The Roar Sessions: Meghan Leahy

Meghan_LeahyWhen Your Roar is a Chore
by Meghan Leahy

I haven’t found my roar… yet.

I think.

I don’t know.

In my mind, I thought I had been roaring for years.

I had been angrily roaring and pushing back against everyone and everything in my life. Cynical, sharp, funny, guarded (excessively guarded), I made jokes about what I held dear. The closer you got to my heart, the funnier I became.

It was killing me.

I was becoming anxious and depressed and with each baby (three in all), it was getting worse.

I know a lot of people talk about feeling called to do something else. Be someone else. Go somewhere else. I had that calling, deep, deep within me, but I was pretty busy laughing off my life and refusing to change. Did you know that not changing is exhausting? It was my full-time job, and everyone close to me was getting tired of supporting my neuroses.

I wanted to own my own business. I wanted to work for myself and by myself.

I didn’t want to repeat someone else’s words anymore.

I didn’t want to worry about going “off-script,” and I wanted my schedule to be my own.

I had my own ideas and a little voice whispering, “You can do all of this better.”

My knee-jerk guilt, my “whodoyouthinkyouare” reaction was so strong, so over-powering, so all-encompassing that my desire to change was terrifying.

But I did.  I began to change. Therapy. Coaching. Medication. Meditation. Tons of yoga. Cut some people out of my life who were hurting me.

Despite “changing” (which was really just starting my coaching business), my entire life was and still is “roar,” and then, “oooh, oops, sorry for roaring…”

This insecurity, when I speak it aloud, is a source of confusion and disbelief to others.

“Oh Meghan, but everyone loooooves you.”

“Meghan, but you seem so successful.”

“Meghan, but your confidence is so evident… you are so unafraid.”

“Meghan, you are the funniest person I know.”

And I love being the life of the party. I love dancing, being bawdy, and telling great stories. Everyone wants me at the dinner table. You do. I entertain the masses and you pay me in wine and good food. I love debates, politics, and talking about real shit. I am smart enough to know a little something about everything, and I will even talk to your racist, misogynistic, and handsy uncle. I am a good-time gal, a true 2015 woman. Work hard, play hard. Lean In, Opt Out, SAHM, Entrepreneur, City-Living, Organic-Eating, blah blah blah.

So, how can I tell the difference between my roar of (and I hate this fucking word) authenticity and the roar of insecurity?

I have practiced my roar of insecurity for so long and so well that no one knows the difference. Only I (and my husband — I almost never fool Mark) know the difference.

And the thing is, my roar of insecurity is fun. I love being funny. Shit, I did stand-up comedy for a year or so… that is how much I loved being funny.

But I kept feeling like I had to choose.

Funny Meghan or Serious Meghan.

Nutty Meghan or Academic Meghan.

The Meghan who watches The Bachelorette or The Meghan who loves documentaries.

I would bully myself, “CHOOSE! Which Meghan are you?”

So, I have recently settled on the fact that it really doesn’t matter anymore.

I am decidedly tired of thinking about myself. I don’t need to choose.

I am insecure, funny, smart, slightly neurotic, vain, spiritual, loving, passionate, and sometimes needy.

It doesn’t matter which roar is roaring anymore, nor does it matter how I feel about it.

I am no longer interested in picking my brain apart, filing my thoughts and feelings and beliefs into the appropriate boxes.

The more I think about myself, the worse I get.

My work in this lifetime is to show up with all my heart and all of my integrity and all of my humanity, and let the chips fall where they may.

If I can do this, everything falls into place.

When I need to apologize, I do.

When I need to rest, I do.

When I need to hustle, I do.

So, I guess my roar is… not thinking about my roar. My roar is showing up. Without calculation or premeditation. My roar is paying attention to others more than myself. I know that many people cannot and should not do that, but this is my need. I think about myself enough. Less me, more you.

I don’t need to roar for myself anymore (well, maybe a little here and there). I have everything and everyone I need in this world. I always did. I always will.

Now, I need to roar for and with others.

My roar (my hope) is: Less me, More You.

**

Black shirt 1 headshotAs a parent coach, Meghan supports parents, teachers, and caregivers as they bring about change in their families. Through an integrated attachment and developmental approach, current neuroscience, and good old common sense, Meghan brings a new way of understanding and seeing children. From there, everyone can start to bring out the best in all children.

As a mother to three children, wife, former teacher, certified school counselor, parent educator, certified facilitator in The Neufeld Institute, and certified parent coach, Meghan is an expert in the field of parenting. In addition to coaching and speaking, Meghan is also a weekly columnist for On Parenting section of The Washington Post.

In her spare time, Meghan loves yoga, comedy, anything on Bravo, reading, and doing anything by the ocean.

Her website is www.mlparentcoach.com.

2 thoughts on “The Roar Sessions: Meghan Leahy

  1. Dana says:

    Oh I just love this post, this prompt. Meghan, you offer such insight here, how we feel we must choose who we are, that it should be one or the other, but we are a kaleidoscope of facets not one dimensional. Thank you for sharing this beautiful and honest message. And I course thank you Jena for inspiring this series!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. jennifersekella says:

    Love this. I totally identify with the faking others out – I can play normal so well that very very few people can tell the difference between my “roar” when I’m sad/insecure but hiding it behind laughter and joking frivolity, and my actual “authentic” (I’m with you there) roaring. Love the prompt/series, Jena, too!

    Like

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