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Belief, Humanity, Self Love / 24.01.2019

As far back as I can recall I wanted to be old. Daadi called me an “old soul”, someone who had been here before, experiencing life for a second time around. She was a devout Muslim, but growing up in India surrounded by Hindus and Sikhs, their cultural norms seeped into her Soul, widening her spiritual being to encompass more than one view of the Spirit. Even though she rarely discussed it, I sense she was a firm believer in reincarnation, the rebirth of the Soul into a new body. “Samita, we need another player for taash,” one of the elders...

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Family, Love, Self Love, Women / 02.01.2019

I wonder what saves a partnership from demise? Is it the baby that a couple thinks will remind them of why they got together in the first place? Is it therapy: that elusive relationship with a total stranger – if done well – you pour heart and soul into only to receive nods and no specific direction as to what choice to make, except to go further inward? Or is it New Orleans? In the case of my marriage, if you guessed a combination of therapy and NOLA you’re correct. Almost two years ago, Damon and I decided that it was...

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Belief, Love, Religion / 01.11.2018

I remember the day I could string together letters, making the sounds of each character, and read. I remember pumping my scrawny, brown legs faster and faster and faster until I swung high into the air, flying all the way up to the sky, on a swing. I remember falling off a bike countless times, until the moment where my body balanced, and I pedaled up and down the block. And I also remember the moment where Daadi, my beloved grandmother – compassionate, strong, wise, all-knowing – tried to teach me her anti-Semitic ways. I think Mr. Hinkleman was Jewish; I...

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Domestic Violence, Humanity, Immigrant / 10.10.2018

Recently, I shared with a friend that I believe in magic, angels, compassion cures all hate, God speaks to me – regularly and most gently, and unicorns must smell like cotton candy. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t call the police with a 5150 (his Dad’s a former police chief so this term isn’t new to him). He didn’t even question me. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been friends for over 33 years and you’re accepted: 100 percent, authentically, and genuinely loved for who you are. It feels good. It’s scary being us, allowing people into our world to discover...

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Growing Up, Immigrant, Self Love, Women / 26.04.2018

Having moved from Bellwood, Illinois to Rialto, a suburb in Southern California, most people would be elated: sunshine almost all year round, palm trees, and a mere one hour drive to some of the most famous places in our country. But at the age of 12, having left what I knew of home behind – including Tanessa, my childhood best friend – I was devastated and like most soon-to-be teenagers spent my days in an emotional abyss because “no one understands me, no one has ever gone through what I am” and a general woe-is-me attitude. One day to Umme’s delight,...

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Family, Growing Up, Women / 19.04.2018

Daadi was cooking again. After the last school bell rang and I began to walk home, the air became infused with garlic, ginger, cardamom, cloves, red chili, and the new immigrant stink which penetrated everything within a one block radius of our house. Head hanging down, desperately hoping that no one – especially a friend – would ask, “Where’s that smell coming from?” I quickly walked towards the epicenter of the odor. “Salaam,” I called out to no one in particular and yet everyone upon entering the home. “Samita, ya low [take this],” Daadi presented me with a spoonful of whatever she...

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Family, Humanity, Love / 12.04.2018

Fairly early last Sunday night, before heading off to bed, I had requested Damon be on the look out for a tired, crampy, menstruating Samita huddled in a cocoon-like shape in bed in the morning. “If I’m still in bed at 6:45, could you be so kind and take the boys to school?” I asked, knowing that on the rare occasion I’m asking for assistance, Damon will say yes. It’s always polite to ask even after (especially after) almost a quarter century into a relationship. “No problem,” Damon replied. “You rest.” The house phone was ringing and ringing and ringing. Leia answered. My...

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Education, Mindfulness, Self Love, Women / 05.04.2018

Having lived into my forties (44 and-a-half next month), I can humbly say that I am one of the worst employees an organization can hire. Thankfully, for all the Fortune 500 companies out there, I’m blissfully content and blessed being a self-proclaimed co-CEO of the Needelman Household, blogging, and volunteering. The line wrapped around the block, winding from the entrance of the building, which was too far to see from my vantage point, and encompassed a few city blocks. By the time I stood in line, holding my “resume”, teacher recommendation letters, report card from graduation, and list of awards received,...

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Growing Up, Love, Self Love / 29.03.2018

For decades I looked outward for signs of love, security, nurturing, belonging – home. A year ago my world didn’t fall apart but I did. This past year has gifted me countless opportunities to seek healing, therapy, healthy support, and tested my faith like never before. Broken, not knowing where to turn, and lost in darkness, the Light, which gave hope to my soul was found – within. The holy space - where Awe, Love, and Light reside - shone stronger and stronger, a beacon guiding me back to where God rests, where He never left – the seat of...

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Family, Growing Up, Mindfulness, Self Love / 15.03.2018

Stories elicit sentiments from love to hate, joy to sadness, compassion to misery, and every feeling in the human emotional lexicon. The stories we tell ourselves and make up in our minds have the most control over us. It’s no wonder their influence lasts long after the story is finished and held after the heart needs or desires. Some stories no longer serve our higher purpose so they must be burned at the funeral pyre, ashes floating in the sky allowing ourselves to grow, heal, and begin anew. During the mid-80’s, even though Chicago’s suburb of Bellwood had been home for...

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