Being a good Catholic Italian girl and wanting to save sex for marriage, at the age of 26 and no proposals on the table, I was still a virgin. When it came to the dating scene, guys thought I was a freak and the only ones who seemed to value my virtue were me, God and Nonna. I still mourn the fact that someone worthy never came along and appreciated my love offering but I couldn’t hold out any longer. My head was going to explode with libidinal energy. So, I decided rather rationally and coolly to finally engage in sexual activity. I had a sulky boyfriend at the time. Fine. An ignoble end to my purity.

Call It Research

I figured I should do my research before I embarked, not wanting to make a fool of myself, even with him. I read a few books and then decided I should get a visual. But where would a girl get such a thing? So after prayer and contemplation, I walked into an x-rated film store with a hood pulled over my head and asked the clerk, “Do you have anything purely instructional?” He gave me three slow solid blinks, as though his eyelids were coated in wax. In a thick accent that betrayed his inability to understand what the hell I was asking he replied, “You want sex tape?” I sighed. How much more painful can this evening get? “Yes. To learn how to do it.” His eyes opened wide. He gave me a quick once over, contemplating offering a personal instructional session no doubt. “All tapes are sex. They show you.”

» Read More or Leave a Comment

When my husband and I were still dating (for seven years, mind you) I cried any time we went to a movie in which a man made a commitment to a woman he loved. My husband always cries in movies about fathers and sons. All it takes is a son’s longing to connect to his dad or vice versa and the tears flow. Recently, I had a week in which three different clients cried in the context of our coaching session. In each case, the tears came when I (or the client’s partner) said something that desperately needed to be heard:

• “You need to give yourself time to mourn the life dream you let wither.”
• “The memory of your dad, is a memory of acceptance, he accepted you and that memory can bring you to your own self-acceptance.”
• “I want to always remember how much I love you.”

In all cases, the tears represent a kind of release, when a longing we have is suddenly tapped into. A truer, deeper part of ourselves has been touched and even if we can’t speak about it, our tears are the pathway there. They are a signal for us to pay attention.

» Read More or Leave a Comment

I have a house husband.

After years of waking up in the morning wondering how on earth I was going to juggle work, kids, household and self-care, for the past week I have opened my eyes knowing I don’t have to do it all anymore. It’s a strange feeling, this certainty that I can give work my full attention.

My loving husband is home with the boys for now, and I am deeply thankful. He brings loving imaginative parenting to our sons, boundless energy, and a healthy dose of the outrageous into their daily lives. He also makes fantastic chocolate zucchini cake, and has this mostly endearing quality of having difficulty telling the difference between a green onion and a green bell pepper.

Changing Roles

This change in our household is far more complex than I had anticipated. I am still trying to wrap my head around letting go of juggling it all, and releasing a large share of the household work and the daily caring for our children. The juggling was in many ways a source of connection with other mothers, a kind of camaraderie. There is a certain self-sacrificial romance about simply not having had time to get your hair cut. I also have to accept that there will be days when they are off together on play dates or swimming at the river and I am sitting here glued to my computer. The sense of loss cannot be denied.

» Read More or Leave a Comment