Live Love Now: Relieve the Pressure and Find Real Connection with Our Kids

INTRODUCTION

THE TRUTH IS THE BEGINNING

I sit in my car in the middle school parking lot. I dig into my bag until I reach the massive stack of index cards. I hold them carefully in my hands, regarding them as cherished gifts, just as I told the students I would.

Even before I put my key in the ignition, I read the cards. The realities of today’s teenage world, written in No. 2 pencil, bring me to tears. I realize I am holding my breath.

I had asked a simple question: If you could give your parents or the world one message, what would it be?

The students’ responses are gold, relaying wisdom and insight far beyond their years. Yet sadly, almost every nugget of truth is wrapped in stress, anxiety, and pain far beyond what most adults would expect.

Some might wonder how an outsider talking about her journey to becoming an author is able to extract such deep truths and weighty insights from middle school students.

Maybe it’s the special education teacher in me who spent a decade connecting with young people ranging from kindergarten to twelfth grade who had emotional and behavioral problems.

Maybe it’s the dreamer in me who speaks to students right where they are, tapping into their loftiest aspirations with no judgment or limitations.

Maybe it’s the flawed but loving mother in me, admitting my greatest parenting mistakes in the same breath with which I describe the limitless love I have for my children.

Maybe it’s because I see myself in them—nervous, uncertain, awkward, but showing up anyway, flawed and full of hope.

Or maybe it’s because they see themselves in me—a recovering, tech-tethered, perfectionistic control freak who is determined to resist the highly pressured, barely breathing way of life our society glorifies.

I think, though, it’s simply because I admitted I didn’t know everything.

You are an untapped resource, I said. We adults can learn as much from you as you can from us. And right now, many of us feel like we are failing you.

That was the moment they sat up straighter, leaned in closer, and looked me straight in the eyes.

If you could give your parents or the world one message, what would it be? I repeated the question as I distributed the blank index cards. Pencils began moving rapidly, as if every student had just been waiting for someone to ask.

A few minutes later, while collecting the completed cards, I saw lines filled to capacity, and I knew one thing for sure: in order to receive such honest, heart-wrenching, truthful feedback, I had to be vulnerable first. I had to show the students I am human and give them the space and acceptance to be human too.

Acceptance is where connection forms.

It’s in the light of realness—acceptance and truth—that we find hope in our relationships. It might not feel like any kind of hope we’ve ever felt before. It’s messy and awkward, but it’s real. And it’s strong enough to break down barriers so we can talk about hard things.

The first time I experienced this type of authentic, unifying connection was with my daughter Natalie. At a young age, she began asking me for Talk Time. This sacred, ten-minute bedtime ritual always began with the same request.

Tell me something bad that happened in the world today, Mama.

Natalie would then pull her pink daisy blanket up to her chin and add, I am not scared.

Something told me that if Natalie did not receive the truth from me, this inquisitive girl would search for it in other ways. So, I’d take a deep breath and give Natalie small bits of truth about the realities of the world in words she could understand. Part of me feared these truths would be the end of her innocence, forever tainting her perception to a hopeless gray hue. But every unfiltered glimpse I offered was met by a spark in my child’s eyes, indicating to me that even at a young age, Natalie sensed her purpose in the world would be found somewhere in the mess.

Later, when Natalie was seven, I found myself in a dark, depleted, and distracted state. As my world crumbled and my joy disappeared, it was she who constantly took the brunt of my anger, frustration, hopelessness, and stress.

Once, after I harshly blamed her for her little sister’s slip on a library book placed on the stairs, Natalie ran to her bedroom. I quietly opened the door to find her with her daisy blanket pulled up to her chin. Remembering the brave question she’d repeatedly asked me at age four, I admitted an ugly truth about myself—a truth I’d never told a soul.

Natalie, I am mean to myself inside, and I take it out on you, I whispered, my voice quivering with pain. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how, but I pray I can change. I am determined to try.

Natalie did not cry or look afraid. She looked unmistakably hopeful.

The truth was not the end; it was the beginning.

Those moments, when I realized I could be transparent with my children about my missteps and struggles, gave launch to an eight-year journey to uncover and overcome obstacles that were sabotaging my peace, my relationships, my health, my joy, and my purpose. It’s taken a lot of hard work, and I don’t pretend to have it all figured out, but I am beyond grateful for the breakthroughs I’ve made as a parent and as a human being over these past years.

Each breakthrough came after I took an honest look at what was causing pain or distance in my relationships, and with a willingness to practice new approaches and find solutions. Many of these breakthroughs are described in detail in my previous books, but they’re also relevant here. As we strive to reach and connect authentically with other people in our lives—especially those who look up to us—in order to model authenticity, we have to first deal with our own stuff.

All those years, while I worked to overcome individual and relational obstacles, my family was watching. My children soaked up every intention I made, every strategy I implemented, and every mantra I posted on my bathroom mirror, especially my brown-eyed, wise-beyond-her-years Natalie. And night after night, year after year, she and I would lie down for Talk Time. During those one-on-one nightly talks, she told me things she didn’t tell anyone else. I knew Natalie was always honest with me about what she was going through because I had always been honest with her.

As Natalie described the ways she was coping with her own pressures and challenges, I began to hear echoes of the strategies I’d learned throughout my journey—but there was something more. With confidence and courage, Natalie was beginning to cultivate skills for coping with the same stressors that were derailing many of her peers.

She was hardly a perfect child, and today, she’s still a teen figuring out her place in the world. But I take heart in knowing that she is resilient and resourceful, kind and assertive, tender and tough. She has bounced back from major letdowns, learned from her mistakes, used her God-given gifts to help others, and refused to let accomplishments, media, or the opinions of others define her worth. I can’t take all the credit for the marvelous young woman she’s becoming, but I will admit that by practicing acceptance, pursuing peace, and exploring purpose for myself, I’d become a model, a refuge, and a reliable resource for my twenty-first-century child.

One night during Talk Time, exactly a decade after our nightly ritual began, Natalie revealed a deep desire, along with a plan, to go to Africa as soon as possible. It was the place she most often asked about during our heart-to-hearts when she was young. Fulfilling this urging in her heart would require her to push away fear, control, expectation, and comfort.

I know I’m only fourteen, but I’m determined to do whatever I need to do to travel there.

In that moment, I could not stop the tears. I released what felt like a decade-long exhale that had been waiting for confirmation of a powerful truth: Perfect parenting is not required to raise resilient, compassionate, and capable adults. Better off are the kids whose parents are willing to rewrite their job description and admit they are up for the task of learning, discovering, and growing right alongside their children.

As today’s parents attempt to raise the first generation of kids battling technoference, extreme academic pressure, unrealistic expectations, less outdoor time, and more school shootings, it is best if we admit right now that we do not know for certain how to navigate these waters. But if we are willing to live a life anchored by truth, connection, presence, and acceptance, and if we are willing to live love, there is great hope.

We have to be vulnerable first. That means our humanness stops being a scary secret right now so we can become respected role models for the young people we love. When our own personal discoveries meet our teen’s deepest need to be known, that is where real connection forms—not spotty, superficial, worldly connection, but true, authentic, unifying connection. And that is where a life of peace, purpose, and acceptance can be created, right in the middle of the mayhem and the mess.

The Truth-teller in me is humbled by the thousands of comments I’ve received from readers and followers who’ve expressed gratitude for my willingness to share my challenges and discoveries. The Encourager in me is grateful to be able to admit to myself that I’ll never have it all figured out, and that the trying matters more than the knowing. And the Guide in me is compelled to present this book in a useful, instructive format so that it can be a navigational tool and resource on your journey to Live Love Now.

Live Love Now is organized into three parts, each identified by the roles I believe adults need to embrace in order to relieve pressure and experience real connection with today’s young people: Truth-teller, Encourager, and Guide.

Within these parts, the book addresses the six top stressors our young people face: (1) feeling unseen and unheard, (2) experiencing rejection, (3) the allure and effect of technology usage, (4) lack of life skills, (5) lack of coping skills, and (6) parental and academic pressure.

Each chapter opens with a personal story that led me to an important discovery about how to embrace life and love now—through acceptance, belonging, anchoring, independence, resilience, and worthiness. Each discovery is followed by three examples that illustrate how I used various tools to help my children thrive when they faced specific pressure. For example: Acceptance through Refuge, Acceptance through Reframing, and Acceptance through Respect. Then there are strategies to help you mine your own experiences and compassionately guide the young people you love as they navigate one of the most stressful times in their lives, in an era when the stakes are higher than ever.

To help you stay the course toward connection, each of the three examples concludes with a Live Love Now Waypoint, a brief suggestion to help you apply the chapter concept step-by-step, moment-by-moment on an uncharted path. And finally, there are reflection questions to help you further hone your skills as a Truth-teller, Encourager, and Guide.

As you work your way through the book’s main concepts and apply them to different life situations, my hope is that you will experience greater awareness and discover effective strategies to navigate any conflict or tension that arises in the life of the young person you love.

I hope the stories of my own mistakes and breakthroughs help you uncover the obstacles that may be sabotaging your health, your happiness, or your relationships. And I hope the principles and strategies on these pages inspire you to begin practicing acceptance, pursuing peace, and exploring purpose for yourself so you can live love as a model for the young people in your life.

Be advised, you may uncover things—about yourself and your teen—you don’t expect, causing you to wonder if it’s too late. I am here to assure you that it is not.

No matter how many obstacles currently stand in your way,

no matter how much damage you feel you have done,

no matter how foreign the teenage world is to you,

no matter how unfamiliar the young people in your life feel right now,

teens want you to see them.

And they want you to see yourself in them—nervous, uncertain, awkward, but showing up anyway, flawed and full of hope.

I know, not just because I’ve read it on hundreds of index cards, but because I’ve also seen it in the eyes of hundreds of kids.

I’m so grateful for the honest confessions from these anxious teens, as well as the years of ongoing commentary I’ve read from my online followers, expressing their fears about losing connection with the young people in their lives. Their sincere worries that it is too late, that there’s a divide we just can’t overcome, are what motivated me to write Live Love Now. We may very well be living through an unprecedented time in human history, when division and distraction have us feeling lost and more disconnected than ever. Still, I dare to submit that with small steps and a little self-examination, real connection with the young people in our lives can happen today.

The truth is not the end; it is the beginning.

Let’s begin.

PART 1

BE A TRUTH-TELLER, NOT A TASKMASTER

Truth-Tellers . . .

•Share their stories, even the painful and shameful parts, to bring healing to themselves and others.

•Navigate life from a place of authenticity rather than from behind a mask or a façade.

•Show up as themselves, even if it’s not who they think the world wants to see.

•Do not rely on external approval for self-worth.

•Make choices by heart, values, and beliefs, not by worldly expectations or demands.

•Lean in when others share their truths.

•Honor others’ truths with non-judgmental and compassionate responses.

CHAPTER 1

UNSEEN AND UNHEARD

Being heard is so close to being loved that for the average person they are almost indistinguishable.

—David W. Augsburger, Caring Enough to Hear and Be Heard

This is my dreamer girl, I tell students as a photo of myself appears on the classroom projection screen.

In the photo, I am eight years old. My hand is on my hip, and I’m rocking a floppy hat and a T-shirt with horizontal stripes. My freckles are prominent, as is the contentment of my smile. I am a mixtape maker, an animal rescuer, and a notebook filler with aspirations of becoming an author.

But becoming an author isn’t how life played out—at least not for the first several decades of my life, I explain.

When it came time to choose my life course at the end of high school, I chose the sure thing. I settled for what I thought people wanted me to do and what I thought I could do without failing. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be a teacher—I did. But leaving behind my dream of becoming an author also meant abandoning the dreamer girl inside. As I dedicated my time, focus, and energy to teaching special education students, my writing fell by the wayside, and somewhere in the demands of everyday life, a part of my soul went missing.

Despite an ever-present feeling of unease, I carried on, forcing a bright smile so no one—not even I—could see the pain that was running deep in my being.

As the years passed, my uneasiness grew heavier, and my collection of masks grew larger as I expanded my masquerading skills into people pleasing and a never-ending quest for external validation. I became an expert at pretending to be happy when, secretly, I felt like I was dying inside. I made decisions about my life based on what I thought the world wanted from me without reflecting on my innermost desires. For nearly twenty years into adulthood, that is how I existed, until the pain of living an inauthentic life could not be silenced anymore.

My children, Natalie and Avery, were around ages seven and four when the pain caused by my lack of self-love and self-care began manifesting in high-pitched, manic eruptions of tears fueled by despair. Caring for two small children in a new city while my husband, Scott, traveled for work; renewing my teaching certification; and managing excessive commitments and distractions put me in a perpetual state of stress. I felt overwhelmed, inadequate, and ashamed, and I often dreamed of running away from it all. In hindsight, I understand how the emptiness of living an inauthentic life, layer after layer, year after year, is what made me long to escape.

One night, in a fleeting moment of panic, I made it all the way out to the car in my pajamas. I shivered against the cold leather seats. The sensation of pressing my bare foot against the gas pedal triggered a long-lost memory from my childhood. Though the adult in me was gripping the steering wheel and poised for escape, the little girl in me was swaying back and forth on the tire swing in my front yard back in Iowa, barefoot . . . carefree . . . and most notably, hope-filled.

While I hadn’t listened to it in years, the faint voice of the dreamer girl in me was too familiar to ignore.

Remember me? she whispered into the heavy, hopeless silence of what had been, just moments ago, my getaway car.

Yes, I said. I remember you.

I leaned my head back and allowed the memories of that little girl in. I could almost feel the warm sensation of the sun on my face, reflecting on all of the things that made her me, when I was flooded with the notion that I was divinely designed for a unique purpose.

In an instant and for the first time in decades, I knew exactly what I needed to do for me. I needed to recover my voice, the one that spoke truth from the depths of my soul. I needed to live out my life in words and actions that aligned with who I’d been born to be—a writer.

I was not supposed to escape my current reality, but rather reflect and redefine it in my truest voice. And by doing so, I would save my life, as well as the lives of the two little girls I’d left standing in the kitchen with tear-streaked faces. What I didn’t know in that moment—but would learn after years of trial and error—was that having a parent who lived by her truth would also increase my children’s chances of living their own authentic lives rather than constantly measuring themselves by the standards or expectations of other people—including me!

The day after my attempted escape, I bought a spiral-bound notebook. Ironically, it was just like the one I had used decades ago in my college poetry class. About midway through the semester of that poetry class, students were required to turn in their notebooks for review. In mine, the professor wrote, You have a powerful voice, Rachel.

I vividly remember the distinction my professor made between simply going through the motions of completing the writing exercises and actually using them as a means of growth, healing, and enlightenment. She taught me that in order to truly gain something meaningful from the writing prompts she’d given us, we had to be honest with ourselves. So that is what I began to do: I practiced being honest with myself.

What hadn’t dawned on me as a sophomore in college hit me all those years later when I most needed a passageway back to my truest self: It is only when I speak my greatest fears, admit my most difficult truths, proclaim my greatest longings, and shed light on my darkest thoughts that I feel heard, truly alive, and at peace.

Each morning before the sun came up, I began writing in my crisp, new notebook. At night after my children went to bed, I’d write again—releasing trapped emotions, letting go of repressed memories, and liberating shameful thoughts with every line. Through those pages, my manic outbursts diminished, and my truest voice surfaced. Through those pages, I felt validated by something far greater than worldly approval; I felt guided by the One who could offer me true peace and fulfillment.

I was never more certain that I was doing exactly what I was made to do. Chronicling my truths reunited me with the dreamer girl inside and empowered me to become the author I felt called to be. As an unexpected bonus, this process also allowed me to clearly see each of my children and take notice of the messages I was sending them that either sabotaged or supported their truest selves. Although my path to accepting my children just as they are was far from perfect and often painful, I am thankful for the awareness I now have. Because this truth is grounded in the realization of my own diminished dreams, it never fails to open a passageway for me to reach them.

Standing in the classroom one day, at the end of another career day talk, looking through the notes written on index cards, it was evident that my honest confessions and vulnerability resonated with the students. An overwhelming number of young people shared the stress and pain of feeling unseen, unheard, and unaccepted for who they are. So many of their index cards gave me a glimpse into the various masks kids today are wearing—masks that I know all too well will only grow heavier as they continue down an unauthentic path.

•My mom is really great and loving towards me and same with my dad, but they don’t know what my dream is, and they have already taken it away from me—they just don’t know it.

•I put on a smile. People think I’m the happiest person in the world. I act as normal as possible. I break down only when I’m at home alone.

•I fear I am unlovable, and this fear dictates my life.

•Mom and Dad, I want you to see the amount of pain and stress I