, and I’ll eat better, and I’ll be thinner, and I’ll do breast massage, and I’ll be healthier, and my business will flourish even more, and we’ll travel more, and I’ll be better…at everything, and he’ll love me more, and they’ll love me more and I’ll love me more and even if they all stop loving me more, I’ll still love me more and then I’ll never be lonely. Or unloved.
So yeah, I think I can pitch that belief.
And then everything will gleam. Until someone walks in with muddy boots.
Really, though: what SHALL I make for dinner?
Check out my free training on the 5 Shifts Our Clients Use to Overcome the Imposter Complex and Grow their Income and their Impact
Where I pull back the curtain on five shifts to start raising voices, rates, and hands all while being the kind, congruent, and authentic leader I know you to be.
To my Darling 11 year old Daughter.
Dearest L – It’s your eleventh birthday. You’ve said this is a dreamy age. Over the pressure of double digits, not yet a teen, still a kid. You’re happy about that.
For your eighth, I made some wishes upon your sweet head.
For your ninth, I offered you a well of wisdom to drink from.
For your tenth, I asked our friends to help you see the power of YOUR wishes.
For your eleventh, I simply wanted to share the you that I see.
It’s the morning after your Terrific, Happy-ful, So Good, Very Rad birthday party. Last night, we took you and your friends on the subway to an artisanal pizzeria. You laughed like maniacs and delighted in the crazy. (We did too.) You came home and chased the cats, pummeled each other with balloons. Instead of the custom cakes I’ve been making you for years, you requested a sundae bar. You then watched a movie and judging by the look of the basement carpet, got into a popcorn fight that everybody won. You and your friends whispergiggled far too late into the night.
In this moment, you’re still downstairs. You’ve slept 6.5 hours and are currently playing Would You Rather. Debates are raging over who would rather sport a beard of licorice over an afro of crazy straw.
If I had a quarter for every time I heard one of you said fart, I suspect that trip to Europe we’ve been planning would be imminent.
So the you I see is silly, yes.
And thoughtful. You, the girl who brings $5 to the bake sale and comes home with $4 worth of meringues for me, a chocolate cupcake for your father (that sat on your desk all day, tormenting you), and gave 25 cents each to two friends who didn’t have cash. You had a sugar cookie. A burnt one. You don’t like sugar cookies.
And encouraging. Only you could get Daddy to write. He listens to you.
And wise. You remind me always that we have always this moment, when I find myself melancholy about the swift passage of time.
Yes, eleven is pretty dreamy. And though you never like talking about this, we can’t deny that your beautiful body is beautifully changing. That’s its job.
I love that you are starting to deepen into the wisdom that it holds. Though you find it perplexing, may I offer you this: don’t try to figure it out. Don’t fight it. Just listen to your body.
Because there will be times, my Darling, that you’ll think you’re supposed to do this. Think that. Say this. Be that. You will try to fit in.
But if you get really quiet, and really listen, you will hear your soul speaking through your body. Ask her what she knows.
And then you will know what you’re supposed to do. Think. Say. Be.
When things feel tough, really tough, ask her what she knows. And hear her whisper: it won’t last, sweet one.
When you wonder what you should wear, hear her whisper: that which makes you feel like you, honey cakes.
When you don’t think you know what to say, hear her whisper: the truth, angel love. Always the truth.
And when you want to express thanks for her wisdom and guidance and ask her what she wants from you, honour her when she says: don’t make anything more important than me.
Please don’t. Don’t make anything more important than honouring your soul. My friend Julie taught me that. And now I’m teaching you.
Can you promise me that?
I’ve got a breakfast to make and a scavenger hunt to organize and a badminton net to set up. So here's what's left to say:
You make me laugh. You make me think. You make me appreciate. You make me crazy. You make me so unfathomably happy to be alive it hurts my heart. In the best possible way.
You are eleven. You are love.
xx/Mama.
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Navigating the tenderness and magnificence of this age is no small feat and it's for this reason that I am so excited to be speaking at G Day Toronto on April 26th. A day of empowerment and celebration for girls (and their champions). How wonderful is that?
You already know how to do this
Tear off the mask; your face is glorious. ~ Rumi
I could have called this post “The number one reason you don’t need Step into Your Starring Role”, but I prefer “You already know how to do this.”
Because it’s the stone-cold truth of it.
You already know how to do this.
This business of stepping into your starring role. You already know how to do it.
It’s deep down, kept under lock and key in your heart. But it’s there. When you read my words and feel their resonance, that’s simply a recognition of the truth that lives there.
My ego doesn’t want you to know that…but I’ve learned to challenge what it wants. It’s a dance.
My ego wants to rattle cages and tell you that you HAVE to join my Your Impeccable Impact program. That it’s the only path towards your soul’s salvation. That nothing else in the world will lead you to activating the desires of your being. That you must sign up now, now, now, now or else your chance is gone, gone, gone, gone.
But that’s bullshit.
Yes. I can see your capacity with startling clarity. (It’s an honour.) And yes the content that I share in the program is rock-solid and proven. And yes, the container of the program is exquisite. And yes, the calls are incredible.
But I never (ever) want to create fear-based panic. (Ever.) I do not want to engender a sense that this program will fix you. (Can’t fix what ain’t broke.) Or that you are lacking. (Oh sweet merciful heavens, no.)
But.
If you feel like this work will expand you in the best possible way; If you feel like I am the right guide; If you feel like the factors the brilliant Bari Tessler laid out in this epic post are honoured; If it feels aligned with your Brand of Joy; AND, If it feels like the most loving and TRUE PATH for you…
…then sign up.
If not, don’t.
Whether you do Step into Your Starring Role or not, you will continue to be the startlingly beautiful, brilliant, radiant, essential, irreplaceable YOU that you have ever been. Sacred.
We just want to see you without your mask.
Check out my free training on the 5 Shifts Our Clients Use to Overcome the Imposter Complex and Grow their Income and their Impact
Where I pull back the curtain on five shifts to start raising voices, rates, and hands all while being the kind, congruent, and authentic leader I know you to be.