Women

Belief, Family, Self Love, Women / 23.09.2019

One of the most joyous days of my life, our daughter’s bat mitzvah, concluded with family and friends helping us to our home from the reception hall: carrying in presents and trays of leftovers, making room for the centerpieces that were still to be gifted to Sissy’s friends, and a relative calling me fat. For upwards of 18 months, plans were underway. Honestly, right after our boys’ b’nai mitzvah, three years earlier, the preparations had begun. Mom and Dad, my in-laws, were gracious enough to store the boys’ centerpieces: a glitter-fest, feather-filled, Cirque du Soleil romp of color and splash. Our...

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Belief, Family, Women / 04.03.2019

I’ve always been impressed with people that can accomplish two tasks at once. For example: walk their dog and read the morning paper; push their child in a stroller and look at their phone; reply to emails while on a conference call; or have a conversation and be in their own minds ready to reply as soon as opportunity arises. If you can do more than one thing at a time, and do them well, you are the bee’s knees. At this moment, as much as I want to Google whether bees actually have knees, I am typing in a...

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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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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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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, Self Love, Women / 01.03.2018

Breasts. The word alone catches your eye (yes, pun intended). The love, hate, resentment, and finally finding peace for my breasts has been a tumultuous relationship. Daadi, Napo, Umme, Chotee, and Bhari huddled around me in the kitchen of our home in Chicago. Straight away, with bowed heads as if in mourning, someone handed me a stark white item, with what looked like straps on a harness. “It’s time…you’re showing yourself…we all wear one…modesty…decency,” all the voices intermixed, none above a whisper, using what my elementary teachers referred to at school as our “library voice”. Before I could ask any questions, I was...

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Education, Growing Up, Immigrant, Women / 22.02.2018

In second grade I loved drawing, especially dinosaurs; reading and writing were also a favorite pastime. That is the last recollection I have of what I enjoyed or loved because I liked it and not because I was trying to please someone, wanting them to love me, like me, or accept me. In elementary school, the stacks of fresh-off-the-printer paper sat in a wire basket in the corner of Mrs. Sharp’s classroom. It was understood that after classwork was completed, the students had access to the library, the special paper, pencils, and crayons to occupy their imaginations while peers finished the...

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Domestic Violence, Growing Up, Women / 15.02.2018

Damon and I give our children what I call “sandwich hugs”, holding them in-between our bodies while our arms encircle them resting upon one another’s shoulders or elbows locked in embrace. At one time, when our kids were smaller we could squeeze them warmly and tightly, their bodies suspended in mid-air, legs dangling off the ground, as the giggles cascaded off the walls. Being sandwiched between parents – as we do – is warm and comforting. The sandwich my parents created was far from inviting or nurturing.   "The darkness concealed the stress of being an immigrant, a foreigner who barely was...

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Growing Up, Immigrant, Women / 25.01.2018

Black people are exquisitely beautiful – skin ranging in shades of dulce de leche to ebony, hair consistency of coarse curls to naturally soft ringlets, attitudes from salty to sultry, and body types from athletic to curves for days. Is it still a stereotype if it’s done in admiration? Maybe so, but it was the African-American community in the hamlet of Bellwood, Illinois which gave my immigrant family a place to call home, a safe space to open a family business, friendships, and refuge, so it’s no wonder I gravitate towards the black community.   "Is it still a stereotype if it’s...

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