“Be so busy watering your own grass you won’t notice if your neighbor’s is greener” is a paraphrase of a quote/meme that I saw last week on social media. At the time I thought “heck yeah!” and shared it. It stuck with me for days, but not in the way you’d think. I continued to mull it over; pick it apart and put it back together. I know, I know. It’s just something I shared on social media.  But for a recovering codependent with anxiety, NOTHING is EVER “just something.” Thus, the constant churning of thoughts and processing. Essentially, what the post was INTENDED to mean was “take care of yourself and stop comparing your life to everyone else’s”.  I get it. It’s just not that easy. Let me just reintroduce myself in case any of you are new here or have forgotten, “Hi, I’m Danielle. Recovering addict, codependent and adult child of an alcoholic.” Yeah, it’s a loaded introduction. But I promise I’ll unpack it for you a little and explain why it’s important to understand, or at the very least, respect, the lens through which each of us is experiencing life.

“Be so busy watering your own grass you won’t notice if your neighbor’s is greener” sounds like a horror show to a codependent. Initially it sounds lovely! Focus on myself and make my life better?! I can do that! BUT. When you are still an active codependent, or are a recovering codependent, it’s not that easy. Merriam Webster defines codependency as “a psychological condition or a relationship in which a person manifesting low self-esteem and a strong desire for approval has an unhealthy attachment to another often controlling or manipulative person (such as a person with an addiction to alcohol or drugs).” In broad strokes this means that a person who is codependent relies on the needs of others-they need to feel needed-they are often the caretaker of others. They seek out relationships with partners or friends who are emotionally, mentally or physically available. A codependent person thrives on being needed while simultaneously battling feelings of unworthiness, frustration, confusion, resentment, anger etc. Hey, I didn’t say it wasn’t complicated.

I first heard the term “codependent” in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting I attended with my Mom back in the 90’s. I was a teenager and had zero clue what it meant. A woman who frequented the meetings always introduced herself as “I’m ____; alcoholic and codependent.” I remember asking my mother, who attempted to explain it to me, but without my frontal lobe being fully developed and my own substance abuse at the time I couldn’t truly understand what it was. Flash forward to 2017. About 20 years AFTER I first heard of this “condition.” After processing SO MANY things with my therapist (see previous posts, I’ve been seeing once since the death of my biological father in 2014), I asked her if I might be Codependent-I think she clapped! I still didn’t fully understand it, but she gave me a book to read: “Codependent No More” by Melanie Beattie. It is no exaggeration to say that it changed my life. So many situations from my life suddenly made sense to me. I had been so busy care taking for everyone in my life, for my entire life, that I had neglected to take care of myself. And I had been unconsciously harboring resentment because of it.

Let me unpack this personal “codependent” bag of mine a little further. Codependency is strongly linked to substance abuse. I grew up in an alcoholic home-my mother actively drinking until I was 7. Her boyfriend during that time was also an alcoholic. I had to walk on eggshells for most of those years. When he wasn’t drinking, he was so nice. When he was drinking… he was an asshole. Sometimes physically violent, but mostly he was just mean and yelled. I remember calling him “Dad” one time as I fetched him from the neighbor’s house for dinner-he reminded me I wasn’t his child and referred to me a “stupid little prick.” One of a laundry list of bad memories that I filed under “why am I not good enough?” I never called another man Dad until met my own when I was 16-and even that was difficult-intellectually I knew he was my father-but we had zero relationship up to that point. It just felt awkward and almost forced.  I couldn’t even bring myself to call my stepfather, David, “Dad” and he was the man who most deserved it.

While my “let me water your grass” coping mechanisms were learned at home, they flourished at school. Someone who is codependent is often involved in other people’s business and they seek to control all environments they are exposed to. I remember being referred to as someone who gossiped and knew everyone’s business as a kid-those people weren’t wrong. I was so accustomed to “knowing the problems” and “fixing” them that I sought to do the same with my peers. During my 8^th grade graduation when a couple of students from my class spoke about where everyone would be in 25 years-it was noted that I would be a reporter of the National Enquirer. I was so embarrassed; I tried not to show it, but it was difficult to hide-my face always turns beet red when I’m embarrassed.  People laughed. It was kind of funny…I guess. Still, no one understood my deep inner drive to control everything around me. My home life had been out of control so much when I was younger that I was desperate to get and maintain control of everything I could. Of course I didn’t understand any of this at the time-trauma therapy is almost magical in that it can really help you understand why you behaved in a certain way or why you processed thoughts in a particular way. I have so much love and empathy for Danielle the young girl. She wanted so badly to fit in. To be liked. To be loved. And she felt so alone and isolated. She was desperate to feel acceptance-and viewed everything about herself with disgust…including her virtue. She couldn’t wait to get rid of it-like it was further proof that she was disgusting. That young girl was trying to fill a massive void in her heart. She tried filling it up by fixing other people’s problem or at the very least focusing on them-then she wouldn’t have to look at her own. If I could talk to that version of Danielle today…. sigh…. maybe I should do the TikTok trend where I’m having a conversation with my younger self, reassuring her that life will be ok? I mean, it has turned out to be pretty amazing!

I carried these skills with me into adulthood, marriage and parenting. Unknowingly and unintentionally of course. I can say that I had to REALLY fight against my instinct to be a “helicopter mom.” Don’t worry, I didn’t fully succeed- I had moments where I was pushing myself into situations “on my child’s behalf” that I didn’t need to. I practiced unhealthy “supporting” habits in my marriage, too. I thought if he is happy I’ll be happy…what can I do to make him happy?! tried everything from making his lunch every day, to supporting his involvement in whatever he was interested in at the time…no matter the impact his involvement had on me, our daughters or our family life in general. He wanted to earn his Master’s Degree- “ok! Do it!” He wanted to play Dungeons and Dragons every week-live, with a group of friends- “ok! Do it!” He wanted to start a band and play at local venues, “ok! Do it!” He wanted to act in local musicals and plays- “ok! Do it!” He wanted to earn his doctorate- “ok! Do it!” Now, I want to explain here that he never asked “permission,” that’s not how we work. My point is that I purposely encouraged every interest he had, no matter how I felt about taking on the extra responsibilities of our family so he could chase his interests and passions. Did he do this for me too? Yes-but I felt guilt. That if I asked for too much he would leave-I was unworthy of his love and support after all. At least that’s the narrative I played in my head. Who was I to want to earn my Master’s Degree? Who was I to do anything outside of my family?! That’s not how things are done-this thought process had little to do with male vs female roles within the family and much more to do with the codependent tale I had been spinning for years. Why water my grass when I could water his and admire it from over here? This lead to repressed anger and resentment that I am still currently working through.

I shake my head at the thoughts I used to have. That young wife and mother had NO idea. No idea who she was. I could roll a 20-sided die and find a different hat to wear or role to play each time-there was just that one tiny side that read “Danielle” and that one baffled me. I knew who I was ONLY in relation to other people and what I could do for them. I had spent so much time watering the grass of everyone else that mine had turned brown, burnt and then died. I was standing in a dry pile of dirt and had no idea where to begin. I couldn’t even fathom that I was a person OUTSIDE of my family until around 2012. I went through what I would refer to as one of the worst (but also best) experiences of my life that year and I found myself questioning everything. My life had been up-ended and I was forced to examine all the different pieces of it. The story of 2012 is something I will share another time…it’s long and grievous.

2012-that is when my healing really began. It was slow and painful, so, so painful. But…in a way it prepared me for another massive blow-the loss of my father in 2014. I had learned so much in those two years that I was fully aware of my inability to process the magnitude of grief on my own again-it was too big. And Dad and I had so much that had been left unsaid, or rather, much that had been left unprocessed by me. Seeking out a therapist immediately after his death has been one of the best gifts I have ever given myself. I think back to how I was back then-in the first few meetings. I explained in no uncertain terms that I was there to handle my grief, that I would not be talking about certain aspects of my childhood and that there were three or four things that I had never shared with another living soul and never would. There was too much shame involved. I clung tightly to those secrets-holding them captive in a glass jar praying that I wouldn’t fall and splay the contents. This is another aspect of codependence-keeping secrets and holding on to self-blame.

Funny story-5 years into treatment I walked into my therapy appointment and announced that I had some things to say-and shared them with my therapist. For the first time ever-getting those things out of my brain and handing them to someone else…to put them in a safer container that the glass jar I had trying for years not to break open. And to guide me through the processing of them one at a time.  I had to prioritize my own mental health and wellness. In order to do that I had to let those things go; I let them out into the world where they no longer held any power over me.

Am I a totally reformed codependent? Nope. Just like I’m not a totally reformed addict. Old behaviors and thoughts creep in sometimes. That “let me water your grass; let me fix your problems” runs deep. I’m a deeply caring, empathic and intuitive person by nature. At times I have to step back and determine if I’m helping in a healthy way and to benefit the other party or if there is something else behind it. I work in a giving profession on purpose; I love to empower others to reach their highest potential for independence. But sometimes the line in the grass is hard to see.

I guess the bottom line is this-water your grass-but also trim it and guide it. Don’t let weeds grow too big-address those problems as they surface. Rome wasn’t built in a day and neither was a beautiful yard-or life. And when you have a surplus of water, share some with your neighbor. Their grass needs some outside love and affection, too.

Be well my friends.

The phone rang one evening in April 2016. The caller-id read “David Rasco.” That was nothing unusual. We talked about every week and a half or so. I called him my “step-dad” because “my mom’s ex-boyfriend who raised my brother and I and is still in our lives” seemed too complicated. David came into my life when I was 10 years old. And despite the fact that he and my mother were only together 4ish years before their relationship ended (the first time), he still attended family functions for my brother and I and spent time with us. He was there for all the important stuff. Prom. Break-ups with my boyfriend. Graduation. A trip to emergency room after doing too much cocaine as a teenager. Getting clean. Meeting my first and second born at the hospital. My wedding. Family reunions. Helping with vehicles. And snow boots. You name it. He was there. I didn’t always like what he had to say or how he said it. But if you knew David Rasco, you knew to sit up and open your ears. For likely within the story he was about to tell you was some sort of sage advice.

I answered the phone and asked how he was doing. I received the usual response, “Not bad for a man of my age and talents.” He asked about the girls, about work, life. And then told me the real reason for his call. He had had surgery the previous February to reconnect part of his digestive system that the doctors had separated for a while due to an illness. He had been living with an ileostomy bag for some time and was glad to get rid of it. I was there with his sister, Charlotte, the day of the surgery and all had gone well. Until some weeks later when David had difficulty keeping food or beverages down. Of course he went to the doctor, had some tests run and was calling to tell me the results. He had been diagnosed with esophageal cancer. He didn’t know much more than that, no stage had been given. Just that he needed to start treatment soon. Now, David had had cancer previously and treatment had gone well for that and he seemed outwardly optimistic about treatment for this.

I had a strong feeling that this would not be the same sort of situation. Based on my cursory research of this type of cancer, it seemed to be one of the deadliest. David and I chatted again a few days later, his optimism still fairly high. But he was tired. The doctors had to put in a feeding tube so that he could receive fluids and nutrition and be strong enough for treatment. A turning point for me came during another phone call in early May. I had called David to check in on my way home from shopping in Keene. He seemed different. Maybe resigned to the fact that this recent diagnosis was far beyond his control. I felt this strong sense to pull my car over and just listen to him. I remember pulling into the dirt drive of a church that doubles a preschool that my children attended on Rt. 32. As I put my car in park I could feel warm tears start streaming down my cheeks. I knew it wouldn’t help him to hear me cry. I stifled my sobs as he told me “I don’t want to go. I’m not ready to go. But at the end of the day, when I look back at my life it’s been pretty great. I’ve opened and operated a successful business. I have raised four successful kids (he has two biological daughters from his only marriage in addition to counting Mark and I as his kids).  I have a tribe of great grandkids. And I loved a few women. What more could I ask for?”  He made a lot of sense. A lot. But it marked a turn in his journey for me and I knew I needed to see him more. I knew our time was very limited and I needed to make the most of it. I decided to start making the 7 hour trip up to Machias to see him as often as I could. My first trip was about a week after that phone call.

Our visits weren’t but a couple hours each time. David tired easily and slept a lot. I would run to the store for him if needed, but mostly I just sat there with him while he told me stories and petted his dog, Kylie. I would find other things to do while he slept or got rest and would go back to check on him later.

My second trip was where I received some of the best advice, in a roundabout way.  It was Father’s Day weekend. And while my girls and I normally do something fun to celebrate the awesome Dad that my husband is, I knew in my heart this was my last opportunity to spend Father’s Day with David. I suggested to my brother that we take him up to camp and go fishing. David and I sat at his little round kitchen table chatting, me with my Dunkin’s coffee, him with a cigarette, just chatting as we waited for Mark to pick us up.  He was talking about welding and different things he has worked on over the years. He brought out this little piece of art that reminds me of a dragon. He explained that he welded it together out of bits and pieces of scrap metal. And that he had hand painted it. I could NEVER have imagined David hand painting anything. If you knew David, you knew his hands were the size of bear paws. A cigarette in his fingers looked like a string, let alone a tiny paintbrush. He asked me if I’d like to have it…of course I would! I would keep it on my deck with my summer plants! He mentioned a few other cool things he had made by welding them together and how he enjoyed the process of being creative and giving something that looked like “junk” new life. So many things made sense at this point. David could fix just about anything WITH anything. He was known as one of the best, if not THE BEST diesel mechanic in New England. The man really did have some talent and creative ideas. When I asked why he stopped creating things he enjoyed, he became really serious and said “I got caught up trying to make a living. Making money. Eventually I stopped welding fun stuff like that guy. I didn’t go to the races as much. Hell, I haven’t been fishing in I don’t know how long.” This flayed me. A man who worked hard to support my brother and I, who weren’t even his responsibility, a man who gave to any alcoholic or addict who walked through the door and needed help, who would give his last dollar to anyone who needed it…stopped doing things he loved long before that day.  I saw a phrase on a wooden sign at my sister-in-law’s once that said “Don’t get so busy making a living that you forget to make a life.” I spoke those words out loud and David said “Exactly. Yes. Make sure you do the fun stuff. With your girls. Your husband. And even on your own.” 

That conversation haunted me. I had been so busy for so many years doing for other people that I felt guilty even going to the gym to take care of my body. I felt guilty going for coffee with a friend. Or trying a new dance class. I knew that day that he had shared one of the greatest parts of his legacy with me. When he passed away two months later, he did so peacefully with his sister, his daughter, Mark and I by his side. I opted to speak at his service about this legacy and what a great Dad he had been to Mark and I in the absence of our own. I did my best to show up for him the way he had shown up for me for 26 years. And I promised that his words were not in vein. I would do the fun things. I would find the joy. I would seek the magic. In fact, I had already started, the previous few trips before his passing I made it a point to do something that would be fun or enjoyable or new. So when he would need rest, I made other plans. This would help soften the emotional toll of seeing him quickly shrink from a robust, strong man into a shell of the one we knew. I needed those joyful things. I took a beautiful ride in a side by side with an old friend up to the Whitneyville trestle. I learned how to shoot a weapon. I watched the sun come up over the ocean while enjoying coffee with a dear friend. I watched the sun set over the ocean with my Mom.  I combed the beach for sea glass. I spent time with my other family members. Having honest conversations…sometimes tough conversations. Sometimes recalling memories and laughing hysterically.

I think of David every day. Several times a day. He is always nearby and likes to leave undeniable signs such as coins from heaven, but more often rusty pieces of scrap metal near my car. If you know you, you know and can laugh out loud at this.

So, to anyone reading this. I implore you. Find the joy. Seek the magic. Do the thing. Life is short. Make it an adventure. And don’t get so busy making a living you forget to make a life.

I started seeing a therapist after the loss of my father in 2014.  After experiencing a tragic loss in 2012 and the toll it took on my mental and emotional wellness I knew I couldn’t process this loss on my own. It took several sessions to get through my family history and complete my genogram (it’s quite dysfunctional, on all sides). Once we were able to start really digging in, the initial work revolved around my relationship (or lack thereof, at least prior to age 16) with my biological Dad and how that had been impacting my relationships across the board.

It was during a session in late 2015 while my therapist “Jane” and I were discussing and dissecting a recent situation that left me with a familiar feeling of worthlessness. I don’t recall all the specifics just that the situation involved someone I cared about deeply and I felt betrayed by their actions. A prevailing thought came forward…I always felt like an outsider in this relationship. I would often pander to her version of events…never wanting to make waves for fear that she too would leave me. There had always been something magical about her that I was innately drawn to. I have never been able to put my finger on it, but whatever it is drives (or drove) my need for her acceptance and love. At any cost. Toward the end of this session Jane looked at me and said “I’ve been seeing you for over a year now. We have discussed your family, your friends and your life in general. When are you going to STOP giving loyalty where loyalty ISN’T deserved?” My breath hitched; I was totally caught off guard, hit with reality like a Mack truck.  I didn’t have an answer.  I think I stammered an “I don’t know” and made my appointment for the next session. I left her office that day completely dumbstruck. How could I have NOT seen this?

On my drive home I called my grandmother (this was a regular ritual for me…to call her after a therapy session; she is my person) and chatted with her about the day. Then I turned on the radio and as the music faded into the background the “L” word kept sneaking its way to the forefront of my thoughts. I was quiet as I came home, continuing to digest this new-to-me idea. How many people had I shown loyalty to that didn’t reciprocate? How many times had I prioritized others needs or wants over my own self-worth? How often had I dropped whatever I was doing to be there for someone else? How many times had I accepted absolute shit behavior from someone and been thankful for the scraps? Many. Too many. The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I became. And angrier I became. All these years. I thought I was just being a good person. When I was actually impersonating a doormat. Shame began to wash over me. Not only had I been a doormat, but those who had been allowed to drag their dirty shoes and shitty behavior all over me KNEW I was a doormat. They knew I would pacify. They knew I would show up. No matter the betrayal.

I have worked hard to set an example for my daughters of the kind of woman they can aspire to. A woman who is compassionate and empathetic. A woman who doesn’t need to rely on a partner to support her; who isn’t afraid to chase her educational and career goals. Who has a strong moral compass and convictions. A woman who supports other women and their aspirations. To be loving and loyal. Ashamed, I knew I had failed to teach them to value their self-worth. I had preached it enough, sure. But I hadn’t LED by EXAMPLE {Insert facepalm here}.  So NOW what? I have spent years encouraging my girls to be kind, be compassionate, to consider they may not know what the other person is going through….to their detriment. I had to figure out a way to continue moving through this season of realization and grief and how to start a different conversation on the other side.

This was so tough for me. For several reasons. I’ll quickly unpack a few for you. First, I had been so busy serving myself up as a wife, mom, friend, daughter, sister etc. that I had zero idea where I may have lost my voice. I had become so enmeshed in being the person everyone else needed me to be that I lost myself. Second, I had a significant anger issue as a teenager…. not enough to land me in the juvenile justice system (that’s really only a technicality….because I didn’t get caught). My first instinct when I am emotionally or mentally injured had always been to protect myself or lash out physically. I have trained myself not to react this way anymore…but the instinct is still there. Third, I had a very real fear of abandonment (left over from my childhood; for perspective, I have an ACES score of 9. If you haven’t heard of the ACES instrument, Google it).  For me, loyalty and fear of abandonment were two sides of the same coin. What if I stood my ground and asserted myself and the other person walked away? What would that say about me? My worthiness was directly connected to the way others treated me. This wasn’t’ going to be easy…

And it wasn’t. It still isn’t. Just like every other human being I am a work in progress. In order to move through that season, I had to have some very tough conversations with people that I love very much and establish some boundaries. I had to speak my truth about feeling betrayed. And while the other party acknowledged how I felt, at the end of it all they felt that they had done nothing wrong. Another important lesson for me.  You can’t make other people see the error of their ways or the direction that the wind blows. However, you CAN adjust your own sails, know that your boat is unsinkable and face the storm head on.

Have my relationships changed as a result of that season? 100% I definitely say “no” more often now. I am much more comfortable telling people exactly what I think or feel rather than being a pacifist. I don’t ask “how high” when someone says “JUMP” and I screen my calls. Regularly. Most of the time I pick up. But if I don’t want to, then I don’t. Simple. I still love those close to me deeply. I would be there in a true emergency if needed…but the day-to-day drama …. I just don’t have the time for it now. I have found that my loyalty is most needed and appreciated right under my own roof. So, to all my fellow people who struggle with over acceptance of poor behavior and being thankful for scraps of attention thrown their way… I challenge you to consider, why give loyalty where loyalty isn’t deserved?

This is a letter/story I wrote to my grandmother several years ago….on a day when I was missing her. I happened upon it this afternoon and felt compelled to share. Love is everything. Family is everything. I am blessed beyond measure for I have both in my life. I challenge anyone who reads this to write a letter to someone in their life who has made a lasting impact. Now is the time to let those we love know.

It Happened at Grandmother’s House

                It all started a long time ago, on a cold wintry night. A young woman was experiencing the pains of labor, so off she trekked to the hospital…driven by her own mother. After a time a baby girl was born…and along with her, a grandmother.

The baby was a lovely little creature with eyes like blueberries, very little hair and cute fingers and toes. She brought happiness to the house where she lived. Her mother loved her oodles and oodles. Her Auntie would coo at her and play with her toes. Her Grampy would snuggle her and feed her. Her uncle would coo at her before going out to play. Her Grandmother would snuggle her in the night when she awoke. She would feed her, and while she fed her she would sing “I love you a bushel and peck and a hug around the neck.” This baby grew and grew with all this love. She was given several nicknames “Grammy’s Angel Baby Darling Sweet Kid Thing,” “Danie,” “Dooga,” “Pumpkie Wumpkie” and likely more. This is what happened at Grandmother’s House.

That baby grew and grew, into a walking, babbling toddler. Her Auntie would dress her up and teach her how to blow kisses. Her Mom and Grampy would snuggle her and play. The family dog Sam would snuggle up near her. Her Uncle would play with her. Her Grandmother would play train and airplane while feeding her. Her mother made her a beautiful Christmas stocking. Her grandmother would knit pretty things for her and make her blankets. And quilts. These are things that happened at Grandmother’s House.

That baby continued to grow. While she was growing so was her mother, Mother and baby moved into a place of their very own. But that little baby still went to Grandmother’s House almost every day. There were times that Grandmother and Grampy would pick her up from daycare and take her on a day trip. There were times when she would just go spend the night. There were times that Grampy would pick up Mother and Baby and take them for picnics. There were times that Grandmother would come get the Baby (who by now really is a little girl) and just take her to visit. Sometimes these things happened at Grandmother’s House.

As that little girl continued to grow, so did her sense of family as well as Love. The little girls Auntie lived out of town, but Grandmother used to go pick up Auntie every Thursday and Sunday and bring her over for the day. Sometimes, the little girl even got to ride over to Auntie’s house with Grandmother. The little girl liked that a lot. The little girl got to snuggle with her Auntie and her baby cousin….and her Grandmother. These are things that happened at Grandmother’s House.

While growing up, the little girl learned that sometimes life just isn’t fair. A time comes when we lose people that we Love. The little girl learned this first when she was about 4 years old, the family dog, Sammy died. The little girl loved Sammy so much. Sammy was with the little girl as much as her Auntie was. Even at that young age, the little girl felt so sad as she stood in Grandmother’s kitchen, talking into the black phone that hung on the wall, her Auntie’s voice on the other end, telling her that Sammy went to Heaven. Sometime later on, the little girl’s Uncle Shawn brought home a very cute puppy named Magnum. The little girl loved that puppy, but she still missed Sammy. This is what happened at Grandmother’s house.

Soon, the little girl was old enough to begin preschool. She had to give up baton lessons to go to preschool. Her mom gave her the choice, so the little girl was happy about that. And it was nice that her former baton teacher lived right across from Grandmother, so she could go visit. As she got older her Uncle Shawn taught her about basketball with the hoop in the driveway and at the end of the road. Her Grampy would play catch and let her “help” him cook. Her grandmother continued to read with her and make her lovely quilts and even gave her very first Cabbage Patch Doll AND Care Bear!!!

This little blue eyed babe continued to grow. She had moved away for a short time with her mother but eventually returned to her Grandmother’s House. The little girl loved the feeling she got when she walked into her Grandmother’s House. It always smelled like her Grandmother. And she was comfortable there. The little girl grew to love and look forward to Sunday Dinners where they would enjoy ham or corned beef, potatoes, TURNIP (which turned out to be her favorite, thanks to her Grandmother!), carrots, cabbage, lots of yummy food. Often times there would be football games on the television. And the little girls Uncle Tommy would let her brush his hair for what felt like hours. But it made the little girl so happy. His was shiny and soft and always smelled good. Her Grampy had rectangle shaped barber type of brush that she would use. When she was tired of that her Grampy would allow her play a few rounds of poker or 21 (he taught her how to play pretty well!) and then sometimes she was allowed to help in the kitchen with the women. The little girl looked forward to the big dinners that happened on Sundays, Thanksgiving and Easter. Christmas was a magical time in its own right. You see, Christmas was Grandmother’s favorite. She decorated the house and the yard. And it seemed like her tree was always the biggest and prettiest, complete with garland, ornaments and shiny tinsel. Grandmother liked to make special treats around the holidays, such as stuffed dates, pomander balls and rum balls. The little girl loved to help make these…and eat them! On Christmas Day, when she was old enough, she even got to play Santa with her cousin and brother and help hand out gifts for everyone. Grandmother loved to do nice things for her family. She made sure that everyone got something they needed and something they wanted. Everyone had their own stocking that would hang on the mantel….yes, that little girl’s stocking was the very same one her mother had worked hard to make her for her very first Christmas. These are things that happened at Grandmother’s House.

Years went by and that little girl continued to grow, just as she continued to spend time at Grandmother’s house. Sometimes she would have friends overnight with her. Often times she would go by herself and she and grandmother would have a “date” of their own. They enjoyed watching movies together and having chicken nuggets and French fries. There was a lot of Cheddar Popcorn in there too. And because Grandmother knew that the little girl loved it so much, she would often make sure that there was chocolate chip ice cream. The young girl would go to Grandmother’s House when she was sick. Grandmother would tuck her into bed, make her chicken and rice soup and allow the girl to rest until she felt better. These are things that happened at Grandmother’s House.

Boy was this little girls GROWING! From the time she was an infant her mother knew she had an illness, but it wasn’t until she was 3 years old that she was diagnosed with asthma. The little girl was hospitalized frequently. Whenever that was the case her grandparents would make it a point to visit frequently. Her grandmother would get up early and get the girls favorite donut from Mac’s (their glazed donuts were the BEST) and bring her something to read. Then she would sit with the girl for most of the day, you know, so she wasn’t lonely. This is when she brought Grandmother’s House to the girl.

While there were LOTS of great things that happened at Grandmother’s House, sometimes sad, unfair things happened too. When that little girl was just 10 years old, she stood in her Grandmother’s living room with the rest of her family and began mourning the loss of her Uncle Shawn. When she was 12 years old, she lost the most important man in her life, her beloved Grampy. When she was 15 years old she lost Magnum, the loyal and faithful family companion. When this girl was just 17 years old, she feared that she might lose Grandmother due to health issues. Thankfully, Grandmother pulled through and they young girl was able to help care for her at home. It was during these times that the importance of love and family were reinforced for this girl. These are things that happened at Grandmother’s House.

That young girl continued to grow into an adult. Where, unfortunately she made some poor choices and thankfully she made some great choices. In the mix of those choices, the girl alienated most of her family for a time. It was heartbreaking for the girl. What she really wanted was to curl up in Grandmother’s bed with a quilt and just feel better, from the inside out. Eventually, the family came together again, along with the birth of this girls’ first child. So, Grandmother was born into a Great-Grandmother, who came to be known as GG. Now, GG has a solid reputation in her own right. She is well known in her great grandchildren’s circle of friends for being fun, loving, thoughtful and caring. Some of this is because she thinks of these kids often and makes them things. Some of it is because she used to visit A LOT (which the granddaughter and great grands LOVED), some of this is because she would always push the kids in the swing and play a game outside. But mostly, it is because she gave them love. Unconditional love, the same love that she gave to that little girl, beginning on the night of her birth, that cold wintry night in January. GG doesn’t just love. GG IS LOVE.

Below: A four-generation photo. My Auntie w/cousin T.J., Gram (GG), Great-Grammy (GG’s Mother), My Mother and me.

Embrace the Grey

 

I noticed my first grey hair in my mid-twenties. This isn’t surprising knowing that I carried, labored and delivered three babies before my 24^th birthday. It was a single gray hair, right at my center part. I plucked it out…just as I did the several others that grew in its place. Eventually there was more than one hair….far too many to pull out. That’s when I started highlighting my hair. I have oscillated between highlighting and all over coloring my hair ever since. I tend to favor all over color in the colder winter months and highlights during the sunny warm weather.

Some people may think I’m vain for coloring my hair or that I am dreading the aging process. Those people would be wrong. I actually love the color gray. Just not on me. I really love my hair with auburn and caramel highlights. I love the way the light bounces off it in the sun. I love my hair stylist who has in turn become a very dear friend. (We have a lot of talent here in the Keene, NH area…if you are looking for a stylist lemme know! I’ll hook you up. She is BOMB!!!) I rather enjoy being 40 years old. I’m in a place in my life where my children are partially launched (two adult children still live at home, two are still under 18) and I am able to focus on doing things I enjoy and am passionate about.

In a way I have embraced the grey in my hair. It has forced me to get out there and actually make an appointment for myself rather than just my kids. It was always difficult to find the time to get myself in the chair at the salon while shuttling kids here and there. I am now more cognizant of what hair products I use. Trust me when I say I have tried almost every hair product/brand imaginable. Growing up poor with thick straight hair I learned that brands like VO5 and White Rain don’t help my hair. I have used salon products off and on over the last 22 years. Consistently for the majority of the last 2 years. It turns out, when you use the right products you DON’T have to wash your hair every day….thus using less product over time and balancing some of the cost disparity. Different types of shampoos and conditioners for all different types of hair can be found at most salons. I really like Loma (no this is not a paid advertisement…but maybe it could be?!?). My stylist uses it in her salon. It is natural, free of harmful chemicals, smells amazing and my hair looks and feels incredible. I also like Amika. My daughter, Tia, brought some home and it is a close second to Loma for me. Again, it leaves my hair looking and feeling fresh and it smells incredible.

Grey hair could be a metaphor for any situation in your life. Grey. The space between black and white. Grey. Where chaos is found. Grey. Where change resides. Grey. Full of uncertainty. Grey. Where creativity is born.

During various seasons and storms in my life I have fought hard to stay in the black or white zones. Grey felt too uncomfortable. Too vulnerable. Naked, even. In the grey someone might see me. The real me. The me that I kept only for myself. What if I stepped into the grey and they criticized? Laughed? Rebuffed my endeavor with condemnation? The thought of being center stage and facing potential ridicule made my belly drop to my feet and my hands shake and my throat close. To say it was an uncomfortable feeling is a vast understatement.

A grey area that I was forced to face in college was public speaking. Oh. My. Lanta. This was the WORST!!! I hated being the center of attention. When I was called on in class during high school (and yes, even in college), my voice would shake, my face got red and I would begin stammering. My leg would shake under my desk and my hands would begin to sweat instantly. Imagine this happening while STANDING in FRONT of EVERYONE. NO. WAY. Imagine my dismay when I was informed that Public Speaking was a REQUIRED course in college! What?! Well, I guess it’s time to pack up and move to Siberia because this downeast girl isn’t getting up and talking in front of ANYONE. As with most things that I was REQUIRED to do in life, I found an alternative way. I took public speaking as a weeklong intensive class in the summer. I was able to get up and speak to that very small group of people about something I knew at the time: scrapbooking. I just happened to be scrapbooking photos from the recent Greek Weekend when my husband’s fraternity brothers had been home visiting and participating in the games. I stuck to a relatable topic and my palms didn’t sweat….much.

 

Grey areas in life force us to consider our views as well as those of others. They can be difficult to navigate because the answers aren’t readily available. Even if the question is as simple as “why do I hate public speaking?” What If I decide to share my actual thoughts and feelings then someone might see them or read them? Judge them? Feeling small and unimportant is such an awful feeling. If you have ever felt it, you will do what you can to avoid it. Including putting yourself in any sort of vulnerable situation.

I learned a lot during that public speaking class. I learned to laugh at myself a little bit more. I learned some interesting things about my peers. I learned how to make homemade lollipops and curried eggs. And that “Oh The Places You’ll Go” by Dr. Suess is also my favorite children’s book.

If we step over the threshold of vulnerability and stand in the grey for just a moment, we can learn so much about ourselves. We become better for it. Stronger for it. More loving and understanding of how other people approach the grey.

A recent photo of me, stepping into vulnerability and embracing the grey (hair) during COVID-19 social distancing.

 

I’m still awake. It’s 11:40 on a weeknight. And my mind won’t turn off. This happens every now and then, it’s really nothing new. But lately, my mind seems to be in overdrive, creatively speaking. I have had ideas for a children’s book and could visualize the artwork. I have visualized various ways our family can support our community….ideas and snippets of this and that continue to pour forth. I have ideas for various blog posts but thought I would put it out there and ask my people. A co-worker and friend, Amy, suggested I write about the greatest advice I’ve ever received. I really liked the idea so I decided to dig in.

As with anyone who has reached 40 years of age I have received A LOT of advice (solicited and Unsolicited) throughout the years. The “greatest advice” suggestion allowed me to travel back through time and think about some important conversations and themes that have become major tenets for me. After several days of deep thought I realized that there are three pieces of the advice that I consider to be the most relevant and to have had the greatest impact on my life and worldview. I plan to break those three into three separate posts because they deserve distinction and attention.

“It’s their shit. Not yours.” It’s been 20 years and I can still hear my father’s voice as this statement echoed through my end of the phone line. We were having one of our occasional phone chats and the conversation had eventually circled around to a family member. At the time, she wasn’t speaking to me. And hadn’t for over a year. Some things had happened in her life that caused her great pain and anger. I didn’t understand it when it unfolded and I was still struggling with it the following year when I learned she had visited with another family member in the same town but still didn’t want anything to with me.

A little background on our relationship: We weren’t always in one another’s lives. In fact, I didn’t even meet my Dad until I was 16 and didn’t connect to most of his family until after that point. But, I always knew who they were and idolized some of them. In my child’s mind they were like royalty. They were so special because they actually KNEW my Dad. They were connected to him in some way. This was how I viewed this particular family member as well. I greatly admired her. Making her animosity toward me even more difficult to handle.

Going back to the conversation with my Dad, I was explaining to him how hurt I was that she had spent time with my brother but didn’t even ask how I was doing. I was devastated. Didn’t she know how much I missed her? How much I loved her? How much I just wanted to be near her? After listening to my cry and complain for a time, Dad finally spoke up. He uttered those words “it’s their shit. Not yours. Don’t you see, Danielle? It doesn’t matter WHAT you did. The way someone handles the situation is on THEM. Not YOU.” Whoa. Time stopped for a minute. What on earth was he talking about? Of COURSE it was on ME if she didn’t like me. Of course it was MY fault. I wasn’t______enough. (Fill in that blank with whatever adjective you can want). Pretty. Smart. Popular. Likeable. Or get rid of that blank all together and the truth of how I felt was spelled right out. I just WASN’T ENOUGH. Dad was baffled at my lack of understanding. Rephrasing his sentiment, he explained that essentially whatever baggage someone brings to a situation impacts how they perceive it. And I have ZERO control over how other people perceive me, my actions, my passions etc. We all have our own gardens to grow and tend to. If I’m growing lilies, I may not understand how you grow daffodil’s and vice versa.

HOLY. CRAP. He was TOTALLY right. I only allowed an inkling of his words to embed in my heart during that conversation. But over the years, he said them again and again and again. That piece of advice has become the filter through which other people’s perception of me flows. I used to care. A LOT. About what other’s thought of me. Ever since I was a very small girl. It was always important to me to be liked. To help others. To be a part of something. On some level it is still important to me. Although, now it’s more about respect than being liked.

I was always told as a child “you’re too sensitive” because my feelings were easily hurt and I took on other people’s energy easily. Looking back, I know I wasn’t too sensitive. I was empathic. I was understanding on a very deep level what others around me were feeling. Now, as an adult, when some treats me or someone I love in a way that we don’t deserve I understand that THEIR actions have EVERYTHING to do with them and NOTHING to do with me. Just as I have the ability to CHOOSE how I react to a situation. Understanding these important pieces of humanity have allowed me to deepen my compassion and empathy for others.

I miss my Dad. Hugely. He left an imprint on my heart that will always remain. Our relationship wasn’t always easy, but we navigated the waves together. I’m so thankful for my time with him and that sage piece of advice. It echoes in my soul and I strive to share it whenever appropriate.

{A photo of my Dad and some of our family on the day I first met him, July 16, 1996}

 

Yes, you read that right. I am calling myself out as an OK parent. Not a stellar parent. Not a crappy parent. I honestly feel that I fall somewhere in the middle on the continuum of parenting. Well, the continuum created by society that we have all subscribed to. Social media, the news, our friends, family and the parents of other kids at school are all more than happy to let you know what you are doing wrong. Yeah, that sounds pretty crappy right? That’s because it is. Having other people let you know directly or indirectly how much you are failing as a parent is NOT a good feeling at all.

I think it’s important to note that not all constructive feedback on parenting is meant to be negative. Rachel Hollis tells us that we see things are WE are, not as THEY are. Meaning, that we all have a lens through which we view each situation and form an opinion or judgment about it. That being said, if you have some old baggage with your sister, you are more likely to take anything she may suggest out of love to mean something far more sinister. It’s important to take others opinions about your parenting style and ability with a grain of salt. You know your child better than anyone. That being said, it is so important to maintain an open mind about growth as a parent. The same tactics and styles of parenting do NOT work in all stages of child-rearing nor do they all work for every child.

The way we parented our second daughter was vastly different than we had parented our first. The reason for that is twofold. One, our first daughter was the guinea pig (we have openly acknowledged this to her and offered to pay for therapy! ) and we learned a lot of what NOT to do. Second, those two girls have TOTALLY different personalities and drives. TOTALLY different. Strategies that we employed successfully with Tia did NOT work with Autumn. At all. Tia was so mild mannered as a young girl. She was shy and reserved. It was important to her to evaluate the situation before engaging whether that was at the playground or cooking with Mom. I remember taking Autumn to her one year checkup. She was all over the place. She chatted with everyone and was a bit of a ham. The doctor couldn’t help but chuckle. He said “this girl’s got fire. The kind of energy to change the world. Don’t extinguish it. Guide it.” His words SCARED me to DEATH. What in the heck was he talking about?! Fire? Guide what? He referred us to a book about “spirited” children that he hoped would help us understand her expressive and assertive nature. At the time I wondered where on earth could she have inherited this? After having such an easy time parenting Tia I was so worried that I would mess up with Autumn. She was so defiant with me, more with me than her Dad. When she was about 2 or 3 I remember having this epiphany as I was battling with her about what she was going to wear. I had to figure out a way to make her think that what I want her to do is HER idea. I started by giving her more choices. I created a chart at one point for her to keep track of her outfits. She had to wear pants at least two days a week, which meant that she could wear dresses or skirts up to 5 days a week. Why would you make such a strange demand, you ask? Well, wearing tights and leggings aren’t wise choices for little girls every day of the week. Their bodies need air and space, just like boys. After talking to her pediatrician about it, the chart was the best idea we had. And it WORKED!! Once Autumn realized that SHE got to choose what days she could wear skirts or dresses she had SO much more buy in. Morning arguments were virtually non-existent because she chose her outfits the night before and would lay them out on her carpet. Complete with undies inside the tights, shoes and all.

Our third daughter was very reserved like our first daughter, but struggled with change and some sensory issues. Her feet were uncomfortable when the line on the inside of her sock didn’t line up properly. It was difficult to find shoes that weren’t “floppy.” We paid nearly $60 for a pair of magenta colored Merrell slip on sneakers for a 5 year old because nothing else felt right. She would melt down if the waist of her jeans didn’t sit right at her hips or if her sleeves were too long. Ivy, at 15 ½ is still very particular about how things are. Everything has a place. Change is difficult, including home renovations. It’s just how she processes things. Grant and I know this about her and strive to be considerate when we are making changes to our house or to vacation plans etc. It’s not as easy as saying “deal with it.” A mantra both of us likely heard countless times during our formative years. While sometimes you do need to just “deal” with the situation you are dealt, not everyone is wired the same. I think one of the most valuable things I have learned from my children that everyone really IS different. How they perceive and process situations and moments in life are not always the same, even if they are part of the same family.

Our fourth daughter is a child who is a great amalgamation of her older siblings. She is sometimes reserved like Tia. Sylvyn is also very expressive like Autumn. She is musical and artistic like her older brother Alex. And she is particular in how her clothes fit like Ivy. She has many other similarities to her siblings. But she is also her own person. And we are different now than we were when Tia was 11. We are FAR more relaxed now. We have learned a lot about what works and what doesn’t. And we are STILL learning. Sometimes things work the first time and the second, but not the third.

There doesn’t always feel as though there is rhyme or reason to parenting. And sometimes there isn’t. There isn’t a handbook. At least not one that would make sense for every parent of every child. There are some things that I try to practice and in doing so feel more confident in my ability to be the parent my child needs and deserves as well as conserve what little bit of my sanity remains:

1. Pick and choose my battles. Man this one is hard for me. I’m argumentative my nature. Or at least I used to be. I felt like I giant knot of anxiety all the time. I was always at odds with one or more of my daughters. At one point I had to finally sit back and think about why. Was it really something worth arguing over? Why did I feel like I had to “win” this? Did I really have to have the last word? Of course not. Do I still struggle with this? Absolutely. I am also a human in progress, remember?
2. Spend a few minutes every day talking to your child and looking them in the eye. This helps foster your relationship and lets them know they are important to you. I know, some of you are thinking “ONLY a few minutes?!” while others are thinking “how in the sam hill am I going to find time for that?!” Life is busy, especially in this era. 10-15 minutes chatting with your child, listening to them vent about school or their friends. Or their Honors Spanish exam. I have found that the older the kids get, the more they need to blow off steam verbally (in contrast to their younger years when I would actually go outside with Ivy and ask her to run laps around the house because she had so much energy. She developed a love for running!) and, if you listen carefully a lot of important information about their lives can be found in those everyday moments. I have found myself looking forward to those moments of being connected to one child at a time.
3. Allow them to have some space. I know it’s hard. It’s REALLY hard. But being a helicopter parent really doesn’t serve our children. Yes, I used to be that parent who requested a specific teacher every year for one of the girls and hovered over friendships and every decision she made. I made myself INSANE. And likely drove my daughter crazy, too. Allow them space, age appropriate space. Now, I’m not saying you should let them do whatever the heck they want all the time. But perhaps consider some controlled rebellion. What’s that? That is when you foster the inner rebellion that lives within each person. An example? Sure thing. Let’s say that your 12 year old son is insisting on dying his hair orange. You say “NO WAY.” There are a million reasons why you hate the idea. Ask yourself why. Why are you so against it? We are now back to choosing your battles. Allowing your child some self-expression, no matter how ridiculous it may seem to have flaming orange hair, creates feelings of value. What?! Stay with me here. Allowing your child to make certain choices, even choices that you don’t understand, gives them a sense of autonomy. It allows them to feel a sense of responsibility and some ownership of their choices. Remember Autumn and her clothing chart. That was a parenting WIN for sure! Allowing your child the space to make these sorts of decisions can go a long way to building a positive rapport with them (which during the pre-teen and teenage years can be incredibly difficult). Now, that is not to say that you should allow your child to make choices that would cause harm to themselves or someone else. Absolutely not. But allowing them the space to make some innocuous decisions can be a blessing for you both.
4. Don’t take sides. Ever. Well, mostly ever. When your daughter is venting about her BFF for the third time this week and how bossy she is or how rude she is, refrain from taking sides. I learned this the hard way, folks. In an effort to support my child I would absolutely support their stance. My big Mama heart had great difficulty stepping back from those situations where my child had walked away with hurt feelings. At some point I finally made myself step back and look at both sides. What was going on with the other kid (or kids) involved? Could there be pieces to this story that my child isn’t telling me or portraying accurately (most assuredly, yes!). It has been far more beneficial for me and my children (though they HATE it when I do it) to look at both sides of a situation. When my daughter is complaining about her friend who always abandons their friendship when she has a boyfriend, I don’t offer a judgment. I try to ask if they want a different perspective. That perspective is more likely to be a few scenarios that are potentially behind the behavior or examples of when they have displayed this same behavior and bailed on their friends for a significant other. There is much value and compassion to be found when we attempt to understand rather than judge or react. That being said, validating your child’s feelings is also important. Which can be done, without taking sides. Additionally, if you take sides but then your child makes up with their friend, it can be SUPER awkward for them to come ask you about making plans with them. Which in turn has the potential to create a barrier between you and your child. Remember friends, I learned this the hard way. I’m sure some of you have, too. I try to give myself gentle reminders not to take sides but to be as supportive as I can while I listen to my girls or anyone else for that matter.
5. Take a time out. Yes, you. Mama, Father, Caregiver. If your life is fully consumed by your children and they are the center of your world you are likely exhausted and not practicing any amount of self-care. Burnout happens here. This is where you will also find resentment, depression, anxiety and no actual clue about who you are anymore. This happens A LOT. I found myself here a few short years ago. I could tell you my name, who I was married to, who my children were and what I did for work. I couldn’t really tell you what I enjoyed doing or reading because I didn’t know. Everything that I did revolved around my children and husband. I was surprised to learn how much of myself I had lost over the years. Now, lets back up just for a minute. You DO lose some of yourself when you are a parent. In the beginning your life IS consumed by your child. However, you should still be taking time for yourself. Even just 10 minutes a day. Drink a cup of tea. Read a few pages of your new book. Something that is JUST for you. This simple act will feed your soul. This simple act gets you started. This simple act will lead more complex acts that will continue to feed your soul and lead you down the road to rediscovering yourself. Maybe you want to go back to school. Maybe you want to join the gym or a book club. Maybe you want to start a weekly girl’s night out with your fellow Mama’s. Why is this so important? Why do you HAVE to make time for yourself while they are still young? Because they are watching you. They are watching you and modeling your behavior. If you treat yourself as an afterthought you are training them to do the very same thing. Similarly, if you give them everything they want every time they want it; that is what they will learn. Our society already has enough entitled children. The world needs more well-rounded, understanding, compassionate humans. Those are the people we should focus on growing. Humans who don’t ignore their own needs but aren’t selfish jerks either. It is a balance. For SURE. But it is tangible. And it starts with US. WE model the behavior.

This is not a hard and fast list that will make you feel like a parent super-star overnight. These are just some of the things that have helped me as I have learned them over the years. Why would you pay any attention to these things if after being mindful to practice them at least some of the time, I still only consider myself an OK parent? Well, you don’t. YOU get to choose how to parent your children.  I hear other Mama’s second guessing their ability all the time.  I used to think I was the WORST mother. EVER. I had so much insecurity in my ability as a parent. But I have grown. And I have learned. I now believe I am an OK Mom. Generally, I think most of us are JUST OK. I don’t know of a human being who the VERY BEST out of all of the other parents in the world. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, even within our own households. My husband is better at keeping a level head in managing academic needs than I am (though I am striving to get better). I am better at managing social drama than he is. There are times when he takes the “lead” and times where I do. And there have been situations where we take on the situation together, combining our wits and strengths. Sometimes we call upon extended family or friends to vent or for advice or to actually step in and offer another perspective for our kids. We are all different and we excel at things that others don’t and vice versa. We rely on that proverbial village. It really DOES take a village. Be mindful of who is a part of your village and which ones you are a part of. I’m an OK parent. But I always try my best. And I’m ok with that.

Oral Hygiene. It’s a thing. A REAL thing. I remember hating brushing my teeth as a young girl and (much to my dentist, Dr. Dorr’s dismay) hated flossing even more. Despite the lack of effort in properly caring for my teeth I NEVER had a cavity. That is until I became pregnant with my eldest daughter. While the story of that pregnancy is for a different time, I do think it’s important to note that I was VERY much a child at the time….18 years old in America affords you the right to purchase tobacco, vote, go to war and purchase lottery tickets. Despite those rights, I was in NO way , shape nor form prepared for motherhood at that age. I remember going to the dentist shortly after I had my daughter and Dr. Dorr’s son (also a dentist) was examining my teeth and the news that he shared would change my life forever: “ Danielle, you have a cavity. Two actually.” You could have slapped me in the face with an eel and I would not have been more shocked than I was in that moment. You see, my teeth brushing skills had improved significantly since I was a young girl and this had NEVER happened to me before. I learned soon afterward that often times women experience changes in their dental health during pregnancy due to the nutrients that are diverted from the mother to the life growing inside her. Two cavities for a life that had changed mine in immeasurable ways. More than a bargain in my mind. I kept a subsequent appointment for my fillings and continued with life as a mother. And then a wife. And a daughter. And a sister. And a niece. You get the idea. The next dental milestone happened in 2002, when I was 22 years old. I was eating popcorn, watching a movie while my husband was out playing Dungeon’s and Dragon’s (also story for another time). When I started to chew a small handful of popcorn my tooth broke! My very last molar on the bottom left. I was HORRIFIED! How could this happen?! My mind was reeling with scenarios about an underlying illness. Wondering if this would happen to all of my teeth. Would I have to eat pudding forever?! Thankfully, I was able to get into a dentist for an “emergency” visit a few towns away and he was able to repair my tooth with a filling rather than a crown.

Fast forward a few years. Additional pregnancies brought additional cavities. I will preemptively state that yes I took prenatal vitamins, yes I brushed and flossed as I was supposed to and yes I had regular dental visits during my pregnancies. We relocated after our second daughter was born and were tasked with finding a dental practice that felt right for our family. We tried a few before we settled in with Ledoux Family Dental in Keene, NH. Before anyone asks, no, this is NOT a paid advertisement (but hey, Dr. Ledoux, if you are looking for a spokesperson with a positive review, hit me up J ). Our daughters were immediately comfortable with the office staff, even our daughter who had grown to fear the dentist due to past traumatic experiences was able to relax enough to allow the doctor to fill a cavity she had. Our youngest daughter was about 2 ½ the first time she visited this dentist. She couldn’t say his name properly (again, she was a toddler) it came out as “Ducky Doo.” It was adorable. And again, nothing but comfort when visiting for cleanings or other procedures.

I noticed a Sonicare toothbrush on display in my hygienists’ room in 2009. It was out of my price range at the time but I decided I needed to make it happen. A few years later I realized that I could use my flex spending to purchase a regular Sonicare for Grant and I and a smaller, kid friendly version for the girls. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Sonicare toothbrushes….they are amazing. No, really. They are. Sonicare carries a variety of electrically charged toothbrushes that have been proven to get your teeth cleaner, prevent further decay and even whiten your teeth (Again, no paid advertisement here, but Philips Sonicare….you know where to find me!). Once I started using my Sonicare I noticed a major difference in my mouth. It felt cleaner longer (both at night and in the morning) and my hygienist noticed a difference in my oral health during my regularly scheduled cleanings as well. I think it’s important to note here, that a few years after initially using the Sonicare I decided that it was also in my best interest to see the dentist for professional cleanings more often. At the time our insurance covered four cleanings a year. I opted for 6. My current insurance covers 3 per year. I still opt for 6. Some people think I’m nuts! They have zero understanding of why I would want to see my dentist so often. Well, let me explain a couple of things. First, my hygienist is FREAKING AMAZING (she has been voted best local hygienist for several years in a row). I close my eyes and sometimes fall asleep while she is cleaning my teeth. Wait. WHAT?!?! Yup, you read that right. I fall asleep while she is cleaning my teeth. And then, toward the end, when she uses the spinning toothbrush I laugh hysterically because it’s tickles so much! Second, I absolutely LOVE the feeling of a clean mouth. I know, most people do, right? Well, I REALLY, REALLY do. So I choose to go more often. Third, the better I care for my teeth the longer I will have them. My grandmother used to tell me (and still does when warranted) to take care of my feet and my teeth. They’re the only ones I have. There is a lot of truth to that statement.

About a month ago, our most recently purchased Sonicare died (it was about 2.5-3 years old and used by multiple people in our house. Yes, we all have our own toothbrush heads. Sharing those would be gross!). I was forced to use a manual toothbrush ( I know, I know, talk about 1^st world problems) and I knew my teeth were suffering. I had an appointment to get a crown (different tooth than 2002 but similar circumstance. Eating popcorn! Maybe it’s a sign I should stay away from Popcorn?!) and while I was there asked that they look at another tooth that felt as though the filling was breaking. I had my teeth cleaned after my crown appointment where my hygienist looked at my tooth again. The team decided I should come back immediately to have it repaired as some damage was already visible. Two dental visits in two days made for a very sore mouth for this girl. While I was there I purchased a new Sonicare. I was SUPER excited because it’s purple and really pretty. AND my teeth feel incredibly clean afterward.

I know all of this probably seems unimportant to most. But it is to me. I’ll take you back to teenage Danielle who absolutely HATED her teeth. I have a small gap between my two front teeth that created significant insecurity. I hardly ever showed my teeth when I smiled (which in retrospect is so silly, I had a beautiful smile!) and photos prove this with my awkward half closed mouth smirk in most of them. As I got older I learned that oral hygiene has a big impact on our overall health. Watching my Dad’s teeth become affected by his diabetes was hearbreaking. Watching my mother have all of her teeth extracted to be fitted for dentures (or as I saw on Facebook recently “substitooth’s!) was hard. She wasn’t comfortable smiling with her mouth open for a long time. Our teeth are important. It is one of the first things someone notices about us when meeting us for the first time.

I worked with many individuals in my professional role who suffered from dental or oral impairments that directly impacted their ability to work. It is heart rending. A lot of what I saw involved lack of knowledge and education about oral health. Lack of insurance to cover visits. Lack of access. I don’t need to go into all the specific ways that smoking, drinking, drugs, certain foods, soda etcetera are bad for your teeth and gums. Most people know this already. What I would encourage you to do is to learn more about the best way to care for your OWN teeth and gums. Does it mean an electric toothbrush? Or changing your manual one out more often? A different toothpaste or mouthwash? Does it mean flossing more? Whatever it means for YOU to take better care of your teeth, do it. Make it a priority. Like GG said, your teeth are the only set you’ll have. Fixing them is far more expensive than preventing decay and impairments in the first place. Some things I do to keep up with oral hygiene:

1. Keep a manual toothbrush at work along with a small tube of toothpaste. I try to brush during lunch (after I eat of course)
2. Keep flossers in my car. Flossers aren’t AS good as regular floss, but I am in the car so much and find that this is a good time to use my flosser. This really helps prevent build-up of plaque and tartar
3. Drink more water. Sugary drinks, energy drinks, coffee and even tea can have a negative impact on your teeth. Everything from enamel erosion to cavities to discoloration can be traced back to these beverages. Use care when consuming them
4. Use an electric toothbrush (Yes, I prefer Sonicare, but I know there are several other reputable brands on the market for significantly less money)
5. Visit your dentist at LEAST twice per year for cleanings and x-rays. This is the best possible way to stay on top of any potential issues

Oral hygiene and wellness are a crucial component in taking care of ourselves. We all struggle with different aspects of self-care at different times and learn from our mistakes. Happy Brushing and Flossing friends!