Imagine lounging in perfect weather where 200 feet of TV projector screens stretch across a driving range setting featuring a sea of sofas and unusually soft pillows. There’s great music and great food. Nachos. Crispy rock shrimp. Buffalo wings with sauce, lots of sauce for every palate. Drinks are flowing. Video games. Beanbag shuffle board. The TopGolf Cabana is basically a buffet of wholesome fun.
As a mom, I'm delighted that my crew is all in one place, a cheerful person is serving food, there's an entire smorgasbord for people watching, and the pillow I'm reclined on seems to be vibrating.
Then it starts; teenage conversation:
I am bored.
I want to go.
How much longer?
Can I just go?
No, I want to play.
You, Shut up.
It is day three of relaxing for me so my zero to unglued response is delayed. I think, “Just breathe.”
In two, three, four...hold two, three, four...out two, three, four...hold two, three, four. Repeat.
Mooooom...I want to go! I'm tired!
Mom, she always get her way! Mom!
I convince myself to breathe more and stay in the moment. Pleasure. Think: Joy. Joy. Joy. Joy. Joy. Joy. Pleasure. Come on JOY! You got this. You can do it. Pleeeeeeaassureeeee.Then channeling my inner Einstein goddess (yes, you can be Einstein and a goddess) I get up, and straddle my husband. I give him a sweet kiss. He is obviously pleased, and bewildered.
In my quiet-but they-can-still-hear-me voice, I look deeply into his eyes and I say the most terrifying thing any teenager can imagine,"How about every time our beautiful children start complaining, I give you a lap dance?"
Not another word was whined. Bean bag shuffle board suddenly looked very appealing to them.
No public lap dances were rendered and all enjoyed the rest of the evening.And that, embarrassing mothers of planet earth, is how it's done. The whole world gets blessed. The kids avoided awkward public humiliation. I got back the relaxation I craved. And the hubby was happy because the only thing better than an actual lap dance for a man is the possibility that it could happen.
By the way, for all my Christian Moms, Jesus loves me this I know and endorses sexy problem solving.
Pleasure on, Brave Moms.
In your corner,
and by your side,
with love from one brazen mother to another,
Warning: This is for seriously frustrated mothers willing to deliver whatever it takes to find pleasure and peace. You can subscribe for Lap Dancing tips and other secrets here.
SELF CARE CHALLENGE – Day 1: Learn to Say No
I chose this option because it is my quixotic pursuit, a flaw innately linked to my most powerful qualities. My refusal to decline work, offers, and requests causes me endless anxiety, stress, and speeding tickets. My people pleasing tendencies are so acutely inherent that I am unable to detect my vulnerability until it is too late. Suddenly, I'm screaming at my dogs to move or shouting at the garage door that refuses to close whenever I'm in a hurry.
The thing is, I'm always in a hurry and it's rarely for me. Why? Because I say “yes” to everything; I don't want anyone to be disappointed or feel like he or she is a not a priority. Naturally, I sacrifice myself instead.
Women: masters of martyrdom. Indeed!
My entire life is spent in service to others, and frankly, I'm damn good at it. Every job I've ever had, from being a mom, to a teacher, to the right hand man of a clueless business owner, to an executive assistant - Each day is dedicated to those I loyally attend to. And I genuinely love this calling! I find great joy and pride in providing for others. Much of my self-esteem revolves around my excellence in serving others.
Here is where the therapist condescendingly says, "Codependency." It's true. My identity is succinctly tied to my ability to intuitively and accurately assist others. I love this about me, but at the same time… who serves me?! No one. Because I am capable and independent; I’m a ferocious fighter who will never surrender to the very same service I give others. Help must be forced upon me.
Every day, I struggle to say "no" to well-meaning friends and family members who want nothing more than to spend quality time with me. They seem so harmless, but their reach is more invasive than evil German cockroaches. Sure, I love my cockroaches. I do. Yet, it is a tenacious struggle to protect quality time for myself.
What do I want to do so badly? I'm a gym rat - or would be, if I had the strength to simply shut down the seven offers or requests that litter my emotional inbox and disrupt my downtime.
Yes, for me, working out is cathartic. I'm spending time working on me, for me, and for no other purpose. I'm locked into my headphones where music masks the mile long list of tasks. Pretty soon, I can’t see the guilt tripping tirade that clutters the corners of my hard working brain. With my gnarled Nike shoes firmly planted on the elliptical, or with a cable grip in my calloused hand, I let it all melt like those malicious calories I consumed during the day to ensure survival.
I want hours in the gym. I want dumbbells and barbells and pulleys - that I PULL, that I operate. Moving my muscles is me, all me: Self-propelled, self-motivated, self-satisfying, self-improvement. Yes, I said SELF at least six times by now, and I'm sick of being traumatized by the mandates in my mind that say I'm not permitted to pay attention to myself.
Dripping in sweat, in a stained wife beater, I see my true self staring back at me in the mirror. She lifts weights; she easily lifts the weighty burden of her real life right off her shoulders. She stands in a Wonder Woman pose and smirks at the weak. She is the only version of me that looks stunningly strong and confident. In reality, I look more like I've narrowly escaped Hell. Regardless, in these moments, I feel centered and focused.
However, the world has shaped me to believe that my self-care is indubitably and perniciously self-centered.
Well, Fuck That! I need the endorphins from exercise; it saves me from assaulting old people who stop in turn lanes or lashing out at idiots who email asinine questions. The world should WANT me to workout, souls are spared. Including my own.
And that is why I'm saying, “NO.” I'm protecting my after work arena (those short five hours before I fall into an exhausted sleep). More importantly…
I am not sorry.
Attention people who love me! Love me by letting me be a little lazy when I get home. Love me by letting me leave for the gym and then leaving me alone while I'm there. Just know that replenishing me is always going to be beneficial for you and it is possibly preventing mass killings in my hometown.
It was 26 years ago when a co-worker invited me to walk across a bed of fire at a conference with some guy named, Tony Robbins.
My response: “NO WAY! Why, would I do that!?”
Little did I realize, her simple suggestion to try something terrifying was the spark that would ignite me into creating a life that I had only dreamt about.
And truly, it was a spark. In the middle of the night, with fire trucks and ambulances standing by, a throng of strangers jumped enthusiastically around like over-caffeinated cheerleaders. It was in the midst of these elements, that my fear turned into power and I found myself walking gracefully across a bed of flaming hot coals.
When we decide to try something we think we cannot do, or that is out of our routine, we grow.
From transforming your health, asking for a raise, or perhaps, entering into a new relationship, the outcome of these experiences is determined by our willingness to do uncomfortable, scary things.
FEAR IS THE DOORWAY TO FREEDOM.
Now, pushing on that door can feel awkward, and smell like discomfort (similar to entering a teenage boy’s bedroom). But when you do what makes you afraid, you feel most alive. Any adrenaline junkie can tell you that; however, you don’t have to be a daredevil to know the fears that hold you back in your daily life.
Fast forwarding into my life, I have signed up for way scarier things, like being married and raising children. These stakes seem radically higher than the possibility of going up in flames, because I am responsible for co-habiting with, and cultivating precious humans. As a woman, my wrath from over working can have a lasting nuclear bomb kind of effect. Even with subdued anger, a passive response such as “FINE,” can rock the world of my family.
The day to day responsibilities of a modern woman can feel as if she is walking through a mine field, covered in lava. Regardless, we must take on our fears daily. Whether it is being a good mom, caring for yourself, starting a business, changing jobs, or breaking off a relationship, brave choices must be made.
So take a deep breath and smell the smoke, ladies. Woman up and surpass the delusions of “not good enough.” Stop and battle the things you are running from, and instead run through to the other side.
Making brave love choices and following through with action, unlocks the door to the freedom of being your true self. And this is where magic happens; the clouds part, the sun shines, our families thrive, and sometimes we lose ten pounds, make more money and find the love of our life.
Peace, love and smoke signals…
I am really proud of myself. Just writing those words comes with a sense of guilt; some sort of taboo hovers over the simple act of acknowledging myself. I know, right? It is totally messed up.
Seriously, when was the last time you acknowledged
yourself for something you did or accomplished
that makes you proud?
Yesterday, I graduated from The Mastery Program of Womanly Arts in New York. I am proud because I chose to pursue this education out of curiosity, out of a secret self-interest. It did not make fiscal sense. It was not conveniently timed. I had a variety pack of excuses to dissuade me from following my inner desires. That mom-maid- business-owner-cook-protector-nurturer-bill-paying -citizen inside my head whispered, "Save your money, stay home.”
You all know the self-talk that takes place: “You need to take care of the family, you have business to handle, you have responsibilities...” It is the advice of some unknown mother bear, beast that innately speaks to us women.
And no matter how condemning she can be, I believe this voice; I have been trained to believe it. It reminds me that I am supposed to be content with my reality. “You have a good life. Why do you want to travel across country? You want to do more, have more? You greedy bitch.”
Despite those self-defeating comments, I finally managed to justify my adventure. It would be a tool to help my clients and others; it would benefit my ability to serve. With this in mind, I allowed myself permission to partake in self-improvement. It required traveling alone, adjusting agendas, making my family feel frustrated, and sometimes, painfully unpacking my shit only to repack it again.
The whole course was terrifying, scary, and absolutely new for me. But I worked my ass off, a naked one at that. Sitting in the classroom vulnerable and afraid, I wanted to run and hide in the bathroom during various challenging parts of the seminars. Yet I survived, and all without coping supplements. For this, I am proud.
I should’ve hung a sign on my door at home, “Diner Closed: Greedy Bitch Gone for Self-Improvement.” My mom duties took a nose dive while I studied. When others were sleeping, I awkwardly attempted my training. I said “NO” to more invitations than I can recall. I wept and laughed daily. All the while the voice in my head said, “This is ridiculous. You don’t get it.” I practiced and proceeded anyway. For this, I am proud.
Among 350 other epically brave women, who were once strangers and are now my Sisters, I became unhidden. I don't have to come to the table with anything less than every truth of who I am. I said yes to my curiosity, my desires, my health, my dreams, and my sadness. I said yes to the beautiful greedy, rule breaking, bitch with an incredible appetite. I said yes to the sensual side of my personality, my wrinkles, my wide-belly, and my deep-thinking, multi-faceted mind. I graduated knowing that when a woman invests in herself the whole world gets blessed. For this, I am proud.
We don't have to work like militaristic dogs on a mission to access love, relationships, health, beauty, and money. Our deepest desires want to be birthed, and be cared for like precious babies. Our true power is within the very bodies that we have been taught to loathe, a woman’s body is a sacred altar and our sexuality is connected to every aspect of our lives.Women can receive more, be more, and do more because our capacity is endless. Our individual pasts and personal pain is part of our stories, and it is in this shared truth that Sisters can be like medicine to each other. Every single one of us is spiritual, brilliant, beautifully broken, and perfect.
I am proud to say this is the study of womanly arts.
Peace, love, and Room Service.
Episode 60: Brave Love & Self Care with Alexis Asbe
Would you ever treat an employee the way you treat yourself? Most of us are pretty rough on ourselves and we don’t take the time for self care because it feels like we have a million other things to do. Here’s the thing though, there is a very good reason why airlines tell you to put your own oxygen mask on first before assisting others. You are no help to anyone if you’re unconscious from lack of oxygen. The same thing applies to business and today you’ll hear from Alexis Asbe about the importance of self care and how to fit it into your busy schedule.
or access the episode here!