Feeling My Feet: LTYM Boston Wrap

Our 2015 cast. Photos courtesy of the amazing Amy Emily Photography

This past weekend was the second annual production of LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER Boston, my second year as producer of a show. I am so, so proud of what I helped to create. Over this year and last, I helped 24 people craft unique stories of motherhood and sent them out into the universe. Two of my own stories were shared, and I know they resonated with people. I have new people in my life, many from around the country, who have shared in this story-telling mission with me. I am endlessly grateful to LTYM's founder, as well as the national production team, for having faith in me, for knowing that I had what was needed when I didn't see it in myself, for saying yes, it's yours, go.

But this year was really hard for me. Despite the show's ultimate success (it was), and my confidence that our cast would be amazing (they truly were), I struggled a lot with this season. I spent a lot of middle-of-the-night hours in a panic. And, worst of all for me, I basically didn't do any writing.

Reading "The Geology of Motherhood"

The one piece I wrote over the past couple of months (other than a few quick, not very deep updates here), is the piece I ended up reading at the show when one of our cast members was no longer able to participate. I liked the piece, but it didn't have a hold on my heart the way I had with Kitchen Sink. It's a piece on how just like the earth's plate tectonics cause endless shifting and reshaping of our worlds, so too does motherhood. I've been feeling a shift lately, and I tried to document it there.

I got into all of this because I got to read at a BlogHer LTYM Open Mic night, and everything changed for me in that moment. I wanted to help other people to feel the way I did then, that I couldn't feel my feet. I felt that way after reading in 2014. I think most of the cast members in both shows had that moment. This year, I didn't. This year, as I said in the piece I read, all I saw were the brute forces involved in getting to that peak moment, and not the sun-soaked view I deserved. But as I also said in the piece, it's a perspective that I need to work on improving.

That's a wrap on season 2. That shift I've been feeling is telling me something, and I'm trying to slow down and listen. I think it's saying that my feet have been firmly planted on the ground for all too long now, and I need to find a new way to fly.

LTYM-colored flowers from my super supportive family.