Friday, June 28, 2013


I created something in my mind over a year ago and today I made the prototype.  I am beyond excited!

After making the prototype I told my mom the story of how I came up with the product and when.  She asked "Why did it take until now to make it?".  

I told her what I think all of us think before we try something new.  

There were too many unknowns.  

There were thoughts of failure which overshadowed the ideas of success. 

Plus, there is always so much to be done around the house and with the boys, how could I possibly add starting a new business venture to the mix?

No matter how small or big it could turn out, the process felt too overwhelming.

So why did I create it now?  The thought of never trying and always wondering if it could have been a success became worse than the thought of failure.  Also, I have never been more confident than at this point in my life.  

The Playing Big program has given me so many tools and insights into how to handle fear, my inner critic and taking leaps of faith.  

After recently attending 2 sessions of Femworking (a networking group for local bloggers and entrepreneurs) my love of self made successes has totally been reignited.  

As always in my life, each stepping stone has laid its way on the path in the time frame it should have.  

I cant wait to talk to the patent attorney and find out when I can share this little gem with you!  Eeeee!!!  

Shark Tank, here I come!  Be prepared!  

Tuesday, June 18, 2013


Why all the "s" talk people?

Oddly enough this isn't about gossip regarding everyone whose living their lives in ways in which we disapprove.  Ha! 

This is regarding how much "s" we talk about ourselves.

My most recent annoyance is with the unnecessary hate talk on both our physical appearances and our mental capacities. 
"I'm unloveable."  "I will never be successful."  "I'm fat and ugly."  
What's the mentality when we talk negatively about ourselves?  
If I judge myself first, that will take away some of the charge if others are to judge me.  If I make fun of myself, it might keep others from doing it.  If I put myself down, it will get some laughs and people will like me more.
Lets say I point out a gap in between my teeth before others *might* notice it.  Does that help me out by letting them know that I am aware of it and that I don't like it? I am preemptively confirming that my "flaw" wasn't by choice and that I know this flaw may not be considered attractive.  
Another example is I used to have a best friend that was gorgeous.  And by gorgeous I mean men would regularly trip up or literally walk into walls and doors while looking at her.  She wasnt oblivious to her beauty but within a couple hours of her meeting any new girl she would start talking about her "fivehead" (in case you've never heard that term, it is a forehead that is bigger than a fourhead so it is called a fivehead).  Some people thought she was fishing for compliments or wanted the less attractive girls to think she wasnt perfect.  But I knew her well enough to know she was genuinely self conscious about it.  The thing is, I (and probably the majority of people she told) might not have ever thought her forehead was big had she not brought it up.  

The self hate talk isnt just about looks.  One of the most frequent things I would say without really thinking about it (ironic) was "I'm so stupid."  Within the past couple months, through Tara Mohr's Playing Big program, I have recognized that this statement is the most powerful inner critic dialogue that repeats .  If I were to get lost or forget something I would reactively say, "I'm so stupid."  That's dumb and I shouldnt have done it ;)

My new process when Im about to say something self deprecating, if I can catch it, is, "Would I be hurt if I heard someone else say that about me?"  Also, "What are the chances I am so involved in this moment and my insecurities that whatever I am thinking or feeling is being unnecessarily magnified?"  

Some of the major take aways I've got from recent readings is to:  understand that words have power, accept ourselves for who we are (or take steps to make any possible changes), forgive ourselves, and recognize when our inner critic is running rampant.  
Listen party people, be nice to yourselves.  You really are all you got.  Friends and family come and go but you are stuck with yourself til death, or dementia.  Try not to say anything about yourself that if you heard someone else say it about you, you would punch them.

Friday, June 14, 2013


My son, my first born, my love

The glint in your eye 
The wrinkle in your nose

Skin as soft as your heart
Hands as warm as your smile

Your maternal mannerisms around infants

How focused you are when playing chase

The way you cry when you are terrified of my response

The punch lines of the jokes you tell

The conversations you regularly have with my mom until the phone battery dies 

The way call me "Marciaaaa" when my parents are around

You tell me you want to spend every moment with me and are sincerely confused when I tell you that you are the only one to ever say or think that.

You will always be the one that changed my life for the better. 

You made me know in my heart what family and unconditional love means.  

Wednesday, June 12, 2013


Recap of recent cuteness that has happened with the boys:

A couple weeks ago the boys and I pulled into our parking spot.  We see the neighbor girls (2.5 yo and 8 months) in their lawn.  My 4 yo says matter of factly, "I'm gonna go over there and pick that baby up and carry her around."  Me, "No you aren't".

The boys are sitting down for dinner.  The 4 yo randomly asks the 2 yo, "James funny?"  The 2 yo confirms, "James funny."  The 4 yo jumps up and says, "This is how James walks." and proceeds to walk like a robot that had been horse back riding for 8 hours.  They both laugh hysterically.  James is just 14 months, btw.  And he walks way better than mine did at 14 months.  Hooligans.  

Last Tuesday we were sitting at the doctor's office waiting to be called back to be tested for Strep throat.  The 2 yo points at the painting on the wall and says something I don't understand (he's still new to the sentences).  I ask him to repeat.  He pointed to the painting, "Get in there?"  He wanted to climb into the house on the painting!  I said, "Oh no honey, we can't climb into paintings."  Him, "Why?"  Exactly baby, why?

Friday the 2 yo and I went to Barnes and Noble to play at the train table for a bit.  After a few minutes one of the moms and her 2 kids start to pack up.  Her baby in the stroller started to cry.  My boy stopped playing and walked over to get a better glance (don't worry, he brought his train with him).  He looked at me, "Baby crying."  Me "Yea honey, baby probably upset to leave train."  2 yo nodding his head, "Pet him?"  Me, "No honey, we don't pet babies."

This morning I caught the 2 yo on his brother's bed standing very close to a hot air balloon painting.  He was peering intently and leaned in.  I startled him when I said "No touch".  He turned to me and asked again "Mommy, get in there?".  I don't think he will stop looking for the passage way until I can give him a good enough reason why we can't get in there.

Oh to be in a child's mind!

Tuesday, June 11, 2013


Written 5/23/2013

In my post about the most embarrassing experience of my adult life I told you of my misuse of the word stigmata.  In my very lame attempt to start this post light, I am using that title as a joke.

This post is actually about the stigma of mental health and drugs, as they relate to yours truly.  Opinionated and/or judgmental friends and family may not want to read.  Because once you see something, you can't unsee it, right?  You've been forewarned.  If you want to read something funny and light, I recommend reading the most embarrassing experience post. 

My girl and I hadn't seen each other in years.  In true fashion of us both being oversharers and great listeners, we talked about everything.

During our 3 hour visit she confided in me that she is on medication for depression.  We dove head first into the topic.

I told her about my self diagnosed SAD and how in previous years I was able to get through it because each night I would have a mini wasted face party.  The next day I would go through the motions until I could self medicate again with booze.  But since I was sober this past winter I decided it is in everyone's best interest if I go on medication for the upcoming winters.

She told me I should start to try out drugs because of potential side effects.  I told her that creeped me out.  I just wanted to be on something for those really bad months that I've pinpointed and that's it.  She said "It's not that easy.  I had to try out a few before finding what worked for me.".

She then told me how open she was with her doctor.  I was flabbergasted.  "You did NOT say that to him!?"  She responded, "Marsh, how are they truly going to help you if you aren't completely honest with them?". 

That conversation was about 6 weeks ago. 

Recently I went in for my annual and spilled the beans.  All of them.

I told my Ob/Gyn that I quit drinking a year ago and since then I became aware of the frequency and severity of my moods.  Since September I've tracked my periods and rage days, which typically happen 12 days before the start unless my period is a few days off.  

She asked me to describe my rage.

I told her that the physical sensation is that my body tenses up and I start to sweat and can feel my heart race.  I scream as loud as I can. 

The mental response is I am willing to sever relationships with anyone in that given moment.  That I haven't punched anyone or anything yet but the thought has been there.  I have absolutely no apathy and couldn't care less about what is happening to anyone besides me. 

She asked how often I drank and I told her it was 3-5 drinks a night averaging 6 days a week.  Her eyes widened but she kept cool and typed it into my permanent record.  She asked if I ever drank in the morning, to which I truthfully replied no.  I explained to her that drinking was my celebration for getting through the day.  I also explained to her that I had been drinking like that from age 19, not just since having the kids.  She asked if I considered myself an alcoholic and I said I do because of my 2 attempts to drink again in moderation after I quit.  She asked if I went to meetings or rehab and I told her no because of my husband's sporadic work schedule.  She said that must have been very difficult and I told her, with a shaky voice and tear filled eyes, it was extremely hard for the first 5 months.  She thanked me for being so open with her.

My doctor asked me if there were ever days I stayed in bed all day.  I laughed and said "No." then followed it up with, "Well, there are days I leave the bed but not the house.  I lay on the couch all day and let the boys watch movies or play inside."  She said, "So you only get out of bed because you have to for the boys?"  Me, "Yes.".

My truth telling resulted in my Ob/Gyn diagnosing me with PMDD, Pre Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder.

The doctor prescribed Prozac.  She put me on half the daily dosage amount that people with depression are prescribed.  I asked if it was habit forming and she said not at this dosage.  She also said that some women choose to only take it for half of the month.  That it has the same effect as being on it all of the time.  That is the option I chose.

I've mentioned before that I am anti prescription drugs for myself.  That I attempt to control my self diagnosed depression with awareness, changes in diet, Vitamin B, amount of sleep, increasing physical activity, avoiding negative people or situations, etc.  I can't do it anymore.  I'm over it. 

The remainder of the day after the appointment while my mind raced I cried good and bad tears.  I felt so validated by having a medical professional diagnose me with something I've known has been debilitating me since the 7th grade.  But it was/is so difficult to come to grips with accepting it.  With actually giving in to the fact that it is out of my hands.  It is something I can't control no matter the preparation and attention I give it.  But then the relief comes in again about finally getting a break.  Not having to try so hard to be "normal".  Then there were paranoid thoughts about my doctor just writing a script because of big brother Pharma.  That it's easier to put me on drugs than have a discussion.  But, she and I did discuss all the attempts I've made at thwarting my downs. 

When my husband got home from work I told him how upset I was about the prescription.  About how I don't want to be viewed as a crazy person.  That once I take that first pill, I am forever checking that box that I have taken anti-depressants.  My husband said that he had no idea it was bad enough where I would even talk to a doctor about it.  He was surprised I am actually somewhat receptive to taking the medication.  He said, "I'm surprised because I'm so modern medicine but you aren't.". 

His statement transported me back to the convo with my girlfriend from 6 weeks ago.  We talked about how absolutely ridiculous it was to put into our body the amount of substances we did to try and feel "ok" all the while shunning prescription medications that are designed specifically for helping with mental illness.  We wondered why we both did it.  And why for so long.  

We talked about our moods and downness.  About how difficult it is to not be able to just "power" through it, especially since her and I are fighters and can typically do anything we put our minds to.  We were professional women with loving families and friends.  We had our health, our looks, our humor, everything.  How do you explain to someone who doesn't know what it's like without feeling like a wuss?  Her and I connected that night.  We recognized how hard it is living with the fact that we know there is something wrong inside of us and the only thing we can do is ride the wave.  That we can attempt the natural remedies but that mostly just adds to the exhaustion, feelings of worthlessness, and unbelievable hope. 

We realized the reason we were turning to substance abuse was because it was more socially acceptable.  It's ok to go to happy hour and throw a few back or crack open the bottle of wine once the husband gets home or kids are in bed.

We didn't get help because of our fear of the stigma of being labeled as "another crazy girl on her crazy pills" with the motto of "let's just pop a pill and avoid reality.".  There are drugs for blood pressure, diabetes, erections, asthma, migraines, nausea, pregnancy prevention, etc. but taking anti-depressants makes you weak and looking for a cop out.  

That's what people think, right? 

Well, think what you will.  I took my first pill this morning and under my husband's strict supervision and open communication with my doctor hope to find this as a much needed aid in helping my mental health.

I would like to send a special shout out to my girlfriend who opened my eyes to the possibility of receiving the diagnosis.  Had we not had that conversation I wouldn't have been as open with my doctor.  I would have kept thinking it was depression and kept attempting to "heal" myself.  Although PMDD can be a result of untreated depression, at least I got a dialogue started with the white coats and we can go from here. 

As with all of my posts that seem "incriminating" or like they could potentially cause a negative response to my family, I have asked for my husband's approval to post this.

For every one of you that is sitting there shaking your head wondering why I would put this out there, please know that it was very difficult for me.  This is not an attempt to get attention or help, I already got that from my doctor and husband.  I am putting it out there because I'm pretty confidant there is at least one person out there reading this and thinking, "Wow, I'm not alone.". 

Saturday, June 8, 2013


While my boss and I were in his office watching the news coverage of the planes hit the towers, the plane that hit the Pentagon flew directly over our building.  Totally absorbed as we watched the news we both noticed the shadow of the plane but didnt realize what it was until we heard an explosion.

As with so many, that day messed me up for quite a while.  Psychologically, emotionally and physically.

The weeks following the attacks my agency kept increasing security.  The guards at the front were beefed up, we had mylar windows and electric fences installed, military personnel were instructed not to wear uniforms in public, we were told to make sure if our stickers were removed from our windshields to contact security immediately, etc.

With the addition of each new security feature I would have a physical response.  Usually within an hour or so of whatever our latest upgrade was I would have sharp pains that took my breath away.  On a few occasions my chest hurt so bad I was doubled over in pain.  I didnt seek medical treatment because in the grand scheme of things, a couple self diagnosed panic attacks seemed pretty unimportant.

The constant dread and fear at work made my time outside of the office filled with attempts to live life to the fullest.  How does a 22 year old seize the day?  Of course by partying my face off.  Between bars, friends houses, and late night belligerent declarations of love, I would also make constant attempts to sway my boyfriend to marry me.

I understood that 2 years wasnt long, but who knew how much longer we had.  We knew we were ultimately going to do it, so why should we wait?   There was so much uncertainty with everything but we knew our love was real, so why not commit ourselves to each other til the end of time?  

Instead of running, he told me before marriage we first needed to build a firm foundation.  That what we were doing; the time we were spending together, the experiences we were having, the growth we were making were all bricks in our foundation.  If we neglected to place the bricks precisely next to each other and started to hurry the process, there would be cracks in our foundation and we wouldn't be able to withstand the elements.  

Back then his analogy was lost on me.  I thought it was stupid and that he was being lazy and buying time.  It was too vague for me.  What constitutes a brick worthy event?  How do I know if it was placed in the right spot?  How many bricks did we need?  Where could I buy them in bulk?  Why does he get to decide the dimensions of our home?  When will the last brick be placed in it's perfect place?

Last night, after telling me that a couple is getting divorced after 20 years of marriage, my dad brought up the same analogy about having a strong foundation.  We discussed how if a marriage starts out on an unstable foundation it doesn't matter how much time or effort is put into it, it can become too overwhelming and exhausting to continue.  

We talked about the big misconception of how marriage will one day be easy.  "The first few years are difficult, but by the time we reach 10 years I will know it means forever."   "We are finally at that point where we no longer have to try."  "After 40 years I can say or do whatever and there's no chance they will leave me."

In the 7 years leading up to our wedding, we built that foundation meticulously.  But in our 6 years of marriage we do realize that no matter how sturdy the foundation is, the upkeep of a home needs constant attention.  
 Like our annual tax return spruce up with our home, we have to do that with our marriage.   We have to put time, effort and heart into it.

I know there will always be scattered storms but I am so thankful that the guy I'm laying brick with is someone I can do labor with for the long run.

Monday, June 3, 2013


You have a voice, have you found it?
If so, will you share it?
If no, will you search for it?  

Can you quiet your mind and listen for the faint whisper?

Hear your souls truths to follow your hearts path.

Speak your voice.  
Let it be heard.  
Let it be felt.  

If not now, when?  If not now, why?