Why didn’t I care for all these years about my not-getting-homework-done? I am a teacher (gulp) and I should, right?! Well, I know that consistency is hard for me. It isn’t the homework per se, it is the doing-the-homework every evening that gets to me.

Just like the orchestra, we achieve perfect harmony when we are able to do our part to the fullest extent of our ability, but when it is time for silence and restraint we need to remember to practice that as well. In those moments of boundaried-light and loving-restraint, we find the beauty and connection we are looking for.

The words ‘I told you so’ danced in front of my eyes. There they were, those four words, fighting to be let off my tongue, to be said, accusatory, at my poor, frightened boy. Those words were the perfect answer to my question of why my son was disturbing me, forcing me out of bed, asking to be helped, when he broke our family rule.

I recently read a post on Facebook where a mother wrote about how she wishes she didn't have kids because they were demanding and disrespectful. She detailed how much she gave to them and how little they gave back. All I could think to respond was “Lady stop catering to them at your expense”. I couldn't think of a nicer way to say it, so I didn't respond. But when did motherhood = martyrdom?

Every morning, we beseech G-D to open our eyes, “Baruch Ata… pokeach avrim!” to see who we truly are and what we are needed for. Upon recognizing our Divine self, we treat ourselves with the same respect that we would others. We realize that every negative, self-bashing thought is a war against G-D and has no place in our service of G-D.

Is seeing perfect, beautiful well dressed kids posing in stunning new matching outfits, all with picture-perfect smiles happily posing near a gorgeous (already!) set table for Yom Tov a trigger?

Throughout the pregnancy, I had focused on visions of sitting next to my baby's crib in the NICU, while he/she recovered from life-saving surgery, and thanking G-d for our miracle. But now those images were being threatened to be replaced by images I dared not think about.

Do you get frustrated because you want things to happen, and so you try to force them, and they don't budge? 

We took a breath; a deep, deep breath and decided to wait a little bit before diving head first into our Bodies & Souls work. We deserved a tiny teeny break, right? It made sense to put a small pause on the blog.

“Rivky, you open to feedback?” B. asked. “One of the women I gave it to, loved the bios but she was bothered that none of the writers was “just a stay-at-home mom”. On further digging, we noticed that we highlighted all their other accomplishments and may not have highlighted the most important job there is. The job of MOM.

I struggle with anxiety along with 40 million others in the U.S. I’m always looking for new methods, therapies and ideas to help manage it. And I thought, what if Malchut is part of the answer.

This is the baseline of our relationship.

We support you

We are with you

Through hell and high water

Through fire and persecution

Who, then, am I? I am a contradiction. I am two beings in one. I am my animal soul looking for its next comfort, for its next avenue of self-expression. I am my G-dly soul yearning for something higher, something beyond myself. Every time my G-dly soul reaches out to be heard, my animal soul whispers in my ear, “This isn’t you! Look at all the selfish things you’ve done today! Don’t you want to be an authentic version of yourself?” 

Outside my window, there is a thick yellow hue of dust penetrating my walls and leaving its imprint on every tile and shelf. I feel the crunch of gravel as I walk on my almost freshly washed floors. The dust chokes my throat, clogs my sinuses, and my eyes become watery. 

My kids will grow up and they won’t need me as much anymore, so I will choose to enjoy still being the anchor of the home while I am and hopefully pass on a Hashkafa that this balancing act is the most pleasurable and rewarding Zechus of being a Jewish woman.

Ask a group of preschoolers if they consider their mother the disciplinarian or the one to whom they run for hugs, and their answers will be predictable. Mothers birth, nurture, and love. Furthering this pattern, my mind always goes back to a lesson I learned back in grade school, about honoring one's parents. In Kiddushin, 31a we learn that a son honors his mother more than he honors his father, because she speaks to him through encouragement and love, and does not treat him harshly. Conversely, we learn that a son fears his father more than his mother because he is strict with him. Strict. Restrict. Constrict. Shouldn't the father be the Gevurah and the mother the Chesed? Are you confused yet? I certainly was.

I can enjoy looking at myself in the mirror these days. My eyes scan up, to thighs that stick together, a belly that likes to just hang out. The stretch marks on my hips, and on my breasts. Sometimes I will pull the skin of my belly wide and flat across my abdomen, imaging what could be. Would I feel better about myself? More confident? Or would I just find more things in the mirror I don't like - things that don't line up with what I am told an ideal woman should look like.I accept these thoughts. I also accept that my arms have grown thick with the strength needed to cradle these beautiful creations. And my thighs are now wide enough to create a soft lap to comfort my little ones. It is only through radical self-acceptance that I can then pursue further connection with my truest self. And therein lies my lesson of in-between.

Freedom in our own home is a real thing :) And this is how it’s done!

Instead of feeling tied down to and bothered by what we own, our home should feel like an oasis - where we want to spend our time - with our loved ones, and with ourselves!

Usually, one spouse handles the money and bills. In my family, it is me. When we got married my husband informed me that he would make the money but I had to be the one who dealt with it as it was too stressful for him. I took on this role for many years until I realized he was clueless about how we spent our money. He didn’t know if the electric bill was $10, $100, or $1000.  If I was out of town, he would open the mail and tell me what the bill was. No matter who does the dirty work, both spouses should know exactly the state of the finances and be involved in any decisions.

One aspect that is a big struggle for me is my Yiddishkeit. It's very hard to recognize that Hashem is good when life seems unbearable. I've spent so many days and nights yelling and crying to Hashem. My relationship with Him has been that of a mad toddler, yelling and crying since I just do not understand what Hashem's plan and point is. This is especially true during those moments when I wish halacha was more lenient. While a Rav was able to give us some heterim in regards to mikvah due to my anxiety, my husband still wasn't allowed to touch me during my suicidal episode since I was niddah. In moments such as those, Yiddishkeit can be difficult. Still, I try my best to remember, even if only after the fact, that Hashem is in charge and ultimately doing what's best for me.