Showing all posts tagged nurture

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, University, Writing

Empty Nest

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

In January, Jason and I will have an empty nest when our youngest child, William, heads off to university in Victoria. We are not the first family to go through this phenomenon, and we won’t be the last, but it feels like a big change and I’m trying to make space to process it.

I’ve been struggling this fall with how to parent grown-up children. It requires a loosening of the strings that have held us tightly together as a family unit. But I don’t know how to navigate this stage.

Ava came home earlier this month for a few days during fall break. I did some Christmas baking and bought some festive holiday candy and treats like I always have. I planned an outing to a favourite Belgian waffle cafe to celebrate all of us being together. But somehow it felt different this time around.

The KitKat house I gave the kids sat unopened on the table. Every other year, Ava and William unwrapped this gift and then built it together, while Christmas music played. But this Christmas season, I put the kit away in the closet and I realised that both kids have other things going on now. This childhood tradition was just that: from their childhood, and now we were in a new stage.

I found this disorienting and lonely. I felt silly for trying to keep everything as it was, when very shortly both kids will be moved out of the house and be living in dorms with other students. But there are no rules for these big life transitions. We have to figure out how to behave as the changes are unfolding. And I’ve never been particularly skilled at letting go.

I’m experimenting with not texting Ava as much while she’s at school. She’s now in her third year of her theatre degree, and she’s busy, and somehow this year feels different in our relationship compared to last year. It’s strange to nurture my kids from a distance. To love them and miss them, but actively work at letting them know that it’s healthy for them to grow away from me.

Jason seems way better at this than I am. Maybe this is because his role as a dad was always a little more emotionally distanced than mine was as the mom. So now I’m trying to learn from him. I know it’s time to step back, and to focus more on my own career and what I might need now that the day-to-day hands-on parenting stage is over.

Some days this feels like freedom, and other days it feels like a loss. Like something really good and precious is over and can never be retrieved.

To fill the void, we decided to fill our empty nest with another kitten. Meet Pippin, who joined us earlier this month, at just 8 weeks of age. He’s cuddly and adorable, and he fills me with joy.

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Travel, Writing

Recalibrating Identity

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I just returned from a trip to Kelowna, BC where I was speaking at a teachers’ conference. In previous years, Jason has come with me on this work trip, but this year I decided to go alone. I listened to music, and some episodes of the Smartless podcast, but realised partway through the 5 hour drive that being alone in the car helped me to recalibrate a sense of my own personal identity.

As women, and mothers, so often our identity becomes intertwined with the identities of those we love and nurture. It can become challenging to separate out our individual needs and desires, because we exist in a context of our other relationships (and identities).

While driving to Kelowna, I found myself weeping for no apparent reason. I decided to let the storm of feeling pass through me, so I cried on and off while I drove. This continued even after I checked into my hotel room and ordered myself dinner.

As the evening progressed, I started to realise what was causing this storm of tears. I pulled out my journal and began to write. I worked through some things that had been building up during the summer. Questions about this new stage of life we’re about to enter as parents and as a family when William leaves for university in January.

I’m certain these feelings would’ve made themselves known whether I was at home or in Kelowna, but there’s something powerful about prioritising our own solitude from time to time. Over the two nights I was away, by myself, I could feel my identity recalibrating back into something I could recognise as my own.

Earlier this summer, we did a family driving trip down the coast to Los Angeles, one of my favourite places on planet earth. We had days of sun and soft sand and salty ocean air and palm trees and In-N-Out milkshakes. It was glorious. But it was a family trip, which meant all of our decisions were made together, with everyone’s needs and interests considered.

In the middle of August, I had a work trip to Alberta to speak at a writers’ conference and teach classes at a number of different libraries. For that trip, it was just Jason and I, which meant I left my Mom identity behind but remained in my Marriage identity. We had a wonderful trip, and I’m glad we went together, but I needed the alone time in Kelowna to understand the difference between solo trips and together trips.

When we give a lot of ourselves to others, it’s important to take time out for ourselves. I’ve been teaching this over the last six months in the form of nurture classes for writers and Nurture Starts with You sessions for teachers. But sometimes I fail to give it enough attention for myself.

It felt strange to say to Jason that I wanted to go to Kelowna on my own this time. He had loads of work to do and was happy to stay at home to look after Ted since William happened to be visiting his sister and some friends on the island when I was gone. But during my trip I realised how much it mattered that I listened to my own intuition. I gave myself time to feel things and a little bit of space and distance to better understand some relationship dynamics that were challenging to see up close.

This solo trip restored me to myself. It gave me time to reflect, and to cry, and to plan for the coming months. It helped me recalibrate my own sense of who I am.

How about you? As we say goodbye to summer and approach the brand new fall season, what steps could you take to recalibrate your own identity?

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships

Learning to Receive

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Every year, I pick 3 words to focus on. For 2024, those words are savour, intentional, and receive. When I picked these words in January, I had a sense that receive would be the hardest challenge for me. And it has been.

But I’m getting there. I’m learning, ever so slowly, that giving and receiving is a dance. For so many years, I was spinning in circles on the dance floor of my relationships, giving and giving and giving and not believing that I deserved to receive from those who loved me.

It’s different now. And better. More balanced and fair. When Jason and I were going to marriage counselling last spring for the first time in our nearly 27-year-relationship, I said to him, “I want a wife to care for me the way I look after you.”

At first, he had no idea what I was saying. It took us both a long time to figure out that I had been so skilled at nurturing him, while simultaneously blocking any attempt he made to be loving and caring back to me. I created a pattern in our marriage where I gave and he received. Over time, this centred his needs and interests over mine.

I was resentful about this. And angry. Our relationship felt lopsided and unfair, and the worst thing was that Jason couldn’t understand why I would be feeling unhappy.

So much of our lives is invisible to us, because we create habits around our patterns. Then we behave instinctively around those patterns, until the inner workings of the relationship dynamics are mysterious to us, even though we were the ones who set those patterns up in the first place.

But 27 years is a long time. He couldn’t see that he was the centre of our relationship, and I couldn’t see that I had been the one to put him there. We were both so lost in trying to reach each other during that painful and isolating time in our marriage.

Until we took a road trip last spring from BC to Alberta, and talked with no distractions for hours on end. Suddenly, we both found clarity on a few of these key issues. He began to understand what I was asking for from him, and I could finally glimpse the inner workings of my inability to receive the care and nurture he had been offering to me.

We both started to change on that trip last June. And now, it’s more than a year later, and I’ve been learning how to receive the care I’ve been longing for. From Jason, from my grown kids, from my close friends. Even from my beloved cat, Teddy. I opened the door that I had closed in order to protect myself from being hurt or let down by others. I started to trust again, and it’s been a beautiful thing.

In my monthly zoom nurture sessions for writers, I’m amazed at how often this issue of giving vs. receiving is coming up. So many women are conditioned to give and not to receive. Sometimes it’s an issue of self-worth and protection, like it was for me, and other times it’s tied to a feeling of obligation, like nurture is a debt we owe to someone else.

I know there is a lot more to discover on this topic. I’m just scratching the surface of understanding how complex and nuanced giving and receiving can be, especially between women and men. I’m so grateful that Jason and I can both see the inner workings a little bit clearer within our marriage, which means we can talk about it openly and make small changes to be sure we are both feeling loved and loving within our relationship.

It’s been a revelation to me, how much stronger and more generous I feel when I practice receiving that love and care from others.

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships

3 Words for 2024

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Every year, I pick 3 words or a phrase to focus on. In 2024, those words are savour, intentional, and receive.

With savour, I’m determined this year to notice more of my life as I’m living it. I read somewhere that when we plan for the future, thinking about something that has yet to arrive, we are missing our life as it’s being lived in the moment. This resonated for me, because I do it so often.

Savouring goes hand in hand with slowing down. I want to notice my delicious food as I’m chewing it. I want to pay attention to the person I’m talking to when we’re having a conversation. I long to stop fixating on my to-do list or some future event. My life (and your life!) is happening right now, at this present second. I’m determined to revel in it more. To cultivate appreciation for the life, career, and relationships I’ve built. To be here and now and to savour it all, no matter what, for this is what it means to be alive.

My second word, intentional, is designed to help me triage my biggest priorities. I’m 51 now, which means I have a lot of decades to look back and reflect on, while also hopefully having decades still to go in front of me. I want the way I spend my time to matter. I want to be more decisive about it.

I’ve been focusing for a few years now on rhythm. I work, and then I rest. I’ve learned to stop seeing leisure as wasted/non-productive time. It’s just as important. If we don’t choose to rest, eventually our body will choose for us, but there are times when I worry about the hours I’m spending chilling out (especially when I’m under a deadline or have a lot of moving career pieces on the go). This year, I want to be intentional with my time, whether I’m working or resting.

My last word is the hardest one for me. I do not know how to receive from other people. I’m unskilled and unpracticed at it. I know how to give to others – I can do that blindfolded with one arm tied behind my back – but receiving?? It feels foreign and strange and brings up all sorts of insecurities about how I don’t deserve it.

The subject of care has been a big one this past year for Jason and I in our marriage. I kept telling him that I wanted to feel cared for by him the way I would imagine he feels cared for by me. For ages, he couldn’t understand what I meant by this. My counsellor really helped me understand that I know how to give, but not how to receive. For Jason, it’s reversed.

We set these patterns up in the early years of our marriage, and now, at the 25 year mark, we’re trying to create more balance in how we function as a couple. It was really helpful for me to understand that I’m not good at receiving care, help, and love from others. I protect myself from it, and then become resentful and angry that no one is loving me, which isn’t exactly fair to the people closest to me.

With Ava moving out last year to go to university, I began experimenting with the changes in my parenting relationship with her as a grown-up child. Her love felt different to me, with her not living in our house. I was able to practice receiving some love, care, and nurture from her in a way I’d never experienced it before. This helped me open up to the love and care Jason was offering as well.

It’s been humbling. And beautiful. I still have so much to learn. Giving comes naturally to me, but I can also attest to how satisfying it feels to receive care from others. I’m inching my way into it, reminding my scared child self that I deserve love and attention too, and I don’t always have to be the one to give it. Learning to receive is going to take me a lot more time, but it’s a project I’m happy to undertake.

What are your words for 2024?

In Culture, Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, University

Middle Age Stress

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Late this spring, my doctor took my blood pressure and expressed concern about how high it was. “What type of stress are you under right now?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing, really,” I replied. She prodded a little, and then I said, “I just finished grad school, and I suppose that was stressful, but it’s over now. My husband and I are going to marriage counselling for the first time, because we’re about to celebrate our 25th anniversary and we’ve been trying to make some significant changes in the way our relationship functions. And my daughter moved out last year for university and I miss her so much. My son is going into grade 12 and I’ve been seeing a counsellor to prepare for an empty nest. We’re going to Europe this July, visiting 10 countries in 3.5 weeks, and there’s been a lot of prep, but other than that, I can’t think of anything.”

My doctor stared at me for an uncomfortable amount of time, then she said in a gentle tone, “Julianne, any one of those things could cause a lot of stress. Add them all together and I can see why your blood pressure is so high.”

I burst into tears. I realised after that appointment how tempting it can be to minimise my experiences. I’ve spent a lifetime doing that, so that I’m not causing difficulties or discomfort to anyone else. I bear all of that shit myself, until it becomes so heavy that I can’t carry it any longer and the whole house of cards comes tumbling down.

That happened for me this past June. But I couldn’t begin to understand or even acknowledge it then. Even now, months later, it still feels strange to type it out here. I feel removed from the story. It’s like I’m watching it happen to someone else.

My wonderful doctor told me to look after myself more. To get more sleep, to try a variety of lifestyle changes in order to lower my blood pressure. I remember saying to her, quite indignantly, “My blood pressure has always been perfect.” She responded with, “We’re all healthy until we’re not.”

I felt mild shame about my increased blood pressure, even when my doctor assured me that it wasn’t a character flaw. But it felt like one. We went to Europe, and I struggled my way through the trip that was designed as a celebration of our quarter-century marriage, my fiftieth birthday, Ava’s belated high school graduation and my MFA grad. Each day in a new country felt overwhelming and frightening. I was lost, and couldn’t recognise myself, which frankly scared the shit out of me.

This fall, my doctor suggested hormone therapy as we began to realise that so many of my symptoms were tied to perimenopause. I started on estrogen, and after a few weeks I stopped crying all the time for no discernible reason and a host of other symptoms started to abate. But my blood pressure remained high, so I just started on a low dose of medicine to try to bring that down.

It’s lovely to feel supported and cared for in my doctor’s office. It’s one of the first times in my life I’ve had this level of kindness from a medical professional. I’m going to turn 51 in just over a month, and my 50th year has been incredibly challenging on a number of fronts. But progress is being made, and that’s worth celebrating. My new counsellor has me saying, “I’m learning how to do things differently” while writing down the words DO LESS and looking at them every day. She has me trying to care for myself the way I’ve long cared for others, and learning how to receive nurture and love which I’m not good at doing.

It’s a strange experience to speak and teach on topics of wellness and mental health, while struggling day by day on a practical level with it myself. I told the teachers I worked with at a conference in October that I’m working on allowing myself to be sad, and scared, and giving myself permission to not have all the answers. It was truly beautiful how many teachers told me after my sessions how much my vulnerability had meant to them. In theory, I knew that vulnerable sharing is the key to true connection with others, but to understand this by experiencing it was next-level stuff.

I know from talking to several friends that this perimenopause/menopause journey (that’s an overly generous word for it; the first one I typed was ‘nightmare’) can last five or more years. Some who are on the other side of it told me to use these uncomfortable symptoms as an invitation to slow down, and take better care of myself. My counsellor says this stage is about getting comfortable with grieving for the end of childbearing and bringing up children. It’s painful to finish one chapter and move into another one, but that process happens so many times in our lives. Grief feels like a spot-on word.

So we carry on. I’m trying to be gentler, and move a little slower, and stay present. It’s helpful to know that others have gone through this and survived (even eventually thrived). I’d love to hear from you if you have any words of wisdom or encouragement for me in these new and weird perimenopause days. It feels so big and scary in the middle of it, but I also know it’s natural and an important life transition. Most of all, it’s great to know we are not alone.