1. She’s a good speller.

(Moms, you know what I mean. Another parent of young children understands a conversation full of spelling over the top of playing children much more quickly and efficiently than anyone else.)

2. We can use words like “poop” and “vagina” without having to preface with an apology or explanation.

3. We can stop mid-sentence and holler something at our kid, and no one gets distracted when we continue our original thought.

4. If we forget what we were saying, our mom friend reminds us, but doesn’t reprimand us for that momentary lapse of patience either.

5. Pee on the floor is no big deal. Even if it’s yours (from all the laughing that you do together).

6. No one flinches when you expose your breast to nurse.

7. She understands last-minute plan changes.

8. She says something to make you laugh when you are about to cry in frustration.

9. She lets you cry when you need to, and she knows when to just listen and not speak.

10. We can tell our mom friends things that we feel ashamed of—like that one time we cursed at our baby when she wouldn’t stop screaming, or how we peed our pants a little from laughing too hard—and more than not judging, she “gets it.”

11. Because, ultimately, mom friends “get it.”

We intrinsically know that all women are different, because all people are different. Yet we see and admire the little quirks and traits that make each of our kids special—and that make each of us as individual friends special—and we celebrate them, while also understanding the chaos and love that is motherhood.

The post 10 Reasons Why All Mothers Need “Mom Friends,” plus the Reason That Matters Most. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I close my eyes and listen to the sound of my breath leave my nostrils, slowly yet hastily.

My heart pumps blood quickly and my throat clenches.

I feel anxiety at seeing familiar faces, made unfamiliar by lack of recent recognition.

My strong hands shake as I grasp my wheat grass shot; I feel embarrassed by it.

I’m again a new mom, not seeing another adult face besides my husband’s for days. I feel greedy and thirsty and hungry when I’m around others taller than four feet.

Some people seem to snub me; it bothers me, but I ignore it because people are mean.

It’s funny because I love people, but I know, too, that people are not always innately wonderful—more, they are scarred by their own hardships.

Sometimes they are selfish and hard and downright nasty; in accepting this I find the grace in the rest of the population who, like I, tries to be good despite cranky, never-enough-coffee mornings and behind-closed-doors fights.

I sniff and breathe in cold air that doesn’t fit the season. Snow drifts almost angrily outside, and I look over at a small glass of rich red wine next to my elbow.

My heart is slow.

My heart is steady.

My heart is wanting to see the best in people, but ready to see the worst.

I decide to end here, for today.

I decide to end at being potentially snubbed and gawked at when manic-excited to break free from my new-mother (wonderful-yet-contained) chains.

I end at red wine and a husband in a baby carrier, and precious cargo of eldest daughter who hugs my leg while I type.

I end at accepting that my pulse quickens because I want friends and life outside of my tiny little world of home, but I also want where I am right now: this place of quiet solitude where I tell my husband over our wine glasses and olives that “we’re all putting our kids first, and I wouldn’t want to be friends with anyone who wasn’t.”

Photo: Author’s own.

The post Motherhood Is Not Being Selfish. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I’ll admit to being a mother who once rolled her eyes when other moms couldn’t have playdates because it was “nap time.”

Not that I’m unaware of the extreme importance of keeping regularity within a child’s scheduled day—my daughter’s school breaks have always been one-part wonderful time off and one-part complete upset from lack of typical structure.

Still, it always seemed so annoying—and, I’ll admit, selfish—that other moms frequently wanted to get together at their houses because of so-and-so’s nap time—only now, I completely get it.

Because the thing is, in relation to most subjects both including naps as well as those completely separate from parenthood, one of the worst things to encounter is someone who thinks they understand a situation fully, but really don’t understand it at all—like me…with naps…before my second child was born.

Yes, my first daughter napped, but, looking back, not really; not much at all and almost never in her crib (it’s a long story). My second daughter, however—now five months old—naps three times a day, at the same time—well, until daylight savings time recently hit.

Our entire day is pretty much spent getting her to sleep, letting her sleep and then nursing her when she wakes up. (You know—it’s like I have a baby or something.)

More than this, though, I’m glad that she’s learning to self-soothe herself to sleep and has a time for her growing brain to rest and flourish (all the reasons babies and children nap in the first place). And now I get it—a mother’s job is to figure out how to go about daily life, including the needs of an older four-year-old child who obviously still does not nap, while giving these napping youngsters what they need.

There’s one afternoon of the week where we have activities and are largely not around. My baby is young enough, thankfully, that even though she’s angry to not be home cozy in her crib, she’ll sleep a little in the sling that I’ll wear, as her portable little mommy-bed. This allows her to doze and my other child to get out of the house a bit. (I’m sure when the weather warms up here in the Midwest, the stroller will be another welcome, occasional change.)

But back to having other friends who are also nap keepers: how are two nap keepers to play? My current answer: they don’t.

This leads to what many mothers I know, myself being one, experience: more solitude away from other adults than one human being should endure.

Not every young mother out there has family close by—this is one real “dilemma” of modern, American society. This means we don’t have Nanas over every day to keep company or lend us an ear or a hand to be held, while reminding that, “This too shall pass, dear.”

Additionally, it’s ideal for mothers to have friends with kids at a similar age—there’s a shared experience of life happening; one of dirty diaper mounds and exhausted eyes and tender mommyhearts and moments when only someone else going through it understands that some good days mean simply not yelling at someone. Yet, if my ideal friend also has young kids and we both have nap times to deal with, then how can we be real-life buddies, outside of texting and Facebook and Instagram? So far, I haven’t figured that out.

What I have figured out is this: There are spaces in life that happen and challenge—especially, ahem, the social, extrovert parent—who needs companionship and conversations of full sentences not about poop or potties, and these spaces are not for us, but for those we love.

In other words, it’s important—crucial, actually—to recognize that my own self-care is important—I will never be a woman, or condone a woman, who doesn’t care for herself and her own needs, using family as an excuse. Regardless, I chose—and would choose again and again—to have children. This, currently, means partners in the bathroom (always), food stains on random furniture (sometimes), and most friendships happening virtually or part-time, as opposed to random coffee get-togethers and anytime phone conversations.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t miss my friends, with kids or without. It doesn’t mean, either, that I don’t think of myself as a woman separately from “Mommy”—but, right now, I am Mommy.

So, I’ll let it slide when other moms, in my future, internally roll their eyes at my, “I’d love to play…at my house,” or, “Maybe after lunch, but before two, or after three-thirty, but before five? Somewhere in there?”

And I’ll keep, too, the knowledge secreted away that one day I will no longer be nap keeper—and this day will come much too soon.

Photos: Flickr/thejbird; Flickr/peasap.

The post The Nap Keeper: A Tale of Friendships, Naps & Motherhood. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I have hearts scattered all over the world.

One of my dearest hearts is in Sweden, another in Philadelphia, one in Connecticut and my own mirror-image half (my identical twin sister) in a different part of Ohio.

I have a few scattered locally across the town where I live too—special souls who I don’t get to visit with often enough.

But, lately, I feel like there is never enough time in one lifetime to visit with these people who mean the most to us.

I haven’t moved around as much as some people have. Still, I’ve lived in a few different spots in three different states, and I’ve met really, really good friends wherever I’ve been.

And some friendships fade away—they exist for a moment to make us better people, to challenge us, to prepare us for what’s to come.

Yet I refuse to spend even an hour talking on the phone to these—the closest of my hearts; the people I love and miss the most—when my own little four-year-old girl wants to play puzzles with me again for the twentieth time that day.

No, for me, friendships are strongest when they understand that we don’t have to check in every other week, but, equally, our durable connection is just as powerful when we do get opportunities to engage.

Because life is quickly moving—I look at my two-month-old baby and cannot fathom how eight weeks have already passed since her birth.

So when this holiday season approaches, and my heart is full with love to give, I have to hope that these scattered hearts know how dear and meaningful they are to me, even if I don’t call every day or send emails more than a few times a year.

And the time will come when my children are grown and they, also, are scattered hearts—and, like my own mother now, I’ll have to be understanding that they cherish me even if my phone doesn’t ring every other day.

And, though my heart is scattered in these places all over the world, the one that beats inside of my chest is so very, very full.

Photo: Flickr/Jar of Hearts.

The post Scattered Hearts. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

Your happy to-do list.

Yesterday I was such a grump. I told my husband that my body felt like dog poo.

All week long my yoga practice had been ho-hum, my runs were inconsistent, and I was feeling just plain yucky.

This morning, however, I decided that it was high time to turn my mood around—so I took my tiny lady and her jogging stroller out for a run on my favorite trail.

The sunshine peeked through the trees, not quite sure if it was ready to be awake yet. (I can relate.)

The grass and foliage were lush and green thanks to all the rain we’ve had here in Ohio.

My body moved, and as it did the tightness drained, not only from my muscles, but from my mind and heart as well.

Aaaah, this is life.

Way too often I get caught up in the cerebral part of being human and forget to just move and breathe and be an animal—which led me to ponder those days that start out great (like today) and are wonderfully serene and happy throughout, right up until my head hits my pillow.

What is it about these days that make them so fantastic and joyful?

So I came up with this list of things to do if you want to enjoy simply being alive.

1. Move your body. Do something that gives your body a little bit of exercise every single day. You don’t have to hit the gym or go to the yoga studio or even dedicate a full hour—just do something, anything really.

A few of my preferred mood-boosting body moves are: dancing in the kitchen with my daughter while making dinner, taking a short walk in nature and breaking out five minutes worth of yoga core moves in the middle of the day (talk about quick energy).

2. Drink water. I love water—obsessively and adoringly. I know that some people find water to be a boring drink, but your body needs it, so drink up anyway. (After all, dehydration can lead to a serious case of the crankies, you know.)

3. Laugh. Find small ways to add laughter into your day.

Whether you call a friend who always cracks you up or you watch a stupid SNL skit you love on youtube, it doesn’t matter.

Better still, lighten up in general, and notice the humor that exists in your every, ordinary day that you often completely ignore. (If you’re really at a loss then watch a child—they find delight in those little, tiny moments that we adults sadly stopped noticing years ago.)

4. Be authentic. There’s nothing more unhappy than being phony. Try as hard as you can to let down your guard and just be the real you regardless of your setting. Easier said than done, I know, but it’s well worth the effort because putting on different masks for different people is exhausting.

Consider being open to the possibility that you are wonderful exactly as you are.

5. Eat healthy food. Ugh, eating crappy, processed food is sure to make your entire system feel lousy.

Fill up everyday on fresh fruits and vegetables—and pay attention to how good it makes you feel.

6. Yet still allow treats. I absolutely believe in eating dark chocolate and drinking wine and hoppy beer—in moderation.

One of my favorite ways to complete a good day is to break out one of my teensy, pretty chocolate plates along with a couple squares of the good stuff.

7. Do your chores. I sincerely do not like housework. I don’t like doing the dishes. I have a severe disdain for laundry. And you know what? Too bad. I have to do it anyway—and I always feel better after I do.

8. Reach out and touch someone. People are made to be social creatures. We need affection and good ol’ fashioned touching. Spend time cuddling with someone special and I promise you’ll feel amazing afterwards.

9. Remember tomorrow. When I felt horrible yesterday, I knew that I would feel better today. Sometimes the best thing you can do for yourself when you’re feeling down or things aren’t going exactly as you’d like is to remember that, thankfully, life is an ever moving ocean filled with changing tides.

10. Practice kindness. I’m telling you this from personal experience—being a jerk will not make you feel good. Rather, smile and extend your kindest you out into the world—because it’s entirely true that the love you take is equal to the love you make.

I think I’ll stop here for now—because the thing about happiness is that it’s not complex.

Happiness is noticing and then hanging onto those little things in life—hugs, sunshine on your skin, the after-effects of a great workout—that we too easily let slip past us.

“Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions.” ~Dalai Lama.

 

Photo credit: ClickFlashPhotos /Nicki Varkevisser/Flickr.

 

This article was first published by elephant journal.

The post 10 Things Your Happiest Self Wants You to Do Every Day first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

Chapter 33.

I never liked my nose much, until I broke it.

It changed and I realized that it hadn’t been half bad for basically my whole life up until that point, without me even knowing it.

Rather than have the traditional reconstructive surgery after a break (and breakage-related surgeries), I decided that I was going to get used to loving and accepting my new nose, just the way it was.

I look down at her nose.

She’s sleeping cradled in my arms, and the tiny bridge of her nose is the sweetest, smoothest, most perfect arch to an equally tiny end, that could have been the model for the term “button.”

Her lips are full and well shaped; her eyes fringed in not only lengthy eyelashes, but deeply curled ones, like her daddy’s.

(She likes to watch me curl my own lashes when I get ready to go out, and I always think how she’ll skip this step when her grown-up routine is born.)

She gently stirs and makes quiet noises of comfort as my ripped-open heart wraps itself around her; with her tired hand on my pajama-covered breast.

I’m leaving her tomorrow.

I never thought that I would be the kind of woman to do this, not in a hundred million years—but I am.

I’ll fly states away and, although I haven’t ever been away from her for a full day, starting tomorrow I’ll be away for a couple.

Because I never thought that I’d be the kind of woman who has a weekend with good friends for no real reason at all besides celebrating their love for one another and their need to spend time—I’ve always wanted to be this sort of woman and even think that I am, but the funny thing about life is that you can never be too sure of who you are until you’re put into particular situations.

And, for me, that situation was being asked to join these wonderful friends for a weekend together—and far away from home.

I wanted to say yes from the start and I practically did. However, my mind told me to say no—and this was one of those times when you don’t listen to your meddlesome mind, but to your true and beating heart.

And maybe for some it wouldn’t take courage to book a round-trip plane ticket.

Possibly no bravery would be required to tell your little girl that you’re leaving for a few days, but that you’ll be back to cuddle and squeeze her and love on her (as you stick your fingertips into her soft, pliable skin and grin widely down into her beaming face).

I sang her to sleep tonight with the refrain from one of her favorite television shows.

Grown-ups come back to you; grown-ups come back they do.

She looked too serious, though—and a lot too pensive—so I brought her close to my chest and held her the way that only a mother can. (I’m 34 and my mom still has a special way that she holds me.)

So goodnight, my princess.

Before you wake, I hope you dream of unicorns and favorite books and painting on your easel—and I hope you sleep tight with the love that I carry for you deeply embedded in your own tender, beating chest.

Chapter 34.

My daughter is quickly growing up.

Everyone says it happens like that; you snap your fingers and—poof!—they’re grown.

I glance over at her as she sits cross-legged on our wooden floor by her stack of favorite books.

She’s pointing at brightly colored drawings while animatedly reading aloud from a treasured selection, and then she’s suddenly running across the room to where I also sit cross-legged. She plops down in my lap, her face inches from mine, her smile beaming up into my face, and I feel a tear leak out of the corner of my eye.

My baby.

Almost three years old and so big—and no longer my baby.

I smile back into her eyes before she turns around, excited for her chance to listen to me read the book out loud—and as we repeat this ritual for the millionth time (of just that morning), I think of the many things I want to teach her.

Of course, I hope she’ll want to practice yoga with me and ride bikes with her daddy. I hope, too, that she’ll study the yamas and niyamas and yearn to go backpacking in the woods.

I’d like her to learn Spanish and to play the piano—yet none of this is my real dream for her.

My real dreams for my daughter are quite simple.

I want her to be kind, to treat people with respect.

The world is often a lonely place filled with anger and frustration, and I want to teach her that much of this pain can be avoided if you don’t fall prey to gossip and lying and hurtful behavior. Rather, if you send love and pleasantness out into the world, I wholly believe you’re more likely to attract it right back to you.

I want her to be confident.

There’s a falseness in arrogance, which stems from an internal well of insecurity instead of self-love. I want to show her that to extend kindness out into our world, it’s important to first extend it inward, to yourself.

I want to help her understand that our flaws and personal struggles have this strange tendency to lead us to understanding and compassion, because these unique imperfections bring with them their own special values. If we can learn to embrace both our light and our shadows, then we’ve moved away from being afraid of the dark.

I want her to be rich.

I hope that she knows that this has nothing to do with money.

I’d like to share with her that having people to love who love you in return makes you wealthy.

I want her to have faith.

I want her to know that faith doesn’t mean believing in a particular God or ideology, but that having faith is knowing that there are things in this world that we cannot easily see and hold in our hands—and that these are the things that matter.

I want her to remain a child.

She should know that you can grow into an adult without losing your curiosity and easy humor. She should also know that inside we’re all still small children, but that some of us just pretend we’re not a little bit better than others.

I want her to believe she’s capable.

I hope that she can see her dreams floating on lofty clouds high above her head and think without a trace of doubt that she can build a long enough ladder to reach them.

I hope she knows that everything she aspires to be, she already is.

I want her to know that I love her.

Sometimes my daughter looks at me with such honest adoration, and I hope that she still looks at me this way once she’s figured out how fully flawed I am.

I want her to know that I’ve never tried so hard in my life to be as good at anything the way that I try to be her loving mom.

~

I return from my thoughts and look down at my tiny lady, her hand reaching up for mine. Ours fit together like puzzle pieces, and the really odd thing is that I wasn’t even aware mine was missing anything until it held hers.

My heart feels like this too.

I bury my face in her soft, curly hair and tears prick the backs of my eyes.

Almost three, I think in shock.

And I know I’ll be sitting here, my wet cheek pressed to her tender head, thinking almost 13 and I’m not quite sure how those years passed by in only minutes.

So as she grows, and I grow more, I remind myself of what it is that really matters.

And it’s not messy kitchens and dirty clothes or even learning to count and read—it’s being in these cherished moments exactly as they happen so that I know, while they may have zoomed by with unfair speed, I didn’t miss a thing.

Photo credits: Author’s own; Moyan Brenn/Flickr.

The post The Caged Girls: Before She Wakes. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

When Jennifer and I first started to become friends, our plans to chat were often pushed off by the busyness that all of us deal with—especially moms.

It’s something I think we often do as women: we save what we need for last when, really, to be more effective caregivers, we need to attend to ourselves first.

Think about the oxygen masks on an airplane. They always instruct you to take your own before you help someone else.

It’s not my analogy, but it’s one I’ve read a few times and it always resonated with me. If we don’t take care of ourselves, eventually we will have nothing left to give. The time I take for myself (especially as an introverted parent)makes all the difference in how well I take care of my kids.

So here is my list: 25 things all moms need to do to recharge. ~ Kate Bartolotta

1. Take five minutes to meditate, twice a day. Longer if you can, but even five is tremendously helpful.

2. Read an article that just interests you. Not a parenting article. Not something for work. Not recipes. Not relationship advice. Just something that intrigues the you underneath all that.

3. Keep and/or cultivate friendships with your child-free friends. It’s hard sometimes, but it’s good for both their friendship and the perspective.

4. Spend a third five-minute burst (or 20 minutes when you can find it) with your tea or coffee and your journal. Even if you don’t consider yourself a “writer” it’s good to have a place to put your thoughts where you don’t have to re-frame them or edit them for anyone else’s consumption.

5. Once in awhile, stay out too late and behave inappropriately. You know, not so bad you end up in jail, but bad enough that you wouldn’t want your mom in on it.

6. Soak in the bath. Make it as hot as possible; salts or bubbles optional.

7. Get a tattoo. Somewhere you get to choose who you share it with, something that’s meaningful to you.

8. Play Robot Unicorn Attack. Okay, if that’s not your cup of tea, choose anything silly, frivolous and of no use to anyone to do for a few minutes. Enjoy thoroughly.

9. Ask for help. Learn what the halo of the onset of that overwhelmed feeling looks like and ask for help before you are depleted.

10. Go skinny dipping at least once a summer.

11. Pause. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. (I stole this one from Jenn. It’s that important.)

12. Let your phone go to voicemail at night. It can wait.

13. Get up and watch the sunrise at least once a month.

14. Take a few pictures of your child or children sleeping peacefully. You will need that reminder sometimes.

15. Read Neruda, preferably a sonnet, when you get up in the morning. Or read it to someone you love before you go to sleep.

16. Watch Moulin Rouge and sigh about true love (and Ewan MacGregor and Nicole Kidman and the beautiful sets and costumes and El Tango de Roxanne).

17. Read The Little Prince, for the child that’s still inside you.

18. Read Little Birds, because you’re a grown woman.

19. Eat with your hands—it isn’t just for kids. Pomegranate, mango, blackberries. Let yourself slow down and enjoy.

20. Pay attention to how your body feels before you answer “yes” or “no” to doing something. It’s okay to say no when it’s what you really mean.

21. Stay up and watch the sunrise with someone you love to talk to.

22. Write! Keeping a journal is like writing your own history.

23. Go out with friends that make you laugh so hard you cry. (And skip the “friends” that do the mean girl, competitive mom or gossip thing. High school is over.)

24. Make a wish. Use a star, a wishing well, a four-leaf-clover, 11:11. Keep that whimsical place in your heart that allows for wishing.

25. Lay down in the grass in the middle of the day and look at the sky.

It’s absolutely true that there’s no better job in the world than being a mama.

Hands down, it’s the most rewarding—yet demanding—career path that a woman could follow.

Thankfully, there are plenty of rejuvenating things that mothers can do for themselves when they need a pick-me-up, be it large or small.

Here’s my little list—from my mother’s heart to yours. ~ Jennifer S. White.

1. Spend time with a girlfriend talking about your deepest thoughts and feelings—and then listen to hers.

2. Paint your nails—yourself (moving meditation in action).

3. Get a massage—regularly.

4. Sleep in.

5. Wake up early—by yourself.

6. Dance without music.

7. Read a book that opens your mind.

8. Read a book that opens your heart.

9. Learn how to say “no”—and then do it.

10. Yet remember when it’s important to say “yes”—for you.

11. Share dessert with someone you love (friend, lover, child or furbaby).

12. Take a yoga class. (Bonus points: a different style than you usually practice.)

13. Look in the mirror and tell yourself—out loud—that you are the most beautiful woman in the world. (Repeat as often as necessary.)

14. Think of one thing that you’ve wanted to do for a long time and have put off for others, and then make steps to doing it now.

15. Buy yourself a piece of jewelry.

16. Wish on the first star you see tonight.

17. Take a book to bed—in the middle of the day.

18. Have a girls night out that extends beyond 10 o’clock.

19. Learn to ask for help before you desperately need it. (Good for the entire family.)

20. Pause. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

21. If you don’t have much “alone time” during your day then make sure to look up at the sky and drink in the beauty and joy of your life—nothing lasts forever. Enjoy it—all of it.

22. Buy a new CD or download a new album—new as in contemporary/current—and listen to the entire thing without stopping it once.

23. Smile. That’s right—right now—smile. Hold it….hoooooold it.

24. Take a pottery class. (For me, personally, see # 14.)

25. Write your own list—every damn day.

Photo: Hans Splinter/Flickr.

The post 50 Things Moms Need to Do for Themselves. ~ Kate Bartolotta & Jennifer White first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I hope this isn’t a disappointment, but this particular article is about one of the most sacred relationships that’s ever existed: the friendship between women.

From Ruth and Naomi to the Ya-Yas, some of the best stories ever written have been about the power and depth of the connection between female friends, and for a valid reason—women who have amazing friends can’t imagine life without one another.

And I’ve been thinking a lot about the special ladies in my life because I’m in a spot that makes my friendships exceedingly difficult to spend time on.

My family’s needs—and my own—leave almost no room for phone conversations, much less frequent girls’ nights out. Plus, many of my besties live far away and, well, friendship is something that needs tending to in order to continually blossom, much like a romantic relationship.

So here’s a short list I’ve compiled about how to love another woman—and how to offer ourselves as best friends.

1. Judge less, listen more.

Placing our own life’s experiences and personality traits onto a friend’s situation is not ideal.

Yes, it’s often nearly impossible to not take mental notes about how we would do things differently, but my suggestion is this: don’t only verbally judge a friend less, offer yourself the freedom to listen without needing to assess the information.

This is different than a friend hurting herself or someone else, and this is also taking into consideration that a friend is a healthy, positive influence in my life. Having these crucial requirements met—people are not the same.

Sure, I might never have said that out loud to my mother-in-law, but we choose the friends we do because they compliment us, not because they mirror us.

Enjoy these differences and try to really listen to her more and talk back—and even think critically and responsively—less often.

2. Have fun together.

Just like romantic partners need to go out and have fun together from time to time—in order to be reminded of why they like spending time with each other in the first place—it’s equally important for girlfriends to have fun together.

Not everything in a friendship has to be serious and soul-baring, and it also doesn’t have to be elaborate, expensive or overly time-consuming. (Seeing that many of my friends are young moms, we don’t have that as an option anyways.)

For example, one of my favorite things to do is meet my best friend for a yoga class. We both get to practice our yoga, and if we have time we’ll grab a coffee together.

Speaking of coffee, I often meet my other best friend for coffee before getting our kids from school. We usually have only 15 minutes to interact, but this time is hugely important in my life (I realize this when I have to skip out).

3. Look at her.

We get used to barely looking at the people that are part of our daily lives.

Make sure to take time to pause and look into a friend’s eyes when talking with her. Notice how she’s standing. Typically these little things can inform us about what a friend might not be saying.

4. Touch her.

People need physical touch. Especially when a friend is single or her partner works a lot—frankly, many of us need more human touch than we get.

Don’t be afraid to hug and kiss a friend on her cheek.

5. Be perceptive.

A good friend is not necessarily someone who makes over-the-top gestures. A good friend is the one who knows how I like my coffee.

She knows that when I haven’t been answering texts this means that I’m either upset or busy, so she checks in on me—possibly making “too many” calls and sending several messages (and she knows that it’s not “too many” for me).

And a good friend understands that it’s these little things that make you special to her and vice versa—and you celebrate these quirks together.

6. She can stand up to me.

An ideal friend is someone who, absolutely, doesn’t critique me unnecessarily. On the other hand, my dearest friends can tell me if they think I’m making a mistake or they can offer a piece of wisdom that they think would help me.

For example, I was finally having to deal with teaching my daughter to apologize awhile back and my friend chimed in, letting me know that a much healthier way to do this is to show young kids to ask others “are you okay?” rather than say “I’m sorry.” This teaches empathy instead of reinforcing guilt. Good to know!

And the best friendships? When I can reciprocate this. We’re on equal ground and we respect each other enough to be honest when necessary and no one is regularly feeling bull-dozed by the stronger personality.

7. Forgive her.

She will make mistakes.

I will make mistakes.

Everyone on God’s green earth will make mistakes.

If a friend is wonderful enough to be in my life, then I need to know to forgive her and, better yet, help her forgive herself too.

8. Stay out of her other relationships.

It’s fine and dandy to have friends in common—some amazing friendship circles work this way.

Still, I need to keep in mind that just because I don’t happen to like Suzie Q, she’s allowed to. I should stay out of her other friendships when they don’t involve me, and if I respect her, then I can respect the people she chooses to bring into her life, other than me.

Honestly—I don’t know how some women make it through life without girlfriends. I know that life, for me, would not be worth living.

“Shared joy is a double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow.” ~ Swedish Proverb

Photo credits: Valerie Everett/Flickr.

This article was first published by elephant journal.

The post 8 Tips How to Love a Woman, From A Woman. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

When Loss Inspires Guilt.

I found out this week about the loss of an old friend.

I haven’t spoken to this friend since high school, and I’m now in my 30s. I was surprised at the amount of sorrow I felt when hearing this news.

This isn’t the first one-time pal I’ve had to say a permanent goodbye to, and this isn’t the first time I’ve felt this feeling—guilt at my grief.

Loss becomes convoluted when you’re an outside party.

I think much of this guilt comes from digging deeply enough to ask myself if I’m sad for this person in the same way that I would be if I heard about an absolute stranger’s passing—in my compassionate connection with humanity rather than from my connection as a one one-time friend. Yet, when I discover that old memories and straggling recollections that I thought were long buried are indeed re-surfacing, I’m perplexed to find that I still feel guilt.

While this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with this, it’s the first time I’ve dealt with it now, in this body, in this self, at this time. I’m older and in many ways, I know that I’m wiser. Still, this much earned insight takes a distinct backseat to feelings of undeserving.

Do I deserve to mourn when his family is clearly in terrible pain? The kind of pain that can only come from knowing someone well and daily—the kind of pain of the immediate family. My guilt wants me to answer “no,” but emotions are funny things—they have a habit of not listening to your head.

Instead, I find myself feeling the kind of unfortunate elation that accompanies times of tragedy; happiness that’s actually painful when coupled with the blurry edges of something like woundedness. Life becomes sharply in focus during times like this. Everything is so achingly and hauntingly gorgeous when placed beside suffering.

Bereavement highlights life’s delicate graces, but it’s still ugly and undesirable, and I often feel I’d much prefer the kind of average joy that comes from not knowing this partner, this opposite—the discomfort of anguish, but I don’t have a choice—and I do feel grief, even if I shouldn’t.

I swallow the lump in my throat and I release my guilt because it doesn’t help. Rather it makes these feelings that drudge up hard to own and accept—and move forward from.

I’m thankful that I’m on the peripheral of this grief, but I know in my heart that someday I’ll be right in the middle while others stand in my presently awkward situation. How will I feel when the tables are turned like this? I might feel angry. I might feel relief. The simple reality is that I don’t know how I’ll feel, and I don’t really want to think about it.

Because grief is uncomfortable and painful and terrible.

We can say that we find true happiness from pain or that pain is noble, but I know that I’d never choose it and I usually say these things to myself in order to survive falls that seem challenging to get back up from.

What will I do with my feelings? I’ll try to look my husband in the eye and validate him every day. I’ll try to find the good in everyone that I come across, especially when it’s hard. I’ll try to remember that joy isn’t permanent—and neither is misery, and I’ll try to tell myself to not feel guilty over emotions that I can’t easily control.

So goodbye to my old friend. Goodbye to teenagers hanging out and to troubles that are too heavy for young, still-forming souls.

Hello to this palpable reality that life isn’t always easy or clear cut. Hello to my authentic self and to this self’s authentic sensations. I see you. I recognize you. I hope that’s enough.

Photo: Jenna Carver/Flickr.

This article was first published by elephant journal.

The post The Blurry Edges of Loss & Guilt. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.