Tag: lesson

Moving into Alignment

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

On the cusp of discarding 2025 (tabernak!) …it’s time for me to share (for the 13th time!) what my word or frame is heading into the new year. Last year I wrote about living my season of “Yes, and…No,” and yes, I did get the tattoos…

And this year’s word is a natural byproduct of continuing to live in this season. Ongoing discernment of the choices I make and why I make them is leading me to an internal reality that is this year’s word: alignment.

I mean…it’s not quite as simple as that. It’s been a year.

My original grand “project” was to tackle a few internal challenges in the ongoing work-in-progress that is me, “do the work,” as they say, and come out on the other side the better for it. Turns out I don’t live in a vacuum, though, and other people had their own Projects (2025, anyone?) and our world got even more seriously fucked up.

My plan shifted to simply trying to make it through the day. Day after heart-and-soul-assaulting day. My prescient nightmare had a sequel that was a compounded level of scary that rocked me to my core.

Amidst that fear, though, the work—in the beginning, without purposeful, conscious intention—continued. It was as if, in order to endure the initial shockwaves of our “new world order,” my subconscious was sifting and sorting through my own personal sieve all the crap of the world that was enabling or letting this shit happen…and things started falling away.

[This is the point where I think, Hmm…I may be sharing a little more of my crazy than the average girl, but… oh, well! If I’m the only one feeling this way, then…you’ve learned a new perspective, and if not—well, then maybe we’ve connected.]

I knew I had to will my overwhelmed self to roll up my sleeves and actively work the sieve. While the results of the work my subconscious managed on her own were fully aligned—I needed to consciously examine key tenets and beliefs so that I could claim them as mine or eschew them because they were not aligned with my heart and soul. I wanted to fully own this sifting that felt like a now nonnegotiable process.  

Full disclosure: it was painful. Institutions…people…that I once thought were built on a foundation of solid, dependable rock were revealed to have footings in quicksand. Things I believed in all my life no longer mean the same or hold true. At least for me. And darn if that doesn’t have a wild ripple effect. Wild.

But what is left…well, that is fully aligned with…me.

Just what does that mean, though?

It doesn’t mean that I’ve done away with anything or anyone who doesn’t agree with me. I believe our inability to work through differences is a big part of our problem—though I do hold exception for certain “camps” of disagreement. For some, I just…can’t…Closed heart/closed mind…we done.

What it does mean is that that which is within me is aligned. What I believe. What I hold true. The tenets I follow. The integrity I hold. The truths I uphold. Mine.

There’s a lot more to be said about the “guts” of what I’m really talking about, but you just stopped by for a few hundred words, so I won’t go deep. (You’re welcome.) But in the “both things can be true” category, it has made for a great upheaval within me but also a peaceful resolve—and has helped bring about personal clarity during a time of tremendous chaos.  

And I’m not done—I don’t think I’ll ever be. It seems ongoing, this tending to alignment—like going to a soul chiropractor when something feels out of whack.

Finally, while it may sound like this is all inward-facing work (or navel-gazing, for the critics)—I think this clarity results in me being better connected to others, too—something we hear over and again is so critical during these challenging times. And I’m so very grateful for this.

So…yeah…it’s been a year. And while alignment may not be what is at the top of your list for 2026, whatever the case—I do hope that your year is full of health, hope, laughter, and love. (And also…Go Bears!)

What No Longer Serves

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 3 Comments

There is something about a new year that feels “blank slate” and offers up a chance to set lofty goals—at least that’s how I approached 2023 in choosing integrate as my word of the year. Reflecting on it, I have actually made some progress…but have a lifetime of practicing to go.

This year’s word is an intimate glimpse into that practicing, and since vulnerability is a part of the practice, too, here goes…

Everybody has their issues, challenges, and history of hurts, and my personal story includes having a clinically diagnosed narcissist with borderline personality disorder for a mother. She passed a few years ago, and this is by no means an attempt to “disparage the dead” but—let’s just say it didn’t make for a lot of easy laughs and unconditional love. My mom was privately explosive and unkind, which created a hypervigilance in me to do my best not to trip her trigger.

You’re probably thinking, “Good Lord, Lisa…where is this going? It’s a word of the year, for crimony’s sake!” I know, I know. I’m getting there.

My mom lived to a ripe old age, and I was a seasoned professional at walking on eggshells and trying to manage circumstances to appease her. Eventually, I got into therapy and started learning, among other things, that it wasn’t my job to try and make her happy. But intellectually learning something and internally letting go of practices that kept me safe as a kid (but are no longer needed) are two very different things. One is easy…the other…not so much.

I noticed many years ago that I am almost always clenching a muscle somewhere in my body. Subconsciously, I create a physical tension—perhaps part of my hypervigilance to always be ready. It’s exhausting. When I recognize that I’m doing it, I literally make myself stop and let go. And I am now understanding more clearly how I do the same internally, as well. I am coiled and ready to spring into action at any moment to make sure landmines are averted. It, too, is exhausting. But guess what? The landmines are gone—and even if they aren’t—they are not my responsibility.

Which finally brings me to my word of the year…

I see 2024 as a year to add to my practice of trying to be a better human being the discipline of release. The release of actions that no longer serve me or the people I love. I’m not fully sure what that means or how to do it, but I know that when I find myself walking on eggshells or managing landmines, I need to stop and recognize I’ve retired from that job. And I need to let go of the resentment that comes along as part of the package at no extra charge. Just like I do when I tell myself to relax a clenched muscle, I need to release myself from the constraints of well-worn patterns and emotionally “relax.”

As I’ve shared before, my word of the year often falls right into my lap, but this year, as I was reflecting on what my word might be, other synonyms came and went before release settled in…unravel, uncoil, unwind, and unfold all spoke to me in different ways. When “unfold” was speaking up, it of course made me think of Steven Curtis Chapman’s song that has touched me deeply at other times of my life.

No matter what shape your faith life is in or where it falls on the “spiritual spectrum,” I think you will appreciate this video. While it is about a “Glorious Unfolding,” it is also the beautiful gift of a father releasing his daughter from grief and encouraging her to live her life to the fullest. It is just the kind of release I am striving for.

It’s a good thing I love learning because it seems there is always homework to do. But I am grateful to have this life to keep working on all of it.

May your 2024 be a year of practicing release of what isn’t helping, embracing what is, and being able to know the difference between the two.  

Time Marches On…(and The Juggle Struggle Is 9)

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 7 Comments

I am both happy and sad when people ask me why The Juggle Struggle rarely sees a new post these days. Happy that anyone cares…sad that I am not writing like I used to. The truth is that I have a lot that I want to write, but my focus and discipline have hitched a ride out of town. I haven’t completely given up, though, and I am compelled to write a little now to mark the ninth anniversary of this blog.

On October 18, 2012, I wrote my first post. The ol’ girl’s been around for a while and seen many changes over the years…the blog, me…the world. So much is so very different. But one thing is always constant: There are 24 hours in a day, and the days just keep getting logged into the book of life.

My church is currently studying No Cure for Being Human, by Kate Bowler, and today we discussed the idea of “spending” time–as the currency that it truly is–and what it means about the choices we make. This perspective of time as a finite entity makes me think of something I came across a few years ago via Tim Urban’s Wait But Why site. He does some wonderful things with numbers, and one spin of his really drives home the point about our time on this planet. Below is what a 90-year lifespan looks like in weeks…and the blue line is where I am…

Image courtesy of Tim Urban’s Wait But Why)

…well past the half-way mark…IF I make it to 90. That’s a lot to take in.

And in taking a peek back on this anniversary at some of my previous posts, I remembered the one that I am sharing below. I wrote it when my son was 10–and it speaks to how much time we had left before he turned 18. Well, guess what? That milestone was reached earlier this year. Reading what I wrote then is obviously poignant to me now.

It happened in a mere blink.

What will the next blink bring? How many blinks do I have left?

Time marches on…

So…happy anniversary, The Juggle Struggle! I am grateful to have the words to string together that can sometimes matter to people. And I am grateful for every reader who gives me a few minutes of their precious time to read those words–I appreciate you more than you know!

And now, if you care to read on, I offer you the post that I wrote eight years ago…thinking about the time that I am actually facing now. A blink indeed.

936 and Counting

Originally posted September 30, 2013

Time flies. We all know this. The only case where time does NOT fly is instances like when you’re stuck in a boring workshop where they have the thermostat set so cold it just may crack off a body part and all you can think about is lunch. Then it’s slow. But typically, another week comes and goes and it feels like a blip on the radar.

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Recently, I had a 1-2 punch that was the kind of coincidence that makes me stop and think. I saw a framed graphic at a family member’s house that said something along the lines of “940. The number of Saturdays until your child reaches 18.” Me being me, I checked the math (52×18=936) and wondered why they added the extra month. Googling it, 940 is the number used again and again, but I like the number 936 better than 940 anyway, so I’m sticking with that. (Why the extra four? Can you guess?)

The very next day I was speaking to a friend, and she said her pastor’s message that Sunday was on pretty much the exact same thing. He had a jar of marbles that visually represented how many weeks were left before his daughter turned 18. The emphasis being, of course, that we use our time together wisely. It is fleeting.

So there I was, with two totally different avenues leading me to the same wakeup call: we only have so much time with our children before they are off and running in the world.

Of course, I know this. But when you put a finite number around it, it drives it home even further. Tick…tock…and another week is gone. Another marble leaves the jar.

I have issues with time management. I just do. I aspire to knock the hell out of each day, and before I know it, I’m brushing my teeth before bed.

But the clock of life is wound but once…

My son had his feet resting on my lap the other day, and…they were huge. What happened to the teeny ones that I nibbled on and made him giggle?

He was just sharing with me his fascination with the circulatory system that he’s learning about in science class. Only yesterday he was learning the alphabet.

I tell him—like my dad always told me—there will always be room on my lap for him. But the last time he tried it, we laughed together at how comical we must have looked.

936.

If my math is right, we’ve had 541 Saturdays together…and only 395 left before he turns 18.

395. 3-9-5. Holy crimony.

Thankfully, I am wise enough to know that these days do not need to be chock full and supercharged to be meaningful. I think back to my own childhood, and I realize that while there are some “big” memories of trips and special events—the real things that stick are the small things. The moments. It didn’t have to be anything special—just a time where I felt that I mattered. I don’t even think those thoughts typically cross our minds when they are happening—it’s like they just go into a special reservoir of love, where for some reason, we feel it and cherish it.

So, before I “lose my marbles” with my son, I need to remind myself that the moments count. That just because we may not be able to carve out the better part of a day to do something significant, I can still get out and play touch football with him and his dad.

I can genuinely listen to him catch me up on the first part of the “Full House” episode that I am sitting down to watch the rest of with him.

I can make time for a bike ride on a beautiful fall day, even if deadlines are looming.

I can share in his joy at the occasional 49¢ McDonald’s ice cream cone.

While we still do need to hit the “big” things and make those memories, it’s important to remind myself in the swirl of the day that not all is lost as long as we remember the moments, too.

Because that is what he will remember. The moments.

936 down to 395.

It’s not about us putting more stress on ourselves because who needs more of that? What it is about is keeping the perspective that we do have a finite time with our children, and it does matter—to them and to us—and it is all a blessing of unknown impact and meaning.

So amidst the flurry and chaos of everyday life, I’m going to strive to remember to jump in the leaves. Even if it means we have to rake them all over again.

Yo, Joy…Please Pull Up a Chair and Make Yourself at Home

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 6 Comments

For the last five years, a thematic word to help guide the year has pretty much magically appeared in front of me anxiously raising its hand like Arnold Horshack crying, “Pick me! Pick me!”

Each year it has made complete sense to me as to why this word this year, and…this year is no different.  Continue reading “Yo, Joy…Please Pull Up a Chair and Make Yourself at Home” →

Fra GEE Lay 6.0

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ Leave a comment

Wow. Six years ago was the first time I wrote a Christmas Eve remembrance to be gentle with one another. Hard to believe so many years of this tradition have passed already.

And in this surreal year of 2017, it certainly bears repeating that…we need to treat one another with kindness and love. Continue reading “Fra GEE Lay 6.0” →

How the F*ck Am I 50?

~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 4 Comments

[The little graphic that I made is so Pinnable, isn’t it??]

This past week, I became a quinquagenarian. No—it’s not a new dietary category. It’s a person who is between 50 and 59 years old. Yep, I stopped being a quadragenarian and am now a quinquagenarian. (I love dictionaries!!!)

(I also love the F word, and I trust if you’re still reading this after my title, you can handle a few more of them below…)

While I’ve embraced my new kinship with Sally O’Malley, it hasn’t been without some complicated thoughts and feelings.  Continue reading “How the F*ck Am I 50?” →