This Debt May Follow Me for Life

When I was a kid, I had a little combination safe with a red spin dial where I hid away all the cash I’d received from my allowance, birthday gifts, and odd jobs. I was a saver, not a spender, but there was one thing I wanted to do with the money: give it to my parents.

Looking back now, it seems an odd impulse. After all, much of that money my parents had given to me, and I would just be returning it. And it’s not like my folks were in dire financial straights and needed that cash to keep the lights on.

Still, I imagined handing them an envelope with a hundred or two hundred dollars in it—all the money I had—on their wedding anniversary, as a repayment for the great debt that I felt I owed them: the years they sacrificed for the sake of me.

In his provocative book, On the Genealogy of Morals, philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche claims that humans have always seen themselves as in debt to their ancestors, without whom, none of us would exist. Ancient humans developed rites of offerings, sacrifices, and prayers, and over time, their ancestors became larger than life, reified into gods, and then God.

Over the generations the debt to this God—for the very existence of creation itself and all the ways that humans have failed to appreciate it—became so great that nothing we could give would be worthy of repayment. This is why the Christian faith developed what Nietzsche called a very “clever” solution: God would have to repay himself, through the sacrifice of his own first-born, Jesus Christ. The best that the rest of us humans can do is to acknowledge our inadequacy and hope that we are redeemed by proxy.

Maybe because I was raised Evangelical Christian, (and for other reasons too), the feeling that nothing I could give would ever be enough has long been with me. Every year, my parents’ anniversary would come around, and the money I had didn’t feel like enough. Each year, I told myself that I would try again next year, when I could give them even more.

(Of course, my parents told me, both implicitly and explicitly, that the biggest gift I could give them would be my own success and happiness—which, of course, comes with its own head game.)

In several previous newsletters this year, I’ve explored the idea that generosity is an expression of gratitude and reciprocity for the gifts we receive from life. Yet, instead, I often feel that my meager gifts—my donations to charity, birthday presents, and even my own personal and professional successes—are just little ol’ me trying, and failing, to keep up with the debt.

But perhaps that is the point. Perhaps, if I see it as my responsibility to repay every part of my existence, I will always fail. Perhaps there is a great humility, a feeling of undeserving grace, that inevitably comes with the human experience.

You can’t expect to redeem the world by yourself. You can only give the little you have to the big connected whole, and believe it is enough.

I was so intent on giving my parents a big enough return gift that I ended up giving them nothing at all most years.

So now, I am pushing myself to give the little I have to the few I can. I am continuing to tell myself that it is enough.

Weekly Gifts

This year I’m working on my theme of Generosity by giving at least one gift every week of the year, and to chronicle and reflect on them here.

Week 29, Jul 15-21: I bought lunch for a friend in town, happily, joyfully, without a lot of angst. That felt like a win.

Week 30, Jul 22-28: I gave some money to the Harris campaign fund. This did come with some angst because I know that Harris is a politician and part of the great, hegemonic war machine that is the American empire, and that I could and should be giving more money and time to people who are victims of that war machine. But also, I want to help ensure that I can continue to call America a “great, hegemonic war machine” without facing prison time, so.

Week 31, Jul 29-Aug 4: I gave some money to the International Solidarity Movement, which is “a Palestinian-led movement committed to resisting the long-entrenched and systematic oppression and dispossession of the Palestinian population, using non-violent, direct-action methods and principles.”

Week 32, Aug 5-11: A friend offered to let me stay in her room during a group writing retreat, rather than booking a room of my own. She refused to accept any money from me, so I bought her dinner for the two nights we were there, much to her protestation. There’s that feeling of debt again…

Week 33, Aug 12-18: I donated to a local candidate for city counsel Tiffany Koyama Lane, a.k.a. Teacher Tiffany, because, as they say, all politics is local.

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

A Penny Pincher's Nightmare

When I started my “Weekly Gifts” at the beginning of this year to help explore this year’s theme of generosity, I had intended to give money, or at least to spend money on gifts. But, then life happened: my husband got laid off, a sizable medical bill, a fender bender, and near empty business coffers because of my time spent book-writing.

So, instead I have explored non-material gifts I can give: time, attention, service, knowledge, presence.

I hate to admit it, but I’ve been secretly relieved.

The idea of giving away money freaks me out. My little inner scarcity goblin grabs my stash, clenches tight, and snarls at anyone who might come close. It is precisely because of this fear—this small, tight, mean fear—that I made the goal to be more generous.

Now my family’s financial challenges are starting to ease, and I have to ask myself how long I will pinch my pennies.

I think up all sorts of excuses not to give: My house’s cracked windows need to be replaced! We’re not saving enough for retirement! Billionaires should be giving their money away! Why should I be expected to solve structural problems of inequity?!

I think about writer Anne Lamott, who said, “I know that if I feel any deprivation or fear [about money], the solution is to give. The solution is to go find some mothers on the streets of San Raphael and give them tens and twenties and mail off another $50 to Doctors Without Borders to use for the refugees in Kosovo. Because I know that giving is the way we can feel abundant. Giving is the way that we fill ourselves up.”

And, indeed, nearly everything I’ve been reading about generosity this year says that we find a sense of abundance and freedom through giving.

Some of the more woo-woo manifesty books make an even stronger claim: whatever you give gets returned to you—in kind. If you are generous with your knowledge and expertise, you will get ever more knowledge and expertise. If you are generous with money, you will receive more money.

Of course, my Protestant upbringing tells me that, even if this is true, (and I’m not sure it is), such motivations are impure. I should just want to give more so that I can be a “good person.”

But, as I am learning, I feel most aligned with generosity not because it makes me a “good person” (which is exhausting), but because it makes for deeper and stronger communities. When I give to local organizations and to those who support the values I believe in, I create and deepen bonds of meaning, reciprocity, and connection.

And perhaps, in the end, the money will come back around, like George Bailey at the end of It’s a Wonderful Life, who stares astonished at the heaps of cash that all his friends and neighbors he’s helped over the years give back to him in his time of need.

Maybe not. But it seems worth doing anyway.

How do you feel about giving away money?

Weekly Gifts

This year I’m working on my theme of Generosity by giving at least one gift every week of the year, and to chronicle and reflect on them here.

Week 24, Jun 10-16: ‘Tis the season of picnics and barbecues, and I went to a couple this week with bean salads, seltzer waters, and watermelon in tow. Offerings for the summertime bounty.

Week 25, Jun 17-23: We hosted my daughter’s closest school friend’s family for dinner. Getting to know them feels like a gift to my daughter and a way to build her—and our—sense of community.

Week 26, Jun 24-30: I stood up and gave a public compliment to a new friend at a women’s networking event, recommending her services to everyone in the room. I suppose that was a kind of gift, and it was one I was excited to give.

Week 27, Jul 1-7: I sat down with a friend and colleague to help her brainstorm some ways to get unstuck on a business problem. Even though it felt effortless and fun for me, she said it was incredibly helpful and thanked me for it.

Week 28, Jul 8-14: Back in March, I went to a meditation retreat that moved something deep inside me. I had planned to donate some money to the teacher afterward, but it was the height of my financial woes. I finally made the donation this week.

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

I'm a Plant Thief 🌱

“Take a plant. Leave a plant.” In true Portland whimsy, a little greenhouse appeared one day on the sidewalk near my office. Inside, sat a line of plant starts in paper cups and note that encouraged people to take a plant, let it grow, and return with the offshoots it created. I grabbed a baby spider plant and skipped home, delighting in my good fortune and in this little piece of creative community.

You guys, it’s been like almost three years, and I still have not returned with a plant.

I’ve told myself it’s because the spider plant never really made offshoots, (which may have something to do with the fact that I probably don’t water it quite enough), but I can’t shake it: I am a delinquent plant exchanger.

Look, I know that no one is keeping track. No one even knows I took the plant. And, if I had simply paid for it—left a couple bucks in a tin—I likely never would have thought about it again.

But gifts are different. Gifts come with an implicit obligation to reciprocate.

In her must-read book Braiding Sweetgrass, (seriously, if you haven’t read it yet), Robin Wall Kimmerer talks about how picking wild strawberries as a child showed her “a world full of gifts simply scattered at your feet.” In Kimmerer’s indigenous worldview, though they are offered freely and bountifully, these gifts of nature come with “an obligation of sorts to give, to receive, and to reciprocate.”

By giving in return, not only do we keep the earth’s harmony in balance, but we stay connected to the planet and to each other.

The more I think about generosity, (my theme for 2024), the more I realize that I need not think of generosity as an altruistic moral virtue. Being generous is not about being “a good person," but instead is simply about seeing yourself as part of a healthy, functional community. When you give, you do so because you know you have received in the past and you’ll receive again in the future.

The last time I passed by the greenhouse about a year ago, it was empty. The instructions were gone. When we take and do not reciprocate, not only does the bounty die out, but the opportunity for connection and community is lost.

Honestly, I probably will never return a plant to that little greenhouse. I stopped renting from that office space and I don’t even know if the greenhouse is still there.

But, I learned a lesson. And this spring, I sent out an email to all the neighbors on my street offering up bluebell bulbs that I had dug out of the backyard.

A few weeks later, I walked out to my porch to find several sunflower starts sitting on the steps.

What are the gifts, big and small, that you exchange with your communities?

Weekly Gifts

This year I’m working on my theme of Generosity by giving at least one gift every week of the year, and to chronicle and reflect on them here.

Week 19, May 6-12: I spent 30 minutes on the phone with a young, queer, artist of color who had lots of questions about starting a coaching practice of their own. They were so grateful for my insight and suggestions and it was nice to offer my expertise freely to this person.

Week 20, May 13-19: I went to see the art of some friends, one who was showing her photography at an art fair and another who was playing fiddle in the park. Both thanked me for coming and supporting them, so I suppose that was a kind of gift.

Week 21, May 20-26: It’s birthday party season for my second-grader, who has taken great delight in selecting gifts for her friends. We’ve spent a lot of time in the toys section of the local Fred Meyer, and I’m enjoying watching my kiddo think about what the people in her life would like.

Week 22, May 27-Jun 2: Every free 90-minute Connection Conversation I do with a prospective client is a gift. I never know if this person will sign on to work with me, but I know that in hearing their story and offering my coaching, I am building my community and I feel held by it.

Week 23, Jun 3-9: A dear friend of mine needed help prepping and serving a fancy dinner she had prepared for a fundraiser for her kid’s school. As someone who rarely asks for or accepts help, I was honored that she let me give her some.

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

In Praise of Begging

The Buddha begged for his meals. He wandered from village to village asking for alms, as was the traditional monastic practice, and strangers placed food in one his few possessions, his begging bowl.

How many of us, particularly us mothers, would feel comfortable asking for this kind of help on a daily basis? So many us struggle to receive anything from others at all, even when it is freely offered. We are reluctant to ask people to watch our kids, give us professional mentorship, or loan us money, let alone provide our daily meals.

But the Buddha saw begging as part of his spiritual practice. As theologian Thomas Merton has said, the begging bowl of the Buddha represents, “not just in a right to beg, but an openness to the gifts of all beings as an expression of the interdependence of all beings.”

When we allow ourselves to receive generosity from others, we are reminded that we are all interconnected and dependent on each other for survival. None of us survives in this world alone. Accepting gifts is both humbling and deeply honoring of our spiritual selves.

So, this Mother’s Day, (and every day beyond), if you are a mother who is used to always giving, I encourage you to show yourself a bit more generosity, to be more accepting of life’s gifts.

One way to do so is give yourself the gift of my new Group Coaching Program for Moms. We start next week, so if you’re interested, please reply Yes, to this email by the end of the day on Mother’s Day.

In any case, please allow yourself to receive the beautiful gifts this world has to offer. Generosity binds us together.

Weekly Gifts

This year I’m working on my theme of Generosity by giving at least one gift every week of the year, and to chronicle and reflect on them here.

Week 16, Apr 15-21: My husband and I hosted a Hawaiian-themed potluck dinner party for our friends. We rotate who hosts monthly among four families, and this is a perfect example of how gift exchange—the giving and receiving of food—binds us together.

Week 17, Apr 22-28: My dad turned 70(!) this week, so I drove from Portland to the Seattle suburbs to surprise him, take him out for breakfast, and spend the morning with him. My instinct was that one-on-one time together would be a good gift, and, indeed, he was delighted.

Week 18, Apr 29-May 5: The conversations I’ve been having with women about my new Group Coaching Program for Moms have felt like an exchange of gifts: their honesty and vulnerability in exchange for my listening ear and coaching. And with those who’ve agreed to join the group, it feels like we’re both about to start unwrapping more presents!

The Group Program for Moms starts next week, so if you’re interested, just email me at daniellelasusa@gmail.com with a “Yes!” by the end of the day on Mother’s Day, and I’ll follow up!

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

This Elephant-Related Gift is HUGE!

This month, in keeping with this year's theme of Generosity, I have something really exciting to share with you—but first, a little story:

A Vietnam War veteran once told me about when he was out in the jungle and came upon a herd of elephants. He watched as all the mother elephants got into a big circle to protect the babies in the middle. As he told me this story, his eyes reddened and he said,

"The thing I wanted more than anything in the world was to be in the center of that circle."

I knew exactly what he meant.

At the time, I'd been a mother for less than a year, and it wasn't at all what I expected. Motherhood was lonely, isolating, and alienating. I didn't know who I was anymore. I didn't feel like a mother. I certainly didn't feel like I could stand up and be the strong protector I wanted to be. I felt like a small, scared, lost baby elephant that wanted to be surrounded and held—but I didn't have a pack.

That image has stayed with me as I've talked with lots of mothers over the years. Whether our kids are infants, in elementary school, or have yet to arrive, so many of us feel confused, overwhelmed, and like we're missing our tribe.

So, I am thrilled to announce a new group coaching program for moms, where you can feel the joy, relief, and strength of being seen and surrounded by a group of women as you grow into the mother you truly want to be.

If this sounds like something you want to be a part of, just email me with a "YES!" and I'll follow up!

Weekly Gifts

This year I’m working on my theme of Generosity by giving at least one gift every week of the year, and to chronicle and reflect on them here.

Week 11, Mar 11-17: I spent a week sending meditative loving-kindess to myself and others, wishing for our peace, safety, happiness, and freedom, and WOW, I feel much so much more capable of giving now. Turns out that my old therapist was right: I did need to be more generous toward myself.

Week 12, Mar 18-24: I'm part of a women's/queer financial literacy group, and this week another member and I created a presentation on Investing 101. The time we took to organize the info was certainly a kind of gift, but of course, after presenting it to the group, I felt like I had received a major gift too in the form of my financial confidence.

Week 13, Mar 25-31: My mother-in-law was in town from Philly last week, and my own parents drove in from Seattle, as did my sister and her family, and we hosted everyone overnight at our house. It feels a little unfair to count that as a gift, rather than just what one does for family, but I think it's good to remember that we can give these things freely and generously, not just out of obligation.

Week 14, Apr 1-7: A writer friend spent three hours talking with me about the structure of my book and helping me get clarity for my next draft. It was an incredibly generous use of her time and talents, and as a thank you I took her out to dinner. It felt like a somewhat paltry gift in return, but I'm learning that part of generosity is learning to receive.

Week 15, Apr 8-14: The new mother's group coaching program I talk about above really is my generous offer for this week. I have been wanting to do something like this for YEARS, and I'm so excited to finally give it to my community.

If you are ready to be generous with yourself and join our motherhood circle, just email me with the word "Yes!"

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

The Question I DIDN'T Want to Ask

Because I’ve devoted this year to exploring Generosity, I’ve begun to really dig in on some of my emotional hang-ups around money, and I recently did so at a retreat led by my old therapist called “Women and Our Wealth.” On the last day, even after a weekend devoted to unpacking internal money obstacles, I was still struggling with generosity.

I shared with the group that I wanted to be more generous and I had a sense that I should, but that I still felt scared, stingy, and resentful of people who had more than me.

My old therapist, who despite the fact that we hadn’t worked together in five years, could still read me like a book, asked: “Do you know what the Brahmaviharas are?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling at her reference to the obscure, esoteric Buddhist concept. The Brahmaviharas refer to the four Buddhist “divine emotions/attitudes”: loving-kindness, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity.

She went on. "Then you may know that when people meditate on the Brahmaviharas, they will sometimes spend years just focusing on themselves.”

I knew this was right. I’d done the traditional Buddhist loving-kindness meditation, and I knew that it always starts and ends with well-wishes toward oneself: May I be well. May I be happy. May I know love. May I know peace.

“It is very hard to truly feel compassionate, loving, and generous towards others when we feel that lacking in ourselves,” she said. “So, maybe the question for you is:

“In what ways do you need to be more generous toward yourself?”

My stomach sank and I got very still in that way that you do when you know that someone has touched the truth. The question struck me as both exactly right and exactly the opposite of the one I wanted to ask.

I sat there sort of dumbfounded, and didn’t have much more to say. But in the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking about the ways that I am stingy with myself:

I rarely celebrate my successes, treating them more as bare-minimum effort than praise-worthy achievements. If I do treat myself to something material—a lunch out, a bubble tea, a new pair of earrings—there is almost always a slightly chastising voice in my head asking if I really need it, if that’s a wise use of my money, and shouldn’t I do something more noble with it? I don’t even make my bed in the morning for the sake of my afternoon self.

I get the sense that being more generous with myself is less about buying myself more things and more about treating myself as someone worthy of receiving them—the same way I would think about a loved one or a valued cause.

Still, I wonder if more inward giving will only increase my selfishness—exactly the opposite quality of what I’m hoping to cultivate. But, I sense this practice has the paradoxical quality of wisdom.

So, I’m going to try it.

Weekly Gifts

This year I’m working on my theme of Generosity by giving at least one gift every week of the year, and to chronicle and reflect on them here.

Week 7, Feb 12-18: I called my sister to wish her happy birthday, first thing. Not at the end of the day, not a day late, but nine a.m. to let her know I was thinking of her. I hope that felt like a little gift for her.

Week 8, Feb 19-25: At the Women and Wealth retreat, I met several women who thanked me for my listening, my vulnerability, and my presence. I guess I should count those as gifts? See the quote below. ☺️

Week 9, Feb 26-Mar 3: I bought a gift for my nephew’s birthday, and oh lordy, I have so many conflicted thoughts about gifting material consumer kid’s toys that are, more than likely, going to be torn apart and forgotten within two days. My nephew’s preferred materials are cardboard and scotch tape anyway. I’ll likely write about consumer gifts in a future newsletter later this year.

Week 10, Mar 4-10: In the spirit of giving to myself for the sake of later giving to others, I am heading off to a week-long, silent Buddhist meditation retreat next week, which feels both like a major self-indulgence and a generous gift to myself, (aided by the loving support of my family.)

How are you generous with yourself, and where do you need more self-generosity? Share your answers in Mother Den.

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

A Wild, Subversive, Powerful Act

After spending dozens of hours over the last month talking with you, my community, about money, wealth, and what is enough for the Prosperity Project, I am more convinced than ever that prosperity is a state of mind.

I spoke with women who have net worths over a million dollars and others who watch their bank balance hover just above zero, all of whom deal with a sense of lack. I found that, regardless of dollar amounts, the feeling of not having enough is almost always rooted in a sense of not being enough.

And it’s no wonder. Living in a white supremacist, capitalist patriarchy, we women are told all the time that we are not enough. We are not pretty enough, thin enough, young enough. We are not smart, sexy, kind, nurturing, courageous, rebellious, well-behaved, or good enough. We do not do enough as professionals, as mothers, as friends, wives, sisters, daughters.

We become convinced of our deficiency, and then we’re sold new shoes, face creams, time management systems, and self-help books, all promising to make up the difference. (Yes, myself included. Face creams in my bathroom and self-help books on my nightstand.)

It is damn near impossible to feel prosperous, let alone generous, when you are in such a perpetual feeling of lack.

So what’s to be done?

As I spoke with one woman after the next, I saw in so many of us a disconnection from the deep, wise, part of our ourselves that I believe knows the truth: our existence alone is enough.

I didn’t always believe this, but now, more and more, I believe that each of us is like plant, a songbird, a little baby pup: we are simply part of the exquisite expression of life. We don’t need to do anything to earn our keep. We don’t even need the face creams. (I know, radical.)

Learning to believe that you are enough, you do enough, and you have enough—just as you are—is a wild, subversive, powerful act.

As I tell my clients, our work together is not a self-improvement project; it is a self-acceptance project. And the more you root into your own inherent value, you deeply feel all you have and all you have to give.

Weekly Gifts

I’ve decided this year to work on my theme of Generosity by giving at least one gift every week of the year, and to chronicle and reflect on them here.

Week 3, Jan 15-21: I gave a tip when ordering lunch from a counter, felt ambivalent about it, and thought about this NPR story of the angst around tipping.

Week 4, Jan 22-28: I sent a new year’s gift to a client, and got such a joyful and delighted response, it makes me want to send gifts to everyone I know.

Week 5, Jan 29- Feb 4: I gave a talk called “Learning to Rebuild After Your Worldview Falls Apart,” to Cheetah House, a non-profit devoted to helping meditators in distress, and decided to donate the talk rather than accept the honorarium offered for it.

Week 6, Feb 5-11: I sent an encouraging email to someone who finds himself in a tough place, and was moved when he called to thank me for it. Both parts of that exchange feel like gifts to me.

What is your relationship to “enough”? Share your answer in Mother Den.

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

Of Greed and Raspberries

Happy 2024, ya’ll! So, my theme of the year is Generosity.

I chose to work with Generosity this year because there were some patterns in myself I didn’t particularly like. I noticed, for example, last summer I’d get all prickly inside when my kid’s friend came over and, during snack time, ate nearly the entire box of raspberries I just bought.

I mean, sure that’s annoying. But, my reaction was more than just annoyed. I felt indignant. Like, angry. With a seven-year-old. Inside, I was Gollum, wanting to snatch the raspberries off the table and hide in the basement, wrapped around my precious fruit, elbows pointed out, snarling at anyone who looks my way.

Not my proudest moment.

In her remarkable book The Soul of Money, Lynne Twist writes that the first toxic money myth is that “There’s not enough.” This scarcity mindset can infuse our attitudes not only about money, but also about time, space, power, attention, love, clothes, stuff, food, and yes, raspberries. Scarcity grips us from the moment we wake up in the morning, (thinking, “I didn’t get enough sleep”) to the time we go to bed, (thinking, “I didn’t get enough done”).

Twist goes on to say that the scarcity mindset not only keeps us feeling depleted and tense, but also pushes us to act in ways we’re not proud of. We’re so concerned about protecting us and ours that we will do whatever it takes to not be the ones left without. This is how we end up with systems that hoard resources and deny opportunities to people.

I’m not quite sure how we get out of scarcity mindset, but it seems to require broadening our scope. True, maybe I didn’t get to eat those raspberries now, but, honestly, I could always get more later. (As an adult, I have much more control over my powers of fruit acquisition than a child does.) Or maybe I don’t get the raspberries at all, but I have lots of other food I can have. Maybe, in a karmic sense, it all evens out in the end. Maybe the real lesson is to practice gratitude for the things I do have.

Weekly Gifts

I’ve decided this year to work on my theme of Generosity by giving at least one gift every week of the year, and to chronicle and reflect on them here.

Week 1, Jan 1-7: It seems sort of lame to start with a gift to myself, but this was accidental. I decided try out Liz Gilbert’s daily practice of writing a two-way letter to and from Love. My letter to myself from Love felt more like a gift than anything I’ve received in a long while.

Week 2, Jan 8-14: I gave three Prosperity Project sessions this week, which, to be honest, feels more like a mutual exchange. When people are so vulnerable in telling their stories, are willing to give me their trust, and are able to work through this tough and complicated thing called life with me, that is a real gift too.

My husband and I also gave breakfast to the neighbor and her five-year-old who stopped by while playing outside in the Portland snow storm on Saturday.

And yes, as I refilled the little one’s bowl of crackers, I had to breathe and remind myself that we had plenty to go around.

I’m working on it.

When was a moment you felt the scarcity mindset grip you? What do you think the way out is? Share your answer in Mother Den.

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

My Inner Critic Looks Like This

Last month, during a writing incubator program, my fellow writers and I were asked to name, draw a picture of, and describe our inner critics. Clearly, this exercise was meant to identify the part of ourselves that judged our creative work, but the only thing I could think about was the inner voice that criticizes my mothering.

My drawing of Bethilzda from my journal

I named her Bethilzda. I described her as an old witch, draped in black, hissing in my ear, “You’re fucking it up. Your daughter’s going to hate you. ”

I have been thinking a lot about Bethilzda these days. This inner mothering critic of mine seems to have two core beliefs:

1. A good mother, (the kind of mother I could be if I only tried harder), is someone who is infinitely patient, kind, present, and fun, with perfectly healthy boundaries, perfectly attuned empathy, and who never loses her temper, yells, walks away in anger, or reacts out of her old conditioned patterns.

2. If, and only if, I am a good mother, as defined above, will my daughter feel mentally well and have a loving and communicative relationship with me.

Every time I fail to live up to these standards, which is, ya know, many times a day, Bethilzda takes it upon herself to let me know.

She’s a real treat, that Bethilzda.

And it’s only recently, propelled by my year of Truth, that I’ve been able to note when she’s talking. For years, I’ve been caught under her spell, uncritically believing what she says—lost in what psychologist and Buddhist teacher Tara Brach calls “the trance” of my own stories.

Unfortunately, I’m learning that I am actually pretty committed to Bethilzda’s outrageous stories, even though they make me feel like shit. The problem is that they also seductively dangle before me a version of who I could be, who I want to believe I am: If I just tried harder, I could be that “good mother” who is perfectly attuned to her child. Perfection is within my reach!

In his terrific book Soul Without Shame Byron Brown says, “One of the main reasons you do not recognize or pursue your ability to know the truth (and thereby be in touch with reality) is that knowing the truth in your experience often contradicts your need to maintain certain beliefs about yourself.”

Flawlessness and failure are two edges of the same sword. In order to stop feeling inadequate, I have to also reject the image I have of myself as potentially perfect. I need to see the truth: Sometimes I am empathetic, patient, and calm and hold clear boundaries with compassion and firmness—and sometimes I am short-tempered, myopic, inconsistent, needy, and lost in my own childhood wounds. I’m just an imperfect human being who loves her kid a lot and is trying her best.

But as long as I’m listening to Bethilzda hissing in my ear, it’s nearly impossible for me to really see what’s happening.

And so, I continue to try to notice her, to question her stories, to breathe. And occasionally, when I’m feeling really grounded, I roll my eyes and tell her to just shut the fuck up.

Who is your mothering inner critic? How would you name, describe, and draw that voice inside you? Share your answer in Mother Den.

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

What I Learned From My Digital Detox

I am three weeks into a four-week “digital fast,” in which I stay completely off social media and refrain from consuming all audio and video streaming content, with few exceptions. (For all you sticklers, I’ve allowed myself music, exercise videos, and one hour a week to watch TV with my family.) This is my third such break from digital consumption I’ve taken this year. And it’s really helped me connect with my 2023 theme of Truth.

I was inspired to try this digital detox after returning from a week-long meditation retreat in late 2022. Before then, reducing screen time was something I felt like I should do. As I zoned out on TikTok, there was always this voice chattering in my head saying, You know, this isn’t good for you. You really should pay more attention to your kid. You’re wasting your time by lining tech bro pockets.

And so I felt bad about myself and all the streaming content, but, honestly, I didn’t really want to stop. I mean, it’s the internet. It has so many things. You get it.

But something shifted for me after that meditation retreat. After a week of just being with myself—even through meals, chores, and of course, hours of sitting—I stopped thinking of reducing my screen time as something that I should do in order to be a “better person.” Instead, I started to think of it as something I wanted to do to more deeply engage with my real life.

Luckily, my real life involves fulfilling work and time with loved ones, but it also involves things like chopping carrots, and washing dishes, and putting laundry away. You know, boring things. Lots of them. Prime activities for a nice distracting audiobook or reality TV show.

But I’ve found that when I abstain from those screens, my restless mind will hunt for interesting things elsewhere. So, while I wash dishes, I look out my kitchen window. Turns out, there are hummingbirds out there. And roses bushes. And pink clouds in a honey-colored sky. And breath.

When I’m bored enough, I’ll pay attention to the smell of carrots, and their bright orange color, and the feel of the knobby root under my fingers.

And the world seems to become more vibrant.

And I feel closer to it.

Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes it sucks. I’ve realized that I often turn on a podcast or show when I’m feeling something I don’t want to feel: regret, shame, anger, loneliness, (especially loneliness).

When I can’t just hit the play button, I have to actually pay attention to the feelings, turn toward them, and ask them what they are trying to tell me. And that is often not so comfy.

But, strangely, after a month off digital streaming, I felt like I reunited with an old friend—in myself. I also started reaching out to other friends more, and that has deepened my relationships. I felt noticeably happier, more grounded, less stressed.

All that said, a part of me is still really looking forward to when these four weeks are over and I can binge season 4 of Sex Education. But another part of me feels a little sad about turning away from the pink clouds and that old friend inside my skin, and worried about how I’m going to find more balance in it all.

I trust that with time, I’ll turn more and more often, toward the Truth.

Have you ever done, or wanted to do, a digital cleanse? Share your answer in Mother Den.

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

Slip Like Bacon Grease

“I feel like I just drank forty ounces of bacon grease,” a client said to me the other day near the end of our session.

I laughed. “What does that mean?” I asked.

“Well, this belief coming out of me, one way or the other.”

We’d spent the session talking about how she longed to live bigger into what she felt called to do in the world, but she feared letting her full self be seen. She worried about what others—her family, friends, neighbors—would think of her. We identified a belief that was operating under the surface, (the one she later said was bound to come out): Hiding my whole, true self keeps me safe and loved. It’s a belief that is familiar to many of us.

Seeing that this belief was blocking her way, I asked her a series of simple questions about it, (questions borrowed from Byron Katie’s work):

Question 1: “Is it true?”

My client said that she really didn’t know. Yes, she had learned in subtle ways from her family to keep herself hidden. It’d protected her in some ways, but did it really keep her safe? Was staying small the only way to be loved? She wasn’t sure.

Question 2: “What’s the impact of this belief?”

This belief made her feel sad, anxious, trapped, resentful, and lonely. She blamed herself for having such weird interests and talents. She felt like no one really saw and knew all of her.

Question 3: “How would you feel if you didn’t have this belief?”

My client sighed with relief and said that, if this belief were magically gone, she would feel lighter, freer, more energized, open, and connected.

I looked at her, seeing the pain she was in. “This belief is controlling your life. And you don’t even know that it’s true,” I said.

“Yeah….” We sat quietly together for a minute. That’s when I asked her how she felt and she gave me the line about bacon grease.

So many of us are suffering, held hostage by beliefs that we rationally know are not even true. Of course, the problem is that even though we may, logically, understand the truth, our emotional child selves still feel afraid.

If we connect with the inner wisdom of our bodies—the deep part of us that knows that we are whole, connected, and free—we can kindly, compassionately, and repeatedly reassure our child selves that we are safe. We know the truth.

Eventually, those false beliefs will pass through our systems—like so much bacon grease.

What false belief is holding you hostage? Share your answer in Mother Den.

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

The Ant and the Whale

One morning, on one of this summer’s family camping trips, my seven-year-old, still in her sleeping bag, hit me with this one: “Mom, if this pillow is giant to an ant, but small to whale, what size is it really?”

Boom. She is definitely the child of a philosopher. (Also, she’s been loving this kid’s book on philosophy that I got her from the library, so maybe she was inspired.)

My kiddo’s question was about “epistemic relativism,” a ten-dollar philosophy phrase meaning that the world looks—and thus, perhaps, actually is— radically different from one person (or animal) to the next. In other words, it raises the question of whether there is any objective truth about reality at all.

Of course, our current political climate is full of folks who have really leveraged this philosophical problem in service of gaining power. “Alternative facts,” “fake news,” you know the drill. It’s being used as a manipulation tool and has thrust us into this dizzying, Orwellian moment.

But despite its dangers, I find that reminding myself that the world looks different to each of us to be incredibly helpful, particularly when I am really attached to my own version of the truth about my mothering.

In those moments that I am convinced that I’m irredeemably failing and fucking up my child, I try to remember that I’m projecting my perspective—all of my own childhood wounds and the decades of subsequent experiences—onto her. I have a whole story in my head about what she thinks of me now, what she will think of me in ten or twenty years, what she believes or doesn’t believe about herself and all the ways in which she will blame me for it.

But, for all I know, I am an ant and she is a whale.

I really have no idea what it is like inside her mind. She’s seven. I imagine it looks like a Willy Wonka fever dream in there.

And it is so bizarre, and painful, to think that she sees the world radically different from me, especially because she literally used to be inside of me. I love her so much and want to protect her completely—so much so that I pretend to be inside her head.

But her human experience is her own. And all I can do is see it from the outside. And tend to my own human feelings, thoughts, and emotions.

And if the day comes, (and let’s face it, it probably will), when my kid tells me about the ways in which she felt let down by my parenting, it will still be my job to stay with my own experience and to remind myself that each of us has our own perspective, our own truth, our own world.

When is it helpful for you to remember that each of us sees the world differently? Share your answer in Mother Den.

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

What is True?

Well, my Year of 40 is officially over! I had so many wonderful conversations with y’all about how to live deeply into our wild and precious lives. Thank you so much for sharing your stories with me.

And now, I am going to be 41 in a few days. (Time just keeps moving, doesn’t it?) One nice thing about a summer birthday it is that it offers a natural mid-year reflection point.

In looking back over my reflections on this year’s theme of “Truth,” I’m realizing that I’ve broken a cardinal rule in philosophical discourse, which is to start with definitions! What—you may be wondering—do I even mean by “Truth?”

As a philosopher, of course, I know that “truth” is a loaded word. It may be one of the most significant words in the history of philosophy, embedded in thousands of years of questions: What is true? Can we ever know the truth? If so, how? Is truth singular and absolute or plural and relative? Is the knowledge of truth helpful or harmful?

My selection of Truth as this year’s theme was instinctively bound up with a desire for awakening: an urge to be more fully present with my experience of life, without constantly needing to overlay it with extra interpretation and judgment. I just got so tired of my old broken record stories and my constant need for entertainment and distraction from them.

So, I’ve been operating from a very personal definition of truth, asking myself: What is true, for me, in this moment?

There are, of course, billions of things that are true for me in any moment, and my practice has been to pay more attention to just some of them: the sensations inside my body; the smells, colors, and sounds around me; the thoughts that flicker through my head; the desires that pull at my heart. I try to see them as a curious witness or observing scientist might see them, without getting sucked in, so I can see the truth of them more clearly.

Now, six months in to this Truth experiment, I’m noticing how much annoying self-talk I have and how little I’ve been paying attention to anything else. But, I’ve also gotten a little taste of how much bigger and more interesting life is beyond that constant inner chatter.

I’ve even started to have moments when I spontaneously just notice where I am and what I’m doing in a way that feels totally fresh, alive, immediate. It is like I’ve been given an unexpected celebration: Hey! You’re here! Isn’t it amazing?!

It usually lasts for about two seconds, and then that broken record starts skipping away again, but left behind is the promise that I could have more moments like that, that my life could feel that way more of the time.

So I keep asking myself: What is true? What is true? What is true?

What is true for you, in this moment? Share your answer in Mother Den.

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

A Moment I Saw the Truth

I’m doing 1000 days of meditation. I started this past February, sort of on a whim, and told myself I would meditate 10 minutes a day, everyday. I had the sense that such a project would be appropriate for my 2023 theme of Truth, but it is only recently that I’ve started to see how.

Meditation can sometimes feel a little silly and pointless. Essentially, you aim to sit quietly and bring awareness to your breath, body, and/or mind with curiosity, openness, and equanimity.

Of course, on most of the 120 days I’ve meditated so far, (yes, I’ve missed one, but just one), I spend my daily ten minutes shuffling through to-do lists, regretting something snarky I said to a friend, doom-casting about the end times, or daydreaming about what to make for dinner. If I’m lucky, at some point, I remember that I’m supposed to be meditating, and try to refocus…until I wander off again.

But then, something happens, and you realize that, actually, all that practicing is paying off.

Last week, I got into an argument with my husband. I reached this familiar moment in which I was ready to fall into this spiral of shame and belief that I am a broken, unlovable drama queen, and I just want to disappear. But, as I folded into a ball on the couch, starting to take the old plunge, the strangest thing happened.

I heard a little voice in my head say, “Stay here. Just stay here.”

I did as it said. I focused on my breathing and stared at my knees and the couch cushions. Another voice in my head was trying to butt in with a torrent of criticism and judgment, but, just like in meditation, I kept my attention on my breath.

“Stay here….Stay here…..Stay here…..”

In a minute or two, the feeling passed. And with a lot less pain than usual.

One of the goals of meditation is to provide you access to the truth of your experience, as opposed to getting lost in all the stories you imagine about it. “Vipassana,” is a style of meditation that means “to see things as they really are.”

In staying with my breath during this intensely emotional moment, I realized that, in reality, I was a person, sitting on a couch, breathing. The litany of criticism wasn’t actually happening. It was just a voice in my head. A story. An illusion. And I didn’t have to believe in it. I didn’t have to suffer in it.

I could stay with the truth.

Have you ever had a moment in which you could see the truth clearly? Share your answer in Mother Den.

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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, which explores the changes in identity, meaning, and wisdom that come with motherhood. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

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.

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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.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

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.

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.

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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.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

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.

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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.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

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.

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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.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

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!

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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.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.

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

1. Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

2. The Dance of Anger by Harriett Lerner

3. Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler

4. What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo

5. 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

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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.

© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.