Arnebya is a writer, blogger, and speaker. In 2006 she was a recipient of the DC Commission on the Arts and Humanities Larry Neal Writers’ Award (Adult Fiction) and in 2012 was named a BlogHer Voice of the Year (Op-Ed). Her work is featured in The Washington City Paper’s 2013 fiction issue and she has been a guest writer on multiple parenting blogs. Because she’s funny. And she’s a parent. Her three children love to listen to her sing Prince’s “Adore” in the car, her husband worships her, and her coworkers clap when she calls out on days with scheduled meetings. That sentence is entirely true except for the parts that aren’t. Arnebya blogs at What Now and Why. You can also find her being lazy on Twitter and not obnoxious enough on Facebook.

——-

It’d been going so well, this desire to improve myself, my mothering. I wasn’t yelling (as much). And then. The lemonade. I’m even afraid to admit it. But I think my tirade will go down in my nine-year-old’s memory as the day mommy freaked over a beverage. She looked so stricken, so shocked that something so idiotic and meaningless could make me yell quite so loud.

I will admit to wanting to be that mom who hosts sleepover after sleepover, why sure, add another, and of course your child can stay too. I want to have the house that all the kids migrate to. The neighborhood kids, the friends from school, the cousins, everyone. I want that. And then I don’t. And the line between the two is blurry, runs into itself, and is obscured by my getting tired.

They have energy and mine has been depleted. They want to go outside, they want to paint their nails, they want to watch R rated movies, they want to run up and down the stairs while the boy is sleeping. And then they drink the last of the lemonade. And I feel bad that it was the lemonade that did it. I do.

I asked them not to drink the last of it. I moved it from first sight to bottom rung of the refrigerator. In the door, even. No one looks on the last shelf of the door. This time, though, they did. And they forgot my request to leave that last bit for me. I shouldn’t care, I know. And I know it’s PMS. I know it’s being tired. I know it’s dreading going to work tomorrow, the laundry, the dishes, Mother Nature’s fun with non-spring, and and and. All of these things together simply got the best of me.

I yelled like never before because how dare they drink the last of the lemonade.

And then I apologized.

I told my daughter that sometimes it is the simplest, least explainable things that push us to the point of being that which we might hate. I despise my yelling voice, the contorted face. I hate the waving arms, the smacking lips. The if I’d just take a moment to calm down, it could all end so differently knowledge.

Today, mid-scream, I stopped. I reminded myself that the yelling doesn’t have to happen. More lemonade can be bought. THEY ARE CHILDREN.

What will they remember? Will they remember this day? Will they remember last week’s yelling to move faster, we’re going to be late? Will they remember the other times? The many, many other times? Will they think motherhood is overwhelming because of how I act? Will they choose not to be mothers because I seem crazed and always screaming about trivial things (although come on, the clothes have been sitting there for days; just put them in the damn drawer.) Will they be in therapy because of me?

And then I gave myself a break. I took stock of all that I do and then I talked to them. I told the girls that while yes, sometimes I get overwhelmed and it seems like I’m yelling for no reason, I am working on it. I don’t want them to think raising one’s voice is the way to be heard or how to parent. I’ve already witnessed each of them, toward each other, and their younger brother, become frustrated and yell. This is learned behavior. In our case, it is both learned and hereditary. I don’t want to continue the cycle and I certainly don’t want to pass on this contagion to them.

Am I combating this enough? I don’t know. I do know that I am not perfect. But I am also trying to be better, more aware, and patient. I am trying to do and be enough. All while maintaining a softer voice

The post Drinking the Lemonade appeared first on Just.Be.Enough..

She’s been sending out numerous resumes, and interviewing for jobs, but so far nothing has materialized. Fortunately, through scholarships and her GA stipend, she has incurred very little student loan debt, but will be dedicating a significant portion of any income to paying that off once she is established in her chosen career.

I’m adjusting to the reality of having my firstborn moved out of our family home, but as the weeks and months tick by, I’m also assuming that I may have a boomerang kid instead.

There is a possibility that she will have to move back home temporarily while continuing her job search. Just when I was resigned to having her living hundreds of miles away, I’m now faced with how to navigate having her back home.

I did the same thing when I was first out of college.

I graduated in an off-term, Winter Quarter, and was engaged to marry in less than six months. It didn’t make financial sense for me to get a job, find an apartment and live alone for such a short time. I moved home and saved money for my wedding and eventual across-the-state move. Six months… it seemed like a lifetime.

More and more young adults are moving back home, because the economy and employment prospects are so dismal right now. It’s not what she envisioned either, it’s a last resort option. She wants to be on her own, independent and working in her chosen profession.

She’s an adult. Other than asking her to follow a few house rules, there’s little parental controls I can exert. I still have a younger child at home. What will having her back… after six years away… do to that dynamic? He’s grown accustomed to being an only child, to not having his big sister “watching out for him,” and telling him what to do.

I can see this getting ugly, and just when they finally got to be friends. And, I’m losing valuable storage and closet space in her room.

Moving home, I know, is not what she wants either. It’s a last resort option. She wants to be on her own, independent and working in her chosen profession

My concern may be moot. I’m borrowing trouble before it happens. A problem I have for a lot of issues. Instead, I need to anticipate a change in our family living arrangement, and accept that if it does happen, it will only be temporary.

xo

Tara

The post Boomerang appeared first on Just.Be.Enough..

How many of us have the same center of our universe at all times? How many of us wake up in the morning and our minds go to the exact same thing/person/place every time? I remember waking up and my first thought could be “Coffee” or “UGH, another day at work” or “I should not have had that lasagna at eleven o’clock last night”.

Now I wake up and think, “Did she get some sleep last night?” or “How are her potassium levels?” or “I hope the pain medication actually worked.” I also wonder, “How is Mom really doing?” and “Is Daddy lonely at home?” Then I make sure my cellphone is turned on and fully charged. You know, just in case.

You see, my little sister was told that her cancer is back. And it has spread.

As a registered nurse, I use my objective thinking skills, research and work-related learning to stash my own emotions way down there where I can deal with them, one PET scan result or one electrolyte level at a time.

Have I allowed myself that total breakdown moment yet?

No.

Have I allowed myself to feel completely scared and freaked out and worried and anxious?

Sort of.

Then I get into my books or talk with my co-workers about options for chemotherapy and radiation and pellets and beads and palliative pain management, and it renews my hope in her treatment.

Emotions range from anger at the surgeon who said, “Oh, we got it all!” to fear to hopelessness to determination. My fervor at specializing in oncology has been stoked into this burning desire to not only help my own family, but to help other people fighting this. These tiny, mutated cells destroy so many lives – I feel glee at the thought of radiation making them violently explode or chemotherapy making these cells stagger around drunkenly in their tiny bloodstream streets until they collapse and are crushed underneath the razor-sharp wheels of the local streetcar.

I am frequently asked how I can go into oncology when my heart is hurting so much knowing my baby sister is so ill. I look these folks straight in the face and tell them, “You just answered your own question.”

My sister is a strong woman. Cancer isn’t the first thing she’s fought off. I can’t foresee how this new treatment will work with her, but I know that my family will come back together and be stronger than ever. I think right now we’re all kind of dealing with our own internal emotions which has led to a strange dynamic – yet we are also a family who knows togetherness and strength. I am focusing on communication among the four of us, and being a source of information as well. I have not shed my tears yet, but have chosen to funnel my insecurities into researching and answering what I can.

I may be the nurse in my family, but I am still my sister’s sister and my parents’ daughter.

xo

Corinne

The post One Little Cell appeared first on Just.Be.Enough..

Our experiences open our eyes to the world around us. Grief changes us. For me, it has helped me see the world differently. I see people differently.  In my year of grieving and trying to heal from the loss of one of my twin daughters I have learned some very important things about people.

One

People will surprise you. Some people that you never would expect anything from will bend over backwards to help you through whatever difficulty you are facing. As an optimist who has seen perfect strangers commit amazing acts of love towards other people in a time of need, this was not actually the element that surprised me.

The surprise came from the disappointment as some of the people that I believed were my “inner circle,” my champions, my “peeps” have stood by the wayside and never offered a hand or a word of encouragement.  Even now, as I channel all of my efforts into fundraising for an organization that I hope will one day find a cure for the ailment that took my infant daughter, I am surprised at the rejection I face from some. I do not know how to effectively communicate that my extensive involvement is a part of my healing process. My drive and passion for this organization are not only my way to honor and remember my daughter, but my involvement is one of the few ways that I feel like I can actually do something to make a difference. I want to be a part of something bigger, better… meaningful. I want to help even one person not feel the pain and the loss that I felt.

But, I must remember that this is my healing process, and not everyone is going to travel the road with me.

Two

 It is difficult for people to relate to something that has never touched them. This is how I console myself when I am told “no” when I ask for support. Until you are faced with a situation, it is difficult to know and understand the emotions, the changes that happen in you because of the event, and the willingness you may have to try to do something to try to make a change that may prevent future occurrences.

Not only do I see this in my personal life, but I see it in a large scale in our country right now. I think about the shootings at Newton Falls.  Just as I wonder why the people in my life cannot understand how important it is to me to garner their support, I have an equally difficult time understanding why our nation cannot realize that we can still have our freedoms and implement programs that can make us safer. It is hard for me to understand how anyone can be so black and white on this topic, in which grey area abounds. There again, if people are not personally affected, it is difficult to engage them to take action.

I have held a dying child in my arms. I know what it feels like to watch an innocent slip away. And that experience impacted me in a way that, regardless of any feelings I may have had about my personal rights, makes me want to do everything possible to protect these little ones.

Three

People have short memories.  It is amazing how quickly we move on and forget. In some ways, this is good. I am a proponent for moving on with life and healing. But I want to learn and grow in my healing process. I want to take my experience and make something from it. Don’t we all? Doesn’t everyone just want their life to matter?

These generalities about people have helped me view life a little more calmly. I am a little less emotionally charged about things that used to bother me tremendously. I am more open to trying to view the world in someone else’s shoes.  I still have days in which I cannot understand why life deals us the cards we get. I suppose it is all part of the process.

May 5^th is International Bereaved Mothers Day. A day we honor the mothers who were left with empty arms. Will you try to look at the world through someone else’s eyes for the day?

xo

Alexa

The post The World As I See It appeared first on Just.Be.Enough..

Our first trip to the park this year was no different. She ran at everything. That climbing wall? Let’s see if we can climb it! That twisty slide? Let’s try going down it! That big kid swing? Let’s see how high I can get all on my own!

I watched her carefully. Fearful of her new courage and scared of skinned knees and bumps on the head. As if a little bump or scratch would be worse than missing that feeling of trying and succeeding where she didn’t before.

And then I noticed.

She pushed herself to give everything a try. Monkey bars and balance beams and tall ladders leading to taller slides. But if she didn’t feel comfortable, she stopped. She backed out and ran off to the next thing.

She didn’t feel down about this. She didn’t beat herself up over it. She knew her limits. And she respected them.

I’ve long had a willful ignorance of my own limits. I tell myself that I can do anything and then I set off to prove it.

Of course, this pushing is good from time to time. And it’s what we’re all told and, often, inspired to do. Leave your comfort zone. Push yourself. Your beautiful new reality is right there, just beyond that limit.

And, of course, my willful ignorance of my limits has taken me to some amazing places. Australia and Africa and India. Motherhood. My blog and this space right here. It has introduced me to some wonderful people who have changed my life in only the best ways.

But it has also hurt. It has left me with stitches. It has left me in tears. It has left me in bed, a weeping ball of mess trying to recover lost hours of sleep.

So what do you do with that? How do you know when to push and when to feel good about trying as you just move on?

I used to think of this limit pushing as black and white. You either ignore the limits and blow right by them. Or you acknowledge them and make a cozy home on this side of uncomfortable.

But my girl has shown me the shade of grey here.

There is nothing wrong with throwing yourself at the climbing wall with all the gusto you can muster, only to say, “This isn’t for me right now,” and climbing back down the few steps you went up. There is nothing wrong with then running off to try something else. Feel good about the effort, not down about the result.

My girl has taught me, once again, that it’s ok. It’s ok to try. It’s ok to throw yourself at something and give it your all. And it’s ok to walk away, happy you tried and read for the next thing.

It’s ok to respect your limits.

xo

Tricia

The post Respect Your Limits appeared first on Just.Be.Enough..

But here’s the thing – if you were to lift the March page and look at the April one underneath, you’d notice that it’s blank. Not because I haven’t done any exercise this month (though admittedly it’s been less frequent) but because I’m not sure this tracking method is working for me.

3 fitness apps, none of which was quite was I was looking for.

My life is littered with things like this – things I’ve tried to motivate myself and to keep myself accountable that I’ve later abandoned.

Food journals.

Running journals.

Diaries and charts and stickies and the barest of details in several different iPhone apps that remain hidden in folders on my phone.

I don’t consider these failures. I am a bizarre mix – a creature of habit who also gets bored easily and needs change to keep things fresh. So, while one thing I know about myself is that I like to track things and I do better if I write stuff down, I know that eventually I will need to shake things up and move on to something else.

This medicine-cabinet experiment appears to have been short-lived, but other strategies have been long-term habits at various times. I have full running journals that span three years and cover many 10Ks, a few shorter races and three half-marathons. Writing a short blurb about each run became part of my training even though I never looked back at earlier entries. Maybe composing journal entries just gave my brain something to focus on while I ran.

I also know that food journals work for me. I stand on a very slippery slope when it comes to food – too much of my weaknesses too often and I’m on a toboggan straight to Junk Food City. But if I have to record everything I eat—every taste and every stolen bite—I tend to make better choices about what I choose to consume.

The calendar pages in my medicine cabinet may have more notes added to them, and more months. And they may not. Sometime in May I might decide not to continue with this approach and gently unstick the tape and relegate the pages to the recycling bin. No doubt I will try another method one day when I feel like I need another motivational push.

I don’t consider it quitting, just another way to keep going.

xo

Robin

The post The Graveyard of Fitness Accountability appeared first on Just.Be.Enough..

Change can be scary.

Change can be exciting.

At Just.Be.Enough. we have talked about changes in our own lives over the last few years, with relationships, in our bodies, in jobs, and in our thinking. But next month, in May, change is coming to Just.Be.Enough. in a new way.

As of May, Just.Be.Enough. will be moving… Instead of posting stories and voices three times per week, Just.Be.Enough. will be a weekly series and feature of LiveDoGrow, another site that is built on the same core values that sustain JBE. Embracing life, embracing ourselves, healthy striving. Much of the JBE team will continue to share their stories like they did here, just in a new place.

What does all of this mean?

JBE is not going away. But the frequency of the stories and voices will be less, allowing you to think and percolate over the messages even more. The JBE weekly will become the JBE monthly, with fresh and original newsletter-only content.

We hope that you will celebrate with us as Just.Be.Enough begins a new chapter. In the mean time, get to know LiveDoGrow.com and join the LiveDoGrow conversation on Facebook.

Of course, there is more to this story…more about finding a way to be enough through transitions. We will share the evolution in the coming weeks.

With much love and appreciation,

xo

Elena

The post Change is Coming appeared first on Just.Be.Enough..

A flooded bathroom resulting in ruined portions of ceiling.

A broken arm.

A clogged toilet.

A house that explodes at will.

The baby won’t nap and the teenagers won’t go to bed.

Exhaustion. Stress. Anxiety.

The phrase When it rains it pours has come to mind several times over the last couple of months. The days fly by and I feel as though my head is barely above water. Life becomes overwhelming and I feel ridiculously inadequate much of the time. And yet I find that I must laugh at the crazy or I will implode. I watch sitcoms before bed and invite my sister over to watch FAIL videos on YouTube with me, because they are funny and I need to laugh.

I love to make others laugh. I love to tell stories about the chaos that is my life in such a way that you must laugh with me, or at me. I don’t care which it is as long as laughter is involved.

The best part is that it helps me laugh at myself and not take everything so seriously. Because really, why would the bathroom flood when I was home? That would be mundane. No. Instead it flooded while my husband and I were at the store escaping and I received a frantic phone call from my son explaining that water was seeping through the ceiling and into the kitchen. And why would they listen to which fan I told them to use until I could return home? And of course they used every towel we own—which for nine people is a lot of towels—that then took me two days to wash, dry, fold and put away. And of course we are going to have to replace part of the ceiling.

When you really think about it all…it’s a little funny.

Laugh is one of my three words this year and I’m trying to make an effort to look at life through some rose-colored lenses. I am trying to suppress the pessimist that resides deep within me.

The bright side of the flood? Well, at least my older children were responsible enough to stop the water and sop some of it up before we returned. When we thanked them profusely, they were puffed up with pride and didn’t seem to notice the mess.

The tire in the snowstorm allowed me to spend the morning with my husband. The broken arm allowed my artistic three-year-old to legally draw all over her arm. The messy house, well, who needs a clean house all the time anyway?

And sleep? It’s totally overrated…right?

How do you unwind or look at the bright side when life is overwhelming?

xo

Stacey

The post Just Laugh appeared first on Just.Be.Enough..

And I do.

Truly.

But while there haven’t been many likely boyfriend candidates in recent history, I still recognize in myself the deliberate distance I unintentionally create. It is clearly evident in my refusal to let someone in.

Photo credit: Doe Zantamata

I am independent.

I am strong.

I’ve even been known to want to break up with someone because they want to be helpful and pump the gas for my car.

I don’t like to be vulnerable.

Vulnerability opens up the potential for hurt. For broken-heartedness. For loss.

And I’m not sure I can face that.

I have read Brené Brown’s work on vulnerability, shame and connection.

I have journaled.

But even in my private journals, I do not share my deepest vulnerabilities.

My shame is hidden there. Deep within my heart.

And I’m not ready to look at it myself, never mind willingly show it to another human being.

But, the worthwhile connection I seek with a future boyfriend/husband candidate requires it.

Demands it.

Is impossible without it.

So, I breathe deeply and dig down into the shadowy corners of my heart and soul to find a way to let someone in.

But to let them in, I must tear down the heavy stone walls that I have erected around my heart. I must let them see me as I am. In order to have the kind of connection I seek, I must be seen.

And have the courage to share my thoughts, feelings, shortcomings and dreams.

I am enough.

And allowing someone else to see the innermost me is a key component in finding the love of my life.

Therefore, those walls must come down. Perhaps they will be destroyed by an intense relationship and tumble down all at once. More likely, they’ll be dismantled one brick at a time. By me. Each time I choose to be my authentic self.

xo

Kimberly

The post Dismantling the Wall appeared first on Just.Be.Enough..

My days in the classroom feel like a different time and a different dream. I’ve started upon this new trajectory. Going back to the old one feels false and hollow, and I’m reshaping my own ideas about how my life as a working mother will look in a field that doesn’t involve lesson plans and piles of grading.

Until this year, my deadlines have been few and far between. Writing was a hobby working its way into something more. I spent days in our usual routine of play dates and museum visits, reading and building and feeding, maybe taking time here and there to read and comment on posts or dance a few steps of the social media shuffle. The majority of my own writing was done at night, under the cover of darkness and away from the eyes of my children.

This year is different. My commitments are greater, which is thrilling personally, but it brings a whole new level of prioritizing and explaining.

We are all adjusting.

I’ve attempted different writing strategies. Spurts of time when the kids fall into their own world of make-believe were races for my thoughts and my fingers, uncertain when my presence would be wanted — or required, as it sometimes is when a little brother is learning he does, indeed, have the ability to say no to his big sister. I’ve turned on the TV, stretching the limit of what makes us comfortable, knowing how little time thirty minutes can truly be when I’m struggling to edit a piece that just isn’t working. We sit together at the dining room table, me with my laptop and my kids with watercolors, never knowing if this will be a day they paint for an hour or for three and a half minutes.

Even with my best efforts to integrate new responsibilities into our routine, I struggle. My five year old’s verbal skills are a point of pride, until she uses them to explain her disappointment with the time I spend writing or how hurt she is that I can’t play with her “all of the hours that we’re awake”. In those moments, I want to close my laptop decisively and put my own dreams aside until both of my babies are in school full-time, when my dreams can be tucked into the hours they’re away from me and don’t see my efforts to fit something into my life that isn’t them.

Then I think of the way their own eyes light up as they weave a make-believe world of stuffed puppies at tea parties or how they can play pediatrician with their dolls for an hour at a time. I want them to know their dreams are sparkling, beautiful things that live in the light of day, and part of me knows, irrevocably, that one way to encourage their dreams is to chase after my own.

So for today my laptop is on the dining room table, my fingers racing over the keyboard. My sentences are interrupted by requests for a little applesauce or a glass of milk with breakfast  and questions about where the doll shot has disappeared to for the fifty-seventh time this week. I can only hope it is enough, for all of us, at least for today.

xo

Angela 

The post Keeping My Dreams in the Light appeared first on Just.Be.Enough..