Danielle LaSusa 5/9/23 Danielle LaSusa 5/9/23

Hate Mother's Day? So Did its Founder

“The thing I hate about Mother’s Day is that it just feels so fundamentally untrue,” said one of the mothers in this month’s Meaning of Motherhood Discussion Circle. Mother’s Day flattens motherhood, she continued, claiming that we’re “superheroes” and the best way to honor us is with a bouquet and brunch.

Modern Mother’s Day, with its saccharine greeting cards, ignores the way in which we, as a a society, have isolated, abandoned, and devalued mothers while also depending on them to meet everyone’s needs.

But this is not always how Mother’s Day was.

In its early iteration, it was not Mother’s Day (singular), but Mothers’ Day (plural): a day of collection action organized by activist Ann Reeves Jarvis in 1858 to help combat infant mortality and unsanitary living conditions in Appalachia.

Through her “Mothers’ Day Work Clubs” Jarvis aimed to provide medical care, education, and other assistance for struggling mothers. Ya know, actual material things that would meaningfully improve mothers’ lives.

Jarvis’s daughter, who successfully lobbied to Congress for a national Mother’s Day holiday to honor the work and spirit of her mother, later denounced how it had been commercialized by the flower/chocolate/jewelry industries, and she spent the latter part of her life trying to remove it from the calendar.

So, if you hate Mother’s Day with its candy and cards, don’t worry. So did its founder.

What if we, the haters of this holiday, decided that Mother’s Day (singular) should once again become Mothers’ Day (plural)? What if we—mothers and non-mothers alike—spent the day participating in collective conversations, community organizing, political action, and efforts to provide mothers with access to safe and reliable healthcare, housing, food, childcare, education, employment, legal resources, protection, and power.

What if we recognized the truth that mothers are not superheroes, but people, who are birthing and raising more people, and that all those people need and deserve more than just bouquets and brunch.

Explore what Mothers’ Day could feel like in The Meaning of Motherhood Course, a self-paced course that explores and honors the full experience of motherhood. We have a LIVE online Discussion Circle every month.

From now until the end of May, 2023 join the Meaning of Motherhood for

$249 $199

Register here. Use offer code: MOMSDAY23

What would you do on this newly imagined Mothers’ Day? Share your answer in Mother Den.

Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the creator of The Meaning of Motherhood course, and co-creator and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

Danielle LaSusa 4/11/23 Danielle LaSusa 4/11/23

Your Fears About the Earth's Future Aren't True

“No, that’s not true.” I say this to myself a lot right now, particularly as we approach Earth Day.

I taught logic courses in college classrooms for many years, so I know that a statement can have one of three true-values: true, false, or unknown. Many of us get into a lot of trouble when we confuse unknown statements for true ones—something I am inclined to do when I think about the state of the planet. I convince myself that the earth my hypothetical grandchildren will inhabit will be nothing but blackened wastelands, waterworlds, underground mole people fighting resource wars in Mad Max style.

“No, that’s not true.” I say this to myself a lot right now, particularly as we approach Earth Day.

But then, I have to remind myself: No, that’s not true—if for no other reason than it hasn’t happened yet. In actuality, I don’t know what’s going to happen.

Maybe all these dystopian visions will, indeed, become “true.” But, right now, their truth-value is “unknown.” They are guesses, at best, and are informed by sensational movies and fear more than anything else.

And my mind is really good at convincing me that things are true, when in fact, I don’t know. It’s convinced me that getting a fancy publication will finally make me eternally happy, that the weird little lump in my groin must mean I have cancer, that we’re out of peanut butter. All of these have turned out to be false. We humans are remarkably bad at accurately predicting the future, but we attempt to do it all the time, often in ways that are motivated by scarcity and self-protection.

“No, that’s not true,” I remind myself again and again.

Then I come back to what I know is true about the earth: This daffodil is in bloom. The air is clear and the grass is green here today. There are fewer salmon in the river this year than there were last year. I feel scared and sad. I feel so grateful. The daffodil, the grass, the salmon are worth fighting for.

What do you know to be true about the earth? Share your answer in Mother Den.

Danielle LaSusa 3/14/23 Danielle LaSusa 3/14/23

YOU Can Split Open the World – Here's How

At a conference panel I attended this past weekend, a group of women writers were discussing what happens to women who tell the truth about their lives. After publishing their books, these writers were asked, often in a scandalized tone: What do your children/parents/colleagues think? They noted that their male counterparts rarely seemed to be asked this question.

One panelist, memoirist Rebecca Woolf, was reflecting on how, as a little girl, she was given a diary with a padlock on it, as were many of her friends—as, I noted in the audience, was I. “When I was younger,” Woolf said, “I assumed that the padlock was there to protect me. But now I realize that the padlock was really there to protect everyone else.”

In my Meaning of Motherhood Course, I have claimed that when women and mothers speak the truth, expressing the whole of our humanity—our fears, selfishness, sexuality, desire, and love—we reject the patriarchy’s mandate to be flat, one-dimensional, silent. We demand wholeness. We refuse to play along.

The female storytellers I saw this weekend said that, despite anger, estrangement, public backlash, and even lawsuits, telling their truths was worth it. “Not speaking became more dangerous than speaking,” as one writer put it.

This Women’s History Month, with this year’s theme of “Celebrating Women Who Tell Our Stories,” I encourage you to think about whom and what your silence is protecting, and whom and what your truth will serve. A woman who tells the truth—whether it is in art, on social media, or just chatting with your friends—is engaging in act of resistance and courage. Those who can speak, ought to, particularly on behalf of those whose risk is too great.

Together, telling our stories, our truths, we can change the shape of the world.

When is a moment in which you told the truth about your life? What happened? Share your answer in Mother Den.

Danielle LaSusa 2/14/23 Danielle LaSusa 2/14/23

The Year I spent Valentine's Day in a Psych Ward

Seven years ago, I spent Valentine’s Day in a psych ward with postpartum psychosis. As I sat on a hard plastic chair against the psych hospital’s cinderblock wall, one of the other patients approached and said “Happy Valentine’s Day” as he handed me a piece of paper. On it, was a drawing of a flower he’d made with crayons.

At least, I think that’s what happened.

I’ve been hard at work on my memoir of that psychosis experience, and I find myself grappling with Truth in ways I never anticipated.

First, there’s the obvious problem of my own unreliable memory of the time. I don’t remember who the patient with the flower drawing was or what he looked like. I don’t remember what I was doing or thinking before he handed it to me. I’m pretty sure this exchange happened and wasn’t part of some delusion or fever dream, but….?

But, the Truth that is most elusive and most difficult, is my own understanding of myself.

Like most of us, I have always wanted to be the hero of my own story—to be likable, wise, innocent, to be the center of all the action.

But as I work to tell this story, the more I have to contend my own limited understanding and my self-centered desires and motives, both then and now. What is the image I’m trying to paint of myself? Why? What and whom am I emphasizing or leaving out?

I don’t know if the other patient meant for this to be a kind gesture, a romantic advance, or some other motive, borne of mental illness. I don't remember my reaction or what I thought about him at the time. I don't know what other people in the room thought of this exchange. I don't quite know what to think of it all now.

While writing, I often find myself in what writer George Saunders has called “holy befuddlement,” that experience where you’re sure you believe one thing, but the deeper you dig, the more you find yourself utterly confused.

But, as Saunders suggests, such confusion isn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, this befuddlement is "holy" specifically because it makes space for humility, compassion, empathy, for the possibility that our own sure-footed vision of the world isn't the only one—and maybe isn't even accurate.

Perhaps, for all of us, befuddled is the only True way to be.

When do you find yourself in Holy Befuddlement? What does it feel like to you? Share your answer in Mother Den.

Danielle LaSusa 1/10/23 Danielle LaSusa 1/10/23

My Word for 2023 is....

Each new year, I choose a word that will serve as my theme for the year—something that I want to work with, explore, cultivate, both personally and professionally. My word for 2022 was “Gratitude,” and I learned a lot about how to feel more grateful. This year, I want to explore a rather different kind of word.

My word for 2023 is (drumroll please…)

TRUTH

Now, as a philosopher, I know that “Truth” is no small concept. There are thousands of years worth of tomes dedicated to the questions: What is true? How do we know? Can we even access it? Is all truth subjective or is there an absolute Truth out there? Who decides?

I’ve studied these questions for years and while they’re fun and interesting, my reasons for choosing this word lean more toward the spiritual growth angle.

I’ve found that the more I can ask myself what is true—what is actually happening—rather than simply believing the stories I tell about what’s happening, the better off I am.

For example:

Is it true that I’m a bad mother because I lost my temper and yelled at my kid today?

Is it true that the person who is cutting me off in traffic is a selfish asshole?

Is it true that the latest news story proves that the world is doomed beyond repair?

Or is it possible that there is a larger, and much more complex truth for each of these?

The more I can question the knee-jerk judgments, interpretations, evaluations, and stories I have about myself and the world, the more humble, curious, and open I become.

When my emotions and self-righteousness get the better of me, when I hear that voice inside say, “Of course it’s fucking true!” and I feel that seductive rigidity setting in, I try to bring myself back into my own sense of what is actually true, for me, right now:

I’m having a hard time right now. My body feels tight. I’m telling myself a story in an attempt to avoid pain. There is a much bigger context to this moment. I want to feel ease, peace, love, and belonging, as most living things do.

The more I can see the difference between what is actually true and what is just happening inside my head, the freer I feel.

So, I’ll be exploring Truth this year, and I invite you to join me. I can’t wait to see what we discover.

What are your thoughts about my selection of “Truth” as this year’s theme? If you were to pick a word or phrase for 2023, what would it be, and why? Come share your answer in Mother Den!

Danielle LaSusa 12/20/22 Danielle LaSusa 12/20/22

My Top 5 Books of 2022!

I’ve read or listened to 44 books so far in 2022! Here’s a little drawing I made where I’ve been keeping track of this year’s reading list. (A few blank ones at the end, in case I finish any more.)

Here my top five; these are the ones that have stayed with me, that I draw upon again and again:

Here are my top five; these are the ones that have stayed with me, that I draw upon again and again:

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer
The Dance of Anger by Harriett Lerner
Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler
What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo
Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman

Honorable mentions: Heavy by Kiese Laymon, Bodywork by Melissa Febos, The Way of Integrity by Martha Beck, Bittersweet by Susan Cain, Why Fish Don’t Exist by Lulu Miller, and Story by Robert McKee

Danielle LaSusa 12/13/22 Danielle LaSusa 12/13/22

Gratitude for you all

My year of Gratitude is coming to a close. I started this year recoiling from the word “gratitude.” It made me feel selfish, ashamed, and annoyed. It felt like the people who focused on it were holier-than-thou, naïve, or, at best, insincere. But I chose the word because I felt like if I didn’t learn to become more grateful, I’d continue feeling empty and unworthy, no matter how much success I achieved or things I got.

Over this year, I’ve discovered that gratitude is about attention. To experience gratitude is simply to bring my open attention to the myriad things that are happening each day, (each moment!) that are going well, bringing pleasure, and supporting me—rather than always focusing my attention on problems and out-of-reach solutions.

This does not mean I ignore the problems. It simply means that I put them into right balance. I have a truer sense of the whole.

Surprisingly, doing so has given me more joy, more energy, and more capacity to stay with the difficult things, rather than feeling overwhelmed and rundown by them.

Looking over my many gratitude lists from this year, I find myself most grateful for simple things: sunlight, strawberries, snuggles. When I notice and connect with myself, with others, and with the natural world, I feel nourished. I feel rich.

So, I end 2022 by expressing my gratitude for you all. I am so profoundly lucky to have the life and the work that I do, and I thank you for being a part of it.

Stay tuned in January, where I’ll announce my word for 2023, and I gotta tell ya, this one is very different from gratitude, and it’s a doozy.

What was your word of 2022 (or what word would you give it now) and why? What did you learn this year about it? Share your answer in Mother Den.

Danielle LaSusa 11/8/22 Danielle LaSusa 11/8/22

Take 15 Seconds to Feel Better

I was starting to get worried that the end of the year was approaching, and I hadn’t shifted all that much on this year’s theme of “Gratitude.” Thanksgiving would fall flat again this year. Sure, I’d thought about gratitude as a concept a lot, felt little glimmers here and there, but ultimately, I still felt like my life was full of unending to-do lists and piles of laundry.

But recently, I started reading this book that’s taken my gratitude practice to a new level. It’s called Wake Up Grateful. The author Kristi Nelson repeatedly reminds us that, in any moment, there are countless things for which to be grateful: You are alive. Your lungs work. Your heart is beating. You can see, hear, smell. None of these things are guaranteed, and they will not be true forever.

Had it not been for all my other attempts to cultivate gratitude this year, I might have rolled my eyes at such a claim and said, “That’s nice, but I have things to do.” But, those little glimmers from earlier in the year made me want to try this practice.

So, for the past couple weeks, at any random moment of the day, I take about 15 seconds to list as many things as I can think of to be grateful for that are happening right now:

I’m in a warm building. I’m healthy. I have a loving partner and child. My parents are still alive. There is a tree with bright red leaves outside the window. I have a kitchen full of snacks. There’s a mug of hot tea within reach. I can get up and move around, without pain, whenever I want to. I can write these very words, and you, miles away, can read them.

Without fail, by the end of this list, my chest swells with a tender feeling that life really is remarkable. And the more I do this practice, the more I realize that, yes, in fact, there is always a much longer list, (even if I don’t always notice it).

Knowing that the list of blessings is always long feels a bit like a safety blanket, a soft cushion I can always rest on when I need to, and it’s given me a more pervasive sense of wellbeing.

Turns out, maybe all that work I’ve done all year is paying off.

So, I offer this practice to you, and I invite you to share. We’re just over halfway through our 100 Days of Magic in the Mother Den community, in which we are listing 3 things for which we’re grateful everyday until the end of 2022. Come join us! It’s free!

Danielle LaSusa 10/4/22 Danielle LaSusa 10/4/22

What the Dalai Lama Thinks You're Missing

One thing I’ve been wrestling with in working with my theme of Gratitude this year is what you might call the “Pollyanna factor”: gratitude is a syrupy sweet, simple-minded or even damaging version of toxic positivity. “Just smile and look on the bright side,” (she says through gritted teeth).

But, of course, the world has many ills that need real attention. People are suffering, and it feels like the engaged and empathic thing to do is to suffer greatly along with them, not list our blessings.

In his book, The Art of Happiness in a Troubled World, the Dalai Lama says that, for most of us, the bad things about the world have an out-sized place in our perception of reality. Human brains have evolved to have a negativity bias. (Being on alert for the mountain lion and remembering the horrible incident of the poisonous berries have helped us survive.) But, it also, unfortunately, narrows and limits our scope of reality. Yes, there are heinous crimes reported on the news, but the reason they make the news at all is that the vast majority of people are not doing them. The vast majority of people are caring for their loved ones and saying pleasant hellos to their neighbors.

To ignore the good of life is simply to have a distorted view of the world. It is like the allegory of the blind man who touches an elephant’s wispy tail and concludes that an elephant is like a broom. When you only focus on one part, you end up with a false image of the whole.

And you’re wrong.

To expand your scope and get a fuller, truer vision of the rest of reality, including all those wonderful bits of joy like red autumn leaves, indoor plumbing, snuggles in bed, and community members caring for one another, join 100 Days of Magic for free in the Mother Den community, and list 3 pieces of magic from everyday life from now until the end of 2022.

Danielle LaSusa 9/15/22 Danielle LaSusa 9/15/22

100 Days of Magic

In the month before my 40th birthday, I ran a little experiment to see if a daily gratitude practice would help me get out of a funk. Maybe it was the 2-Year Pandemic blues, but this past March, a heaviness settled on me and lingered there. With the weight of war, mass shootings, Supreme Court rulings, and record high heat, I felt lonely and depressed.

So, inspired by the “woo”-rific book Thank and Grow Rich by Pamela Grout, (with her nod to Napoleon Hill of Think and Grow Rich ), I decided to try texting a short list of 3 blessings to a group of friends every day for 30 days. I sent out a call, and about a dozen of my friends were game. Within the first couple days, several of them started responding with their own list of gratitudes.

We celebrated daily blessings big and small: Oregon strawberries, favorite authors and activists, hummingbirds, morning coffee, new homes, successfully getting grumpy six-year-olds out of the house and watching them finally smile.

Receiving those texts started to become the best thing about my day. They brought a little boost of good news to help balance out all the bad. And as the weeks passed, I noticed a deeper shift: writing and receiving these lists primed me to look for loveliness, delight, and joy. My lists were full of sensory pleasures and natural beauty, little bits of magic all around me. By the time I sent my last text, the day before my birthday, I was feeling pretty damn lucky.

I loved this experiment so much, that I’m running it again, and this time, I want you to be part of it! It’s going to be even bigger this time; it’ll take us all the way to the end of 2022! Join me for:

100 Days of Magic

Starting on Friday, September 23rd, I will post a daily list of 3 delights to a private group in my online community Mother Den every day for 100 days. I invite you to join and post lists of your own!

You are welcome to join me in posting everyday, or just occassionally as your mood, schedule, and energy allows. (If you haven’t downloaded it yet, I recommend getting the Mighty Networks mobile app, so you can dash off a quick list on the go.) Or, you can just join the group to read all the lovely things people are celebrating—you don’t need to post at all!

Imagine what life might feel like if you receive and add to this little daily dose of good vibes and delight. I suspect that we’ll go into 2023 feeling pretty magical.

Oh, and it’s totally free.

Click here for instant access to 100 Days of Magic in the Mother Den community.

Danielle LaSusa 8/25/22 Danielle LaSusa 8/25/22

Damn Lucky

You never know how close you are to something terrible happening. That was the feeling my client struggled with for a long time after enduring life-threatening experiences in her childhood. And, while she’d worked through a lot of her anger and anxiety, she was still struggling with accessing joy.

“I don’t feel particularly happy or grateful for my life,” she said. Why should she feel grateful, she wondered, for this world in which she survived by dumb accident and tragedy could strike at any moment? For her, the universe is chaotic and uncaring, (evoking philosopher Thomas Hobbes’ claim that life is “nasty, brutish, and short”).

During our session, I asked what we might uncover if we lean even further into life’s randomness but shifted the tone from despair to wonder. “It is by pure chance that our world exists at all,” I said. “Molecules bumping into each other and then, boom, here it is, we’ve got bumble bees. Plants turn light into food! That’s crazy!" I marveled. My client chuckled and agreed, pointing out that we were people talking to each other on laptops from halfway across the world.

“Yes! None of this could be, and yet, by some mystery, it is.” I said. I suggested that rather than forcing ourselves to feel “gratitude,” per se, perhaps we just allow ourselves to sit in wonder at this incredible accident and think: “The fact that I am able to witness this at all is just damn lucky.”

“Damn lucky. I like that,” my client said with a smile. “I think it’s easier to feel damn lucky than grateful.”

She reflected how feeling damn lucky is still joyful and acknowledges the good things in life, but without implying a benevolent source or a deserving and worthy recipient.

So, I offer this practice to you. What do you feel damn lucky to witness? Share your answer in the Mother Den community.

Danielle LaSusa 6/14/22 Danielle LaSusa 6/14/22

A whole new meaning of Mother Earth

Spring has come to Portland, (despite yesterday’s weird spring snow). As the blooming flowers and warm weather returns, I can’t help but feel a twinge of fear at the coming summer. What used to be anticipation of sprinklers, popsicles, and backyard barbecues is now bracing for wildfire smoke, heat domes, and gunshots ringing through the city nights.

Some days, it seems absurd to continue to turn toward my 2022 theme of gratitude.

The earth itself played a key role in the Buddha’s enlightenment, or at least that’s how the story goes.* You see, before he became “the Buddha,” Siddhartha was all alone. Originally a prince, he’d left his family, wife, and child to seek spiritual liberation as a forest-dwelling Hindu renunciate. He’d trained for years with the best spiritual gurus of his time, but they had not lead him to ultimate freedom from suffering, and so he’d abandoned them and continued on his own.

Siddhartha was emaciated, dirty, and near starvation after living in extreme asceticism for years. At the end of his rope, he sat down under a tree and vowed that he would not move until he reached full enlightenment.

That’s when Mara, the god of craving, delusion, and death, showed up. After several failed attempts to persuade the would-be Buddha to give up, Mara finally said, “Even if you do reach enlightenment, who is going to witness you?” Mara knew that Siddhartha had no teachers, no friends, no caretakers; his mother had died when he was a baby. It was a deep cut.

But, in his wisdom, Siddhartha reached down and touched the ground, saying, “This earth will witness me.”

That was the moment of his enlightenment.

Whenever I find myself spiraling, feeling lost, unlovable, and alone, I try to say to myself, “This earth is your home. You belong here.” I think of what Buddhist teacher and psychotherapist Tara Brach calls the “gentle hug of gravity” pulling me close to the planet. I think of the story of the Buddha’s enlightenment, and I feel held.

This practice of leaning in to Mother Earth is forging a new kind of relationship to the natural world for me. I feel more and more connected to the birds, the forests, the water, the fungi. I also feel more and more grief for what our society’s way of life has done to our collective home, but also, a greater willingness to look, to see, to do something to help restore this sacred bond between people and planet.

May we all know, deep in our bones, that this earth witnesses us.

In what ways does the earth witness you? Share your answer in the Mother Den community.

* See Mark Epstein’s wonderful book The Trauma of Everyday Life

Danielle LaSusa 6/6/22 Danielle LaSusa 6/6/22

What is breaking your heart?

Some days, it seems absurd to continue to turn toward my 2022 theme of gratitude.

Some days, it seems absurd to continue to turn toward my 2022 theme of gratitude. How dare I feel good when everything is so horrible, when cherry blossoms have become an ominous sign of suffering? When it seems the world is becoming a more dangerous place for my child? When I realize that it has been dangerous for Black, Brown, and poor children around the world in way that I’ve not been forced to see until now, as my own money and privilege have begun to find the limit of what they can provide.

But as I continue to try to turn towards gratitude when I feel overwhelmed by the state of the world, I realize that what I’m really avoiding is grief. A deep, aching, existential grief at the enormous loss. Every beautiful thing will go away—whether through climate catastrophe, or death, or simply the passing of time.

As I try to connect with what is good and lovely right here and right now, I come face to face with my human longing, a desire for a permanent place in a permanent world.

Buddhism tells us this desire for permanence is the source of all human suffering, for to be in a world of change, loss, is to be alive. It is simply the way of things.

This is the strange paradox: The more I try to be grateful, the more I grieve. And the more I grieve, the more grateful I am able to be.

Perhaps this is what Rumi meant when he said “You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.”

What is breaking your heart open this spring? Share your answer in the Mother Den community.

Danielle LaSusa 3/8/22 Danielle LaSusa 3/8/22

Gratitude Calls Us Back to Pleasure

As I’ve continued to turn towards Gratitude this year, (my chosen theme for 2022), I’ve noticed a clue as to why gratitude is so difficult for so many of us.

The word “gratitude” comes from the Latin gratus which means “thankful” or “pleasing.” While the first part of this definition feels obvious, the “pleasing” part strikes me as being a big part of the challenge of gratitude.

As I’ve continued to turn towards Gratitude this year, (my chosen theme for 2022), I’ve noticed a clue as to why gratitude is so difficult for so many of us.

Feeling gratitude means, in part, feeling pleasure. It means noticing, affirming, and appreciating the warm, soft, airy, and spacious bodily sensations we feel when we take a hot shower or a delicious bite of food, or smell last night’s rain, or remember a hug from a loved one, or smile at a job well done. Gratitude asks us to notice what we physically experience when we think that this moment is good.

This practice can be complicated for people who have grown up in a culture that teaches us that the body’s experience of pleasure is sinful at worst and unimportant at best. Religious traditions the world over have claimed that the body must be denied, disciplined, and ultimately transcended. In ancient Greece, Socrates claimed that “the body is the prison of the soul.” Western Christian and Enlightenment narratives have reduced women and black and brown people to their bodies, a sign of their inferiority.

I don’t know about you, but for me, all this makes affirming, or even noticing, my body’s sensations of pleasure feels sort of…dangerous. Like doing so makes me stupid, simple or shallow. Perhaps this is why Brené Brown has found joy to be one of the most vulnerable emotions. (Addicts, she notes, are more likely to relapse after an experience of intense joy than intense sorrow.)

And yet, paying attention to those pleasurable sensations is how we actually feel grateful. A practice of gratitude is a call back into the body’s pleasure.

If we want to experience more gratitude, we need to practice noticing, valuing, and lingering in pleasure. We need to allow ourselves to welcome the hum on our skin when it touches soft sheets, the crackle of excitement when we learn something new, the swell of our chests when we watch our kids play. We need to open ourselves to the vulnerability of joy and then to reassert how thankful we are for it.

Do you have a hard time experiencing bodily pleasure? Does it make you feel vulnerable? How do you deal with it? Share your answer in the Mother Den community.

Danielle LaSusa 2/8/22 Danielle LaSusa 2/8/22

What if it could be easy?

If you feel like everything is a struggle, wu wei is a Taoist concept for you. It means “doing without doing” or “effortless effort.” Wu wei describes the way a sailboat crosses a lake, patiently using the natural energy of the wind, gliding silently through the water.

This subtle harnessing of what exists requires a different kind of effort than the strained, painful hustling many of us are used to. I often feel more akin to a motorboat barreling loudly through the surface of a lake, churning up seaweed and spewing gas, just trying to get somewhere else more quickly.

My 2022 theme of “Gratitude” has me thinking a lot about wu wei and Taosim. Practicing gratitude requires less striving and more joyful acceptance and skillful use of what is given.

This verse from Stephen Mitchell’s translation of Tao Te Ching nicely illustrates the spirit of wu wei. This seminal Taoist text elevates the passive, fluid, receptive, dark, and feminine, what Taoists would call “yin” energy (as opposed to the more active “yang” energy):

“The master allows things to happen.
She shapes events as they come.
She steps out of the way
and let’s the Tao speak for itself.”

— Tao Te Ching, #45, translation by Stephen Mitchell

The Tao is the self-contained force/existence/natural law of the universe that is at the heart of Taoism. The Tao is both yin and yang. It creates, destroys, and maintains. The Tao is both active energy and the still quiet center that holds all things in balance.

Yet, our society has long been out of balance: it glorifies yang and devalues yin. We are told that anything of value must be hard fought and hard won. Wu wei sounds like laziness, weakness, or childish idealism.

But what if life didn’t have to feel so hard? What if we could be more like water, moving deftly around obstacles and, slowly, patiently, over time, shaping our lives in a way that feels almost effortless? What if we could embrace wu wei? How would your life change?

Share your answer in the Mother Den community.

Danielle LaSusa 1/11/22 Danielle LaSusa 1/11/22

Gratitude and Shame

I chose “Gratitude” as my word for 2022, but, the truth is that I kind of hate the word. When I hear it, I feel a tightening, an inner eye roll that pushes against the Evangelical, Chicken Soup for the Soul sappiness of my youth. Deeper inside, I hear an echo saying “you’re so ungrateful,” followed by a shameful sense that I’m a selfish, privileged, spoiled brat.

Nevertheless, I chose the word “gratitude” as my theme for this year because I want to work with these feelings and make a shift. I’ve been incredibly fortunate in these last few pandemic years, and let’s be honest, for my entire life. But the white supremacist, capitalist addiction to achieve and have more, bigger, better has me focused on what I am lacking, rather than what I have.

Frankly, that attitude feels pretty insulting, not only to those who, willingly or unwillingly, have helped provide me this cushy existence, but also to the exquisite beauty of life itself. Because, although life can be incredibly cruel and painful, it also gives many opportunities for delight, pleasure, connection, love, wonder and joy. To ignore that beauty is to not see the whole truth.

I’m turning forty years old in 2022, and as I think about my remaining days, I want to more often feel the soft warmth of life-affirming gratitude. Not only will this shift benefit me, but it will give me deeper capacity to engage with others’ pain, to meet the world’s problems from a place of worthiness and love, to consume less and give more, and to use the resources and skills I have to serve the magnificent beings with whom my existence is shared.

What’s your relationship to gratitude? Do you, like me, find it hard to engage with feeling grateful? Contact me or share your answer in the Mother Den community.

Danielle LaSusa 12/14/21 Danielle LaSusa 12/14/21

Courage

In 2021, I finally did an exercise that I’ve asking my clients to do for years, and the outcome surprised me. The exercise is to choose your top two core values from this list from Brené Brown’s Dare to Lead. As I tell my clients, there are plenty of great, important values here, but the task is choose the two that can act as touchstones, anchors, that you can return to again and again to guide your decisions and actions.

I always knew I valued wisdom—after all, “philosopher” means “lover of wisdom”—and, as I thought about all the values that were important to me, I realized that my definition of wisdom had broadened to include not only thoughtfulness, reflection, and critical thinking, but also the wisdom of the body, of the natural world, of the ineffable understanding of lived experience, and all the love, pain, beauty, grief, and compassion there. But the real surprise was the second value I settled on.

In 2021, I finally did an exercise that I’ve been asking my clients to do for years, and the outcome surprised me. The exercise is to choose your top two core values from this list from Brené Brown’s Dare to Lead. As I tell my clients, there are plenty of great, important values here, but the task is choose the two that can act as touchstones, anchors, that you can return to again and again to guide your decisions and actions.

At the end of 2020, I chose a theme or word for the new year, as I’ve been doing for the last few years, and my word for 2021 was “Courage.” I wanted to do some big things in 2021, and I had the intuition that I would need a big whopping dose of courage to do them. I was right.

Within the first couple of weeks of January, I had to summon courage when I told the editor at the New York Times that the final revision of my essay was done and ready to be published. I called upon courage when I shared with my sister some difficult and painful emotions from our childhood and listened to hers; when I waved goodbye to my masked five-year-old on her first day of pandemic kindergarten; when, just a few weeks ago, I sent the first draft of manuscript of my memoir to a literary agent for feedback. (And I even needed a little courage to tell you about that last one.)

Choosing courage as my theme for 2021 made me realize how important of a value it is to me and how much I need it if I am going to live the full expression of my being in this world.

So there you are: My two core values are wisdom and courage. It’s a toss up between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. (Maybe you all can be my Sorting Hat: Which house would you put me in?)

Next month I’ll share with you my word for 2022, but until then, please tell me your words or themes for 2021 and 2022. Did you have one for this year? What was it? How did it serve you? Have you chosen a word or theme for next year? What is it?

Just respond to this email and I’ll get your reply, or even better, share your answer in my free online community, Mother Den, and see others’ answers.

Danielle LaSusa 11/15/21 Danielle LaSusa 11/15/21

WHY didn't I speak up?!

Early in the pandemic, my then four-year-old daughter and I were out for a walk and happened upon a neighboring house where a massive tree was being cut into pieces and thrown into a wood chipper. She wanted to watch the display, so she sat down in my lap on the sidewalk at the opposite corner of the street. Moments later, an exasperated-looking, middle-aged, white guy on a cell phone, standing next to a BMW, hung up his call and casually wandered over to us, lamenting to me how much the tree removal was costing him. Towering over my daughter and me, he moved closer and closer toward us, seemingly oblivious of our six-foot pandemic bubble of safety, little droplets of invisible spit flying from his unmasked lips. Nodding politely to his rant, I tried, in my cross-legged seat, to inconspicuously inch my daughter and me away from him, silently hoping that he would not step any closer.

As I leaned backward, watching this guy complain, the thought popped into my head: "Use your words! You need to show your daughter how to use her words," but I couldn't do it. I tried to will myself to speak but nothing came out of my mouth. Days later, I recounted this story to a female friend saying, "This is ridiculous! Am I so socialized not to make a man uncomfortable that I couldn't just say, 'Excuse me, sir, can you please take a step back so that you don't breathe a deadly, new virus all over my child and me?!'"

I've been thinking about this moment a lot while reading Kristin Neff's new book called Fierce Self-Compassion, all about how people—particularly women—can step into our active, sometimes even angry, "mama bear" energy as an expression of our care for ourselves and others. When paired with deep compassion and love, we can use this fierce energy to effectively protect, provide, and motivate.

Based on my experience with Tree Removal Guy, I'd venture to say that I particularly need to tap into that self-compassion in order to get over the barrier of shame that prevents me from doing the right thing. I mean, what was I afraid of? That he would judge me for being pushy or unfeminine? Granted, there are plenty of times that women wisely don't speak up for fear of physical or sexual violence or professional punishment, but, let's be honest, this was not one of those times. Instead, it was a prime opportunity for me to gather my courage, honor my fierceness, and protect myself and my child.

The next time such an opportunity comes around, I plan to seize it.

What are some examples in your life when you have—or haven't—channeled your fierce self-compassionate energy to protect, provide, and motivate? Share your answer in my free online community, Mother Den.

Danielle LaSusa 10/19/21 Danielle LaSusa 10/19/21

Is this dreadful or delightful?

My five-year-old daughter loves spooky Halloween house decor. Last week, we stood for twenty minutes in the drizzling rain, in front of a neighbor's yard, while she delightfully pointed out grinning skeletons, an eight-foot tall, rubber-faced ghoul, and over a dozen bloody-eyed baby dolls hanging from a tree.

Trying to imagine this practice from her fresh eyes, it struck me as curious that our culture has collectively decided to take a month to celebrate death, decay, and all things dreadful.

Most of us, most of the time, organize our lives so that we will not have to encounter the scary realities of the world. We close ourselves off and try to push away the frightful, anxiety-producing, specters that keep us up at night.

Trying to imagine this practice from her fresh eyes, it struck me as curious that our culture has collectively decided to take a month to celebrate death, decay, and all things dreadful.

But I think there's something really instructive and potentially healing about turning toward and honoring the horrifying. The shadow world is where all of our wildest, most untamed demons live: our fears, grief, jealousy, lust, and rage.

If we can learn to revere and revel in them, we open ourselves up to the richness of human vitality and sensuality. When we are willing to face the frightful, we can say "Yes!" to life without reservation. This process is, as the name of the holiday suggests, hallowed—sacred.

So, this Halloween season, I hope you take the invitation to venture into the shadow world to thrash and dance in the bright, ghastly moonlight.

Danielle LaSusa 8/12/21 Danielle LaSusa 8/12/21

Holding the Container

“Who’s holding the container?!” I moaned, my face in my hands. I sat on the living room carpet of a rented beach house, in a circle of half a dozen friends, trying to figure out if I could let myself go. I’d invited them all there for a “grief weekend,” a sort of ridiculous idea I had for a birthday celebration. I wanted to go scream at the ocean, gnash teeth, wail, dance, cry, and release the heaviness that we’d all be carrying after more than a year of quarantine.

On our first night at the beach house, I’d told my friends that I would try to create and hold the safe space “container” of the weekend—where they could feel safe to grieve, share, and be vulnerable—while also simultaneously climbing into the container with them to do my own sharing. “So I may need your help holding the container sometimes,” I said.

One friend chuckled and said she had this image of all of us linking hands in a whirlpool, one person gripping on to the solid edge and the rest, hanging tight, shouting “Who’s holding the container?!”

The following evening, we were in the midst of our “grief ritual,” in which we, taking turns around a circle, each picked up a stone to speak our grief into it and then dropped into a bowl of water. It was my turn again, and I knew I had some deep, family grief I wanted to speak, but man, wasn’t sure if I could really let myself go into it. I was emotionally drained, my cheeks still wet with the tears from the last round of crying for the warming climate and dying earth.

I let out a big sigh and covered my eyes. “You need someone else to go first?” someone asked. That was when I moaned.

“I’m holding the container!” I heard one person offer. And then, “Me too!” “Yeah, I am!” I looked up and saw all six of my friends around the circle, their arms held up at right angles, palms to me, hearts open. I laughed and my eyes filled with tears. They all grinned.

We all need to be held by others sometimes, particularly when we are often called on to do the holding, as so many mothers and caretakers are. If you want a container in which you can be held, please join me for The Meaning of Motherhood, a six-week online course that is part philosophy class, part motherhood wisdom circle.

Learn more about The Meaning Of Motherhood Course

Registration opens August 23rd.