Whilst I have many annoying memories of Mr. Rooney, I have to say, a lot of Andy’s reasons why he values women over 40 ring true:
A woman over forty will never wake you in the middle of the night to ask, “What are you thinking?” She doesn’t care what you think.
If a . . . → Read More: Women Over 40 Rock!
Sure, you can get an MBA, you can read Seth Godin religiously, you can webinar it up til the cows come home, but have you ever considered studying the marketing genius that lives under your very own roof?
I’m talking about your dog.
If you don’t have one, let me introduce you to one . . . → Read More: Your Dog is a Marketing Genius!
I didn’t think I’d ever be married, and I doubt anyone did either.
First, I am what people generously term, “a character.” (I don’t think I am, but maybe that’s the point.) Also, when you’re pushing fifty, live with 2 dogs and 4 parrots, your chances at finding Mr. Right, or Mr. Anyone, are, . . . → Read More: I Didn’t Want to Give Up, SO I Gave Up: How I Found My Husband
I’ve written about low self-esteem before; I feel like a bit of an expert, a connoisseur even. I can spot lurking insecurities at 50 paces, which is why I’m always so flabbergasted when anyone says they’re surprised I’m not as confident as I appear.
Anyway, it’s a problem that casts a shadow over one’s . . . → Read More: Low Self-Esteem? Big Whoop.
Sigmund Freud said, “Intelligence will be used in the service of the neurosis.” That is not only depressing, it’s true.
My brain drives me crazy. Literally. With my brain in the driver’s seat I’ve done, said, and perpetuated the nuttiest, most self-destructive stuff. All my life I’ve operated as though I can think myself . . . → Read More: Sleeping With the Enemy
You hear a lot about self-esteem, and apparently you’re supposed to have it. A lot if possible. I have always found this tricky.
Of course, I’m old enough that when I was little, no one ever talked about self-esteem. On the other hand, not being too big for your britches, not acting conceited, those messages were heard loud and clear. (I think in elementary school, at least among us girls, “being conceited” was the worst thing of which you could be accused.) At home I got the distinct impression I needn’t think too highly of myself, and tamp down whatever exhilaration any little girl grade success might bring on. When I was put in a gifted program I knew not to discuss it much at home so my brother’s feelings wouldn’t get hurt. I could have easily risen above all this accept for the fact that the accomplishment that meant most to me was being loved, being liked – or at the very least not not-liked. And so began my diligent immersion into self-effacement.
Continue reading Self-Esteem is Tricky