Gone B-Schoolin’

Gone B-Schoolin’

Soooo guys in case you missed my Instagram post, I signed up for B-School this year! I’m super excited because I’ve been wanting to do it for a long time and finally decided to take a leap now so that this site can serve you all in the best possible way.

But it does mean that posting will be even more sporadic than it has been while I soak up mad knowledge. So in the meantime, please sign up for our newsletter so you know when we’re ready to go here.

My Big Fat Phobia

My Big Fat Phobia

So the one big truth of my life is this: I am deathly, pathologically, insanely afraid of throwing up. Like to the point where I’m not sure I’m going to be able to get through writing this post because it’s giving me anxiety. Like to the point I never go anywhere – not even the bathroom – without Gravol on my person. Like to the point that when I broke my leg I refused to take pain killers because they could not guarantee that the would not make me throw up.

I don’t know if I have the words to convey how fucking debilitating such a fear is. Like the photo above says, if anyone anywhere around me has a stomach bug it sends me into a panic. Yesterday my daughter barfed four times. I didn’t eat for the rest of the day. I can’t really eat in restaurants. I can’t eat without washing my hands. I won’t eat something that has fallen on my own kitchen counter – even if it’s clean. I don’t like to ride in cars, basically can’t handle riding in a car on the highway. I will do almost anything to avoid flying. The list goes on and on.

Add a fear of throwing up to poor body image, IBS,  and a controlling mother and you end up with – you guessed it – disordered eating. Right now I have a list of maybe 20 foods that I’m reasonably sure will not make me throw up (or otherwise make me feel unwell). Think about that – only 20 foods. And that’s progress! 15 years ago I ate nothing but toast and Diet Pepsi. For over a year.

It’s kind of a hard thing to explain to people because no one likes throwing up. If I say – I’m deathly afraid of throwing up, the person I’m speaking to will say -oh yeah, me too. I hate throwing up. But it’s one thing to dislike it, it’s quite another thing to fear it so much that the entire framework of your life was built around avoid situations that might provoke it.

I never wanted to have kids for many reasons; not the least of which being morning sickness. And while I managed to make it through my pregnancy without the unthinkable happening, kids throw up a lot. And I have to try to mother them while trying everything not to touch them. It’s not easy.

Why am I telling you this? I don’t really know. I am getting about sick and tired of it, and starting to investigate ways of overcoming emetophobia. I’m finding a disheartening amount of articles advising me to look at pictures of v*** (see I can’t even type the word anymore, it’s freaking me out), watch videos of people v***ing, working your way up to watching other people fake v*** and then fake v****ing yourself.

No. fucking. way. That’s what I have to say about that.

Pray for me people. It’s a little hard to be spiritually evolved and then refuse to eat matcha and drink kombucha because you’re afraid of v****. Kinda damages my street cred, you know?

Who else has  a phobia? Do I have any emetophobia buddies out there? Drop me a comment or tell me a secret if you’re shy.

xo. max

When Your Mother Doesn’t Like You

When Your Mother Doesn’t Like You

I don’t know when exactly I realized that my mother doesn’t like me, but I knew it for sure during my yoga teacher training. In my training we did a lot of trauma work and learned a lot about non-judgement and forgiveness, and like any newbie I probably went a bit overboard in talking about it at home.  And it was probably annoying. And one day my mum and I were having a disagreement about some celebrity scandal or other and she said to me something like – what would you do if it happened to your daughter? Oh I know you’d just say you don’t judge like you say about everything else.

It’s not that what she said was so bad; she’s said much worse to me before. Every time she leaves my house after a visit she sends me these really long vitriolic emails or text messages about everything that disgusted her about me while she was here. She never ever says anything nice to me or compliments me. She’s not proud of me, she doesn’t think I’m a good mother, and she finds ways of letting me know that all the time. So what she said in that moment wasn’t  a big deal at all. It was the look on her face when she said it. This look of  the most intense scorn I’ve ever been on the receiving end of.

And I thought to myself – wow, she really does not like me.

I accept this realization with surprising equanimity. In fact in a way it’s a relief to be able to understand exactly why things with her are so fraught and why she gives me a hard time about everything. And in a way I even feel for her. I cannot imagine what it would be like to feel that way about my own daughter. It must be so confusing. And since my mother is not exactly given to self-reflection, I doubt she even realizes how much she dislikes me. Which means she’s probably never figure out why.

I don’t know why exactly either. My training in compassion and non-judgement tells me that there is something about me that triggers something in her; but since I know so little of her life before me, I can’t pinpoint what. I think it has something to do with this quality I have of doing my own thing (being very “own-way” as she would call it”). I think it triggers something in her; probably because she feels like she never had the chance to do the same.

But don’t misunderstand me. As magnanimous and understanding as I try to be about the knowledge that my mother dislikes me, it still hurts. When she says mean things to me, it doesn’t just roll off my back. At the end of the day I am still a little girl who needs her mother’s approval even though I know it’s impossible to get.

I don’t really hold out hope that this will change. If anything, I think eventually I’ll stop trying to make her like me, which probably will result in her liking me even less. In the meantime I’m focusing on making sure my daughter never feels this way, and comforting myself with the fact that even though my mother doesn’t like me, she does love me. And that’s more than a lot of people get.

So. Tell me about you and your mother? Anyone else have a mother who dislikes them? Drop a comment or tell me a secret if you’re shy.

xo, max