Decentering Whiteness

As a white parent in Upper NW DC, my feed has been filled with discussions about how to be an anti-racist parent. But, how do we know what we don’t know? How can we recognize our biases? What does accountability look like to know we’re getting it right or that we need to do better?

My intent in writing this series of posts is to start a conversation, not write a definitive treatise on anti-racist parenting. As a white, heterosexual, cisgender parent and educator, I need to listen and learn, too.

Parents and educators can and should talk to young children about race, as Katrina Michie recommends. But, before talking to children, you might want to think about how that statement centers whiteness. What do I mean about that? Think about how and why whiteness is viewed as the default and the norm.

For example, a publication only mentions a person’s race if that person isn’t white. Or, a show has a token or short-contract character of color, or your workplace has very few black individuals in leadership roles. Think about which parents teach their children about colorism and racism to survive and which parents teach their children about colorism and racism to be a (seemingly) better person. Then think about the why behind these realities and how they relate to systems of power and oppression.

How are and how can you model anti-racist behavior? There are so many examples, but one from Rachel Garlinghouse is: Do you have true friendships with others who don’t share your race, religion, age, or ability? Margaret A. Hagerman asks parents to think about who they invite over, what media and books they consume, how they handle race questions, who/what they roll their eyes at, and when they lock their doors.

I think about how whiteness is centered in what books and entertainment are labeled as “multicultural” or “diverse.” A children’s book by a black author with a black child as the main character should not be regarded as a “diverse” book. A box of crayons to represent a range of skin tones shouldn’t be labeled “multicultural.” Books or lessons that talk about how we’re all the same on the inside ignore how racial differentiation was created to serve social and economic purposes. How can parents unpack what our children read and play with in age-appropriate ways?

At predominantly-white schools, is whiteness centered in a way that “others” black families? I hear from fellow white parents that their children’s school does diversity well. But, how do we know? How does the school know? Is diversity code for diversity for white people? Check out my next post if you’d like to explore this topic more.

Join me if you’d like to share and learn about resources and approaches. Comments and criticism welcome.

Most importantly, I hope you and your loved ones are safe and well. And, a special thank you to my former students and colleagues who helped me become a better educator, person, and parent. I wouldn’t be where I am on my journey without you. xoxo

Isn’t It Tough To Be A Single Mom?

I see you with your head tilting to the side and your eyes expressing pity. I hear you with your well-intentioned “I’m so sorry” comments…your “I can’t imagine how tough this is for you” rhetoric…your “Don’t you want to get married so she can have a Dad?” questions. If I know you well enough, I’ll reply honestly and thoroughly. If I don’t, I keep it brief and extricate myself from the conversation. Not because I’m uncomfortable, but because I’m unsure if you are comfortable.

Some people value a certain type of family structure more than others. Some (or many?) people place more validity and carry positive associations with a two-parent household over a one-parent household. I find myself wondering why.

In 2015, I remember a lunch when I was out with several girlfriends and one person I didn’t know that well. We spent the first hour talking about how little their husbands did around the house and with their young children. When the person I didn’t know that well learned about my situation, she was incredulous at my relationship choices. I replied:

I just spent the last hour listening to you all vent about your husbands and giving advice for how to make things a little better. I don’t judge you for staying in your relationships. You all were partners before you were parents. So, don’t judge me for leaving someone who wasn’t in a position to parent. I wasn’t married so I didn’t feel obligated to stay with someone who couldn’t handle the responsibilities.

Five years later, I don’t regret my decision at all. I feel confident in how I parent and am thankful for my support system. I don’t see my home responsibilities as different or more difficult because I’m the only one. (As an only child, I think it’s actually easier since what I want and how I want things done are the way things are done.) Roya knows who is in charge and sees herself as having a large family of loved ones with me at the center. She knows that we are whole and complete as we are because that is how I’ve messaged my choices and our family.

I’ve found myself having to explain my thoughts a few times during this pandemic. There are lots of reasons why self-isolating with your family unit can be difficult. It shouldn’t be assumed that being a #100PercentParent makes it tougher, though. For some, it definitely is! But, for others like me, it isn’t.

So, here’s my friendly unsolicited advice… If you want to know how a single parent is doing or if and what they might need, ask them! Their answers might not be what you expect. Also think about why you view a certain family structure as better than another. Respect that your values work for you, but think about whether you are truly accepting of family units that don’t resemble your own. (You might even want to take Harvard University’s Implicit Bias test to explore your own unconscious biases even more.)

With respect to the larger societal issues, I think about what impacts families in different ways such as the gender pay gap, NCTE’s findings regarding the wage discrimination that many transgender and gender non-conforming individuals experience, and how factors such as race and ethnicity further exacerbate disparities. I also question why certain professions are valued financially more than others and who has access to healthcare, childcare, and family medical leave. And, I continue to unpack how the US criminal justice system and discriminatory policing and sentencing policies have impacted families and communities.

If you ask me what I need or ask Roya what she wants, none of our responses would have to do with changing our family unit. We are thankfully safe and well, and hope that you and your loved ones are, too. xoxo

10 Things I’ve Learned Over The Past 10 Years

10 years ago this week, I sat down at my laptop and clicked on WordPress.com. I didn’t think much about my handle and template, as I set up a blog. Within an hour, I wrote my first post about getting asked out by a younger man and pressed publish.

The act of blogging was simple. My emotions at that time in my life were anything but. At 35, I had ended my on-again, off-again relationship with Lawyer Boy a month prior. My head knew that was the right decision, but my heart had yet to get the memo. Combine that feeling with the effects from post-concussion syndrome and my disdain for Christmas since my mom died, and blogging provided an entertaining diversion.

Back in 2008, I couldn’t have imagined how much my blog would change my life. Here are 10 things I’ve learned over the past 10 years:

For years, my friends had told me to write down my dating stories. In 2000, I had started a book about my earliest relationships, but didn’t continue with it. I joined Yelp in 2007 at a time when there was small, but tight-knit, Yelp community in DC. Several of the DC Yelpers had blogs, and some of my Yelp reviews referenced my dating adventures. I began to think that blogging about my relationships would be a good fit for me, too. I shared my site link with friends, but reached a broader audience when I signed up for Twitter in 2009. I think of the many people I now regard as friends who I met through Yelp, my blog, and Twitter over the past decade. I’m grateful for being a part of that time in digital culture since it led me to so many wonderful relationships.
In 2008, I enjoyed being public about seemingly every aspect of my life. That worked for me in my 30s. My private life was anything but. Now, I read my old dating and sex advice posts and blush at just how much I put out there. At 45, I’m in a very different place in my life. Aside from the occasional schmoopie Tweet, I am protective of my relationship. Like so many of us in 2018, I curate what I post, which sites I post on, and why I post online.
I bared my heart and soul on this site – with all of my flaws and mistakes. The guys who I hurt rarely stayed around, and I kept going back to the guys who treated me poorly. My dating life was a train wreck, which made for good reading. Schadenfreude – or others’ pleasure at my misfortune – led me to develop a thick skin. Through the blog, I grew to accept criticism and figure out what issues were mine to own and what weren’t.
Digital media is inherently social. There’s the expectation of engagement and two-way conversation. When we post online or send a text or email, we typically anticipate a prompt response. I didn’t think about that 10 years ago, when I started blogging. As my site’s popularity grew, I expected – and at times, craved – likes, views and comments. Was an experience legitimate, if I didn’t blog about it? As an early adopter to social media, I was very attached to my laptop and cell phone. I question how my relationships were impacted by how focused I was on building my site and my brand. I wouldn’t say that blogging impeded me from living my life, but there was a time when it altered how I lived my life. Again, this was right for me then. It’s just not where I’m at now.
Actions speak so much louder than words. Over the years, I’ve given a lot of good relationship advice. I just rarely took my own advice. I ran in the opposite direction of those guys who treated me well, preferring the intrigue and challenge of some smooth talkers. Since cancer, I have zero tolerance for games or drama, and I want to model healthy relationship choices for my daughter. It took me until my 40s, but I’ve finally learned.
Back in 2010, I commented while on a date that the daughter I planned to adopt would be the love of my life. I had an idea as to how I would approach motherhood. I just didn’t realize that I would carry and give birth to my daughter, rather than adopting an older child. (And, yes, Roya is living proof of miracles.)
After my diagnosis, I wrote a lot about preventative breast health. I don’t want to discredit the importance of early detection and monitoring. But, I’ve been reading a lot more about metastatic breast cancer (MBC) and urge you to do the same. Nearly 30% of early-stage breast cancers return as stage IV cancer — through no fault or control of the patients. There is no cure for MBC, and the median survival is three years. Despite all the advancements in breast cancer treatment and research, mortality rates have hovered around 40,000 people per year since 2000(!) with less than 7% of research dollars going to metastatic breast cancer. This needs to change!
My blog’s success dramatically altered my professional path. As my site’s reach grew, I began to receive more and more relationship questions from readers. I decided to join the American Association of Sexuality Educators, Counselors and Therapists as a supporting member, attending sexual health workshops and trainings through the association. My involvement with AASECT led to several freelance writing clients, and I contemplated fully moving from my career as an immigration attorney to work as a sexuality educator. Then, I got diagnosed with breast cancer, and my life took another turn. Toward the end of treatment, American University students who had been reading my blog reached out to me to speak at the Social Learning Summit, the first student-run social media conference in the US. That panel led to me guest lecturing at AU on modern feminism and activism. After my talk, I sent out a Tweet with an idea to teach a class on Sexuality and Social Media at American. Within a month, I was on the books as an adjunct instructor in American Studies, and I became a full-time instructor in 2014. I never imagined when I began this blog that it would lead me to my calling and connect me with so many inspiring faculty members and students.
My 30s were a roller coaster. I had always envisioned my mid-40s to be a time of stability and maintenance. I was so very wrong. I never imagined that 45 would find me this exhausted and working this hard to get a seat at the table professionally. (Yes, there’s an article on The Fortysomething Hustle on my to-write list!)
My blog changed as my life changed. In four years, my posts transitioned from sex advice to my experiences during chemotherapy to parenting difficulties. Through all the ups and downs, I kept writing my truth at that time. I came to this site out of heartbreak and loneliness, and now, I ironically don’t have time to write because I’m so busy. I keep this site up because it is my past, my own digital archives. I see not only how far I’ve come, but also how blogging led me to a life I never imagined. For that, I have no regrets and much gratitude.

Photo Credit: Drea Goode Studios

To those who followed along and supported me online and offline, thank you from the bottom of my heart. xoxo

Time To Soar, Dearest A

It was October 2014.

Roya was up two-three times a night every night. I was in my first semester as a full-time faculty member and teaching three classes. The nanny that I had hired for the year decided to leave the DC area. I managed to piece together a schedule with four babysitters – all of whom were full-time college students.

It was clear that I needed more consistent childcare. I took a chance and reached out to Nanny A, a friend of a friend, to see if she had some hours to spare. She thankfully did, and she began to watch Roya a week later. What started as occasional grading help grew into more hours and days with each passing season.

It was October 2014.

I parted ways with Roya’s biological father without any tears or drama. I had wanted to be a 100% parent of a little girl, and thanks to God and him, I was.

A little over three years later, I’m reflective as to what an eventful month that October was. Back then, I didn’t know then what I know now…that asking Nanny A to join our family would be far more impactful than asking The Man to leave our family.

The love Nanny A has shown both Roya and me is unparalleled. The willingness to be there for us in our highest of highs and our lowest of lows has been unyielding. Nanny A is so much more than a nanny. She is my friend, she is the closest thing to a co-parent that I’ve ever had, and she is our family. She didn’t have to assume all of these roles, but she did. And, for that, I’m truly grateful.

Earlier this year, Nanny A and I talked about her professional plans. She is a successful writer and event planner, and at some point in the future, she wanted to focus on those endeavors exclusively. I knew that she needed to spread her wings, and her responsibilities with us would make that difficult to do. Her end date was on the horizon, but thankfully, she extended her time with us through the summer and fall. In October 2017 (three years to the week after she started with us), I again asked her about her plans. Nanny A would be moving on at the end of the year. It was official.

I cried on and off for 48 hours. Correction, I sobbed. (Picture that messy crying where you can’t form a coherent sentence and your eyes are puffy when you wake up the next day.)

Nanny A’s last date is getting closer, and moving the calendar to December has brought me to tears yet again. There is so much that I will miss about her, but to highlight just a few things:

- How I can text her at any hour of the day for advice, a laugh or just to say hi

- How Roya can literally hug her for hours

- All the special things that she and Roya share together from their favorite restaurants to taking the bus to reading certain stories

- How she turns into Mama Bear when anyone tries to mess with Roya
- Our dance parties in the hall
- How many times we have laughed until we had tears in our eyes

I haven’t wanted to finish this post for a week because that makes this truly real. After next week, Nanny A will no longer be in our home on a regular basis. Last night, as R went to hug us both she said, “Family hug.” She knows now, and I will make sure she always knows that Nanny A is a part of our family.

There are no words to do justice to what Nanny A has meant to us nor what she will accomplish. But, the words of the scholar Rumi come to mind:

You were born with potential. You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dream. You were born with greatness. You were born with wings. You were not meant for crawling, so don’t. You have wings. Learn to use them and fly.

I anxiously await all the tales of how you will soar, Dearest A. And, until you return to visit, know you are loved and missed every day in big and small ways.

My Best Furry Friend

It was Fall 2008 when I first saw her. My life was so different then. This was before the blog, when I was finishing my graduate thesis and planning to return to legal services. I had been thinking about moving to a pet-friendly apartment and getting a dog, and I kept coming back to this photo on HART’s website of an eight-year-old Bichon Frise, Snowflake.

A couple of months later, I had a contract on a pet-friendly place, and reached out to HART. I was told that there was a lot of interest in Snowflake. (She was a hypoallergenic dog and a desired breed, after all.) HART suggested that I check their website again, when I was closer to my move date. I put Snowflake and the dog search out of my mind for a bit. Friends had told me that dogs choose us so I trusted when the time was right, I would find the perfect pooch for me.

Two months later, Snowflake was still listed as available for adoption so I arranged to meet her. When I first saw her, she didn’t want to leave the crate. She was 30 pounds (huge for a Bichon!) and very shy. Most of the dogs at the event were licking people and wagging their tails. Some barked from excitement, and others barked from nervousness. Snowflake didn’t do anything. HART admitted that several families had been interested in Snowflake, but were concerned that she was so atypical for her breed. A friend came to the adoption event with me and was surprised that I still was drawn to Snowflake.

“I think she’s the right dog for me,” I kept saying.

Sensing my excitement, HART’s tireless volunteers worked with me so that I could adopt Snowflake. Several volunteers even commented that maybe there was a reason that she hadn’t been adopted in nine(!) months. She was meant to be part of my family.

When I picked her up on March 28, 2009, I learned that the dog’s foster had called her, “Flake,” not Snowflake. She responded to “Flake,” so that name stuck.

From what HART’s veterinarian and my vet at Adams Mill Veterinary Hospital had pieced together, Flake had been the breeding dog at an abusive puppy mill. When she was found on the side of a rural Virginia road, she had fleas, matted hair, signs of overbreeding, and an eye infection. My vet thought she was more like five or six years old, rather than eight, so we set her birthday as March 28, 2003.

I understood how a dog was man’s best friend in an abstract sense, but it took having my own dog to fully grasp it. In our first months together, the vet tasked me with having Flake lose 10 pounds in four months. I had her on a strict eating and walking regime, and like a four-pawed Rocky, she rose to the challenge.

Toward the end of 2009, I began attending Fashion for Paws (F4P) events to benefit the Washington Humane Society. Through F4P, I made a lot of friends and helped raise money for a wonderful cause. I also loved seeing the dog who no one wanted to adopt strutting her stuff on the runway. Several charity fashion shows and photo shoots followed. Through it all, Flake served as a witness as to how many animals just need love and a fur-ever home to thrive!

Photo by Vithaya Phongsavan

Flake also was my relationship barometer and seemed to know before I did, when a guy wasn’t the right match. Sometimes it took me a bit longer than it should have to realize why Flake would stop sitting on a couch or sleeping in a bed with someone, but she was always the wiser one. And, I never lasted long dating someone who did not understand the role that Flake played in my life. Love me, love my dog.

Flake was a dog with a cat’s personality or the “un-dog,” as one friend described. With the exception of when she saw her doggie boyfriend, Leader, and when we would run down the hall before a walk, she never barked. She would hold so still when she was in my arms that people regularly questioned whether or not she was real.

As 2009 turned to 2010, Flake began to sleep next to me in the bed, always on my upper right side. Based on research about how dogs can smell a chemical in tumors, it’s likely that she knew something was off with my health before I did. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, Flake sensed my stress and sadness and stayed close to me at all times.

In August 2010, shortly before I headed into my first surgery, one of my best friends suggested that I picture my dog for peace and motivation. As I was going under, my subconscious didn’t just visualize Flake. I also pictured a little girl. Fast forward to 2013 and our family grew by one.

It shouldn’t be any surprise to those who saw the two of us together that Flake handled my pregnancy and Roya’s arrival exceptionally well. From day one, Flake knew that Roya was a part of our pack, and she would protect her when she was asleep or sick. Toddler Roya called Flake her little sister and loved her so much. Flake was never the type of dog to go fetch or play with children. But, with Roya, she would gladly pick up any crumbs that were dropped on the floor. There were also those treasured moments when Roya would walk Flake or chase her down the hall.

The past six months have been rough for Flake. She lost a lot of her hearing, developed two cataracts, and started having a lot of accidents and throwing up in the home. She couldn’t get up and down like she used to, was constantly thirsty, and lost 15% of her body weight. The last two weeks were another noticeable decline, as she often alternated between sleeping on the couch or being disoriented on the floor. Flake still got enjoyment from eating and short walks, but that was it. Given the progression of symptoms and rapid decline, the vet believed that Flake had a pituitary tumor.

Today, I made the extremely difficult decision to put Flake down. As she was being put to sleep, the vet said that I had given Flake a great life. I know it was the other way around. Flake was there for me through cancer, concussions, bad relationships, pregnancy and motherhood. Through it all, she was my best friend, my steadfast companion, and as the vet called her, “my nursemaid.”

I walked out of the office, knowing that a piece of my heart was left on that table. I will have another dog again – someday — but only one Flake.

Photo by Samantha Strauss

While I was driving home from the vet, I heard on the radio that today is “National Love Your Pet Day.” I tried. Every day.

Stopping And Recognizing

“And yet we know that You have already come, to a forgotten corner of the world, to a people on the verge of losing hope, to a woman no one thought could bear a child, and the world has never been the same.”

At church this morning, I read this portion of the Prayer of Confession with the rest of the congregation. I looked down at Roya drawing in the pew, when I realized something:

On a far more individualized scale, I was the woman no one thought could bear a child. And, since Roya arrived in 2013, my world has never been the same. My life as a 100% parent is vastly different from when I only answered to myself and set up whatever schedule I wanted.

I don’t doubt that any of this is God’s plan. But, I wouldn’t describe the past three-and-a-half years as easy. Rather, they’ve been a blend of eventful and mundane, incomprehensibly joyful and incomprehensibly exhausting. (Come to think of it, that might be how I would define parenting!)

Parenting also has been an exercise in patience for me. (For those of you who didn’t know me pre-Roya, patience wasn’t my strongest virtue.) And, I’m also learning to accept how little I have control over, while still managing to successfully juggle several balls in the air at once.

At church today, Reverend Laura’s sermon focused on stopping and recognizing God when He is with us. Well, thanks to Roya, I was fully present today!

Prior to the start of Sunday School, Reverend Laura brings all the children – and the parents of the younger kids — up to the front of the Sanctuary. Roya was sitting in my lap, but then moved to sit next to one of the older children. Two minutes later, while Reverend Laura was talking about angels, Roya proceeded to move to the floor and spin around and around in front of her.

My first thought was to jump up and grab Roya as quickly as I could and head out of the Sanctuary, but then I looked around. The older kids were giggling, the people in the choir were smiling, and the reverend was calm and unfazed. (In fact, Reverend Laura incorporated a complementary mention of Roya’s acrobatic skills into her sermon!)

No one seemed to mind that a silly toddler was being a silly toddler. It reminded me of a scene from Parenthood, the movie, without anyone claiming that Roya was ruining anything.

As Reverend Laura continued to talk about angels, Roya then began to move her body on the wood floor of the Sanctuary, as though she was making a snow angel.

I began to laugh (as quietly as I could, of course). Before I knew it, I was laughing so hard — while simultaneously trying to stifle my volume — that tears filled my eyes.

When the children’s sermon was finished, I thanked the reverend, retrieved Roya with a smile on my face and took her upstairs to Sunday School.

After church, several people, including the reverend, commented how wonderful it is that Roya feels so comfortable there. I’m thankful for all those in our church family who have welcomed her with open arms and smiles, rather than eye rolls and shushing.

And, yes, God, I get it. Angels are really just messengers. And, today, thanks to Reverend Laura and my little no-snow snow angel, You made it very clear what message I was meant to get.

Opening My Eyes

May 27, 2016 started out like any other day. I rushed around the house, trying to get everything ready before walking the dog and taking Roya to preschool. I grabbed a mini muffin and a sip of water, when I felt an odd and sharp pain in my chest. I thought to myself:

I’m going to faint. Let me sit down on the floor.

The next thing I knew I came to on the tile floor. I was disoriented and screaming loudly. Roya was crouched over me, gently rubbing my leg and saying:

You’re okay, Mommy. You’re okay. I’m here. Don’t cry.

I made it over to the couch and called Elizabeth, a friend in the building. I somehow managed to convey that I needed help, and she thankfully came over. Within the hour, Elizabeth walked my dog and took Roya to preschool and me to Sibley Hospital.

At 9:15am, the ER wasn’t busy so the doctors saw me quickly. A few of the routine tests (EKG, blood and CAT Scan) followed. After learning that all of the tests were clear, I assumed that I could leave soon thereafter. But, the ER Chief wanted to keep me that afternoon for observation.

Me: Really?!? Why do I need to stay, if all the tests are clear?

ER Chief: Well, it’s good that your tests are clear, but when you came in, you presented as though you might be having a stroke. We just want to make sure that isn’t the case.

Given my medical history, I’ve heard a lot of things over the years. But, a possible risk for a stroke was a new one. I didn’t question heeding the doctor’s advice. (Later, Elizabeth shared that she, too, had the same stroke concern.)

Me, exhaling deeply: OK. Would four hours be long enough to know if I’m no longer at risk for that? See…I’m 100% parent, and my toddler has her school performance today. I would only have to be at the show for five minutes, but I’d really like to represent if I can.

ER Chief [looking at her watch]: Yes, we would know by 3pm. And, I have a toddler, too, so I get it.

Luckily, the next four hours passed quickly and uneventfully. During that time, I emailed the assistant at Roya’s preschool and learned she had a great day. I also gave them a heads up that I would be at the show and told them to let Roya know that I would be in the audience. I was discharged with a referral to see a cardiologist.

My friend picked me up to take me to Roya’s school, and I texted Nanny A while en route. I told her that I would be there, but that I would be looking like ass. (For those who doubt just how bad I looked, imagine especially disheveled hair, no makeup, and an attire of Umbro shorts, a t-shirt and Old Navy flip flops. Nanny A later told me that in two years, she had never seen me look that bad.) Deep down, though, I knew that how I looked didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I was there.

Roya’s class sang their little hearts out. Once she walked off of the stage, the magnitude of the day hit me. I went from cheers and applause to sobbing in the back of the auditorium. I managed to collect myself in the school foyer before Roya saw me.

An hour later, the three of us were back at the house. I went to grab something from the kitchen, when Roya said:

Please don’t fall and lie down in the kitchen again.

I had figured that Roya would say something to me about what happened, and she did. I exhaled before walking toward her, giving her a big hug and responding:

I’ll try not to! That must have been really scary for you. [She nodded.] It was scary for me, too. But, I went to the doctor, and they said I’m okay. And, you were so brave! You’re such a big girl.

Nanny A and I looked at each other, and she nodded in approval. We went back to eating our dinner and then let Roya play for a bit. Roya was intently focused on her toys, when she looked up at me and said:

Your eyes were closed, and I helped you open them.

Nanny A and I both tried to hold back tears at such an incredibly sweet and insightful comment from our almost three-year old.

“You did, Roya. You did,” I replied while giving her as many kisses as I could.

A few days later, I had a realization. Over the past three years, Roya has opened my eyes to so many things in so many ways. God willing, she will for decades to come.

As a PS, I met with the cardiologist, and all is indeed well. He believes I had a vasovagal response, and I’ll be keeping a close watch on my low blood pressure.

My 2015 Recap

A year ago, I focused on how my glass was half full. I was – and am – thankful to be a mom and an educator. Nonetheless, as 2014 drew to a close, there were still a lot of loose ends in my life:

Was my breast cyst benign or malignant?
Could I physically handle my job? (I only had six days between my lumpectomy and the start of the semester. I had three new classes to teach and 30 more students than the previous semester. And, I still had my usual two migraines a week.) Assuming that I could handle the added responsibilities and that the cyst was benign, would my full-time contract be renewed?
Was I really at peace with no longer being in a relationship with The Man? Or, would I return to my old pattern of going back to an ex-boyfriend?
How would I fare at being a single mom?
Where would Roya get into preschool? (The DC preschool hustle is an interesting process with applications, recommendations and interviews.)

Today, I can reflect on all of those questions and stressors with a huge sigh of relief.

Most importantly, surgery in January revealed that the cyst was benign. My November MRI showed no evidence of cancer. According to my oncologist, I now have the same risk of anyone else my age of getting breast cancer. Breast cancer thus becomes a disease I had, not a disease from which I’m in remission. That matters clinically and psychologically.

On the work front, I’ve been able to handle all of my responsibilities effectively. My contract has been renewed through May 2017, and I get excited every time I head to campus. I recently was asked what I liked best about my students. I paused as I tried not to shed any tears and replied, “How much time do you have?” I know how lucky I am to truly love what I do.

I also appreciate where I am professionally. If an opportunity as a panelist or expert doesn’t benefit my continued role as an instructor, I have the ability to respectfully decline. Choosing what’s been the right fit has led to some amazing opportunities, though. A few highlights:

Speaking about The Hunger Games to a sold-out audience at The Smithsonian;
Being interviewed by Associated Press about drone technology;
Filming a short video for WebMD about what to expect when you’re diagnosed with breast cancer; and
Talking about selfies for American Magazine.

With respect to The Man, I do not doubt that we were meant to meet and fall in love. I also do not question that we are no longer meant to be a couple. He was put in my life so that Roya would be born. He was a love in my life, and there will be another in the future. She is the love of my life.

As far as being a single mom, I don’t view that term — or my reality — as a negative. Roya is a great kid, and I’m thankful to be in control of every day and every decision in her life. And, I can exhale, knowing that she ended up in the right preschool for her.

Is our life utopic? Of course not.

Parenting is joyously exhausting (or exhaustingly joyful?). Between Roya’s sleep patterns, grading and curriculum development, a five-hour stretch of sleep is a good night for me. And, it would be nice to have time to see my friends, work out and write. But, I know how privileged I am to say that the toughest parts of my year were lack of sleep, missed brunches, and wanting to fit into my skinny jeans.

As we change the calendar to 2016, I pray that the new year brings Roya and me more of the same. I am truly content with my relationships, my family and my job. I go into 2016 without any loose ends. Roya and I are blessed to be happy and (knock on wood) healthy. I hope the same for you and your loved ones, too. xoxo

Am I Really OK?

Thank you to all of you who texted, emailed, clicked “like” and commented in response to my relationship update post. Given the humbling outpouring of support, I wanted to provide some additional clarification as to how I’m doing and what’s next.

Am I okay?

Yes. I grieved the end of my relationship with The Man long before our relationship ended. By the time I was ready to move on, I knew that was the right decision for me. The break up thus was empowering and reaffirming, not sad or confusing. It took me until my 40s to realize that the only person that I could change in any relationship is myself. And, I did.

For over six years, my blog has been a safe space for me to share my ups and downs and process my emotions. If this break up was tough for me, I would have presented that honestly and without shame.

I also didn’t blog our break up in real time. So, what’s fresh to many of you isn’t fresh to me. I allowed myself the time to feel something different, but that didn’t happen. What was the right choice for me to make at the time is still thankfully the right choice for me and Roya today.

Isn’t it hard to be a single parent?

Yes, but isn’t it also difficult to be the default parent (the parent responsible for the overwhelming majority of matters involving the children)? Being on my own hasn’t made me any less exhausted, but I’m far less resentful.

In addition, I’ve always marched to the beat of my own drum, and I’ve never viewed marriage as the end goal of any relationship I’ve been in. For years, I had envisioned that I would raise a daughter as a single mother. The path toward that reality was just different from what I had initially planned.

Will I be blogging more about The Man and the end of our relationship?

No. Since we began dating, I’ve written very little about our relationship. I won’t change that approach now. I respect The Man’s privacy, and I don’t need to write about my past or present interactions with the father of my child on a public forum.

Will I be blogging about my current and future dating life?

Ha! And, no. Dating is so low on my list of priorities right now. (I commented to a friend recently that I need a night nanny and a personal assistant, not a man.) For all intents and purposes, I had stopped blogging about my dating life in late 2011. I’m glad I wrote about my old adventures, but I’ll leave it to another capable woman to share her perspective as a Single Mom in the City!

I wish that I could be as strong as you.

Staying in a relationship doesn’t make you weak, and leaving this relationship doesn’t make me strong. (I would be a hypocrite to say anything to the contrary, especially given my dating life in my 20s and 30s!) If you’re making the right choices for yourself, even if it’s just the right choice for this particular day, then you don’t need to justify that decision to anyone else. Whether you stay or whether you go, trust in your judgment and allow yourself to feel your feelings whatever they may be.

Again, thank you. xoxo

A Relationship Update

Three years ago, I wrote about my relationship with The Man and had introduced him to my close friends and family.

I met The Man at my end-of-treatment fundraising celebration, and our relationship was on the fast track soon thereafter. Just how fast?

February 2012: We started dating.
April 2012: I had a double mastectomy.
June 2012: We moved in together.
October 2012: I learned I was pregnant.

He was my rock and my love. And, then, he wasn’t. Somewhere between the two points, our daughter, Roya, was born.

It might seem simplistic to condense a relationship of several years into three sentences, but it really is that simple. Trying to navigate whether The Man and I had a future together was complicated and emotion filled. Accepting that our relationship had run its course wasn’t.

For years, my blog was devoted to relationship drama and over-analyzing every minute detail. (Or, was that my life?!?) It was difficult for me to ever have a clean break with someone I loved. I was the Queen of On-Again, Off-Again Relationships!

By contrast, the end of this relationship was a clean break. Once I made the decision, there wasn’t the need to talk about it ad nauseam or seek others’ validation, as I had previously done. My mom always said, “Closure is a female notion. When a relationship is over, it just is. “ She was right.

A dear friend commented that since cancer, I’ve had zero tolerance for nonsense. (I think her exact words were, “You no longer put up with any bullshit.”) Roya has raised the bar even higher. I now know my worth and my purpose. I’m thankful that The Man loves Roya, and Roya loves him. But, that wasn’t and isn’t a reason for me to be in the wrong relationship.

My life and my priorities are far more focused now than they were before I was diagnosed and before I became a mom. I no longer define myself or gauge my worth based on my relationships with men. And, I won’t devote energy to anything – personally or professionally – that doesn’t make me happy and send the right message to Roya.

Three years ago, we were in love, and Roya was conceived. I needed to be in a relationship with The Man so that I could meet her, the love of my life. There is nothing complicated about that.

Roya, Age 2

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