He pulled open the refrigerator door. “Little girls gin yang?” he said. Did the little girls eat yet? “No? Okay, I make you something.” And he pulled out some food to make for my two nieces, Kaelyn (age 6) and Jacqueline (age 5).

Kaelyn is my brother’s daughter, Jacqueline, my sister’s. They are cousins but are raised more like sisters. It was such a simple little moment, but it stood out to me as a moment to remember and carry with me, for it spoke volumes for how my family operates. It was so seamless, so unselfconscious, how my sister took care of keeping track of the girls’ things and how my brother made food for them. The shared love and the shared responsibility. It’s not: this is my kid and that’s your kid and I’ll take care of my kid’s food and you take of your kid’s shoes. It is: these are our kids. Not just on special occasions like the 4th of July, but every day.

I suddenly realized there’s a very subtle but powerful hierarchy for raising children in the family (my German in-law calls it a “clan”, in a way that I think might be equal parts sarcastic, impressed, and curious). All the adults have a role to play with raising the children, and all adults are respected equally. Everyone remains aware of where the kids are and what they need (whether it’s food, kisses, or a gentle warning) and addresses them as simply as breathing. For special treats, like spending the night at a cousin’s house, the parent always must be asked for permission and is the final authority. My mom, the grandmother, is the one all the grandkids go to for a both sympathetic and wise ear. She is the person to talk to when you don’t understand or don’t know what to do. When you need friend and counsel. Or just a really good bowl of noodle soup. Grandpa is the one you really don’t want to mess with. But it’s okay because if you tickle him just right, he turns teddy bear. As a kid, if you do good, there’s a whole caboodle of people to puff up your ego. If you mess up, someone will tell you straight up that what you did wasn’t cool. But there is always someone else you can run to who will understand and tell you it’s okay, we still love you. (If everyone tells you you messed up, then you really know!) There is always both discipline and forgiveness to be found. And there is always someone to offer food and love and something fun to do.

Even when part of the family is broken…a divorce…and the part that left tries to spread bad thoughts and feelings about our family to the child stuck in-between (and can I just tell you how much that makes my blood boil?)…the family rallies together. It does everything it can to heal the wound, to teach love for both mommy and daddy, no matter what. It does not try to spread the foul back. Every one of us just tries to show by doing what our family really is about. The child may be confused and hurt now (and we are all forever sorry for that). But one day the child will be a teenager. And one day she will see for herself what is truth and she can decide what is right for her. The love is tight, but each individual is free: free to be themselves, free to discover for themselves.

And every time I go home, I am overwhelmed by the desire to be more of a part of the lives of my nieces and nephews. To them, I am always gone away, to some mythical place called Santa Barbara. I come in and out of their lives to play for a day and then I am gone again. I want to be more constant than that.

But there lies the rub. Where my family lives. The actual city, the county? I can’t stand. I don’t like the atmosphere, I don’t like the society, the way people behave there. It’s fake most of the time and mean underneath, mostly because people there are just plain more afraid. My mom says she fled from Bangkok because it suffocated her. Where my family lives suffocates me. On top of that my husband hates the area too and refuses to ever live there. We can visit as much as we want, for we do love the family. But living there? His answer is “hell no”. Up until now, I’ve agreed. Wholeheartedly. Bring kids into the picture? Now I’m not so sure.

My mom keeps saying when I’m ready to have kids we really need to move to the same home town, to raise the kids with family. At first I thought she meant help with babysitting and taking care of the kids that way, which I’m sure after a.m. feedings, and crying, and diaper changing, and never-clean house and oh-my-god-can-I-just-get-a-break, there will be moments I’d really love/need that. But now I see there’s more. There is so much more. Of course it is totally possible to raise absolutely wonderful children without all that and millions of families do it all the time. But I do see its worth. And growing up away from that, our kids won’t have the same closeness to their cousins that their cousins share. They’ll miss the everyday camaraderie. They’ll always be just a little bit outside. Loved, for sure, but a little bit outside. I know because I am.

Thankfully I don’t have to make this decision yet. This decision is at least a year or two away. But it’s on the horizon and on my radar. I feel it weighing on me. And my hubby and I will have some figuring out to do.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. How does your family operate? What decisions have you had to, or will you have to make?

I had a wonderful birthday and I’me thinking of luggage and flowers and vintage and fabrics. I’me feeling inspired and relieved, contrary and perniculous. I don’t know why I’me saying such things but the words pop in my head and what am I to do? There’s so much work to do tomorrow fbut for the moment, I’me relaxing. We watched Stand By Me and Toby said he didn’t like the name of the movie it was too romantic. But I think it draws more attention to the relationship between the boys than Stephen King’s title “The Body”. But we ate so much this weekend and the food was so good. And it really was good to have my parents in town. I really am lucky to be close to them. I know many people aren’t close to their parents the way I am. They have given me lots of things to think about in Thailand. But mostly they’re easing me from having too many thoughts. I guess that’s why I said I’me feeling contrary. So many mixed thoughts and feelings. So much running around, throwing around. Colliding around in my skull. I need to take a breathe. I need to breathe. It’s too hard to breathe with too mch shite on top of your head. But I’me getting out. I will get out. Just a little while longer. Toby said it’s been too long since I’ve really just sat back and enjoyed where I am in life. And it made me want to cry. Because it’s true. I need to get to that place. I need to take a step back and just get to a place where I can just enjoy. Enjoy enjoy enjoy enjoy enjoy. Like chocolate cake and raspberries. Like birthdays and vintage. Like stickers and snowmen. Pastries. Swimming pools and margaritas. What time is it? 3:47 left. I’me staring at the screen and The Yellow Suitcase is in the back of my mind. I want to do more research. I want to flesh out the ideas for my next book. Japan. Picture brides. Home. But I must wait. Just a little more. Then I can focus. I just have to get to a space where I can let myself focus. Like my dad says. When am I going to get these monkeys off my back? Time to get rid of the self-imposed monkeys. Fuck the monkeys. Pardon my French. So let’s sew. I’ve got some great fabrics. I just got to get rid of my fear of making a mistake. Nothing lost if I mess up. Just learn. Learn to have patience. One step at a time. One step at a time. I’ve never been good at that…I need to practice one step at a time. Then I won’t be so scattered. I’me so scattered. So scattered.

You’ve got 10 minutes. Don’t think. Just write. No holds barred.

Then just post the link in the comments below!

Next week’s challenge: “If I were a bag of some sort, I would be a…”
Fancy purse? A backpack? Reusable? What would you carry?

Pah-mook, you are in our thoughts and hearts. Chok dee, na ka.

The doctor says she may need surgery, a mastectomy. Unless, as the doctor put it, she still wants to be beautiful.

Which, as that statement sinks in, occurs to me is probably about one of the worst things you can say to a woman who has just been diagnosed with cancer.

So I am sending beautiful, white lotus thoughts towards my aunt, who is more than an aunt, today. If you have a spare prayer you can send today too, we would be grateful.

Update: She appears to be in good spirits, eating and sleeping well for now. Her surgery is scheduled for May 21. Thank you to everyone for your kind thoughts and prayers. They really mean a lot.

But I took every pill faithfully! my mind screams. I followed every direction. I took extra care. I did far more than most – and yet I am the one to carry. I was that .001% chance. I was the one for whom the precautions failed.

Days pass but I cannot bring myself to do what I know I must do. I am ill in the mornings, but I can never seem to purge myself of everything I wish I could. There is still something so deep it cannot come out.

I do not return any phone calls. I don’t answer when my boyfriend comes to the door. I ignore the concerned voices of my roommates. I slip into a cocoon to hide. To talk to anyone would be to make this real. Telling them of this would make it a reality I must face. Talking to them without telling them of this would make it a lie I must carry. But here in my cocoon, I can still pretend it has not happened.

But even that pretense cannot last.

The inexorable march of time means the day comes all too soon. There comes a moment when it is no longer possible to hide. I walk, with heavy feet, up the steps to my parents’ front door. My heart weighs more than my entire being.

They greet me with warm embraces. But then they pull away, concerned, when they see the truth in my eyes.

“There is something I have to tell you.” The words tumble from my mouth, but the buzzing in my ears is too loud. Tears stream from my eyes, blinding me, but still I see the looks on the face of my mother and father. These two strong, incredible people who have sacrificed everything to give me a better life, who have scrimped and saved to give me an education and opportunities, and who had grand hopes for the woman they would see me become.

All of that is squandered.

In the silence that follows, I know they are building up the courage to say it will all be fine; that we will find a way through this, that they will stand by me and still love me. It would take time and tears, but they would never forsake me.

But that is not the heart of the pain I carry. My pain remains, for the moment that I feared most has come to pass: the look on my parents’ face. The look that tells of their disappointment; that I have hurt them in the worst way possible – and yet they still love me. In that moment lies the worst of all: my shame.

————————————

This tale is a work of fiction. It tells of what would happen if my worst fears were realized. Getting pregnant is not a fear I have anymore, of course, now that I am married and am ready to start a family. But what it says about me is still true today. It used to be that my worst fear was getting pregnant. But when I follow the consequences through, I discover that underneath that fear was something deeper: a fear of shame and of disappointing my parents.

But that also tells me something else: what matters to me most is to never be the cause of hurt to those I love. Sometimes knowing your deepest fears helps you find the core of your heart and that is where you also find hope. Hope and fear, after all, are but two sides of the same coin.

What would happen if your worst fear would come to pass? How does that story play out in your mind’s eye? When you play that story out, do you discover something new about yourself?

Next week’s challenge: Write 10 reasons why you love the person you love
For Bonus Points: tell a story about a moment that made you remember your love for this person (+2 if you’ve been mad at them lately)

Samitivej Hospital in Bangkok

The biological clock is ticking and my hubby and I are thinking we’re getting close to being ready to try for kids soon (by soon, I mean probably sometime next year – after we get settled, organized, gather our wits about us, etc.). However, given our plans to move and everything, there is a very distinct possibility that our first child will be born in Thailand (but, through us, can still have US citizenship). Since I have an anal tendency to obsessively research everything, naturally I’ve already looked into this.

I’ve spent quite a bit of time already looking into childbirth and care in the U.S., reading up on how there are some very important hormonal and developmental things that happen between mother and child during the birthing process and cesareans hijack and prohibit them from occurring. Of course cesareans are a godsend in times of need, but there’s growing evidence that a whole slew of unnecessary interventions occur because the mother isn’t going through labor “fast enough” for hospital desires and wishes. There are a lot of decisions to make and options to learn about, but I think one thing is clear for me and that is I want to avoid a cesarean as much as possible (you know, assuming everything goes along as it should).

Thailand is known for having top-quality care available, at rates much more affordable than the U.S. Many of the top doctors in Thailand trained at top medical universities like Johns Hopkins in the U.S., and then go back to Thailand and work there. (Even the King of Thailand was actually born in Cambridge because his father, Prince Mahidol, studied medicine at Harvard – and later became a figure revolutionizing health practices in Thailand.) We hear a lot of stories about people from western countries flying to Thailand for surgeries, with great success, and – flight included – still end up paying less than they would here. My hubby’s even planning to have lasik surgery done while we’re there. So my initial reaction was not to worry about my ability to find good care in Thailand – especially since, in Thailand, for the right price you can basically get whatever you want.

But then I found out something that freaked me the eff out. So, as a reference, the WHO puts a healthy national cesarean rate around 5-10%. There has been a movement to raise awareness and concern about the U.S.’s cesarean rates that are skyrocketing upward from about 4.5% in the mid-1960′s when it was first measured to a high of about 32% in 2007. In Thailand, that rate is around 34% nationwide, and as high as 51% in private hospitals.

I started to worry that it would be difficult to find a doctor who would present me with clear information about my options. I started to fear that I would get pressured into something because it was better for the hospital, but that I’d be too far in pain to think clearly about it. I started to worry about all the precautions and extra arrangements I’d have to make to come back to the U.S….flying while pregnant, staying with parents, possibly being separated from my husband, the extra costs…let the panic attacks commence.

But then I talked to my mom (who was born, raised, and well-educated in Thailand) about my concerns. And she laughed. She said the reason cesareans are so high in Thailand is because women ask for them. They want cesareans so they can plan their child’s birth to fall on a “lucky” day, astrologically. Or, like even some members of my own dear family, they opt for them to keep their special woman parts looking pretty(!).

Oh, said I.

Well, in that case, I think I can stop panicking. I’m pretty sure a “honeymoon” va-jay-jay is not at the top of the list of my concerns.

But the truth is…my life is changing. I’m excited, and maybe a little bit anxious, and definitely impatient…but surprisingly not nearly as stressed as I probably should be. Mostly I’m just totally at peace with our decisions and our path. I was definitely ten times more stressed planning our wedding than I was about these changes.

So I’ve decided it is time. Funnily enough, my decision came this morning, this day: the eve of the one year anniversary of my blog. I had planned to repost an older post to celebrate the one year anniversary tomorrow, but instead of looking back, I’ll be telling you about the path ahead. Apropos, no?

So the next little series of posts (aside from tomorrow’s Tell It To Me Tuesday challenge, of course) will be about the different changes my life is about to go through. The wheels of change are in motion, and I can’t wait to spill the beans. (How’s that for cliche and mixed metaphors?)

But for today, I will start small and tell you where I’ve been for the past week.

Saturday was my dad’s 73rd birthday. My husband couldn’t be there because his company has a yearly retreat in Portland where the company gets together to work to play, so we decided to go the weekend prior so my husband could have a little time visiting my parents. But then, I had a meeting scheduled down in my parents’ neighborhood on Thursday, so I decided to stay for the week, and brought my husband’s sister along too.

Actually, the meeting was at my parent’s restaurant. Did I tell you they own a Thai restaurant? My mom is a chef trained by the chef who trains the chefs for the king of Thailand. Their restaurant, Spice Thai, is in Lake Forest, CA…near Irvine. If you’re ever within a 100-mile radius, you really should check it out. I promise you won’t be disappointed.

Anyway, so last Sunday, my hubby, SIL, and I took my niece to Knott’s Berry Farm for the afternoon. The siblings got some time to ride the big, scary roller coasters, while I got to show my 5-year old niece the fun of Camp Snoopy. She really loved the Gr8 Sk8 ride, but was totally captivated by the beautiful horses pulling the stagecoach so she couldn’t wait for a chance to ride with the horses. We waited in a really long line, and got right up to the front when the earthquake hit. At first, I wasn’t sure it was an earthquake. We had just walked onto a wooden platform and so at first I thought it was just the platform swaying. But then, it kept on going. It lasted for such a long time, but it wasn’t the jolting kind of earthquake – it was more like large, rolling waves. As if I were just woozy. It was only after it finally stopped that I reacted. But Californians, bless their hearts, are so unfazed. I asked the people around me if they felt it and they nodded…then after about 5 minutes they all began to ask when the rides would be up and running again. The staff at Knott’s shut down all the rides for inspection – and stuck between a promise to a quiet, shy, but oh-so-sweet 5-year-old niece that we’d get to ride the horses and being next in line, we ended up waiting nearly an hour before the all-clear to get on the stagecoach. Had it been a mechanical roller-coaster type of ride, I wouldn’t have waited. But the wistful eyes of a child tempted by “all the pretty horsies” – who were likewise unfazed by the earthquake – were irresistible. After the safety inspections cleared, we had our ride. And I urged my parents and sister to get her horseback riding lessons one day. (I wish I could show you pictures, but my hubby has the camera with the pictures on it.)

The next night, my hubby left so he could work, and thus began our week apart.

Thursday, I had my meeting, which went really well – more on that tomorrow!

Then Saturday was my dad’s birthday. We made beef stew, roast chicken, chutney, green bean and walnut salad, mango salsa and guacamole and had a bunch of friends and family over to celebrate. I wish I had pictures, but somehow, even though I brought my camera, I disconnected from it for most of the week. (I didn’t even participate in You Capture!) I think I was so enveloped in bonding and just being with family I don’t see nearly enough of, that I couldn’t pull myself out of it enough to be the observer one has to be in order to take photographs.

Finally, yesterday we celebrated the Thai New Year. We went to the Thai Buddhist temple in Ontario and my family prepared enormous pots of food to serve at the temple. Thai restaurants had stalls set up on the temple grounds, giving food as a donation to the temple so people could eat all the Thai food they could fit and not pay a single cent. Once our stall was set up, my mother, SIL and I went into the temple. We gave our family’s contribution to the monks, paid our respects, then sat for the ceremony. I always love the part where the monks chant the Commandments and the people recite them back in unison. It is done in Sanskrit, and the old language spoken with the multitude of voices is always very moving for me.

I don’t have pictures of that either, but I do have some from the Buddhist part of our wedding ceremony nearly two years ago. I thought I would share those, so you could have an idea. (Photos courtesy of Kelly Segre Photography.)

The ceremony at my parents' house. Hubby and I are in the middle.

Offerings to the Buddha

Paying respects to the Buddha

I love the happy smile on his face.

My beautiful mother.

The niece I mentioned. Daughter of my sister.

I couldn't resist reminiscing in going back over the photos!

Then we ate. Some good friends joined us, eyes wide with all the free food and new year’s celebrations, and within the hour, our bellies were wide and full too!

And after all the celebrations were over, I came back home last night. I walked in the door to an empty apartment and after a week filled with family, you’d think I’d relish the peace and quiet. Instead, I felt the full brunt of loneliness. One more day and my husband will be home again. I can’t wait to see him.

But I did feel a heavy, heavy emotional burden. In ways I didn’t even articulate to myself, I felt I was a burden. My husband didn’t do anything to cause this per se. This was guilt I put on myself. Since leaving my parents’ home, I’ve always brought in my own salary. Through college, I weaned myself off their financial support and slowly built up my own financial independence. Money isn’t important to me, but somehow the fact that I make money for myself meant a great deal to me. It meant I was independent, strong, capable, responsible. It made me feel good about myself (or at least contributed to my sense of self-worth).

But this year of not only not making money, but also incurring student loan debt on top of that as I finish my degree, made me feel like an incredible financial burden. And in ways I didn’t totally articulate in my head, I tried to “make up for it” by doing more around the house: more than my share of cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, washing dishes…to “earn my keep”. Trouble was, it’s not like I wasn’t working at all. I was still working on my research, writing, and keeping a fairly full schedule…and then doing all the household work on top of it.

My mom and my husband’s stepmom both saw something was afoot and warned me several times that in marriage you can’t think of money as “his money” or “her money”, but as “our money”. But none of this really made an impression on me. I agreed, but that did nothing to assuage my feelings of guilt that I wasn’t putting in my fair share. And because I didn’t feel I was putting in my share, I cut back on as much of my extra expenses as I could: I stopped getting haircuts, I stopped wearing more than a minimum of makeup, I stopped going to yoga, and so on. Meanwhile, my husband freely bought the things he wanted (within reason, of course). If there was something he knew I wanted, he had no problem buying it for me (so generous, I thought in my head). And so he believed his wife wanted for nothing. Except that if I had a desire for something, I had to ask him to help me buy it: in essence, I had to ask his permission. So on top of the guilt feelings, I also had a deep sense of male patriarchy and inequality in our relationship.

Even after I started teaching again, I kept up the patterns that had started to develop. And that’s when the burden really began to add up. I became grumpy, disenchanted, and positively sour. A serious expression was my default face. My husband’s stepmom even tried to offer to help out financially so I wouldn’t have to teach…because she could see I was changing. I wasn’t the same person anymore. My parents started getting concerned. Finally, over Christmas, my mom had me watch a film called “The Human Face” with John Cleese (if you have Netflix, you should really look it up – it’s fascinating, funny, and less than an hour long). This film was all about how our facial expressions have subconscious effects on our relationships. She said I always used to smile, and she wanted me to watch this because I’d lost my smile.

I didn’t think very directly about all this after watching the film, but I know something was happening underneath. I’d finally had enough of my self-imposed burden. Shortly after the new year, I talked to my husband about it. We talked it through and he simply said I cannot and should not feel guilty, that this is what marriage is about, it’s sharing, and it’s helping each other when we need help and not feeling like we owe each other like tallies on a tally sheet. I don’t know if it was what he said, or if I was just finally ready to hear it, but ever since then, I haven’t felt guilty and I haven’t felt unequal. And we’ve reasserted fair shares of the household chores back to the way we used to do it.

And I’m making greater efforts to smile, and discovering my smile comes back easily again.

I think this speaks partly to the new generation of feminism: figuring out the proper roles, since they are no longer defined for us. Before society told us what was fair and what duties belonged to whom. Now we have to negotiate that for ourselves. It gives us greater freedom, on both sides in a way, but with freedom comes the need for communication and negotiation. Part of the negotiation is with our partners in life, and part of it is with ourselves, so that we can let go the burdens we try to carry, even when they’re too much, even when they’re of our own making.

What have I learned from this?

Marriage Lesson #1: Learn to share, and that sharing means knowing how to give and to receive.

Life Lesson #3,486: Sometimes we smile because we feel happy. Sometimes we smile in order to feel happy.

by

William Ernest Henley (1849–1903).

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

This is but one of the many reasons why I love my father.

Queen Bees and Wannabes: Helping Your Daughter Survive Cliques, Gossip, Boyfriends and Other Realities of Adolescence by Rosalind Wiseman is a parent’s guide, but it is a perfect candidate for Women Unbound because it is all about empowerment: empowering young girls to navigate the murky, dramatic, and sometimes crippling waters of adolescent life and still learn how to treat herself and others with decency and respect.

I say this book is a must read because, quite honestly, and as the book makes clear, the world of adolescents today is a different beast than even in my day and most certainly in my parent’s generation. Adolescence, as much as we might cringe to acknowledge, is starting at younger and younger ages because kids have all kinds of social and media pressures to act older – which is problematic because they’re still just learning moral guideposts, but they’re faced with more and more situations where they have to figure out for themselves what the right course of action is within the confines of the very rigid and demanding framework of rules of their social world. And nothing has had more of an impact on their world than technology. When we were kids, if rumors were spread about us, it was by word of mouth. Now, when kids spread gossip about each other, it’s across the school and on the internet in seconds. If a girl takes a picture of her breasts with her cell phone and sends it to a boy she likes, hoping it’ll make him like her, there’s little stopping him from sending it to all his friends or for any of them from emailing it to all the other kids in school, who can all then call her a slut as they pass her in hallways. These kids are on Facebook or other social media sites, often with multiple accounts knowing their parents check one, and they’re very susceptible to “trolling” and acting online in ways you never would in person.

And it’s frustrating for parents or others who are trying to be good role models for these kids because it’s an age when the kids are trying to pull away from their parents. They alternate, sometimes without any apparent rhyme or reason, between being insecure and needing your hugs and rolling their eyes at you and treating you like you’re the biggest jerk ever. Ironically, I found it actually comforting that it’s completely normal to have moments where you really just DO NOT LIKE this kid and wonder how your sweet, wonderful daughter turned into this crazy person overnight. And it’s not just your kid…it’s pretty much every kid. Because whether they’re the Queen Bee, the Torn Bystander, or the socially outcast Target, they all have some role to play in their world. They all do something that maintains or challenges the social order and their actions affect their relationships with other kids AND what they learn about intimate relationships that can have repercussions throughout their lives. Even if their daily actions don’t, they will almost inevitably face moments where they will have to make critical decisions. And they bring that baggage home with them and it affects their moods and how they deal with family and others.

We’re all familiar with this because we all lived through this before too. But I think the reason this book is so helpful is because Wiseman (who is an educator who spent over a decade compiling observations and talking to a wide range of girls and boys and having them look over her drafts to ensure accuracy) helps explain things in the framework of the logic of the girl’s world. We, as adults, usually forget how this logic works because we’ve grown up. We see things with an adult perspective and respond in kind. In a certain sense, having an adult perspective means you see some things more clearly than your daughter does – and so you wonder why she puts up with it when others treat her like crap, or when she is the one being bossy or judgmental when you certainly didn’t raise her to be that kind of person. But sometimes our knee-jerk reactions (like when we say “Just ignore it” or “They’re just jealous of you”) don’t make sense in the framework of their logic and so are ineffective strategies.

And what is extra amazing about this book is that at the end of each section, Wisemen takes a moment to have parents reflect on their own experiences as adolescents and whether those experiences are informing how parents are acting as role models. It made me really reflect on some of my more formative experiences. For example, I think one of the biggest experiences happened to me in high school – and I didn’t even really recognize how big of an impact it had on me at the time; only with hindsight do I see its effects. In my junior year, I developed a crush on a friend (we’ll call him Daniel) and I found out he liked me too. But before anything happened between us, I went to Washington, DC for a week (it’s amazing how much can happen in a week when you’re a teenager) through an extracurricular school program, and when I came back I discovered after much drama and a flurry of back-and-forth phone calls that my friend (we’ll call her Alice) had gotten jealous and decided she liked Daniel too. And Daniel liked her back. And Daniel (oh, aren’t boys so sweet?), caught in the middle, came up and told me he liked both of us and wanted to date both of us simultaneously.

…

I was like, “Fuuuuuuuck no.” (Pardon my French.) Actually, I didn’t cuss him out. I just told him that if that was how he felt, he and Alice could just have each other. I was NOT going to be involved in that. I’m glad I stood up for myself and didn’t let him use me that way. But the whole experience did have a very dramatic impact on my ability to trust girl friends after that. And it was a long time before I could really develop female friendships with other girls that were really based on equality, trust, and mutual respect.

So it helps to think through what our own emotional baggage might be, to see how that might color the kind of guidance we give as role models.

And the key, fundamental guidepost behind the strategies Wiseman offers (that have been checked and approved by adolescents themselves as being helpful) is a core commitment to decency and respect – and giving kids the tools they need to act with that commitment in mind in a way that makes sense to them.

Does this meet any of your experiences? For those of you with adolescent daughters, have you had times where you were just at your wits’ end about how to guide her? Have you found her or her friends doing mean things over text message or the internet? Or has she been a target of such meanness? Do you have grade school experiences that have shaped you?