Not Temporary and Not Shelter

Photo Credit - Emily Scott

Last month, I traveled to El Paso (Texas) and Juarez (Mexico) to bear witness to the humanitarian crisis that continues to unfold and to volunteer with respite centers helping the migrants and asylum seekers.

When we hear of a child in a juvenile detention center, we wonder what was their crime — what did he/she do to be placed in detention? Right now, there are nearly 14,000 children in detention centers and shelters throughout this nation for crimes they did not commit. Either the children came to the United States with their parents who are legally seeking asylum and refuge from their homeland (which is not a crime) or were sent here for safety by loving and fearful parents. They did nothing wrong. Nor did their parents.

Photo Credit: Emily Scott

Not fake news. How I wish it was.

One of these facilities is in Tornillo Texas. Tornillo is in the middle of nowhere and far from residential or industrial areas so Americans don’t have to see it in their daily lives. As there is no public transport to Tornillo, unless you can afford your own car or a hired car, you cannot get (or leave) there.

On October 27th, we attended a peaceful protest rally outside the Tornillo confinements.

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Our government calls it a tent city or a camp. I went to summer camp. This is not a camp. This is a prison for innocent children. Tornillo was deemed a temporary shelter for only 30 days for a few hundred children. That is a lie. It has been operational for far longer and it has grown five-fold in size, now able to hold thousands of children indefinitely. Which it does.

How do the children get here? Those in the know, those who have not blindly turned this page of our history and who have borne witness have described the trucks of children coming in the night. From where do they come?

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Ashley (a self-proclaimed Radical Social Worker) writes, “Children are taken in the middle of the night from licensed facilities and foster homes with operational and child welfare guidelines including education and adequate access to legal assistance, and moved to the tent city in Tornillo, with very little oversight, and little to no access to education and legal assistance. We have a situation where what was intended to be a shelter for a few hundred unaccompanied children to be operational for 30 days, is now a child prison, with little oversight and indefinite sentences.”

When we arrive, we are told that we cannot visit inside the facility. We are told that ICE is being “protective of their privacy.” That is fake news. How easy it is to dismiss nameless and faceless children. How easy to move on to the next topic of the day. Not so easy when you see sobbing children with fear in their eyes. Our tears shed as we thought of the children. Although we could not see them behind the stone and barbed wire walls, we knew the loneliness and despair and thus, the anguish and cruelty they were experiencing as we rallied to reunite and free their families.

Photo Credit: Emily Scott

The same language and the same tactics were used by the Nazis. Moving people in the middle of the night. Mothers being told that their children were being taken to get showers. Building their factories for human obliteration far from the public eye. Calling these buildings simply “camps.” The list goes on. My father’s family in Czechoslovakia never thought it could happen to them. Yet it did. We know it did. This is not fake news. How I wish it was.

If I am not reaching your heart with this destruction of humanity in the making, then perhaps I can reach your wallet. Tornillo costs the taxpayers/government approximately $100 million a month to run. Certainly, a significant portion of the cost is for personnel. Other costs include water trucks brought in repeatedly during the day to provide clean water and take the dirty water out. Electricity is insufficiently provided by generators. The great businessman that Agent Orange is (now that’s fake news) advocates that this is a scalable model for immigrant detention. $100 million monthly for 1 single, make-shift “temporary” facility.

The current administration created this humanitarian crisis of unaccompanied, entirely vulnerable migrant children through unlawful and forced family separation. There are confirmed abuses and even more allegations. We are talking about innocent children…the scars — emotional, mental, physical — are unfathomable and yet they must be owned by all of us who allow this to happen.

It is happening yet again. I was brought up with the mantra, “Never forget, never let it happen again.” This I was told as I learned about the murders of my paternal family at Nazi concentration camps. As I said in the Congo, as I said in Lesvos, Greece, as I said when I bore witness and volunteered in other parts of the world, it is happening again. So why the silence? And it is happening not on other continents, not in other countries; it is happening right here on American soil, in our own country.

How many times has this happened in the short time our country has been in existence? We have discriminated against people of color since our nation’s beginning. As other examples, we attacked the Native Americans (completely decimating their way of life), the Catholics, the Irish, the Italians, the Japanese (forcing hundreds of thousands living in the U.S. into internment camps), then the Jews, then the Muslims, and now people of the Americas from the south seeking asylum here.

Who is next? Your group? Will you then scream into the wind, “This is not fake news?”

Photo Credit: Emily Scott

How you can help

Photo Credit: Emily Scott

Aren’t You Seeking a Better Life?

Last month, I traveled to El Paso (Texas) and Juarez (Mexico) to bear witness to the humanitarian crisis that continues to unfold and to volunteer with respite centers helping the migrants. Here is my first report — “Aren’t You Seeking a Better Life?”

In full disclosure, I lead 2 lives — distinct from each other. I have that luxury. And it is, indeed, a luxury to have these 2 concurrent lives.

Last month, the difference in these 2 worlds was glaring. In San Francisco, with 4 schools in a 2-block radius of my home, I watched the many parents, nannies, and housekeepers dropping their children off and picking them up at the end of the day. I call it “the parent trap” as it is almost impossible to maneuver around the ever diligent and caring adults.

Also last month, I went to El Paso (Texas) and Juarez (Mexico) to bear witness to the humanitarian crisis of migrants seeking asylum and to volunteer at respite centers helping the families. I saw the fear, worry, and anxiety on all their faces — young and old. I watched the many parents desperately struggling to create a better life for their children.

On the Paso del Norte Bridge sidewalk heading to the American border, I walked past the never-ending line of families praying to be safe in my country.

I was greeted by the Border Police who carried AK47s (earlier in the day, they wore full riot gear) who seemed immune to the tears and pleas of help. How much of their indifference was due to their accustomization to the scene or an act of self-preservation?

Some group members and I volunteered at Annunciation House — an almost completely volunteer-driven respite center for those families who have come over the border. While the families were from different countries, El Salvador, Cuba, Guatemala, Honduras, Brazil, to name a few, they were united in caring for and being protective of one another, as well as grateful for any help or kindness offered to them. The men were respectful to other adults and fatherly to all the children, not just their own. The women were helping each other with their infants and young children and doing whatever needed to be done.

They were polite as they waited in line for the meals which we served. They were patient as I, not able to speak Spanish, fumbled in trying to communicate. The children shyly asked for water, a piece of fruit or a snack, and often for another child or adult and not themselves. The dining room was filled with volunteers from the USA and refugees from elsewhere — all treating each other with respect, care, and simple human decency.

The food we served was either lovingly made or bought by El Pasoans. Not a single morsel was from federal or grant money. For years, the citizens of El Paso have donated their time, treasure, and talent to take care of the families who, again I repeat, want a better life for their families and who are escaping from highly dangerous environments, rampant poverty, and/or political instability.

I noticed men reading comics and elementary schoolbooks to begin learning English. I watched the fathers and mothers protectively watching their children play on the small asphalt area behind the building while also hanging up their newly hand washed clothes to dry in the hot Texan sun.

Hundreds of families come and go from the Annunciation House. Each family chooses from the assortment of clothes and toiletries that have been donated and is offered medicines that are needed. Infant care supplies are available and generously donated. When it comes time for a family to leave for the next part of their journey, volunteers create as robust a care package as possible.

Much more is needed. Given the large number of families in need, all donations are quickly depleted. As generous as the owner of the building has been to donate the space, there are many repairs that would be helpful. The stove and oven don’t work. The kitchen sink’s plumbing backs up. Another refrigerator would be incredibly helpful. The list goes on and on…

Soon it will be cold. El Paso is almost 4,000 feet above sea level and November will bring the nighttime temperatures to an average of 40 degrees.

While we were in El Paso and Juarez, ICE announced their new decision to stop working with the various charitable organizations and determined that their best course of action is to now abandon families — regardless of the health conditions of the young and the old — in downtown El Paso bus stations in the middle of the night.

Let that sink in. Rather than work with volunteers and nonprofits to provide a shred of human decency, ICE has chosen to be particularly cruel to human beings desperately wanting better and safer lives for their families. And these people, who are not told a thing about where they are going, what they should do next, how and where they can find help, are the “lucky ones.” Think about that. And while you are doing that, please also think about how you are seeking a better life for you and your loved ones.

I wonder if those parents picking up their children from the schools near me ask themselves this question.

What would you do to make that happen?

HOW YOU CAN HELP

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Money Mindset: Did You or Did You Not Contribute to His Success?

Photo Credit: Emily Scott

Among the many things that occur for me between the year-end and the year-beginning is the review of what I call my financial recipe.  The ingredients of this recipe include my budget (actual and planned), my philanthropic contributions (actual and planned), the income forecast for the coming year, tax preparation, and an examination of the alignment of my values with my money.  As with any recipe, the ingredients are all mixed up and baked together: the past year with the new year, the personal expenses with the professional expenses, the expected budget with the actual balance sheet, and the intellectual with the emotional.  It is the latter – the realistic versus the irrational – that always catches me by surprise.

Tangent: My Bag Lady Syndrome (I have mentioned this in other blogs), which, by the way, affects nearly 50% of women in the United States (according to a 2014 study by Allianz Insurance), is about as emotional vs. intellectual as you can get. 

Two things happened in the last 12 months that caught me by surprise – me, someone who has been very conscious of the emotional side of money for decades.  The first: my father died in April at 96, and my mother turned 92 in June.  I realized that my genetics coupled with my relatively healthy lifestyle could potentially push my age far longer than I anticipated.

 I went back to my life’s financial plan (not to be confused with my yearly plan) to adjust for my longevity.  The domino effect is obvious to me; my wealth needs to be spread out over more time, which means I have to re-evaluate not just my annual budget but my investment strategy as well.  While this is all fabulously practical, the emotional side of the equation made me gulp as I realized that my funds and my spending must be altered by the 30% increase in my life span.  “Mama needs a new pair shoes,” quickly disappeared from my dialogue.

The second: I heard the echo of my ex-husband’s comments about our financial picture when we were separated and going to marriage counseling; that he would have been just as successful with or without me. (Why the echo now, I’ll explain in just a bit.) I wasn’t surprised by his ownership of the money as it is common for the breadwinner to have this perspective.  I was hurt, and then indignant, by his belief that I did nothing to contribute to his success, especially since he’d always claimed otherwise. 

The debater in me wanted to point to all the ‘evidence’ that proved otherwise.  And I have lots of it; including emails from the very man himself extolling my virtues and help.  Here’s the deal – our marriage ended over 4 years ago, so this is an absolutely moot point. 

The rub, the punch in the gut, of being told I was not a contributing member of the partnership goes to the core of how I viewed my identity for 20 years. His words infiltrated my self-worth. It took serious work on my part to get the missing links back in line.  Included in those absent pieces was reconnecting with what I do well, appreciating and recognizing my own skills and talents. For the most part, the effort was worth it.  My metaphor for the healing process: I went from an amputated arm, to a broken arm, to a broken wrist, to a broken finger, to, at present, a hangnail.  You know, that ‘something’ that just seems to catch on ‘something’ that causes you to say “ouch.”

So why now – why did this echo rebound years later? Over the last year, this sentiment, this fear, this wound has come up for many of my clients during our discussions. I am astounded by the number of divorced (or divorcing) women wading through this question of identity and worth. What did they add to the equation for all those years? That’s what they’re asking themselves, and me. I am not alone in this vortex. 

I discussed this phenomenon with a woman I respect immensely, Joan DiFuria, founding partner, of Money, Meaning, and Choices; on how one moves forward.  The minute she used the word, “reframe,” I sat up and took notice, as this is one of my favorite tools, personally and professionally. 

Reframing: Our thought process often gets in our own way and if we can redirect the thought – reframe – we then have an opportunity to add new information into the equation. 

Joan said, “What are the actions you take to reframe?  You acknowledge that if you don’t get recognized, it doesn’t mean you need to devalue your contribution. Fair is not the objective.”  In other words, you need to come to terms with your needs and your worth, on your own or with professional help. Trust yourself for you deserve it. Joan added, “What we can’t recognize, we can’t change.”

I spend a lot of time with my clients, interviewing them to learn their story, their narrative.  Together, we combine what they think their narrative is with what others think their narrative is. The epiphany occurs when we parse out the conjectures of others within the portrayal of ourselves.  As they say, everyone is entitled to their perspective.  That’s the entitlement – it’s their perspective, not the universal truth.

Interestingly, one of my recent female clients is the breadwinner of the family.  We’ve talked about the balance of financial power, the respect needed on both sides for each partner’s contribution to the family.  It’s not binary, it’s multi-complex.  Cultural and societal norms, familial backgrounds, how we value money, how we assess the power of money, how we define work and partnership, and how we incorporate our own experiences are just part of a long list of questions to explore. These are the ingredients that make up our approach to finances, our personal sense of worth.

Volatility is Back

“Volatility is back,” a Portfolio Manager from First Fiduciary Trust declared at a business lunch last week.  She and the subsequent panel speakers were talking about the recent plunges and surges in the stock market.  After more than a year of rising stock prices and very low (if any) volatility in the market, the last couple of weeks have proven that those calm waters may be a thing of the past. Uncertainty once again rules the market, and therefore our financial wellbeing.

Normally, the market fluctuations and the declaration of rising volatility would send me into an emotional tailspin.  My bag lady syndrome would take over my entire being, panic would set in, and I’d run for cover (under the sheets). Weird that I’ve been calm. Odd that I haven’t thought about converting all of my holdings to cash and then stashing the bills under my mattress. Surprising that, in response, I haven’t sold my designer clothing, the artwork on my walls, the walls themselves.  Even a recent date told me about his stock selling frenzy (before the markets rebounded), and how nervous he is about the markets. I assured him that this was a blip on the radar screen; I told him not to panic. I lectured about how the media is creating an artificial panic by focusing on the point drop rather than the percentage drop (minimal) in the stock market. I added that the fundamentals remained sound and the economy was not in a freefall.  I can’t begin to describe how unusual my reaction is for me.  I’m actually amazed that my portfolio manager didn’t call me to ask why I didn’t call her; as she knows how low my risk tolerance is.

Am I delusional?  Have I drunk too much of the “Investing-is-a-good-thing” Kool-Aid?  Am I in shock?  Am I in denial?

 No, no, no and no.

Four years ago, when I became a divorced woman, I reexamined what was important to me from a financial perspective. I had to as, suddenly, my life was dependent on “my” money, not “our” money, which, just in case it is not abundantly obvious, is an infinitely smaller pot. Taking pen to paper, I wrote in caps and in bold: FINANCIAL SECURITY AND PEACE OF MIND.  I created every possible QuickBooks report that would reflect my financial portfolio. I then constructed an annual budget I could likely afford.  I took all this information to a financial planner and said, “How long will this last, assuming a very low return on my investments and this level of spending? AND, read my top line carefully, as I am serious about my financial security and peace of mind.”

We argued about the low return I insisted she use, as she thought it was way too low.  I explained to her that I needed, on an emotional basis, to look at a potential worst-case scenario. If I was financially secure in that illustration, I would be even more secure in a higher returns situation.  NOTE: Okay, there are worst cases – another Depression, Armageddon, nuclear war, etc.  I can't even go there because even if I were to squirrel all my dollars under my bed, that would get me nowhere in those devastations.  Even my Bag Lady can’t go there.

According to her prediction, I was good to go until sometime in my 90’s. Okay, I thought, I’m prepared.  I’m prepared because I’ve put my affairs in order from the vantage points of the intellectual and emotional sides of my money.  And, as I used a low rate of return in the predictive model of my finances/life, when the market volatility recently returned, I was able to go back to my report and find comfort in that ‘security blanket.’

That was all well and good until last year when I suddenly had several unexpected expenses come my way, including the new tax law, which increased my annual costs by 50%. So much for my budget. My knee-jerk reaction?  Sell my home, take money off the table in my illiquid real estate investment, improve my annual cash flow, and move into a studio apartment.  This makes perfect sense considering my bag lady syndrome, so, to the real estate section, I went in search of a tiny place I could afford. 

But here’s the deal; I love my home, it’s my sanctuary, it’s the sanctuary of others as well, and, yes, while it is only property, it is only a ‘thing’, I really didn’t want to leave it just yet.

My next reaction?  Go back to the budget. The filtering question:  What can be taken away? 

This was reality time, people.  I had to own up to my expenditures. What did I have to spend each month on necessities? What did I want to spend on various luxuries? What was need vs. want?  Not only did I examine my living expenses, I paid close attention to services I was outsourcing. What was I capable of doing myself, and what did I need (or want) to pay others to do for me? 

Case in point: I pay a professional portfolio manager a lot of money to recommend and manage my investments.  I have an MBA; I worked on Wall Street; and I understand the markets, asset allocation, and investment theory.  I’ve not only invested my own money, I invested other people’s money as well. 

Here’s what I learned:  I’m horrible when it comes to my own investing.  All my objectivity is overpowered by my emotions.  Put a little pressure on me and the panicked bag lady comes out in full force.  I once said, “My version of asset allocation is to put all your money under several mattresses, not just one.”  The people in the room--this I said during a quarterly review meeting with my ex-husband and our financial managers--laughed…I was only semi-kidding. 

Could I save money investing my own money?  Perhaps.  This assumes that my intellectual capability could win over my risk-averse/financial security fear incapacity.  I am aware of the difference between risk (“known unknowns”) and uncertainty (“unknown unknowns”) which hinders my investing clarity. This also assumes that my life wouldn’t be utterly consumed 24/7 by my watching the markets like a hawk.  Do I really want to watch CNN 24/7, a station I avoid like the plague? Do I want to bet my PEACE OF MIND on being better than the professionals; who watch/research/model investments for a living? No and no.

And this is where telling the truth to yourself is vitally important.  This is where the judgment of others falls short.  

My clients and I discuss their assets from these vantage points: values, priorities, fears, wants, and needs.  The acceptance of what you have, of what you are dealing with, from an all-inclusive perspective.  My premise is that when we open to a broader picture, we are more likely to embrace our decisions.

This is why I haven’t panicked…yet.  I know me.  If the markets continue to roller-coaster (which I never liked riding even as a kid), I know I will have all sorts of reactions and probably few will be as calm as what I am experiencing now.  After all, my portfolio manager is on speed dial. 

How we don’t give ourselves TMI

Years ago, when I was married to the President of a Fortune 500 company, I went to a black-tie event at the San Francisco De Young Museum.  For whatever reason, it had been a bad day.  As I walked into the reception, the first people I came upon were two of San Francisco’s A-List socialites who I thought, in my naivete, were friends.  Politely, they asked me how I was. That their eyes protruded in horror, that their jaws clenched, that their entire bodies recoiled did not stop me from giving them the full report on how I was, in full detail.  The next day, I told a real friend, who howled in response, then schooled me. “Emily, the answer is ‘fine’ or, if you have to say something else, ‘don’t ask.’”  And then she proclaimed, “All of San Francisco’s A-List is being told, ‘Don’t ask Emily how she is.’”  We joke about it to this day.  She trained me well, for the only people who know how I really am are my besties – a small handful of wonderfully loving, empathetic, and interested friends.

Today, in my session with my coach, I learned how much I was keeping from myself, how few truthful details I was really noticing.  The ‘too much information’ (TMI) I had stopped relaying wasn’t just in social communications as I moved along in the world, but also to myself.  She threw open the door to the houseful, not roomful, of information that I’d buried, compartmentalized, and lied about to myself.  I had become polite, surface, socially acceptable to the one person I couldn’t afford to be that way with, me.

Here is a label my coach uses, that I think captures the problem: “weather reporter.” This is who we are when we look at ourselves, our experiences, our thoughts, our feelings and report them rather than actually own them.  And here’s why that’s bad: Revealing our information to ourselves, really connecting with it, allows us to better understand the personal patterns that don’t do us any favors, i.e. aren’t getting us what we want, whether it be happiness, success, relationships, financial stability, etc.   

While mulling this insight over, I reflected on Brene Brown’s (love her!!) work on shame and guilt.  Brene (how I wish we were on a first name basis) defines shame as “the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of acceptance and belonging.” She goes on to say, “Women often experience shame when they are entangled in a web of layered, conflicting and competing social-community expectations. Shame leaves women feeling trapped, powerless and isolated.” Guilt, according to Brene, “is adaptive and helpful – it’s holding something we’ve done or failed to do up against our values and feeling psychological discomfort.”

Was I giving myself weather reports, so I could avoid feeling unworthy? Ashamed? Guilty? Uncomfortable in any number of ways?

In the work I’ve done post-divorce to move forward in my life (happily I will add), I owned up to a lot of personal garbage, the pain I experienced during my marriage and divorce, along with the slings and arrows I dodged (or wasn’t smart/fast enough to dodge) throughout the regular course of my life.  I hadn’t expected to fail in my marriage, I hadn’t expected people in my inner circle to dump me as well, so clearly, I needed to figure out my role (recommendation, Maybe It’s You by Lauren Zander).  I dove into my painful baggage headfirst, waded through a ton; so much so that I refer to my current life as Emily 6.0. The “ha-ha on me” moment came today when my coach opened the houseful of stuff that I hadn’t yet owned.  Major ouch. It’s so not easy, this seeing yourself for who you really are.

When I sit with potential clients, I tell them quickly, “We’re going to be in a sacred and safe place, judgement free, and there’s no such thing as TMI.  Accurate, personal information is exactly what we need in order to have your legacy plan, and/or your philanthropy represent who you truly are.”  I go on to describe how we self-judge, how we edit our thoughts and feelings, how critical we are of ourselves. 

Oh, how insidious self-criticism is, no area of our life is safe from it. We know we’re supposed to love/like our children equally and if we don’t, we would never ever admit that to anyone for fear of being called the worst parent ever.  Hard to create an estate plan if you aren’t going to own your feelings and then figure out what you want to do about it. 

We know cancer is a killer and decide we’re horrible people if we don’t want to donate to end that scourge.  Hard to create a meaningful philanthropic plan if you aren’t open to investing in and donating to your passions even while acknowledging the many other issues that confront our lives, the many ills that befall mankind and our world.

Here’s what happens when I encourage my clients to tell me how they’re really feeling, to allow themselves to speak freely without those social constraints.  First her proverbial toe dips in the water. Then, as she experiences encouragement to speak more, her body gets comfortable in the pool. Soon she’s swimming laps.  The shoulders go down, the facial worry lines relax.  That’s the moment our work can really be transformative.  That’s when our intimate discussion of what will happen in the future (ex., the estate plan for after death), the resultant openness and revelation of how she truly feels, changes her life in the present. That’s when she is able to accept herself for who she is and own her true desires.

I’ve always been interested in people, about what makes them act and think the way they do.  Intuitively and instinctively, I know the questions to ask that will allow for deeper feelings and thoughts to emerge.  Listening to their answers, their fears and hopes, I feel great compassion for all their complexities. What I don’t do well, and I would postulate others don’t do as well, is practice self-compassion.

Kristin Neff (love her too) defines self-compassion as “extending compassion to one's self in instances of perceived inadequacy, failure, or general suffering. Self-compassion as being composed of three main components – self-kindness, common humanity, and mindfulness.” She continues to explain that compassion for oneself is the same as the compassion one has for others, “self-compassion involves acting the same way towards yourself when you are having a difficult time, fail, or notice something you don’t like about yourself.”

Oh, do I have work to do, which is why, I suppose, I hired a coach.

I look at my problems and dismiss them as “first world or luxury problems.”  Easy for me to do for I’ve participated in many humanitarian trips all over the world and have witnessed, up close and personal, “real” problems.  My standard line about the problems in my life is, “There’s not a woman in the Congo who says, ‘your life is too difficult, I’ll stay where I am.’”  I have a very healthy dose of perspective and know how fortunate I am to have the life I have.  You probably do too.

Here’s the problem with lucky people like us. We tend to view self-compassion as self-pity. Or maybe that’s just me.  I went many rounds with a previous coach on this topic and refused to align my thinking with hers; I just couldn’t see self-compassion from her perspective.  One day she said to me, “What would you say to your friend who came to cry on your shoulder about what was happening to her – her husband suddenly not wanting to be married, her cousin abandoning her, her best friend betraying her by going after her husband, another close friend dumped her to ‘follow the money’?”  “Oh my God,” I said, “I’m so sorry.  I’m here for you and will be as supportive and loving 24/7 as you need me to be.”  My coach then handed me a mirror and said, “You’re now your friend.  Repeat those words to you, your new friend.”  And with that, I got it.

Apparently, I needed the reminder, thus my new coach’s revelation. I trust that you do too.

That’s why I implore my clients (and the other people I love) to ignore the fear of TMI.  That’s why I encourage all of them to trust, own, and relate their feelings and thoughts about their wealth.  We all need a person with whom we can be our true selves, without the trepidation of “it” coming back to haunt us. Here’s what you need to know at a very core level: while I guide you through the process, serve as your facilitator and confidante, what you tell me will never be used against you, won’t be brought up in a fight, won’t change my opinion of you.  Not ever.   I’m a vault and I hold your most valuable treasure – you – safely. And maybe when you’re done, you’ll feel less inclined to be a weather reporter in your own life. Wouldn’t that be nice.

"If you put shame in a Petri dish, it needs three ingredients to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence and, judgement. If you put the same amount of shame in a Petri dish and douse it with empathy, it can't survive."  Brene Brown

©Emily Scott