Someone Needs a Nap

I think and talk a lot about compassion fatigue...the burnout that helpers experience when they are overwhelmed by the enormity of the problems they are helping people overcome. Therefore, I also think a lot about self care and all of the fancy/ new age/ psychologically sound ways we can heal ourselves before we completely burn out. I believe in these methods of mindfulness and talk therapy. I should, I spent four years and a lot of money learning them.

Perhaps one of the better methods of self care I learned was not from grad school, but from being a mother...or, come to think of it, from being a daughter. "Someone needs a nap"; if you've not said these words as a parent yourself, then you've heard them during your own childhood. Scenario: Child X has had a full day of preschool, followed by errand running with Mom without so much as a Teddy Graham in three hours. Now, said Child, is laying in the floor of the frozen foods aisle screaming about his lack of Push-up Pops while rivers of snot and tears are making the floor a major hazard. Then, Mother X says to Child X (say it with me): "Someone needs a nap." If this child is lucky, he will be swiftly picked up, taken home and marched up to bed. After this mandatory nap, the child that had been a demon hours earlier, miraculously emerges as the sweet-faced two year old he really, truly is.

We psychotherapists and psychologist pathologize "the bed" too often. Uh-oh...feel like staying in bed all day?! Must be depressed! Someone write a prescription for Zoloft and get that person upright--STAT! Obviously, I'm making light of what can be very serious. It's never good if, on average, someone is in bed more than they are out. I say, however, that pulling the covers over your head for a while is not only "ok"...it's healthy! It allows us the opportunity to reboot our minds and our bodies. Rest is not a luxury...it's a requirement!

Some sleep studies have shown that as much as 40% of Americans are moderately to severly sleep deprived and 43% of Americans say that daytime sleepiness affected their ability to work. Even without a stressful job and family responsibilities, no one can function their best when body and mind are not rested. So, draw the shades, stay in your jammies, pull the covers over your head and hide from the world for a spell. Clearly, someone needs a nap!

And for more stories on sleeplessness, check out this week's This American Life podcast, "Middle of the Night"

Transitions Global

I wanted to take some time to introduce Transitions Global, the organization that I will be working closely with over the next several months. In 2005, James and Athena Pond first began working with survivors of sex trafficking in Cambodia by opening a shelter for girls between the ages of 8-18. Soon, it became clear to them that there was a great need for long term after care, living skills and job skills training. Their mantra became "Rescue is not an event, it is a process."

A year later, they opened Transitions Living Center (TLC) in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. The goal for these girls and young women is to heal, rehabilitate and reintegrate into society. They are provided with health care, psychological and social services, education, job training and job placement.

These are wonderful and lofty goals...easy to make, so much harder to attain. But they DO achieve these goals. Transitions Global has a 79.6% success rate! That is an astonishingly high success rate in a field that all too often sees a 70% recidivism rate.

Their work is not just limited to Cambodia. They are set to open up a shelter in Mumbai, India and have plans for opening a shelter in the United States for survivors of trafficking right here.

This is why James and Athena Pond are two of my heroes. They walk true to their beliefs and values, making a difference in the lives of young women and in the world. This coming year, I will be traveling to Cambodia with Transitions Global to provide compassion fatigue training and care for the staff and the volunteers at the TLC shelter. I am beyond thrilled to be able to do this work with Transitions Global.

I have only touched on a few of the amazing facts about this organization. Please take a minute to visit their website to learn more and be introduced to some of the survivors. Their success stories will amaze you!

Slavery Still Exists

I read with great interest the New York Times article detailing Michelle Obama’s lineage from slave and slave owner. The article follows the history of her descendant, Melvinia Shields. Melvinia was born into slavery and inherited by new owners at the age of six. At the age of fifteen she had a child fathered by a white man, presumably someone in the Shield’s family.

I used to read about slavery in the detached and distant way that history afforded me. I was comforted in the fact that slavery was an atrocity of our past, that we were better as a people than we were five generations ago. But I was wrong. Modern day slavery is a thriving global criminal business. Human trafficking and childhood sexual slavery is the third largest criminal trade, behind only drug and weapon trafficking. It is a $9.5 billion business. Its victims are from every part of the globe and are as young as five years of age.

Allow me to draw a comparison in order to paint a horrifying truth. Melvinia Shields, age six, was valued at $475 in 1850, which is approximately $13,500 in today’s currency. Today, a girl as young as five can be being sold into sexual slavery for as little as $10. No ... that is not a typo: ten U.S. dollars. A human life for what amounts to a few mornings worth of Starbucks, lunch at Chipotle, or a t-shirt at Old Navy. This same young girl will have a life of being raped by countless men, starved and tortured. She will face the very real risk of contracting AIDS, TB, hepatitis and other deadly illnesses. She will be forced to ingest drugs, witness murder and live in conditions most of us would consider unfit for animals. And through it all, she will be required to work. She’ll work until she can work no longer ... and what end do we imagine she will find then?

It doesn’t have to be this way, however. There are a growing number of warriors in the fight against human trafficking and sexual slavery. Some, like Somaly Mam, are survivors of sexual slavery; others, like Bill Livermore, James Pond, Beth Klein and Bradley Myles, are national and international leaders of organizations fighting to bring an end to human trafficking—providing rescue and rehabilitation to survivors and shaping U.S. policy; even film producers and actors like Guy Jacobson and Ron Livingston deliver this reality straight to our hearts; others, like me, add our voices to the refrain that calls for an end to human trafficking. We join together to bring awareness; we believe that through awareness and education, we can achieve true abolition for those still in the shackles of slavery.

Perhaps you are wondering what you can do? Start by visiting the Web sites that I have linked below. Educator yourself. Know that it happens in Cambodia, but it also happens in Charlotte, NC, Portland, OR, and Denver, CO. Be outraged, disgusted, horrified. When you think that you can’t bear to learn the truth, learn it anyway. Understand the difference between sexual expression and sexual exploitation. Refuse to glamorize “pimps”—see them for who they truly are: rapists and slave holders. And, finally, even if you never join an organization, write a check or volunteer—have a conversation. Add your voice to the refrain that cries for an end to human trafficking and sexual slavery.

www.transitionsglobal.org

www.somaly.org

www.polarisproject.org

Once Upon a Time, Six Weeks Ago

I’d like to think that the Universe has a sense of humor. If I didn’t think that, then I’d be forced to believe that it has quite a mean streak and no one likes it when I get all glum and pessimistic. What pull-the-chair-out-from-underneath-me trick has the Universe concocted this time? Just as I was about to launch my eight-month journey into volunteering as an avenue toward career bliss, my priority as a mother sent me on a two week (and counting) detour.

Now, this was no “one-shot” whammy. We are talking a trifecta of illness, injury, and temporary single parenthood. I am blessed to have three, otherwise healthy, boys. Unfortunately, the flu is a nasty beast ... as is strep ... as is gastroenteritis ... as is one concussion and a sprained foot (thank you, flag football). All three boys were down for the count. My middle son is currently sacked out on the couch with strep. He’s had nothing but water, one bowl of soup, antibiotics and Skittles for two days (hey, I’m not above a bribe and Joe’s right ... that medicine is disgusting). Between trips to the ER, urgent care and the pharmacy, I still had to help my oldest with his science fair project and shop for Halloween costumes. Come to think of it, I need more Halloween candy due to the whole medicine equals candy bribery scheme … but I digress.

Naturally, my husband had a business trip to Reno right smack dab in the midst of all the chaos. He made the cursory attempt at “... wish I could stay ... big presentation ... rather be home ...” I appreciated it, but knew that last month when the tables were turned and it was me heading out of town for a conference (and a few days of peace), I left skid marks in the driveway as I tore down the street toward the airport. As our two-year-old stood at the door and waved goodbye to his daddy, I watched out for a CDC quarantine team to descend upon our home.

I’d like to be able to say that I still managed to accomplish all my volunteer duties during these last few weeks. It would prove a point that I CAN have it all! I am able to juggle high fevers and save the world at the same time! But I didn’t. I dropped the ball.

As I sat in the ER with my concussion-afflicted son last Monday, it dawned on me too late that I was at that very moment supposed to be taking the helm of a domestic violence survivors’ group. Fortunately, the previous group leader was there to call women and cancel the group. No matter; I still felt that dull weight of guilt for having let these women down. Sitting there in the hospital with my eleven-year-old, I had no doubt that I was where I needed to be, but it had me asking some big questions. Why am I to trying to change the world when there is always unlimited need within the walls of my own house? Will my boys wonder if I care about the woman and children I try to save from violence more than I care about them? And bigger yet ... am I running away? Am I running away from being a wife and mommy, from chicken rice casseroles and Costco, from diapers and checking homework?

You see, these questions were not just brought on by one missed therapy group and an onslaught of health mayhem. I had just days earlier eagerly accepted a pro bono position to work with an anti-trafficking organization. This will require intense work and a two-week humanitarian trip to Cambodia. It is literally a dream come true for me. I didn’t hesitate to say, “yes, yes, YES!” Now, here I was gulping down the means-to-an-end known as hospital coffee and wondering if there was something wrong with me that I didn’t feel guilty.

Call it justification, call it inspiration, or call it too much caffeine, but I finally came to a conclusion. Yes, I believe that being a good mother means holding my boys’ hands and nurturing their hurts and hearts. I also believe that being a good mother means letting go of their hands sometimes in order to use my own. I know there will be those who roll their eyes at my idealism, but I want my children to know that they can make a difference in the way our world works.

It doesn’t work just to tell them; I have to show them. I have to show them that the world is a giant place with enormous trouble, but that with our hands it is possible to craft solutions and smooth the world down to a smaller size. I want them to take on an adventure when that golden opportunity arises. I want them walk in the direction that they fear most, because often that’s the direction we are meant to go. I want them to believe that courage is not the absence of fear, but action in the presence of fear. I want them to know that love comes from family, but it also comes from community and service. I want them to resonate with the statement that “justice is what love looks like in public.”

So, whether I’m leading group therapy on the other side of town or training volunteers on the other side of the globe, I hope they know that although I’m not right there holding their hands, I am still holding their hearts.

Beginnings...

It's intimidating starting something new. I've always loved to write, yet I was always the girl who sat in front of a blank, new journal frozen by the weight of what would be "MY FIRST ENTRY." It should be important and noteworthy, deeply philosophical, yet witty; in truth, it was often nothing more consequential than "Math stinks" or "I'm in love with the boy down the street." I wasn't breaking any pre-teen girl stereotypes in those days. Indeed, I actually owned...no, memorized...a horrible little book called "How to Talk to Boys."
Some things stay the same; I'm still intimidated by how to begin this blog. Fortunately, though, some things do change. I learned to put down "How to Talk to Boys" and instead started focusing on how to speak my mind and be heard. Something that, at 37, I'm still working on. In part, that is what this blog is about: being a voice for those who are often unheard and for those heroes who are too often unsung. If I'm lucky, I will get the opportunity now and again to practice my own brand of everyday activism. And if I get to one day make it my life's work...well...that's the dream I'm releasing to the world right now.
But in my humble opinion...math still stinks.