A few hours after my Dad died, I hike up Chuckanut Ridge behind our house. I want to be in the mountains to feel my Papa, because he was always happiest in the mountains. But I can’t feel him any more. He’s gone.
The week before his death, I felt my father constantly. He was in a coma, and in that no-man’s land was accessible to me, although we live on different continents. Whenever I slowed down enough and thought of him (which was often), the message was clear: He didn’t want to be in intensive care in the hospital. He didn’t want us four daughters to fuss over him. He just wanted to be in the mountains. Two days before his death, when we were waiting for the test results that determined if he had suffered major brain damage, I went into deep meditation. I’m trained as an energy healer and know how to access other levels than just this physical plane. As soon as I established connection with my Dad, he told me to get him out of this hospital. I brought him into the beautiful region of the Alps where we’re both originally from, and where he spent all of his 74 years. As soon as we got there, he turned to me in his stern way and ordered: “Protect your heart.” I was taken aback, because I didn’t expect any advice from him. I stilled and felt into my heart, which was beating hard and felt clenched with stress. He nodded and explained that this kind of stress was what had been weakening his own heart over the course of his life. He said, “Stress is a killer” and looked at me intently. Instantly I remembered the time four years ago when I was diagnosed with heart irregularities after a routine checkup. It can happen to athletes and doesn’t necessarily mean you have a problem, but it’s a good wake up call to look at your stress levels. When my doctor called me with the diagnosis, I was on a bike ride alone, and I freaked out. I called my father – something I rarely do. But I knew he had similar issues with his heart, and I knew I needed to reach out to him. I still remember the feeling of relief and comfort I felt when he explained the condition and reassured me not to worry.
Emotional support wasn’t the foundation of our relationship. Papa was born right after the war, and post-war Germany was too occupied with collective guilt, grief, and rebuilding the country than raising emotionally attuned children. He didn’t grow up with love, and like most men in his generation didn’t know how to raise highly sensitive daughters like me. But every now and then he surprised me with his support. One of the most formative and destructive events of my life as a woman happened when I was 15 years old and attended my first dance class in preparation for prom. The boys had to ask the girls for the first dance. I was one of three girls left over without having been chosen by a guy. When I came home, I was devastated, because my core wound was triggered: I am not wanted, I am not good enough. I ate dinner through tears. My mother told me to not make such a big deal about this, but my father looked me in the eyes with compassion and simply said, “When I was your age, it was always the pretty girls who weren’t chosen. The boys were just too intimidated to ask them to dance.”
In the almost 30 years I’ve lived in America, my father visited me only once. I wish we had more memories over here together. Here’s one: When he visited together with my sister and her kids, they stayed in our little mother-in-law apartment that my husband built above his woodworking shop. I guess my Dad wanted some alone time, so he retreated into the shop one evening to work on a bamboo table for my studio. I was looking for him to see what I should make for dinner, and we ended up sitting in front of the wood stove for an hour, talking. It was mostly him talking, which was unusual. He told me things I never knew about his childhood: how his mother was married off to the man who was supposed to marry her sister, who had died. How his parents rejected him and blatantly favored his sister. How he used to get terrible ear infections, but they never took him to the doctor but stuck a clove of garlic in his ear instead. He opened up to me like never before and never since, and it helped me understand his own inability to be the kind of father I had always yearned for: a touchy-feely, kind, emotionally attuned, loving man.
The force of my grief surprises me. There was a time in my life when I wished my father dead, a decade or so when we didn’t talk at all because I was so deeply hurt about his actions and lack of care. In one of my therapy sessions I got in touch with how angry I was at him, and this turned into rage one evening when my mother called me about something he had done. I got in the car and drove to a remote logging road, where I screamed at the top of my lungs, hit the steering wheel and yelled, “I wish you were dead!” I was so enraged, I meant it. A few days later, my sisters called me to tell me that Dad was in a medically induced coma. (This coma happened four years before the second coma.) He recovered from the first one physically, if not emotionally. From then on, he seemed to lose his will to live and his zest for life. To this day, I feel guilty about damning him that evening in my car. A part of me still wonders if the force of my rage caused this beginning of the end.
When I look into the mirror, I see my father’s eyes. They are green and almond shaped.
Another memory of comfort: I had been living in the US for 15 years and came to visit Germany. I was hiking in the Alps with my Dad and sisters and got incredibly emotional because I had to fly back in a few days and didn’t know when I would see them again. Tears streamed down my face as we hiked up the steep incline, while cow bells rang around us. Yes, it was my decision to leave my home country all these years ago, but this was my home, and this was my blood family, and I missed them. I felt a tap on my shoulder. Papa extended a flask to me. “Here’s some medicine for you.” That’s how it worked in my family: we didn’t talk about feelings, but alcohol would do in a pinch. I gratefully took the flask and poured the searing liquid down my throat, then passed it back and watched my Dad take a big swallow. He winked at me and asked, “Better?” When I laughed through my tears, he hoisted his backpack up onto his shoulders and said, “Come on. This summit won’t climb itself.”
I have reached the clearcut above Chuckanut Ridge, where the view of Samish Bay stretches far to the horizon, and to the South extends all the way down the Skagit Valley. This is the area I came to 28 years ago, when I left Germany to be an AuPair in America. I had been matched with a family in Bellingham, where I was to spend a year being a nanny for them, while receiving room and board and an adventure in a different country. My host family brought me to exactly this spot on the mountain to show me the view of Mount Baker in the Eastern distance, the salt water to the West, and the scenic panorama to the South. We picnicked on the side of the mountain where several hang glider pilots got ready to launch themselves off the mountain. Straight off the airplane from Germany, my 20 year old self was absolutely fascinated. Here I was in America, with glaciers and oceans and the taste of freedom on my tongue. I was free of my oppressive childhood in Germany! I was here in an exciting country, and I was watching grown men launch themselves in the air like eagles! I was drunk with the possibilities! Four months later, I married one of these hang glider pilots. He was my father’s age.
After my Dad died, I found it impossible to sit still. I wanted to be in motion, exert myself physically. So I cancelled all my transformational life coaching clients and instead focused on transforming the gardens of my landscaping clients. On my way to picking up bark mulch for a job, I stopped at a red light. I marveled at how disoriented and disembodied I felt, and wondered if people could feel how raw I was. Across from me sat a young man in a jeep. His blond arm hairs shone in the sun. Had he ever lost anyone? Did he still have a father? A woman jogged in place to wait for the light to turn green. She was someone’s daughter. Did she have kids? I felt a thread of connection between everyone I saw, and I wondered how long it would last til I was back in my normal bubble.
When my father hung in limbo in the coma, my best friend came over to support me. We did a ritual for my Dad to help him let go. After his death, she fed my family chicken stir fries and kept a steady supply of gin and tonics going. She showed up every day and held me while I cried, took care of my kids, watered my garden, wiped dog pee off the floor. My husband, as usual, was the rock I clung to. I’ve never loved anyone more and hyperventilated when I realized they could die some day. How could I manage life without them?
When I get to the top of Chuckanut Ridge, my phone rings. It’s my Mom. She has been divorced from my Dad for 30 years, after having been married to him for 20. They’ve been engaged in a non-stop battle since then, and for some years, things turned ugly. My mom cries now and asks me: “Why do people have to die before we can forgive them?” She tells me about her health problems, and how she decided she won’t see any doctors any more because nobody can help her. Before she hangs up, she asks me to call her more.
In the midst of raising my own three kids with my incredibly supportive husband, I understand how hard it must have been for my parents to raise four daughters. Being a parent is not for the faint of heart. Shortly after my Dad passed away, I found a dead baby bird that had fallen or been pushed out of the nest. I kneeled down next to it and wept and couldn’t stop. My Dad kicked me out when I was 17 years old, still in high school. He had enough of me rebelling against him for a year, questioning him, defying him, and so he pushed me out of the nest.
I know people who say they couldn’t go on living if their parents died because they love them so much. I never had that worry because my childhood was so complicated, and because I was so fiercely independent from a young age. I always thought it would be a breeze for me to deal with my parents dying. I always felt I didn’t rely on them anyway. Turns out, now that my Dad is gone, there’s a big hole in my heart.
There was always singing. My father was a member of the boy scouts, which might have saved his life because he found a sense of belonging there. They went on epic hikes and camping trips, slept in alp huts, played harmonica and learned songs. As an adult, my father retained his love for nature and singing. I was exposed to flawless harmonies in utero, because at every gathering with his friends, they ended up singing – no doubt fueled by copious amounts of alcohol. I thought it was normal that everyone knew how to automatically harmonize to a melody, until I joined a choir in high school and realized most people can’t do it. They have to memorize harmonies. Me, I belched out complicated tunes from an early age and later taught myself to play guitar. Although my dad never openly told me he was proud of me, he must have been because he often asked me to play a song and sing for acquaintances when they stopped by. Equally, he never praised me for my good grades in school – but he liked to tell his friends about me being a straight A student. I often wonder what my life would have been like if he had been able to express his pride and love for me in a way I could understand.
One of my trusted friends told me that grief is more complicated when the relationship with the parent was dysfunctional and complex. He has done a lot of research around that topic and has personal experience with it. I don’t know if his thesis is true. I don’t know what it feels like to have parents who love you unconditionally and support you 100 percent. I only know what it’s like to be raised by a man who lives in constant fear and likes control, and by a woman who is deeply depressed and narcissistic. What I do know is that my grief feels very confusing.
I will miss his sayings. Whenever I talked to him on the phone and asked him how he was doing, he said things like, “When I leave the bad things out, it’s going great.” Or, “Life is looking up, says the sparrow as the cat carries him up the stairs”. Or “Chin up, even if your neck is dirty.”
I often wonder how my father managed the stress of having to provide for a rapidly growing family. My mother gave birth to four daughters within six years, with a miscarriage and one abortion thrown in. I can’t imagine what the stress must have been like to cope with all the burdens, including all the financial stress. We were always poor, compared to my schoolmates who went on vacations in Greece, Italy or other exotic locations. Back then, I was envious of their holidays, new clothes and shiny gadgets I never had. Instead, our family went on hiking and bicycling vacations in hand-me down clothes and gear. We had cheap one-speed bicycles, which we juggled up and down our scenic mountainous homeland, picnicking on bread and sausages in dandelion-covered meadows surrounded by cows. Or we hiked far distances for days, sleeping in youth hostels, donning plastic ponchos when it rained, wearing scratchy, hand knit socks. My father, having served a couple of years in the military, woke us up for these trips early in the mornings, yelling “Batterie aufstehen!” – “Wake up, soldiers!”, while we girls groaned and rolled our eyes. I treasure these memories more than anything.
Then, of course, there are other military-related memories. Enter collective punishment. To build character in the army, the whole regiment was punished if one person did something wrong. So when something happened at home that my father deemed bad, he had us girls line up and order my mother to bring out the wooden paddle, which was equally distributed over our collective butts. This was to serve as a deterrent for future disobedience, which sucked because I usually was the “good one” and got punished anyway. I assume this is why things really went downhill when I turned 16, when I decided that being “good” had never paid off, and I rebelled big time.
My three kids grew up hearing some of these stories, which made them afraid of the image of their grandfather. When we went back to Germany as a family two years before Dad died, they were surprised to find a man who was fun, easy-going and kind. On this last visit, we all had so much fun. My father was our tour guide: he took us to castles and ruins, bicycled with us on scenic back roads, ate brunch in the local 600 year old bakery, went swimming in forest tarns, and hiked to some of the mountain tops we frequented as kids. When it was time to fly back, my entire family came to the airport. My Dad and his wife were there, and even my mother showed up, although she usually tries to stay as far away from them as she can. As I ushered my own offspring through the gate, I looked back one more time: my sisters, Mom, Dad and his wife all waving in unison, looking like one happy family, safe and secure in their nest. I intuitively knew that this would be the last time I would ever see my Dad again, swallowed hard through my tears, and jumped out of their nest into the embrace of my own family.
I want to tell you something really, really vulnerable, and it’s scary for me to share this here. But I feel like I NEED to share it. And I’m telling you not so that you’ll feel sorry for me, but for a specific reason, and you’ll see in a minute why.
Ready? Okay… Deep breath… Here it goes:
My childhood was pretty rough. I grew up in a house where our grandparents lived with us, and my grandfather was literally an alcoholic axe murderer. He had killed several of his pets in a rage, and he kept threatening to kill his wife, our grandma. I was and still am a very sensitive soul who picks up on everyone’s feelings, so you can imagine how my nervous system was on high alert all. the. time.
My mom and dad had four children within six years when they were still very young, and they were super overwhelmed and financially struggling a lot. My mom was depressed, distant and bitter, and my dad was unpredictable and controlling. I can’t remember either of them ever hugging me or telling me they loved me.
I was always a “good girl”, bringing home straight A’s and excelling in sports, but I never got praised for it. In fact, I got criticized frequently for anything that was less than perfect. And even though I was good and obeyed all the rules, whenever one of us four kids (all girls) did anything wrong, my father beat all four of us. This was supposed to build character.
I could tell you story after heartbreaking story, but I don’t think I need to. You get the picture.
As a result of all these experiences, I believed in my bones that I am never good enough, that I am not worthy, that I am not wanted, and that I am not safe. These beliefs have been core wounds of mine that cut very, very deep, and they created destructive and painful patterns in my life.
And this is why I’m sharing this with you: If you have some of these same core wounds, you know how devastating it feels when you are being attacked or shamed by someone, or when you don’t feel appreciated or valued. You know how incredibly painful it is when you feel that you are not wanted or don’t belong.
This last week, I felt attacked and shamed by someone I trusted. You know that feeling when you are really triggered, like you are gut punched? I swear, when that person confronted me with her wagging finger (just like my parents used to do), I literally felt my face burning with shame. It turned beet red, and I wanted to disappear in the earth. Or start throwing punches and attacking with a vengeance.
I’ve talked with many of my coaching clients who have had these experiences of being triggered, being emotionally or psychically gut punched. In the aftermath of that, it can literally feel like you are crazy or losing your mind, right? It’s the worst feeling!
We believe what the other person is saying about us is true, because this is what we learned when we were little. See? I am indeed not good enough, I am indeed not worthy, I am not wanted, and I am sure as hell not safe.
And then maybe there’s another part of you that doesn’t believe it, or that pushes back against it.
But it’s all just such a big balled-up mess, all smooshed together, and it’s painful, and it’s shameful, and it’s heartbreaking, and it’s confusing, and sad, and depressing, and hopeless, and it pisses you off, and you feel like you are going nuts.
And this is why I’m sharing this with you: There is actually a way out of this! Read on.
For me, in the past during the scenario where that person attacked me, I would have gone down a terrible shame spiral, and then I would have either hidden and felt completely resentful and not ever extended myself to someone again, hidden my light and played small.
Or I would have puffed up like a gladiator and wanted to beat the shit out of them. Not really, but you know what I mean? I would have attacked them with my words, yelled, cut them off and tried to get back at them, or completely severed the relationship.
That would have created a whole other mess and not worked in the long term.
Instead, I was able to calm myself down. I was able to stay more objective and see what was really going on. I didn’t blow up the relationship with this attacking person. I then reached out for support from people I trust, and they were able to mirror back to me the truth, which was immensely helpful. This way of showing up left my self worth and self esteem intact instead of destroying it. In fact, it got strengthened through this whole ordeal.
And this shift, this transformation is something everyone can learn. If I, the damaged, messed up Corina, can learn it, you can, too. I have immersed myself in the work of transforming my old beliefs and painful patterns for a while now, and I’ve created amazing, almost miraculous results because of it.
But I couldn’t do this by myself, and chances are if you are reading this, you can’t either. And there’s nothing wrong with that! We all need support, we need accountability, we need tools and practices and a system.
I would absolutely love to support you and teach you this system. It’s actually a step-by-step process that’s incredibly effective and powerful.
It has been a long time since I posted a blog here. It’s because 2020 kicked my ass more than any other year, except maybe that time when I was a teenager and got banned from our house by my father.
Anyway, back to 2020: it started with some heavy duty marriage trouble in January. It continued with our decision to leave our beloved homestead in the wilderness and move closer to civilization. We purchased a house in the Skagit Flats, and while we moved and cleaned and organized and tried to find renters, Covid hit full force.
At the same time, my life coaching job with Feminine Power heated up, where I rose to the top, serving as the senior coach for famous icons like Jean Houston in her Influencer’s Masterclass, and Claire Zammit’s Coaching/Facilitation/Leadership trainings.
So here I was, holding space for clients, while also juggling three kids at home who needed to navigate homeschooling in a different district.
Then our renters quit, and we decided to sell our homestead. Things heated up even more. I’ll spare you the details. It was all very, very intense. During all this time, I got felled by migraines regularly that had me throw up for 12 hours straight.
Fun stuff.
All to say: I bet 2020 wasn’t a cake walk for you either. In fact, most of the hundreds of women I talked with over the past year have felt isolated, alone, stressed out, confused, afraid, super pissed, hopeless and at the end of their rope.
I want to validate what a difficult year this has been for most of us.
Before I get into that, I want to name another thing that I’ve been hearing over and over from many of you. These times of Covid have forced many of us to really ask ourselves: Why am I here? Why am I on this planet, in this body, at this time in human history? What is my purpose here? What is my destiny? What is mine to do? You might be feeling the pull that there is something else out there for you.
Are you feeling that, too? And are you asking yourself at the same time: “How the hell am I supposed to figure that out?” You have no idea where to start. You are stuck, and that leaves you even more depressed and frustrated.
Here’s the good news: You can transform these feelings that keep you stuck and feeling powerless, and you can have the guidance, structure and support to take steps towards your destiny and purpose.
I know this because I LIVE It every day: despite all the intense stuff that has been happening, I’ve actually flourished. I feel like I’m in the center of my calling and my destiny, by supporting women like you. I am using the same tools and practices that I teach every single day for myself, and it has helped me not only survive, but thrive.
And here’s where the solution comes in: My dear, beloved friend Lindsay (licensed psychotherapist, wilderness guide and grief counselor) and I are offering a ten week online group coaching course to help you break through inner barriers, completely transform your life and fully step into your destiny.
We would love to be your coaches and mentors and guide you on the journey that’s necessary to grow yourself into the amazing woman you came into this world to become.
We are going to do that by teaching you the Feminine Power Framework that I personally used and have used with hundreds of clients with amazing results. When I learned this framework 11 years ago, just like we’ll teach in our ten week course, my life was un-recognizable afterwards.
11 years ago, I was in a really bad place: burnt out, depressed, hopeless… I felt like I should be happy, because I had a great husband, 3 wonderful kids, and a beautiful homestead and animals. I felt guilty for feeling so unsatisfied. I always felt that there was more to life than “just” my family, and I felt guilty for feeling that. When I started this Feminine Power work, I became aware of these old, limiting stories I lived life inside up until that time: that I’m not good enough, not wanted, not worthy. My life kept reflecting this back to me on many levels, and I couldn’t get traction in my life.
Inside of this Feminine Power work, I completely transformed these beliefs and started living from a deeper truth: that I am more than enough, that I don’t have to hussle to prove my worth, that I am deeply wanted. Inside of that new story, I began to relate to myself, life and others in ways that created a totally new reality for me. My relationship with my husband deepened. My mothering became so much more genuine and not rooted in guilt all the time. I healed my adrenal fatigue and burn out. My business started taking off, because I dared to make myself visible in a really authentic way. I started creating, writing and blogging. My blog was awarded one of the top 100 blogs worldwide on homesteading and sustainability! And I began making a huge impact in the world as a coach and leading retreats. Talk about stepping into my destiny!
But I couldn’t have done this by myself. I needed support, guidance, mentorship and community, and this is what we offer in our ten week course.
We will teach you the feminine way of creating, which is very different from the masculine way. We will help you set a powerful intention, where you get crystal clear on what you are most yearning to experience, create and contribute. Many of us are blocked there because we are so disconnected from our deepest desires, or because we are so rooted in non-possibility.
We are then going to identify the gap, the barriers that are in the way of this intention. We are going to get very clear on the pattern that has been keeping you from realizing your deepest desires.
That’s when it gets really powerful and transformational. We will dive deeply underneath your pattern at the level of identity, where you will meet the part of you that is stuck in old, limiting stories, like I’m not enough, I’m alone, I’m invisible, I’m not worthy, I’m not safe.
We will guide you deeply into powerful practices to break through this.
The work is about seeing how this is happening THROUGH you, and not TO you. Many of us are stuck in victimization without even realizing it, but when we take responsibility for how we are showing up with ourselves, others and life, that’s when things can really change.
This can happen fast! We don’t need years and years of therapy or meditating on our cushion to transform this!
Register early, because spaces are limited, and because you get early bird pricing! (By the way, tuition for this course is incredibly affordable, because we want to make sure you can step in!)
Is your anxiety running as high as mine? I’m a naturally anxious person, and also highly sensitive to the energies around me. So in addition to feeling my own stuff, I’m also feeling everyone else’s.
You, too?
And if you have kids, you are picking up their anxiety, and then you try to help them while dealing with yours.
Sound familiar?
I got a powerful, simple tool for you.
In the face of the worldwide Coronavirus pandemic, schools are shutting down. Working parents (which is most of us) have to figure out what to do with the kids. Fears and uncertainty are running sky high. The economy is taking a downturn. We are worried about our elders contracting the virus and getting serious complications.
It’s enough to make the most stable, balanced, rock-solid person (like my husband) feel jittery.
I’m feeling more than jittery right now. Today, I’m dealing with a migraine, which makes me fight an urge to throw up and hide in a dark room, but instead, I’m using this vulnerability to write to you, darlings.
I want to encourage you to practice what I have preached for years, and what I have taught literally hundreds of women by now: if you want to tend to others, like your children, you have to tend to yourself first. Oxygen mask on yourself first, and all that.
Instead of shutting down your feelings, or denying them, or shaming yourself for having them, or disassociating from them, nor numbing them, why don’t you try this:
Turn towards your feelings. Breathe into your body. Take your time with this. Where are you feeling fear/anxiety/sadness/anger in your body? Breathe into it. All of you is welcome here. Put your hand on the area where you feel the feelings. Keep breathing and not judging the feelings. See if you can be tender here. No need to fix anything, no need to do this perfectly. Just be present with what you are feeling and welcome that all in.
Now ask yourself: What is this part of me saying? Listen to it. Keep breathing. Keep listening. No judgment, just breathe it in. This part of you might be saying “I’m scared! I’m super mad at the government! I don’t deserve to take care of myself if other people need me. I’m so tired!”
There you go, that’s good. Just keep naming these feelings and acknowledge them.
Now try this: Imagine yourself as a little kid. Imagine all the things you just named were being told to you by a precious little girl you loved very much. Imagine her coming to you, the adult, with her big, wide eyes and cute braids, and she told you these things: “I’m scared. I’m mad. I don’t know what to do…”
What would you do with this little girl? How would you behave?
Would you say “Yup, kid, too bad, you’re screwed. And you shouldn’t be feeling this way, what’s wrong with you? And honestly, don’t bother me, I’m busy!”
I bet you wouldn’t do that.
I bet you would gather that little one up in your arms and give her a big hug. You would validate her feelings, you would tell her you are sorry that she’s feeling this way, you would tell her that you are right here with her, that she’s not alone, that you’ll take care of her.
Right?
So can you do that? Can you imagine this little girl is actually you, and can you give yourself the kind of tender, loving care you would extend to a scared little child?
Can you listen to that little one inside of you and ask her what she needs? Maybe she needs to go for a walk. Maybe she needs to take a bath. She might want to call a friend and connect. She might tell you to turn off the news, because it messes up her nervous system. She might want some alone time with a good book. She might need to cry.
Even if you can’t give her what she needs in the moment (because you have a baby who needs you right then, or because you are at work and can’t take a bath just then, or you can’t cry right now because you have to keep it together at the moment), you could just put your hand on yourself and whisper “I hear you, sweetie. I can see you need this right now.It’s okay, we’ll work it out. I love you and care about you.”
So, my dear darling? Let’s support one another in this radical care towards ourselves. Let’s live in a culture of treating our own self with special, tender loving support, because you deserve it, because you are so worthy of it.
I promise you that your bandwidth to care for others increases dramatically when you practice this consistently. It’s so worth it.
So keep living your life with an extra dose of self love and self care. Wash your hands often. Don’t touch your face (eyes, nose and mouth).
Are you a mother nearing the end of active child-raising years, wondering what’s next and how you get there?
Maybe you’ve been homeschooling kids for years and you’re transitioning to a new chapter in your life, personally and professionally.
Are you a mother of younger children, still committed to your caregiving role, but wondering how you’ll return to, or enter, the working world one day? Maybe you’re concerned you’ll be at a loss or disadvantage because of your child-raising years.
Maybe you’re a person, regardless of life stage or roles, who likes personal stories and memoirs of change, transition, growth and stepping into new seasons of life.
I wanted to let you know about a project I am involved in this month.
Second Bloom is a series of conversations hosted and produced by Renee Tougas, conversations with eight women (one of them Yours Truly) around the theme of transitioning to careers and vocations after life seasons of full-time mothering, homeschooling, and homemaking.
I was asked to participate because of my own transition from homeschooling mom into the work I do now.
I was interviewed along with seven other extraordinary ordinary women who have transitioned from homemaking and child-raising careers into training programs, bachelors, and masters degrees; women working in corporate professions, universities, and small businesses; writers, students, guides, helpers, musicians, designers, administrators, managers and healers.
Mothers with kids still at home and actively parenting tweens, teens and young adults. Mothers who have long launched birds from the nest. Mothers who homeschooled for a good portion of their children’s education, and some that didn’t at all. Mothers of two or three, or five or six children. Grandmothers.
All women with a strong commitment to that first career of homemaking and child raising, who have experienced or are experiencing a Second Bloom in midlife.
I am so excited to be a part of this project.
What can we learn together from the life experience and wisdom of women’s stories
You can listen to my segment, where Renee interviews me about my journey, struggles and triumphs here:
Renee Tougas interviewing me about my journey
To find out how you can listen to all eight of these conversations go to:
