Popular Posts – Angie Mizzell

You are worth the fight.

April 2, 2012 By Angie 26 Comments

The other night my cell phone rang and I didn’t recognize the number. I let it go to voice mail because, I mean, don’t you? A woman left a message and said she thought her friend was going through postpartum depression and was seeking help. She explained that a Google search produced my name and number, most likely because of my position as race director for the Moms’ Run a couple of years ago. The run raises money for the Ruth Rhoden Craven Foundation for Postpartum Depression Awareness. I called the woman immediately and connected her with the people who could help.

When I listened to the message, my first reactions were concern and relief. Concern because so many women experience PPD and suffer silently. Relief because this woman was willing to reach out and fight for a friend.

Sometimes I’ve wondered if what I experience after having babies is PPD or the more common “baby blues”. Whenever I take quizzes like this, they come back inconclusive. Since I’ve had Cate, some days have been better than others. I went to the OBGYN recently, and she said, “I hate postpartum.” And honestly, it’s validating to hear those kinds of things… when a fully functioning woman… a medical professional… admits that it’s hard.

It is hard. And I try to remember that on days when I’m at my tipping point. My ability to experience many good days in the midst of the difficult ones probably makes me more normal than I feel sometimes. What concerns me about our society in general is what we’ve come to accept as normal. Is it really normal to go as much as we go and do as much as we do and produce as much as we produce? I’m ambitious. I love to work. But I wonder sometimes.

I’ve studied stress management for years, long before babies came into the picture. The first time I ever heard someone say “you gotta take care of you before you can take care of anyone else” I was 29 years old and had just quit my job in TV. To say I was stressed and depressed feels like an understatement. And it came from years and years of ignoring my inner voice, telling me so many things I didn’t want to hear. Because listening to that voice requires action. It requires making changes I wasn’t yet ready to make.

When I finally broke free from that bondage, I told myself I’d never get to that place again. I’m not sure I’ve done an excellent job of that. It’s hard to break old patterns of saying yes when I mean no, of taking on other people’s stuff, of doing what I think I should do rather than listening to my own soul speak.

But today I have something I didn’t have then: awareness. I remember I have the ability to pull myself out of a slump. I have a willingness to fight for myself. I’m not sure where that comes from. Probably from knowing I’m loved by many and the grace of God.

Last week, Andra wrote a powerful post about how everybody hurts. And since then, I’ve been hearing REM’s Michael Stipe reminding me to hold on. And what’s funny about that is before Andra wrote the post, I’d been walking around for days singing Wilson Phillips’ “Hold on for one more day”. I’d sing the song and think about the movie Bridesmaids and laugh.

But that’s how I do it, friends. That’s how I stay afloat when the days—not just the postpartum days—get hard. I wrap myself in a theme song, or I go to Starbucks and get a frappachino with an extra shot of espresso, or I exercise, or drink a big glass of water, or browse Barnes and Noble.

I pray. I hug my babies. I take a nap. I call a friend. I write.

I remember I’m worth the fight.

And I feel better.

What helps you hold on?

I’d love for you to leave a comment, subscribe to my blog or share this post with a friend.

Filed Under: Balancing Act, Popular Posts

What pulls me apart holds me together

March 26, 2012 By Angie 21 Comments

Dillon was sick again. Blake had more than the usual share of snot running out of his nose. I shifted from Wednesday to sick day, and conceded that most of my to-dos would probably not get done.

But there was one thing I really needed to do. In the grand scheme of life it could have waited until the next day. Of course it could have waited. Most things can wait. I heard all the voices: Life is short and children grow up quickly and today, your kids need their mommy. I needed the world to stop spinning. Just stop moving for thirty minutes. Okay, 45. I always underestimate how much time something will take, so the extra 15 wouldn’t hurt.

Please, just slow down.

Sometimes the simplest—and the hardest—thing to do is be their mom. Dillon is a big boy now, so taking care of him involved tucking him into a snug cocoon on the couch and turning on his favorite TV show. But not Blake. It was barely 9am and he was already bored. He insisted on standing two inches from the television screen. Mommy, hold you. Mommy, I want a snack. Oh, sorry Mommy, I spilled it. I watched as coffee stained the pages of Seth Godin’s Tribes. The book is about being a leader. I was being a terrible leader. A terrible mom. The voices of reason wrestled with the voices of my critics.

Angie, you just had a baby. You have three kids. You’re supposed to be tired and cranky. Give yourself a break.

I thought that once I took a leap of faith and started doing work that really mattered to me, work that added a sense of purpose and meaning to my life, it would get easier somehow. I thought it would make me feel whole, not fragmented. Not so conflicted. But sometimes the tug is so strong I feel defenseless. The work is like a fourth child. Calling to me. Demanding my attention. I don’t want to choose. But I can’t be everywhere, everyone at once.

I glanced over at Cate, so tiny and precious, sound asleep in the vibrating bouncy chair. Thank you, Little Miss.

Later, she stirred and let out a pitiful baby moan. I picked her up and noticed she was hot. Yellow gooey stuff was oozing from her eyes. I called Shawn at work and told him to come home so I could take Cate to the pediatrician.

My infant is sick. I felt sober, awake and calm as I heard the doctor say, “I’m sending you to MUSC. And you need to be prepared because they will probably admit her.” I put Cate in the car and headed downtown to the hospital. I called Shawn with instructions. “This is going to sound so much worse than it probably is. It’s probably just a virus but they have to make sure. I need you to pack a bag for me. Can you make a list?”

The world had stopped spinning. There was no confusion. No tug. No conflict. I sat with Cate in a hospital room while they ran a bunch of tests. We bonded and I played paparazzi. She gave me the stink eye:

Two days later, Cate and I came home. The house was clean. My husband was my hero. Dillon and Blake were the most adorable creatures I’d ever seen.

Cate is six weeks old now. She is well. My family has been showered with so much love my heart might pop. And the work still calls out to me. Another story, demanding attention. Waiting to be told. And sometimes the world stops spinning, and I remember that what pulls me apart also holds me together.

Filed Under: Balancing Act, Popular Posts

The blessings of an unplanned life

March 22, 2012 By Angie 25 Comments

I make a plan and it laughs in my face.

That’s what I thought yesterday as the morning gave way to the pressing (if you will) situation happening in front of me. I’d just locked Cate’s infant carrier into the base and had walked around to the other side of the car in search of Blake. Normally, I’d see his chubby legs hanging out the back passenger door. “I do it myseff!” he says. Instead, I found him standing in the garage.

“Blake, come on,” I said, walking towards him. “It’s time to go.”

He waved his hands and shouted, “Stay!” When my probably-should-be-potty-trained-by-now child says “stay” it means I must keep my distance while he takes care of business. There’s no interrupting—or rushing—this process.

“Are you done?” I asked five minutes later. “Stay!” he said again.

By some miracle, I was showered and looking quite presentable, and I had the best intentions of dropping Blake off at preschool in plenty of time to pop into Starbucks and write before my meeting at 10. I’m never going to get anything done for the rest of my life, I whined to myself. I began to count all the things that were stacking up, itemizing and obsessing over everything on my plate. And that’s when I heard another voice.

You were not planned.

What?

You were not planned.

True. I am, technically, not supposed to be here. I was conceived out of wedlock and born into a marriage of emotional and physical abuse and that “family” (for lack of any other word I can think of at the moment) dissolved by the time I was three.

I was not planned. But I am not a mistake. It’s something I’ve been told countless times, but I’ve always been filled with a sense of deep knowing. I’ve never doubted my existence. But this is a piece of my story I’ve downplayed, choosing not to be defined it. I can assure you this was not the blog post I would have written if Blake had settled his potty issues at some other point in time. But now I see how this part of the story relates to the one I’ve been telling you all along.

Leaving TV news was a defining moment in my life. Changing course after so much time invested was not the plan. The plan was to become wildly successful in that career and live happily ever after. It took a significant amount of unraveling to get to the point where I was ready to take a leap and reinvent my life. I’ve put a lot of emphasis on that story because I understand its importance. I can see how telling it might be helpful to others.

I think intellectually, we all know and understand that life doesn’t always go as planned. We’ve discussed it so many times. It doesn’t keep us from setting goals and getting up each day and working towards something we believe in. That’s equally important.

But now I see—I really see—how some of life’s most beautiful blessings aren’t born from plans. And I hope I’ll remember that the next time I’m holding on to an agenda, a belief or an idea so tightly that it’s hurting me more than it’s helping. When my stress level rises over things I can’t control, I hope I’ll remember that letting go of control is exactly what I need to do. I hope I’ll remember to relax, shift my focus to the present and trust.

Because it’s really pretty awesome how things work out when I do.

Can you pinpoint a time in your life when you let go? I’m not talking about the point when the plan fell apart… but when you let go of trying so hard to hold it together? What happened next?

I’d love for you to leave a comment, subscribe to my blog or share this post with a friend.

Filed Under: Popular Posts, Redefining Success

Stepping into the not knowing

March 14, 2012 By Angie 40 Comments

I know the only way I’ll be able to explain this is to act like I’m writing a close friend. And that’s not too far off from what’s actually happening here, because over the past few years since I’ve started this blog, many of you have become just that. Today, I’m purposely trying not to hide behind the layers of a carefully crafted story. Today, I just want to speak what’s been on my heart for the past couple of weeks.

As I explained in this post, my blog is where I come to “punctuate the moment. To underline important scenes from my life with ink.” I am a writer. I tell stories. Stories that hopefully entertain you, make you laugh, cry or think. But I’ve always intended this place to be so much more than that. I’ve always wanted it to be about more than just me. In the back of my mind I’ve always known I’ve been dancing around the point. I’ve been afraid to make a point. I don’t think I was purposely being vague. I just wasn’t ready. I was opening up to you slowly, over time. Telling you about my life. Yet holding back.

I suppose we all do that. We reveal. Then we feel vulnerable. So we pull back. We strip the layers and we’re liberated. Then we feel naked. So we hide again.

But I’ve come to a place where I can’t hide anymore. It’s time to tell the story I haven’t been telling.

I’ve been asked to give a talk for the women at my church in May. The topic: Who am I supposed to be now? They want to know more about how I set out to be one thing (a TV news anchor/reporter) and then ended up doing something else. And that’s when it hit me like the brightest lightbulb in the room—the one that was brave enough to whack me over the head and say hello, this is the direction you need to go. This is the point.

Ironically, I’ve spent the better part of two years (and years before that journaling and brainstorming) writing a memoir about the time in my life when I left my career in television news. About what was driving me to succeed in that high profile business, and what made me stop in my tracks, question my entire identity and change course after investing so much time. What I didn’t fully see until now is how that story speaks to so many women, no matter where they are in life. It’s a story for any woman standing at a crossroads, questioning who she really is, her purpose in life. We don’t arrive at that place once. Life takes us through many seasons and stages and we have to define and redefine ourselves.

For years, I’ve kept the story hidden behind the pages of an unpublished book. As an author seeking traditional publication, I guess I’ve sort of been “saving it” until that magical moment when my dream comes true and my book sits on the shelf at Barnes and Noble. But the publishing world is changing, and as I’m watching it change, I realize I’m changing too.

I am in transition. But this time, I won’t hide behind a veil and reveal the finished product when everything is pressed and perfect.

I’m not saying I’m going to self-publish the book. Nor am I giving up on my dream. I am saying that I’m going to bring the heart and soul of that story to the pages of this blog. I’m going to try to talk about the things going on in my life that I’ve been too afraid to talk about. And I’m going to do a better job of reaching out to you.

Are you in transition? Are you at a crossroads? Do you wonder sometimes, who am I really? So many of us feel the exact same way and we don’t talk about it. This blog is about me. And it’s about you, too. It’s about all of us who feel like we’re traveling this road alone. I’m here to tell you: You aren’t alone. We are not alone.

So let’s talk about it.

I’d love for you to leave a comment, subscribe to my blog (click here), and/or share this post with a friend.

Filed Under: Popular Posts, Redefining Success

A peek inside the butterfly garden

February 1, 2012 By Angie 34 Comments

A month ago, we hadn’t done one thing to get ready for Cate. When I told Abby this she said, “It’s your third kid. What’s left to do?” Fair question. So let me break it down. Since the week after Christmas:

I took all the toys out of the playroom and found homes for them in the boys’ rooms. We decided not to have them share a room for various reasons, one of them being my sanity. Blake is still in a crib and is a good sleeper, and I concluded now was a terrible time to rock that particular boat.
The whole family participated in the search and purchase of a car safe enough and large enough to haul three kids. Enter the Honda Pilot and my debut as a rapper and wanna-be music video star.
Shawn painted the former playroom a color called “pink whisper”.
I cleaned out the walk-in attic. This resulted in quite a large donation of clothes and toys to our church’s thrift store. (This is also how I got the boys’ toys to fit in their rooms. I gave a lot of it away.)
I leaned on Peter Walsh for support. See above bullet points about purging things we no longer use. I needed a pep talk.
My childhood friends and my neighbors held showers where I stocked up on girl clothes. My friends and I have repopulated the world with boys. The ones with girls had already given a lot of their baby-sized stuff away.
I spent several hours raiding the baby store: think nursery decor, essentials and necessary gear. These days, I have a much better sense of what babies need and what they don’t.
I got a decent head start on taxes (I am the family CFO) and wrote thank you notes.
Shawn, my mom and friend Lisa helped me decorate the nursery.

Welcome to Cate’s Butterfly Garden:

The walls created a design challenge, so we worked around it. I had envisioned hanging the mosquito net over the center of the crib but had to adjust that vision.

I also decided to pull the changing table out from the wall a bit, so she won’t pull down the letters when she gets all grabby. FYI, a hot glue gun works wonders when you’re trying to hang letters with ribbon. I opted not to use the hardware that came with it.

Cate’s Butterfly Garden is a wonderful addition to Dillon’s Beach Shack:

The Legos on top of the dresser add a nice touch, don’t cha think?

The monkey hammock is my favorite. The fishing net is a close second.

Across the hall, you’ll find Blake’s Boat House:

And the best part about all this????

Our bedroom is downstairs!

If you’d like to have my blog delivered to your reader or inbox, click here.

Filed Under: Feels Like Home, Popular Posts

Loving you whether times are good or bad, happy or sad

January 30, 2012 By Angie 31 Comments

I had decided this long before President Obama dazzled the audience with a few notes from Al Green’s “Let Stay Together”: If Shawn and I ever renew our wedding vows, we’ll dance to that song first. It has a way of making me want to love up on the one I love.

My friend Andra and her husband renewed their vows recently. To me, they are a wonderful example of what it means to love, honor and cherish one another. I’m sure Al Green would agree.

But what would Al think about Heidi Klum and Seal? When I read the headline, I threw down the latest issue of People and walked to the other room, where Shawn was helping Dillon build Lego ships.

“Did you know Heidi Klum and Seal broke up?” I asked, my voice filled with shock and disbelief.

“Ah, that’s a shame,” he said. And he was totally NOT mocking me. It is a shame. I’ve come to expect Hollywood couples to get divorced eventually. But Heidi and Seal? Not them!

The article in People makes it sound like they just grew apart. He’s been touring. Her career is taking on a life of it’s own. I won’t spend much more time speculating about people I don’t know, and I’m definitely not judging. Growing up, I witnessed a lot of goodbyes.

I know why people don’t stay together. And I believe that sometimes walking away from a broken relationship is the only way. Sometimes letting go is better than holding on out of obligation or fear.

In my memoir about leaving my career in TV news, I reveal much of my personal story that I’ve never shared here on the blog. I’ve never explained to you what was driving that success. I will tell you this: Along the way, I committed to healing old wounds and asking myself, “What do I really want?”

And Shawn and I had to figure out how two ambitious people build one life. Luckily for me, when we reached a crossroads, Shawn and I decided we wanted the same things.

I don’t have advice for anyone. It feels like a mix of magic and hard work. Every single day.

My family is about to enter a new chapter. Very soon, we’ll have a new addition. And that baby will bring more magic, and more hard work. Shawn and I will continue to ask the question: How do two ambitious people build one life? And I hope and pray the answer is always this: Let’s stay together.

We all know what tears love apart. Today, let’s talk about what makes it last.

And if you’d like to get my blog posts delivered to your reader or inbox, click here.

Filed Under: Popular Posts, Redefining Success

It’s game on, people

January 13, 2012 By Angie 29 Comments

2006

Even though many of my posts are about my life with kids, I don’t necessarily consider myself a mommy blogger. Yes, I’m a mom. And yes, I blog. So what’s the difference? I think the big difference is the readers. The comments on Wednesday’s post show how we’re all in different stages of life. We come to this corner of the internet from different backgrounds and viewpoints.

I try to find the universal thread in my stories. I ask myself, What makes this adventure in the life of Angie more about the human experience and not solely the “mom in the trenches” experience? Some days I don’t mention my kids or my role as mom at all. During those times, I have the little people tied to the coffee table.

But let’s face it. I’m about to have a third child. Not, like, tomorrow. But soon. I was thinking about it, and there’s no way I can pretend that’s not happening here on the blog. Much of my focus is shifting towards prepping for the new little person who’s moving in. To my house. Not for an extended visit. To stay. So perhaps that does make me a mommy blogger. It’s just a label. It doesn’t matter.

2009

All of this to say I hope you’ll embrace this part of the journey with me. It will be interesting (in light of Wednesday’s post) to see how it goes. The newborn days with Dillon were particularly difficult for me. I had no idea how my overwhelming love for this angel of a baby would be eclipsed by raging hormones, sleep deprivation and the unsettling realization that so many things are out of my control. With Blake, I had a (somewhat) easier time, and I’m sure some of it had to do with perspective. I did some things differently. But sometimes it was deja vu, and I had to remind myself: I may be tired and depleted today, but I won’t be tired and depleted and um, unshowered for the rest of my life.

Before I got pregnant with our baby girl on the way, I told my husband, “I’m not under any false impressions that having another is going to be easy. I can’t promise I won’t have less-than-shining moments. I still have no idea how to balance raising children with my personal and professional aspirations. But I don’t care. I know what I’m getting into.”

Wednesday, Bella wrote about her experience as a grandparent:

We have more patience than when we were younger, and we have less stress and deadlines and other priorities. Our grandchildren are the only thing in the universe when we’re with them. It’s different than being a parent with all the responsibilities.

She’s right. It is different. We don’t get do-overs in life. Instead, we get seasons. With each season comes an opportunity to learn and grow and live life more fully than we did the day before. In 2009, before Blake was born, I wrote,

Some nights I put my head on the pillow and tell myself, “I got it right today.” But there are other nights I pray for a chance to love my son a little better tomorrow. This realization makes me think of my own mother, and her mother, and all the mothers who came before them. And suddenly, I’m filled with forgiveness. I’m overwhelmed with understanding. And love.

Maya Angelou has said, “You did what you knew how to do, and when you knew better, you did better.” And those words remind to forgive myself.

So perhaps I can tie these thoughts into a pretty little bow by saying this: This is what I love about my blog and the readers who help make it what it is. Together, we shine new perspectives on the business of living life. And if you want to come visit, babysit, clean my bathrooms, take the the overnight shift… sign up in the comments section below. (Kidding).

If you’d like to have my blog delivered to your reader or inbox, click here.

Filed Under: Life with Kids, Popular Posts

My theory on why people say “enjoy every moment”

January 11, 2012 By Angie 33 Comments

Last summer, hugging a tree in our yard that's almost dead

Blake and I were walking out of the gym the other day and he was taking his sweet time. He wanted to walk down the ramp instead of stepping off the curb. He wanted to use the speed bump as a balance beam. He turned the act of searching for our car into a game.

“Where’s our new car?” he asked, saying neeewww car! like the announcer on “The Price is Right”. “Is this it?”

“No, it’s that one.”

“That one?”

“No, that one.”

When we got to the car, he stuck his finger into the tailpipe of the sports car next to us. “What are these hoses?”

“Smoke comes out of those,” I said, grabbing his chubby hand which was now covered with grease. I had been consciously not rushing. I was okay with all the lingering, but I had reached my threshold and picked him up and put him in his car seat.

“Whheeeee!” he said.

In the midst of this grand adventure of walking through a strip mall parking lot, I felt a quick pang of sadness. I missed Dillon. Turn the clock back 3 1/2 years—before my almost 6-year-old had a little brother and a baby sister on the way and started kindergarten—and you would have found us doing the same thing.

And I thought, wow, it goes by so fast.

As I drove away, I flipped through the Rolodex of memories and wondered if I was as patient with Dillon as I had been with Blake just a few seconds ago. I reasoned that yes, on some days I was. And on others, I wasn’t. Much like life today. Sometimes I’m all fa la la la la and others days I’m like hurry up people, let’s get a falalalala move on.

Last weekend Blake was standing in the kitchen in nothing but a diaper and an Iron Man helmet. My mother-in-law told my husband to take a picture and my husband said, “We could take pictures of that kid all day.” I think people tell moms with young children to enjoy every moment because maybe there’s just not an easy way to describe how it feels when the time has passed. They want us to recognize how fleeting it all is, because when we’re in the moment (as in trying to get to the car in the gym parking lot) it feels like it’s taking forever. They’re looking back with perspective.

Memories are selective. When people tell me to enjoy the time of life that I’m in, I usually smile and say something like, “Oh, I know.” Because I do know what they’re really trying to say. It’s just extremely difficult to articulate. There are so many periods of my life that I would do again (and many times I wouldn’t dare repeat). If I knew it wouldn’t alter the course of the universe or change where I am today, I’d go back to college again, I’d marry Shawn again, I’d have my kids again. I’m not saying I enjoyed every single moment. I’m just saying I’d do it again.

What would you do again?

If you’d like to have my blog posts delivered to your feed reader or inbox, click here.