Monica Marcelis Fochtman, PhD, CPRW, CCTC

Prime real estate

Happy New Year!

I have spent much of today cleaning up. I haven’t done a full on scrubbing, yet, but when we left for our trek to the motherland (NJ), we left our house a mess. There was still wrapping paper all over the living room floor, clean laundry that needed to be folded, dishes to put away, etc. etc. So, today has been pick up everything I see and put it back in it’s place day. Do more laundry (how many pairs of socks do boys wear on vacation? Yeesh!), run the dishwasher.

As I have been picking up things and putting them somewhere else, I have thought a lot about space. There were some really odd things taking up prime real estate in our house. Baseball gloves that came in from the garage so they don’t crack over the winter but that never made it into the basement. Three pairs of shoes in the mudroom, right in front of the door (of course). A huge rock that my sons painted and gave to us as a doorstop. While a thoughtful gift that I am sure I will save until I die and they get it back, it doesn’t really need to be in the bottom of my closet taking up space. I put it in the attic. So, yeah, it’s still taking up space, but at least I won’t trip over it every day. And now the three pairs of shoes that were in the mud room (which is really too small and clearly not designed by anyone with small children and hats and coats and winter boots) are in my closet.

I love cleaning up. I get unnaturally happy when I do it. It’s like a clean slate. Or that feeling right after I brush my teeth in the morning and everything tastes fresh and cool.

One of my goals for 2014 is to not let things occupy prime real estate in my head or my heart. There are things I need to let go of. They are standing in the way of growth and productivity.

Risk is my #oneword2014. I hope to take some big risks this year. For me, letting go of things is a big risk. Letting go is not something that comes naturally or easy to me.

Risk=reward, right?

Upgrade

The last few weeks have been hard for me professionally. I have been up to my eyeballs, literally, in paperwork. The next round of applications for one of the programs that I advise were due December 15. We’re kicking it old school, so the apps are still paper files that need to be manually processed. By moi. So, I’ve been a little cranky lately. And jealous of friends who are already on vacation. And, whiny. I hate whiners. Those paper files are standing between me and my Christmas vacation. I have been trying to knock them out so I can have December 24th and 25th completely distraction-free. Then, it’s off to the motherland on December 27th!

Every day that I process admissions applications, I have an internal battle with myself. Two-thirds of the applicants will not be admitted to the program. That’s hard because I am sure that many of them would make fabulous nurses. As a feeler, it’s hard to know that in three weeks some of these candidates will get a rejection letter. That I also get to process.

Then, there are the apps that are messy, incomplete, or just flat out wrong. And I think to myself, “What?! This is an academic program. Best foot forward people! No white-out, no scribbles! What kind of nurse are you going to be if you can’t even fill out the application right?” Internal battles.

I think my age is showing, but that’s another post altogether.

I took my current position because I wanted to stop commuting three hours a day, to be back at MSU, and I secretly wanted to work with nurses. Nurses will always have soft spot in my heart. Nurses saved our family. They lovingly cared for L during his treatment. They taught us how to care for him at home and they cared for us. So, even though my current professional position was a professional downgrade, on many, many levels it has been a huge personal upgrade.

But, processing applications and number crunching haven’t felt like much of an upgrade lately.

And then, ten minutes ago, I got a text message from one of my students. My favorite student. She told me that she has been offered an interview with one of the most prestigious children’s hospitals in the country. It is a summer internship experience that I pushed her to apply for. There is something about her. She is an incredibly diligent person with a kind heart and a strong mind. She is a great decision maker. She will make an excellent nurse. And, she would be an awesome pediatric nurse.

In mere seconds, I go from wallowing in my wine because I still have two full days of work ahead of me and 25 apps to process, to beaming with pride for and with one of my students.

Dear student,

I am so proud of you! You are going to rock that interview and no matter what happens, to even be asked to interview at that facility is a huge, huge accomplishment. Thank you for taking the time out of your vacation to send me that text. I am so grateful to you. I am grateful for you. You made my day.

My week.

My month.

Definite upgrade.

Parent “helper”

Last week I volunteered in my son’s second grade classroom for the “one-room schoolhouse event.” Since September, they have been learning about life in the Pioneer days- think Little House on the Prairie, covered wagons, and no electricity or running water. That day, the entire second grade pod was transformed. The teachers wore long skirts, white aprons and bonnets. The children were asked to dress up as well and bring their non-processed lunches in brown paper bags, baskets, or wrapped in napkins. The lights were off and they weren’t allowed to use the water fountain. Each classroom became a one-room schoolhouse, with multiple grades of students in each room. L. wasn’t too thrilled about being demoted to first-grade for the morning, but he made the most of it. It was impressive and very, very organized! It was obvious that the four teachers had worked long and hard to transform their classrooms so the students could go back in time. And you know, actually learn something.

I arrived early and waited outside my son’s classroom for my assignment. As I was standing there, several other parents arrived. I was stunned to observe how loud and disruptive they were. I have a natural awe of and deference toward teachers that when I see such overt disregard for their work, I am stunned speechless. It’s totally fine and completely natural to want to chit-chat with your fellow mom-friends and parents of your child’s peers. I actually crave that time. It makes me feel normal and not so isolated.

Usually, people are aware enough to keep it to a slow murmur. Not that day. There were three grown women standing right outside a classroom door, talking and laughing at full pitch. One of the teachers came out and closed her door. That should have been the first clue. Then, one of the teachers whose door was already closed, came out, and spoke with them. She asked them very politely to please keep it down. She said something to the effect of: “We have a lot to get through and it would be helpful if you could keep it down out here. Then, we I am ready I will come out to explain the rotations to all the parent helpers.”

That didn’t go over very well. As soon as that door closed the Chatty Cathys reamed her. They absolutely ripped into her. And they weren’t even trying to be quiet about it. They started twittering and making faces and rolling their eyes. Kind of like a second-grader would. Then, right after that a fourth mother arrived and shouted at them from the other end of the hallway, across all four classrooms: “Hey, why aren’t you all dressed up, too?” The three who had just been scolded, said something like, “Shhhhh! We just got yelled at for talking!” I wish I could write how high-pitched and nasaly they sounded. Then they walked down the hall laughing and snickering. (I am assuming they came back eventually to help, but I honestly don’t know.)

Seriously? Who does that?

I wish I were making this up. It felt like a bad dream from grade school.

I understand the desire to chat with other moms. But, these women were there, in theory, to be parent helpers. After multiple messages went out from all four teachers indicating how much help they needed to make the day happen for the kids. (80 second graders, rotating through 4 stations of 30 minutes each) Chatting outside a classroom door is not helpful. And, that teacher had every right to say something to protect her time with her students, her lesson, and the learning environment that all four of them were trying to create.

If Chatty Cathy wants to be social, do it in the parking lot, or in your car, or at lunch after you are done volunteering. As a parent helper, I believe it is my role to be there to be helpful. I am perfectly wiling to be bossed around by teachers who are either younger than me, or old enough to be my mother. It’s not social hour. It is precious time that I get a window into my sons’ classrooms, where they spend more time every day than they do at home. I get to observe the teacher in action. How does she interact with the children? How do my son’s respond to her? Are they helpful, good listeners? Are they focused on the lessons and working hard? Are they struggling? And if so, where? Who are their friends?

Maybe those women were having a bad day. Maybe I am over-sensitive. Maybe these women are the exception and most parents don’t act like second-graders. I am not so sure. I have been on enough field trips to have witnessed some interesting cell phone usage.

Maybe I am right, though. Isn’t this where our children get it? If parents don’t have at least a modicum of respect for teachers, why should their children? Teachers work too long and too hard to have to battle parents, too.

The good news is that the kids are fine. They really are. They are kind, helpful, smart, energetic, messy (oh boy! The boys, my son included, were all a hot mess!), funny, eager, and wanting to be loved, by their teachers and by us.

Down with the Elf!

Someone really needs to convince me that the stupid Elf on the Shelf thing is not just pure bribery. Shouldn’t we teach and then expect that our children know how to behave? Because that is the right thing to do, not because some creepy elf is watching and they will get something in return?

When did we as parents, and mothers in particular, start thinking so little of our children that we decided we needed to start bribing them? When did we start thinking so little of our own parenting abilities that we stopped trusting ourselves to teach, address, and correct our children’s behavior?

I don’t get it.

Beginnings

The day before Thanksgiving my husband and I were able to visit the institution where we each got our start in student affairs and where we met and fell in love. The trip provided an opportunity to reflect on all we have been through, professionally and personally.

Residence life at a small, private institution was a great place to start my professional career. It was my first time supervising. I learned how to physically manage a new-construction building and all its idiosyncrasies. I served as a judicial hearing officer for the most “active” residence hall on campus and thus, had the largest caseload of all my colleagues. As a young and energetic professional, I also volunteered for any and all assignments that would give me experiences and skills outside of my functional area. As such, I advised funding board and several student organizations. I can budget with the best of them. Because of these experiences I was able to transition to student activities| leadership when I moved to my second professional position. For three years, I worked long and hard hours. I said yes, a lot. I created new programs and events and I took risks.

In the span of a career, three years isn’t that much. But it’s not nothing. Visiting the institution where I got my start reminded me of all of these things. It was wonderful to visit with colleagues and mentors and to chat with the VP| Dean who saw something in me and offered me that first job. I think too often in my work, I am so focused on the next step, the next move, that I underestimate what it took to get where I am today. I would guess that I am not alone in this. Life’s messages seem to be telling us that more is better, that to strive for something different or higher or more prestigious is “the” way to be. It is good to have goals. But, in working towards those goals, I think it’s important to take the time to reflect on where I’ve been.

Nice to meet you! Name tags & lanyards from a career well-lived

We all have beginnings. I am grateful that my beginning in this profession was a good one. I look back at that time fondly and with gratitude. I would love to hear about your beginnings. Where did you start? How has that position shaped who you are today?

In the second year of my first professional job I fell in love with a coworker. We worked together, we were both Catholic, and he made me laugh. He still makes me laugh. Every day. Since that first date in September of 2000, we’ve been through a lot. More than most couples our age. We dated for two years while under the microscope of a full-time, live-in position. We survived a long-distance engagement and job search process. We have survived eight job changes, graduate school, unemployment, and parenthood. We shepherded our son through a major health crisis, all while staying married and keeping our younger son healthy and normal.

When we began though, we were young, excited, and full of hope. When you think about it, really, we knew very little about each other. I think this is the case for most people. In the span of a married life, there is no way to predict what will come your way. I certainly never thought that I would mother a child through cancer. The only thing that indicates future behavior is past behavior. I think we are lucky and grateful that our past, our beginning, was a good one. We are loyal, honest and we like being with each other. That’s how we started and that is what we keep working for now.

Driving through the small town where we shopped for a coffee table (that we still have), had our first kiss, first fight, first jobs, first everything reminded me of our sweet beginning.

Five year olds really know best

While snuggling with my sick five year old son this weekend, we started to chat about the upcoming Thanksgiving festivities. I asked him what his favorite part of the holiday was. He said, “Giving thanks!” He said it with such confidence that it was like, “duh Mom. Of course that is the best part.” He then proceeded to tell me what he is most thankful for:

Willy (his cat)

Mommy

Daddy

My house

Food

My blankets and stuffies

Cousins

Aunts

Uncles

Grandma

Papa

After this list I said, “C. you are very wise.” To which he replied, “You mean like Obi Kenobi?”

And there you have it. The simple things are not things. They are the best “things.”

Snuggle with a five year old every chance you get. You will be better for it.

Don’t fear the feedback

On Wednesday night I presented an information session for one of the academic programs that I advise. In attendance at the session was a woman I knew from a previous role. I was perplexed by this as I work in Nursing and she has a Master’s degree in Student Affairs from a well-known and highly reputable program. Nursing would be a big career change. Why was she there?

We chatted a for a bit after the session. She told me that she is unemployed and has been actively searching for almost two years. She is starting to question her choice of graduate school degree and future professional life. My heart aches for her. Like many, I have been unemployed and I remember well the levels of frustration, anxiety, and sometimes even the sense of desperation that can come with the search. I remember feeling as if the interviewer could smell my desperation when I walked into the room. As a candidate, the deck is stacked against you. There are more of you than there are positions open. In many cases, candidates are given little, if any, feedback about their status in a search. And, candidates are given even less feedback about their performance while in the search.

This woman is smart, kind, capable, honest, and committed. I do not know all the details of why she is not being offered positions. Maybe she doesn’t interview well. Maybe she is under/over qualified. Maybe she doesn’t write well. I have offered to meet with her and do some career coaching. I hope to help her in whatever way I can.

Ever since then, I have been thinking about feedback in the student affairs job search process. I asked her if she had asked for feedback and what, if any, she got. To her credit, she has called past interviewers and asked for feedback. That takes guts. To even ask that question takes courage. To actively listen to what someone has to say takes even more courage.

She related to me that the feedback she has gotten thus far was “You were great! You didn’t do anything wrong in the interview.” Oof. Not only is this not true, it is also not helpful. Obviously something is wrong if she has been unemployed this long. And, how will she ever get better as a candidate if no one is taking the time to help her get better?

Feedback is hard to hear. I hate feedback. I hate hearing it. I hate giving it. But, it is a skill that I am learning and constantly trying to work on. Because, in my career I have been very fortunate to have received direct, honest, specific, and constructive feedback from people whom I know and trust. I also understand how hard it is to give feedback. So, when I get it, I try really hard to listen because I appreciate the time and energy that went into that conversation. I have also seen the impact that feedback has had on my own staffs.

In student affairs, we are quick to praise our colleagues and supervisees. We tweet it, we nominate them for awards, we serve as references. But, when it comes to the tough, icky, uncomfortable stuff, we speak in generalities and niceties that, in the end, mean very little. If all you are ever told is that “it wasn’t you” then how will you ever grow, learn, change, or get better?

Feedback makes us all better. It makes us more self-aware. It makes us slow down. It is helpful to others’ growth and development. It clears the air. It improves communication between individuals and across teams.

Feedback is hard. But the hard stuff is what matters most. That’s where the work really is.

I hope this woman will take me up on my offer to look at her application materials and do a mock interview. If she doesn’t meet with me, I hope she meets with someone who will take the time to genuinely help her, not sweep the feedback under the rug.

“Reconciling” childhood cancer and my faith

The anxious perfectionist in me hesitates to write most days. I think. A lot. All the time. All day. But, I post very little. I think a lot about why that is. Fear, anxiety, wanting to be liked, time, energy, laziness. Insert excuse here. Trying to find my voice on this blog is interesting. I am not entirely sure of who my audience is, or why those who have read before come back, or don’t. I am sure there are analytics about that somewhere. Maybe some techy blogger will help me figure that out.

Then, there are days like today where the universe send me multiple messages and it feels like I am being hit over the head with a baseball bat and the message is “Write, Monica!” You have something to say, write about it. Tell a story. So today my story is about the messages that I receive/see/choose to see about our journey with childhood cancer and trying to reconcile that with my faith.

I am following Saya Hillman on Twitter. She is a fellow Boston College alumna (Go Eagles! Women and Men for Others!) who is living with purpose in Chicago. She runs Mac and Cheese Productions, which is a company that helps people “live a life of yes!” Anyway, today on Twitter, she sent a link to this piece by Nate Pyle about the lie of God not giving you more than you can handle. I can’t remember how many times people said this to us, or about us, or near us, while L was in treatment. I have always hated this phrase. Detested it with the fire of a thousand suns. It has always rung false for me. Trite and condescending. And, in my experience, it is usually uttered by people who had experienced very little suffering. I know. It’s all relative. But, when your kid has stage four cancer and is being pumped full of poison, and you fear for their very lives, well, your perspective is different. My perspective is different.

I clicked on Nate’s blog and read through some of his posts. So far, I like what I have read. He is a man of faith, partner, parent, trying to do the best he can. He is also a Reformed minister. S and I met 13 years ago at Hope College in Holland, MI. We were the two Catholic people on staff at a Reformed institution, who after six weeks of intense Residence Life training decided we had crushes on each other and we should start dating. So, although I am not Reformed, my experiences those three years in Holland are very near and dear to my heart. They brought me my best friend, which brought me to my journey as a mother, and as a momcologist. See, signs everywhere.

I really love Nate’s raw honesty in his post. He is grieving, hurt, angry, confused. All of these things are okay. They are good. They are real. You have to go deeper into these feelings if you are ever going to heal. He recognizes this. He shares it publicly and in so doing, gives others permission to do the same. That rocks. That is what sharing your faith is about. I think. At least, that is what I look for and appreciate in others and their writing. I also love that he calls out “bumper-sticker theology” and challenges people of faith to ask tough questions. Yes. This. Asking the tough questions eventually leads to emptiness. In the emptiness is where the “answers” come.

S. and I talk almost daily about what it means to be blessed. Is there a difference between a gift, good fortune, a blessing, and just plain old luck? As a person of faith I sometimes think that I am supposed to think I am blessed. That all the good things I have, create, am, or will be, are from God. Okay. If this is true, then as a person of faith, I am bound by this tenet’s logical opposite, which is that all bad things also come from above. Does God have a curative and causative will? Is God a puppetmaster up in the sky pulling strings? Yikes! I sure as heck hope not. I personally don’t believe this.

I continue to stay involved in the childhood cancer community on Facebook and Twitter and my volunteer work with St. Baldrick’s. Some days this is harder than others. I see posts about “God answering prayers” or “Yes! God healed my grandson” or “believe in miracles!” juxtaposed with posts by my Momma friends who are missing their babies, grieving for lives cut too short, for miracles that didn’t come. Did God take their children to save others? Did they get chosen to walk this road because God believed that they could “handle” it? Are my friends who lost their babies more or less blessed? Are the same people who praise God when they get good news also praising them when they are hurting? No. I don’t believe this.

I can only speak for myself, but when my son was diagnosed, I felt totally and completely unprepared. I was a full-time PhD student, mom to two very young boys- still breastfeeding one of them- a wife, and part-time employee. At that time, my life was about me. Was I being punished? Or, did God send L. to me and S. because God knew this would happen to him and God knew that as L’s parents we could “handle” it?

I don’t have answers to most of these questions. How I see myself as a Christian has evolved over time and been deeply changed by my experience as a wife, mother, and momcologist. I grapple with these tough questions almost daily. I think, I pray, I (sometimes) write. So far, this is what I have come to believe:

The universe is random and chaotic. Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. God did not give my son cancer. God did not take my son’s cancer away. My son wasn’t saved because I prayed harder, better, or more faithfully. If anything, I doubted more then (2008-2010) than I ever have before or since. God didn’t give my son cancer because he knew I could handle it. We are blessed. We are lucky. We are fortunate. All of them, none of them? We have health insurance. We have an amazing team of nurses and doctors at a world-class hospital less than 100 miles away from home. We have supportive family and friends who rallied around and behind us.

The God I know, love, wrestle with, and shout at, and thank, that God laughs when I laugh and weeps when I weep. That God holds me up and gently helps me choose to search for meaning and to embrace mystery.

No more tiaras

I am the proud godmother to three amazing little girls. It is an honor to be chosen for this special role. In addition to serving as a role model of faithfulness (eek!?) I also believe that one of my duties as godmother is to role model feminist, inclusive leadership and work-life negotiation strategies. I haven’t yet told the parents of these girls that this is how I see myself as godmother. Hopefully they are okay with this since they chose me! Two of them are my siblings, so I think I am okay.

Two of my three goddaughters recently had birthdays and I refused to buy them tiaras. I bought tutus, wands, journals and feather pens, and pretend play shoes and jewelry. But, I drew the line at a tiara. When we were in Toys R Us, my sons kept pointing them out and asked why we couldn’t get them. I fumbled over the answer and tried to explain in terms they would understand what a tiara represents. I did not do so well on the spot. After some reflective time, my answer is this: Tiaras imply weakness. Tiaras imply something that is given to a young girl for superficial reasons- looks, personality, bikinis. Tiaras are usually given to girls by a “higher” power, usually a man, because said higher power has deemed the recipient worthy.

Here’s the thing. We are already worthy. We are already enough. My goddaughters don’t need anyone to give them a tiara. If they want one, they can go out and earn it (or a promotion, or a raise, or whatever a tiara means to them). Which, given what I have witnessed from them already and their amazing parents, I have no doubt they will! Go get it ladies! (Note to parents and others with special little women in their lives. I am not anti-tiara. I am anti what tiaras represent. If your little girl loves dress up and pretend play and tiaras, then carry on!)

Professional tiaras

I recently had my own tiara-resistance moment. I have applied for a job. It is within my current setting, but with a completely different focus- alumni development. On paper, it is a dream position- develop relationships, network with, and create programs for young alumni. Swoon! I knew that the position was going to post and I thought about just submitting my materials and then waiting. Like I have done with every other job search in my life. In the past, I have absolutely been guilty of the Tiara Syndrome. Carol Frohlinger of Negotiating Women, Inc. says that TS involves keeping your head down, doing good work, and waiting for people to notice and reward you.

Instead of waiting to be noticed, I emailed the person who would be my supervisor if I got offered the position and I asked him to coffee. I was bold. I was direct. I did not wait, I advocated for myself. I said, “I would like to learn more about your office and what you do. Can I take you to coffee?” I have never done this before in my entire life. I was absolutely terrified. Was I too bold? Was I pushy? Would it be awkward if he said no?

He said yes. We went to coffee and I learned a TON about the office, his style, the position, and what he is looking for. I told him that I would be applying and then indicated why I would be a strong candidate. Again, I have never done this before in my life. Guess what? It didn’t hurt. It was actually really fun. It was useful, helpful, and informative. Even if I don’t get offered an interview, it was a good use of my time, personally and professionally. Even if I don’t get the job, I know more about Alumni Relations and what the “work” is. This information will only help me.

This morning, this article came across my Twitter feed: “Don’t ever apologize for being a good parent and other lessons for hard-working women.”

I am in love with this post by Stacy Janicki. It says, for me, so many things that I am trying to practice in my own life and work. It says so well the career counseling and leadership advice I am trying to share with my students. She talks about the tiara syndrome and how to combat it. She encourages women to learn self-promotion skills and to ask for what they want.

Yes!

Have you had a tiara-resistance moment?

Self-advocacy

I have been a certified administrator of the Myers Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) since 2004. In my professional positions at three different institutions, I have presented multiple “Type” workshops to students, faculty, and staff. I have made the mistake of doing these sessions out of the goodness of my heart and my desire to be a helpful, collaborative professional.

This summer, my colleague asked if I would facilitate the MBTI for incoming doctoral students. As part of her ask, she asked me what my fee was. I said something like, “oh no, that’s okay. You don’t have to pay me.” To which she said, “No, this is an expertise that you have and you should be paid for it.” I was totally blown away. Gosh darn it! She’s right! I do have this expertise, a lot of practical experience, and a terminal degree which lends credibility to my role as expert. We plowed ahead with the proposal to pay me for my time. Both departments running the Orientation agreed to split the fee and my supervisor gave the go-ahead. Yeah! I was going to get paid for my expertise. For the first time.

I prepped. I prepped at home. I revised slides. I practiced. Then, I did it. And it was great. I love the MBTI. I love helping people find their best fit type and then help them use what they learned to be better communicators, team players, and students.

And then, they didn’t pay me. As the request made it up the channels of paperwork, word came back down to me that they were not going to compensate me. Me doing all that prep work and those two sessions (one of which was on my day off) were part of the “Monica” package that I brought to the table.

I was crushed. I am sure I pouted. As a new professional and even just a few years ago, I think I would have pouted for a long time and then thrown up my hands and moved along. I would have accepted that this is just how it goes. This time though, something was different. There were voices telling me to keep pushing, to stand up for myself, to ask. The literature (and my own experience and my observations of others) are constantly revealing that women don’t ask, they don’t negotiate, they wait to be recognized.

For one of the first times I can remember in my professional life, I said, “No. No, this is not okay.” I advocated for myself, my time, my experience, and my expertise. I had provided something and I should be compensated for that. I put together a proposal requesting that I be paid for my time. And, it worked. I advocated for myself and it worked!

This experience marks a turning point of sorts for me. I learned some very important professional and personal lessons:

I have to ask. I have to ask for what I need and deserve and be firm in getting it.
I learned that self advocacy is a skill that takes confidence and practice.
I am grateful for my colleague who suggested that I be paid in the first place.
I am grateful for my supervisor who was willing to take a creative but fair proposal back to the powers that be and advocate for me.
It helps to have allies.
There are women out there who will support and cheer for other women. I am grateful for those women. I hope to continue to be one of those women for others.
As a Mid-Career professional one of my professional responsibilities is to help younger professionals, especially women, learn how to advocate for themselves.
Get compensation agreements in writing.
Get a deposit up-front.
No more free MBTI sessions.

Are you advocating for yourself and being compensated (however you define it) for the unique gifts and skills you bring to the table? Psst…You are worth every penny!

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