Dearest Lauren - 

The first time I sensed a craving to meet your magnificent self, I was 25. Your father and I had been dating since my first year of university and were on the other side of the wobbliness of early love and immaturity and I could already feel you with us. Clear as day. And your name was always Lauren.

I had a whispered sense that you were to have a sibling, but could never see them the way I could see you. Thick and wavy-haired and a sparkler of a human. Compassionate, wise and hilarious.

It took you a while to grow into the hair and the humour I had pre-seen…but when you did, my Lord, did you ever. Like everything you do, you do with gusto.

The first time I experienced the tension between marvelling in your evolution and wanting things to stay exactly as they are was the first time I cried when putting on your “watch me grow”-emblazoned onesie–a gift from your grandmother. It was adorable and precious, and yet it bit at my heart.

The first time I experienced the sense of my heart being outside of me was your first day of Kindergarten. I came home and tumbled tearfully into the loving arms of the mother figure that was our neighbour Lynne. 

And in each of those moments I’ve named, I imagined this day. “The heart-ripping day L leaves”, as the file that I started for this letter was called. I didn’t know if it would be heading into your dorm room like we’re doing today, or if you’d be moving into your first apartment, or into a friend’s place, or on a year-long solo adventure. I didn’t know the shapes, the details, the names and the places, but I knew it was coming. The slowest moving train that’s been steadily approaching for 18 years has finally arrived at the station. 

Ready to take you on an extraordinary journey filled with the wonder and excitement of new quests, sights, and people. 

The joy and pride and excitement and gratitude we feel on your behalf is immeasurable. 

And also? The grief.

Listen. You KNOW I tried in vain to get ahead of the grief, but it came just the same. Because it’s like Staci said yesterday morning over our weekly coffee date: The moment you entered into our lives, you became the centre of our universe.

And as many well-intending friends keep reminding me, you’ll only be ten subway stops away. TEN. But you’re not going to be in this house every day like you have been for the past 18 years, and for that, I am straight up sad. For ME.

I will miss more than I can name. The idle chats and big opinions as we snuggle in to watch Glow Up or some other show your dad can’t be bothered with, your warm hand resting on my forearm where it’s rested since you were five. The little erasers here and the friendship bracelets there that hearken back to the days of your teeny tiny toys strewn about the house. The heart-to-hearts on the drives to school, and later, work. The twice yearly dental visits and follow-up drugstore run for chips (not sweets) as was our tradition. The casual “love you” tossed over your shoulder as you passed my office on your way out the door. The impromptu kitchen dance parties. The non-sequiturs. The way you’ve never been too old for the ice cream truck. The morning ‘fit check. The tickle on my nose from your aforementioned glorious hair when we hug. The lightness of your extraordinary energy that just makes every room you enter…better.

In French, “I miss you” is “tu me manques”.

Literally, “you are missing of me”.

It’s like that.

It’s very much and precisely and exactly like that.

You are missing of me.

But while I will miss your daily presence, I will never ever miss our love and connection. Because nothing about that will change.

This is YOUR time, Lauren Denise. 

Your time for you to expand your mind and grow into the greatness of your potential. Your time to trust into yourself and your good decisions and your fathoms-deep heart. Your time to decide what you wish to take of us, and what to leave behind. Time for you to grow even beyond us.

We will be here cheering you on. Joyful that the world gets even more of you, magnificent you. Cracked open by the most astonishingly immense love that continues to take my breath away. Unendingly grateful you chose us to be your parents. 

…the gift of a lifetime and the easiest gig ever.

Mama

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Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

I’ll never forget the way she said it.

I asked her why she was getting on a plane to attend a book signing of someone she admired, but wasn’t necessarily a devotee of her work/writing.

She said, “I’d go anywhere to see a woman celebrate herself.”

I remember thinking that I’d love to be that person. The person who would go anywhere to witness someone’s joy come to life. Joy that they had made happen.

And later that year, I realized I found myself BEING that person and saying these words from the stage.

“We are all witness today to a woman’s dream coming true. That’s something I would travel across the world to see any day.”

It wasn’t across the world, but it was across the border. 

And it happened again a couple of weeks ago.

I was mid-program launch, and my calendar was uncomfortably stuffed, so I had declined an invitation to one of my beloved client’s anniversary party in NYC. It just didn’t seem viable, and I put it out of my mind, though my heart kept pulling at me.

I kept hearing the refrain, “When was the last time you saw someone who looked like they had swallowed the moon?”

You see, many years ago, I came across this quote in an exquisite and well-circulated article about the collective grief around Prince's death. And why time seemed to stand still. Caroline McHugh spoke these haunting words:

“[There] are individuals who managed to figure out the unique gift that the universe gave them when they incarnated, and they put that in the service of their goals…

And when we see these people, we invariably call them larger than life. Life is large, but most of us don’t take up nearly the space the universe intended for us. We take up this wee space ‘round our toes, which is why when you see somebody in the full flow of their humanity, it’s remarkable. They’re at least a foot bigger in every direction than normal human beings, and they shine, they gleam, they glow. It’s like they swallowed the moon.”

Yes. It IS like that. It most certainly is.

At first, when I heard that refrain, I didn’t rise to the invitation. Because the truth is, it’s something I see over Zoom almost weekly, behind the closed doors of my group sessions and individual client calls. And when I see it, I name it. I do this so that everyone else on the call can acknowledge the moment and bask in the glowing splendour. Just as you would a shooting star. It’s something to behold when you get to witness it for yourself, but to get to witness it with others? Well. There’s something practically holy about that.

But it’s been some time since I’d seen it in person. Close enough to feel the glow on my cheeks. 

And I’m not telling tales out of school, but THIS particular sunbeam of a client struggles some with celebration, so the fact that she even ALLOWED this anniversary shindig to happen? Whew.

So, I grabbed my man, headed off for the swiftest 22 hours in NYC ever, donned some shoes that hadn’t seen the light of day in over two years, stepped into a shine-reflecting sequins jumpsuit, and showed up to bask.

Not across the world, mind you, but across the threshold of my capacity.

Because there she was, in the fullness of her brilliance.

Shining, gleaming, glowing.

Seemingly larger than life, and surrounded by the best-in-class folks she had gathered in her now-robust five year old community. And I could talk about HOW she had gathered them…with clear vision and leadership and integrity and the strongest heart ever. The very things I had seen expand within her over the years of our closed door Zoom calls.

But I wasn’t there for the HOW. I was there for the gleam.

I was there for the declarative celebration in every passed hors d’oeuvres that signaled: 

“Pause and savour this moment with me, will you?” 

And she was, and it was glorious.

You know by now that the Imposter Complex and its relentless requirement for perfection and certainty tries to keep us from celebrating our accomplishments, because what has been done is “not enough.” Or it could have been done better, faster, or more…something.

And so many of us have been conditioned to believe that celebrating our own accomplishments is far too much. Far too audacious.

And who are you to be larger than life, anyways?

Listen, I won’t lie.

Taking up the space the universe has carved out for you is not for the faint of heart. It takes tenacity and resilience and a reverence for ourselves that transcends the wee space around our toes. It takes boundaries and a willingness to rewrite the stories that were originally written to limit you and others like you. It takes support and a clarity of vision and a relentless fidelity to the promises you have made…to yourself as much as to others. It takes discernment and care and a trust in your ability to wield power in generative ways, even if you haven’t seen it modeled well before. It takes audacity. 

And it’s not for all of us.

But it is for some of us. (And if you suspect it might be for you, we should talk.)

So when you look like you’ve swallowed the moon? Your job IS to shine and gleam and glow, so that we can be reminded of all that is possible within us too.

As it turns out, I’ll go anywhere to see that in person.

And I just may be there with shine-reflecting sequins on.

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Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

Dearest Lauren - 

This is our eleventh year of these letters. 

I went back and read each one in reverse, from the one I wrote when you turned seventeen, to sixteenth, to  fifteen, to fourteen, to thirteen, to twelve, to eleven, to ten,  nine and finally, where this tradition began: my eight wishes for you…and one for me.

Here are those wishes:

1. I wish that you always carry with you this big heart of yours. Beautiful as you are, your heart is your best feature.

2. I wish that you retain your capacity for empathy, even when you get charged with being too sensitive.

3. I wish you to hold on fiercely to your belief that you can be anything you want. Because baby, you can.

4. I wish you continued delight in every wonder. And that even as those big, beautiful wide eyes become dimmer with the skepticism of age, that your curiosity lights your way.

5. I wish you to feel deeply...the highs AND the lows. No sense avoiding it, 'cause there'll be days like this.

6. I wish you to KNOW that your voice may be sweet, and it's still mighty. It will take you to places beyond your wildest dreams.

7. I wish you could see yourself, as we see you.

8. That you remember this morning: your bear holding your balloons for you, the chocolate croissants in bed, the steady stream of phone calls from family and friends, and the biggest worry of your heart being what party dress to wear to school.

I mean…whew.

Though some of the people who called you ten years ago are now gone, and there may not be balloons (I mean…there MAY be, I’ve written this the day before and you know how I love to change my mind), and the party dress may instead be a fabulous ‘fit (am I allowed to say that?) that I will get to revel in before you bound off to your friends, but these wishes for you still hold the truth of my heart.

And?

I know that as I wrote those wishes on your eighth birthday, I was likely counting down in my mind to THIS birthday. It’s always been in the back of my mind. A slow moving train that would arrive at the station in the most bittersweet of ways…like the day you head off to university this fall (if that’s what you so decide). 

(Sigh. I know, I know. Eyeball roll. Upsides of being my daughter? Things are entertaining. Downsides? Sometimes the entertainment is a melodrama. It’s what we signed up for.)

Onward.

Here in Ontario, you are legally an adult. 

You can vote, marry, buy a lottery ticket, sue (and be sued), see a rated R movie and quit school, sure. LEGALLY. Some of those choices are better than others and you can sort through which is which.

But let’s dial down the pressure to ADULT, shall we?

Epic gift giver that you are, may I suggest you gift YOURSELF something, for a change?

Give yourself the gift of considering yourself a Novice Adult.

Give yourself the space to get to know this new terrain…but not all of it and not all of it at once.

Give yourself the grace to know you will make mistakes…and build on your ability to make repair.

Give yourself the permission to ease into the version of yourself that you are becoming…and the good sense to enjoy every twist and turn along the way.

None of this is a race.

And you most certainly do NOT need to do any of it alone.

You are surrounded. 

And you know what? You always will be.

That’s the magic of being you, the big-hearted human you’ve always been.

The one who looks to understand and asks really good questions….and LISTENS to the answers.
The one whose generosity seems to know no bounds, AND whose boundaries are getting stronger by the day.
The one whose wise counsel is a gift to be cherished. (From one counsel-offerer to another, I bow.)
The one who challenges herself consistently to do better and invites us to do that same.
The one who inadvertently squeals in unbridled delight when something wonderful happens to someone else. In life, on the screen…anywhere. You came alive in others’ joy.
The one whose hands are always cold, except for when they rest on my forearm. Then they are the warmest thing in life…and it feels like home.

I will speak for your father and myself right now to tell you you are our dream come true. We don’t know where you’re going yet, but wherever it is, that’s where the magic will be.

We love you with the fire of a thousand suns, Dear Lauren. Then, now and all the days.

(And this parenting you into adulthood? Easiest gig ever.)

/Mama

Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

I wrote an article back on Dec 12, 2016, called: 7 Reasons We Stop Short.

It was good and short and from the response, helped folks to stop stopping. Which was the complete point.

It went like this.

++++

You know that opportunity that comes along that speaks to you on a deeply visceral level? Like it was created just for you? The timing, the stars, everything is just oh-so-right.

And you are there, teetering on the precipice. Just about to step in.

But then you don't. You give up before you get going.

Why? Why do we do that?

I can think of seven reasons:

• We're afraid of failing.

• We're afraid of succeeding.

• We're afraid of being let down.

• We're afraid of letting ourselves down.

• We're afraid of not being met.

• We're afraid of not being seen.

• We're afraid of being seen.

And so we stop short. Real short.

We don't claim our expertise. We don't raise our rates. We don't pitch our work or stand in our worth.

Which makes our Imposter Complex breathe a sigh of sweet relief. Because if nothing changes, then nothing is risked.

And the Imposter Complex is even more risk-averse than your second high school sweetheart. The one you dated right after the wild and sexy one. The one with the pressed, pleated chinos who kissed like a fish and talked about insurance at school dances. Yes.

THAT risk-averse.

But here's what I know. And I know you know it too, with every fiber of your being.

If you give up before you even get going, you're simply never (ever) going to get to where you've been called to go.

It just doesn't work. It just doesn't happen. Your life has shown you that.

Stop stopping.
Start stepping.
Forward.
+++

It was a good article, right?

And? Incomplete.

Because if I have learned anything since Dec 12, 2016, and I have learned PLENTY, is that there is an 8th reason.

We're afraid of being canceled.

PARTICULARLY when there is a culture-shifting world event happening. Or multiple on several planes.

And so we get mired in a swirl of:

Should I weigh in?
What does it mean if I DON'T weigh in?
What does it mean if I DO weigh in?
Am I ready to weigh in?

There is a lot to unpack here, starting with those questions which presume there is a right thing, a right answer and a right time.

Sometimes yes and sometimes no.

If you are IN the crisis, or are an educator with deep roots and research in said culture-shifting events happening, you are not asking those same questions. You're IN it. And it's YOU we ought to be hearing from on that matter. So we DEFINITELY need you to stop stopping.

But if you are NOT someone with a deep understanding of the war on the transgender community or Ukraine, epidemiology, and how white supremacy culture impacts, influences and plays out in all aspects of our lives, it's likely best to only amplify the voices of folks that ARE providing education, insight and action because it's THEIR area of expertise.

Otherwise, more often than not, this line of questioning leads to a decidedly unhelpful paraphrasing of headlines, soundbites, and black squares in a way that just kind of feels reductive and performative.

There is a time to stop.

When I work with folks on the Imposter Complex, especially Lie #6 which states "you must tell everyone about this", I DO invite folks to stop and "WAIT". Which is to ask themselves: "Why am I talking"?

As an oversharer, this forced pause has been important for me personally. It makes me explore:

Am I looking to bridge connection? Am I looking for validation? Am I looking to influence others' opinions? And if it's that (which is not a problem per se), can I get real enough to ask and answer: is it in integrity for me to step in / do I know enough on the topic to do so? Is it something else?

Generally speaking, once I sit with this and resist my knee-jerk reaction to jump in and hear my own well-intending voice (mm hmm) on whatever is happening in the world, I'm clearer when to speak up and when to sit back and say: "I don't know enough about the complexities and nuance of the situation to have an opinion". (Which, by the way, I'd only offer up when ASKED.)

Me NOT centering myself and talking about things I do not know enough to have an opinion about means the voices that DO know and are closest to the pain, the event and the solution(s) are far easier to hear.

SO. Back to the original point. There are EIGHT reasons we stop short.

Do I want you to get your world-changing, heart-centred work out into the world's stage? Oh yes indeed.

AND is there a time for stopping? Oh yes indeed.

If you have stopped, listened deeply, reflected on your motivations, then made sure what you are serving up is aligned and in integrity, THEN it's the time to stop stopping.

Discernment for the win, all the days in all the ways.

PS - I highly recommend reading We Will Not Cancel Us: And Other Dreams of Transformative Justice by adrienne maree brown if you haven't already.

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Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

You're here to lead with Impeccable Impact. And to do just that, you are going to need to confront your internalized conditioning. You will have to rewrite the stories that were originally written to limit you. You have to learn how to work WITH your Imposter Complex, because as long as you’re here to lead, the Imposter Complex is going to be your traveling companion.

Here’s What I Believe:

The overworked, overburdened way you’re moving through the world isn’t the way you are meant to be moving. 

You’re not meant to keep stopping before the magic happens. 

You’re not meant to let your life lead you. 

You’re not meant to apologize for your ambition.

You are intended for more — for greater and for good.

You are meant to expand.

You are meant to stop stopping.

You are meant to be a model for those coming up behind you.

You are meant to take up the space the universe has carved out for you and you alone.

I repeat:

You are here to lead with Impeccable Impact.

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Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.