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What Working Moms Really Want

May 13, 2012 By Leave a Comment
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If I could write a letter to Santa for Mother’s Day on behalf of all moms out there, I’d ask for just these ten things:

1.  An end to the “mommy wars” and universal gratitude for the moms who’ve opted for full-time parenting, because without them there would be no Teacher Appreciation Days, no booster clubs, no cookie sales, no field trips (duh, no chaperones), no one to take an aging mother to the doctor, and no rides home when a neighborhood kid misses the late bus.

2.  A boss who values quality over quantity, and who understands that someone who gets all of her work done in six hours might just be hugely efficient and smart, rather than underemployed and, therefore, overpaid.

3.  Co-workers who support a mom’s priorities, such as getting to the game before kick-off, or being assistant Girl Scout leader, rather than begrudging her the “time off”. [see the quality vs. quantity idea above]

4.  HR professionals who see an employment gap as something to be lauded and praised, rather than as a bar to career advancement.

5.  A supportive and true partner who sees socks that need picking up, and picks them up; who cooks regularly; who cleans without prompting; who changes diapers; who fetches a teenager who calls from a party after midnight; who thinks the mom in the house is the most amazing, gorgeous woman on the planet. And tells her so. Frequently.

6.  Equal pay for equal work.

7.  Sensible yet stylish shoes that can go from pre-school drop off to the office and on to evening ballet lessons without prompting bunions, callouses or plantar fasciitis. [dreaming big here]

8.  Girlfriends who support the mom-part of their friends, and who willingly allow children to call them “Aunt”.

9.  Space and time for moms to learn, grow, rest and rejuvenate. Space and time for them to receive as an antidote for all the giving they do.

10.  A communal sense of pride, meaning and purpose in the life of a mother, who manages to work/start a business/run a family/bake cupcakes at the last minute/smile/love/find the shoes/plan the summer camp schedule, and do it with grace (most of the time), flair (some of the time) and true genuine caring (always).

Yes, it’s Mother’s Day, but you can play Santa by simply checking off one or two of these items for the mom in your life – and you might want to start with the picking up the socks thing.

You can trust me on that one.

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The $6.30 Solution

May 6, 2012 By 1 Comment
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Somewhere along the line, I acquired a cheap little eyebrow pencil sharpener. Wasn’t much – a gimcrack drugstore model – and I used it every so often when needed.

OK, every so often for several years.

And after how many ever years, the thing started losing its edge. Every time I tried to draw an almost straight line across the rim of my eyelashes there would be sharp, pointy slivers of wood at the tip and I’d have to position the pencil just so to avoid cutting my eye.

Did you read that? I am telling you that day after day, I stuck a pointy stick in my eye.

It is, in fact, reasonable to ask: What was I thinking? I’ll tell you exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking the thought chanted by successive generations of my forebears:

“You paid for it, you own it, you better use it.”

Or its equivalent (which my cousins will shout with me):

“You can reuse plastic forks! Wash the Solo cups! Rinse out your Ziploc bags! I remember when six of us would share one banana!”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, I know, I know.

So use it I did, grumbling and anxious (the daily sharp stick in the eye worry). But did I ever consider tossing it in the trash and buying a new one?

Nope.

Until I came home from a recent trip and found that I’d lost Old Ophthalmologist’s Nightmare.

Did I rush out and buy a new one? No, the words of my ancestors ringing in my ears, I used my semi-sharpened, splintery pencils sequentially until there weren’t even any nubs left. Which, naturally, prompted an Eyebrow Pencil Crisis.

Which might have pushed some women – and a few guys – to rush out to the store and pick up a replacement.

Not me.

No, yours truly just went without makeup for a few days – wouldn’t any new sharpener ultimately produce splinters? – until I noticed that a new cosmetics store had opened up on the same block as the yogurt shop where my daughter is now working. Huh.

Dropped the kid off and strolled into the riot of scents and girlyness and asked, as nonchalantly as my non-made up self could muster, “Do you carry eyebrow pencil sharpeners?” The woman squinted as if she was thinking hard and said, “Yes, we have a great one from Nars, right here.”

I didn’t even look at it. Just eased over to the register and paid… $6.30.

OK, there is a punchline, but you’ll have to wait for it.

That evening, I decided to try it out. I was not optimistic, I have to tell you. What could a $6.30 pencil sharpener possibly do but poke me in the eye? Alone in my bathroom, I inserted the first pencil. And twisted.

Once. Twice. Three times.

And pulled out a perfectly sharpened eyebrow pencil. I’m talking from the factory perfect. Like it had never been used perfect.

No splinters.

I was amazed. I got a little zealous and sharpened every pencil in the makeup drawer – even ones I don’t use.

And I thought:

“What else in my life am I putting up with – that’s causing me stress – when there’s a new, simple solution out there?”

The next few days, I inventoried and remedied those vexing little things around my house that I was living with because they were “good enough” and “paid for.” I replaced a cracking and peeling toilet seat. I got new towels. I hauled out a screwdriver and fixed a kitchen cabinet. I threw out three tee-shirts that really were ratty.

How’d it feel?

Lighter. Freer. Simpler. Less stress. More gratitude.

Gratitude because I have the means and ability to address the things that were in my way.

And guess what? You, too, have the exact same means and ability.

You can change whatever you’re simply putting up with because it’s already in place.

A horrendous commute? A rattle-trap car? A bully boss? A dead-end job?

A situation that’s just not going to change?

You might think there’s nothing you can do. Any solution is going to be expensive. And hard.

And maybe poke you in the eye.

But.

$6.30.

That’s all it took for me. And you? Your solution might even be easier.

And it’ll be better than a poke in the eye.

 

 

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The Roots of Shame

April 29, 2012 By 6 Comments
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Let me throw some stats at you:

The average American woman stands five foot four and weighs 164.7 pounds. She wears a size 14. Her waist measures 37 inches.

The average American man stands five foot nine and weighs 195 pounds. He wears a size 44. His waist measures nearly 40 inches. (CDC stats)

And,

The recent economic downturn hit men harder than women. Forbes says, “The share of men in the United States with a job is at its lowest point ever.” And forty percent of working wives are the family breadwinner according to the Chicago Tribune.

Now, allow me to pull in some other interesting data for your perusal. According to research at Boston College, the accepted societal norms for women are to be:

Nice.

Thin.

Modest.

Use all available resources on her appearance.

Men are supposed to:

Be in emotional control.

Put work first.

Pursue status.

Be violent.

I learned this from a powerful and straightforward new TED talk by Dr. Brene Brown on the subject of shame, and vulnerability.

What got me thinking while viewing Dr. Brown’s new talk is the wide gap between what we expect ourselves to be and who we really are.

Women should be thin – but the reality is that most of us are not a size zero.

Men should put work first, and pursue status, but the recent recession put more men out of work than ever before. Hard to put something first when you don’t have it, huh?

Women should be modest, which I figure means quiet, self-effacing and non-confrontational. Exactly the recipe for career success, don’t you think?

And speaking of time, what working mom has the time or energy to put all available resources on her appearance? I don’t know about you but I find it’s easy to spend money on my kids’ clothes, shoes, haircuts, dermatologists, orthodontists and dentists, and if there’s any money left maybe I’ll get myself a new t-shirt on sale at Target. Maybe.

Yes, the gap between who society says we should be and who we are is often quite large.

And it’s right in the gap that shame nestles.

Shame keeps us a far distance from feeling real happiness and fulfillment. Because it’s shame that says, “There is something profoundly, critically wrong with you. You should be different than you are. ”

[There's that word again - Should.]

You all know I have no fondness for that particular word. Because The Word That Must Not Be Named usually comes from an external source, and often is in conflict with what’s truly best for us.

“You should be a doctor.” says your father, even if you have it in your heart and hands to be a glassblower.

“You should be thin if you ever want to catch a husband,” says your mother, even if she’s heavy herself. And her sisters are heavy. And her mother was heavy.[ And they're all married, btw.]

If shame has roots in the conflict between what’s expected and what’s real, then shoulds are its potting soil.

Now, here’s what I know – if you can break the Should Habit, you’ve got a shot at breaking the round-and-round shame circle.

And it’s easy. Stop shoulds by simply substituting a wonderful word – choose.

Without any shoulds in your life, you are free to choose to be that happy, outspoken size 14 bread-winning woman that you are.

Without any shoulds in your life, you are free to choose to be that fantastic at-home dad whose size 44 suits found a new home at Goodwill.

Without shoulds, you can be you. Finally. Without any shame.

That’s what I choose. How about you?

 

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Why Bother Being Perfect?

April 22, 2012 By 3 Comments
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I’m going to put it out there: The pursuit of perfectionism is the primary reason so many people are stressed. And stuck. And less successful than they’d like to be.

Yep, it’s all wrapped up in perfectionism.

And perfection is an elusive animal. Ask any pitcher.

Yesterday, April 21, 2012, Philip Humber of the Chicago White Sox pitched a perfect game. For those whose grasp of baseball is a little loose, let me explain – Humber pitched nine innings and none of the batters he faced made it to first base. Every batter had a strike out, or his fly ball was caught, or he was put out at first base.

That’s a perfect game.

Which is really rare.

How rare? Well, only 21 perfect games have been pitched since 1880.

If my math is right, that’s something like one every six years.  A perfect game is a level of perfection that most Hall of Fame pitchers never even achieve.

Baseball itself is not a game of perfect. The Sultan of Swat, Babe Ruth? Struck out 66% of the time he was at the plate. And he is revered as a big hitter.

True perfection, my friends, is elusive, and rare.

And, yet, you agonize over your presentation, that report, your website, a resume, an offer. As if what you produce has to be the equivalent of a perfect game. Every single time.

That’s a lot of pressure you’re putting on yourself. What, you expect daily perfection?  Maybe even minute-by-minute perfection?

Honey, not even Hall of Famers get to that level of perfection.

Phil Humber is not perfect. Seven years ago, Humber had reconstructive Tommy John surgery on his throwing arm. Twenty-nine years old, he’s played for four different teams, and been sent down to the minors from the big leagues a couple of times. He didn’t book his first Major League win until 2010. Probably the last guy you’d think would toss a perfect game.

But he did. And he did it despite all the odds against him.

About being added to the list of pitchers who’ve thrown a perfect game, Humble Humber said, “I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know what Philip Humber is doing in this list. No idea what my name is doing there, but I’m thankful it’s there.”

See? I’ll bet you he didn’t go out to the mound before that first inning and say, “I’m going to throw a perfect game.” I’ll bet you he didn’t say, “Today’s the day I make history.”

I’ll bet you that Phil Humber walked to the mound and said to himself, “Let this first pitch be good enough, just the way the catcher calls it.” And after he had done that, he focused on the next pitch.

And the next.

And the next.

And by the last pitch of that game against the Seattle Mariners, Phil Humber had thrown a perfect game.

He did it good enough pitch by good enough pitch by good enough pitch.

He did it loose, and easy, and focused. Totally present in that moment when he released the ball.

So, too, you. Rather than obsessing about the word choice in the fourth line of the third paragraph – obsessing for weeks, or even a month – let that good enough word go, and get the thing out there.

Rather than stressing out about your “niche”, start working with good enough clients and get an idea of who you like to serve – and serve more of them.

You can always adjust. You can always tweak. You can always revise. You can always shake off the called pitch.

But if you never deliver the throw in the first place, you’re not really in the game.

And remember the lesson from Phil Humber’s unexpected history-making perfect game: When you give yourself the space and freedom to allow for good enough, the result is a graceful kind of ease that opens up room for a result better than you might even have expected.

Good enough pitch by good enough pitch, you’ll have solid inning after solid inning to your credit.

And with that kind of steady performance, you just might find yourself in the Hall of Fame.

 

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300 Daggone Blog Posts

April 15, 2012 By 4 Comments
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This is my 300th blog post.

Three hundred.

That’s three hundred Sundays. Three hundred individual posts of about 600 words each – more than 180,000 words over the last six years.

And, upon review, probably at least ten thousand exclamation points! [What can I say, I'm enthusiastically excitable!]

That first post, on October 26, 2006, didn’t even have a title.  It just said:

“Each week, I’ll be writing here on a topic of interest. As an Executive Life Coach, I work everyday with people who question whether they’re in the right job — or the right relationship. They ask how they can have more satisfaction in their lives, how they can be clear on their values and goals, how they can find and live their passions…

I’ll be addressing these things and others — so check back in every Monday for thoughts, tips and resources to help you make the most of your life!”

[Note how I laid down an exclamation point right at the end - first of many, obviously.]

The next blog post, Context is Everything, makes me wince, and squinch up my eyes like I do when I hear nails on chalkboard. Perhaps I’m like those actors who can’t bear to watch themselves on film – frankly, I prefer to write, get it out there and not look back. Re-reading this one, I sense my first-time uncertainty, anxiety, worry, what-the-hell-am-I-doing fear. Poor little old nervous 2006 me.

But you have to start somewhere, and that was my start.

People often ask me how I can write 600 words every week for so many years. Where do the ideas come from? What’s my process?

I usually make up an elaborate story about struggle, sacrifice, and angst (and pirates or Vikings) that seems to satisfy them, they go away and I feel extremely relieved.

Because the truth is, I have a weird process – if you can even call it that.

Here’s what I do: I start looking for a topic in the beginning of the week. I keep my ears open and hear what my clients and friends are talking about. Throughout the week, I turn ideas over and play with phrases and concepts.

And then on Saturday, or even Sunday, I sit down to write. Doesn’t take too long.

Because it’s pretty much fully written in my head.

When I look at that very first post – where I promised to write on topics of interest to you – kind of astounding in retrospect that I’ve hewed pretty close to those subjects for nearly six years.

And I appreciate each of you who read what I write. I appreciate your kind notes to me after you’ve read something I’ve posted. I appreciate the thoughtful comments you leave at michelewoodward.com.

I love when you suggest topics.

I really love that.

But most of all, I so very deeply appreciate that every week you invite me into your lives. You allow me to share my thoughts, my learning and my experience. You give me a place to be fully myself, and I write each week in the hope that you can have a place to be fully yourselves, too.

Yes, writing this blog has taken focus, and diligence, and – sometimes – courage.

But it’s been fun. And I’ve liked it. And you seem to like it.

So I’ll make this deal with you: If you’ll keep having me, I’ll keep going.

Who knows where the next 300 Sundays will take us, but it’ll be so great to get there together.

Exclamation point.

 

 

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