Let. It. Out.

I want my daughters to know how to feel their emotions and then manage them. This is one of the countless reasons I decided to move into coaching. I love my little monsters like nobody’s fucking business, and I’m a super thoughtful parent – in my own way. I march to the beat of my own drum and my values don’t necessarily align with the status quo. I’m not a big lover of traditional schooling (though they attend one) or team sports – but community is everything to me. I say “fuck” in front of them often, we discuss what it means to be gay, talk about death and how babies get made, and they cruise Bumble with me – they are seven and six years old.

I don’t hide things from them. I don’t sugar-coat shit. Santa definitely exists, as a theory. I’m not trying to foster innocence; I am trying to make them informed. Intelligent. Strong. Always keep an honest heart, even when it’s hard or scary or it hurts – never choose nice over authenticity – that’ll dick you over every time. You don’t always have to share. Do your best and know that your best will be different every day. Give others grace, but give yourself grace first. You absolutely positively without question or doubt are required to love yourself the most. Dream big. Super fucking big. So big it scares you, big. You need to be your #1.

So it stands to reason that if I don’t fit the mold they prolly won’t either, and that will likely set them up for different challenges along the way. Challenges breed emotions that need to be acknowledged, felt, and moved through – don’t sit in the negative ones too long, never too long. That’s what my dad always told me. I’ve made it my job to lead by example.

When both my parents died at the beginning of this year, seventeen days apart from each other, Eleanore and Erna got a real fucking show. They saw the meltdown, the snot & tears, heard the screaming, endured it, even. They watched me take care of business and get shit done. They also watched me numb out – walk around with that blank stare in my eyes, smoke cigs in the garage as if that’d make me feel better (it did not), and sit on the couch. I sat on the couch a lot. For like, three fucking weeks I sat on the couch. And I will tell you – I felt best after I screamed and cried, but it was hard for me to get there. It was so much easier to just go to that flat zone. I have to put in an honest-to-God fucking effort to recognize and accept that emotions are happening inside me, and I have to consciously work through them. Starting with simply making time and space for them.

I can tell when my girls go to that flat zone, and I don’t like it. I don’t let them stay there very long. I get in their face and I ask them questions. Insist that they talk to me, but I don’t push it too hard – I am their mother, I have an innate sense of how far I can go. They usually end up letting down, melting down, and so much more information comes out with those emotions. That’s the gold – where you get to learn what’s really happening for them – and you get to hold them while they let it all out. I don’t know what other parents do, but I’m a parent who not only accepts meltdowns, I encourage them, and support my daughters through them. It’s a release and it’s cleansing. It’s the beginning of feeling emotions and managing them.