Beef Stew

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

By Esterina Anderson

A week or so ago, I was on an email string with an amazing group of women back home who meet semi-often—sometimes with a question or a theme to contemplate so we can keep the conversation flowing, expand our minds, and get to know one another on a deeper level. One of the women who will be hosting soon asked the group to bring their favorite childhood recipe.

I can’t attend (you know, being in Italy and all), but I did consider contributing to the conversation from afar with my own favorite childhood recipe. Two came to mind, and if I had responded, the other likely would have won out—but this week, Beef Stew is what I would choose today.

Let me backtrack to Thursday.

I woke up as happy as I have been almost every day since we arrived in Italy. It had been nearly four weeks.

One of my less healthy habits is checking my phone first thing in the morning. Thursday, there was a routine email from our realtor—but something about it didn’t feel routine after everything that had happened with renting our home in Connecticut. For some reason, it set me off. It felt jarring. My body reacted instantly, and I could feel myself mentally spiraling.

I tried to sit and meditate, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t focus on anything useful. My mind was off to the races, my throat tight.

At the same time, I realized we had planned to bring the dog to the vet, and a plumber was supposed to be coming. Daren was out walking the dog and had been gone for a while—with no phone. I started to worry: What if he forgot about the vet? What if he didn’t realize the overlap with the plumber? (I barely realized it myself since we hadn’t scheduled it—the landlord had casually mentioned it, which somehow made it feel even more chaotic.)

Then my mind went further—visions of the dog chasing a wild boar (which is actually a thing here), or Daren falling somewhere in the woods with no way to call because he left his phone at home.

Yeah, as I write this it sounds ridiculous, but it was where my mind was at the time, when suddenly, everything felt like too much all at once and I felt like I was coming undone.

Nothing is actually new or different just because we’re in Italy. The same patterns of panic and spiraling—triggered by big or small things—are still here. But underneath it all, I realized that morning that I was really missing home.

The first few weeks here were busy—setting up the house, figuring things out, getting settled. But now that things are quieter, the absence is louder. I realized I miss my friends. I miss seeing people. I miss having conversations that aren’t just between my husband and me.I haven’t had any real time to myself. I haven’t watched a show. I haven’t done anything creative. At home, I had built-in space for that—my weekly craft group, walks with friends, book talks, dinners or coffee with girlfriends, meeting up with other couples. Just going outside into the garden and getting my hands in the dirt. Connecting with people as I got mail from the mailbox. Those things grounded me. They gave me connection and a sense of rhythm. That morning I felt lonely.

Don’t get me wrong—I LOVE what we are doing. I love shaking things up. But in that moment of panic, I was craving the ability to kvetch with friends, take a long hot bath, and prepare something that feels like home.

I have been anxious most of my life. It wasn’t until 10 years ago [this month actually] that I even realized it, and that awareness only came because it escalated into panic attacks. Ten years later—after experimenting with medication and lifestyle changes—I’ve never been more in touch with myself or more content. But anxiety still exists.

When I get anxious to the level I did on Thursday morning, I start to fear there’s something wrong with me. I worry that I’ll never be happy. I mean—how can I be in Italy, in this beautiful place, and feel anxious? It must be me. I must be the problem.

But it’s not me. It’s life.

This is life. It’s a fluctuating feeling that will pass. An old blog on this topic: On The Fluctuating Gunas.

It’s not about where you are physically, or where you are in life. Trying to change the world around me so I feel less anxious isn’t the solution—it’s not sustainable, and quite frankly, it would be exhausting. The only sustainable solution is learning how to live with what comes up in a way that isn’t harmful, and sitting through the discomfort knowing it will pass.

I had to figuratively slap myself out of feeling like a failure—or fearing writing about this because someone who knows me might feel disappointed that every moment in a new country with a beautiful view isn’t bliss. I want to wear my heart on my sleeve and let the world know that I love my life—but I’m human. And human emotions don’t disappear just because we change our circumstances.

When I see other people being human, it gives me permission to be human too. I want to offer that same permission.

Daren got home safe. No wild boars attacked Koji, and Daren was standing upright. The plumber came early. We made it to the vet and communicated in a bumbling but ultimately successful way with our broken Italian.

I couldn’t help but think of something I’ve said just recently to a friend (and can never remember when I need it): most of what we worry about never actually happens.

Everything was fine—but the emotional flooding lingered. I still didn’t feel right.

By about halfway through the day—after the vet, some rest, petting the dog, and a fair amount of complaining—I found myself craving comfort. Food, scent, shelter. It was a windy, rainy day—the perfect setting for comfort food.

I pulled out a piece of beef I had bought earlier in the week, intending to make beef stew at some point (thanks to my friend’s prompt about childhood recipes). The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

As I started browning the beef and the scent rose from the pot, I felt my stress begin to melt away. I chopped carrots, onions and celery, remembering how I used to feel as a kid when those same smells filled the kitchen while my mother cooked. We didn’t have beef stew often, but when we did, it was usually on a cold, unpleasant day—when the warmth and smell inside felt like a protective, loving blanket.

With each ingredient I added, I felt better. By the time everything was in the pot and simmering, I felt lighter—like the heaviness was leaving my body.

Chocolate felt necessary too. I converted an American brownie recipe into the European measurements and pans we had, and made a tray of warm, gooey brownies to go with it.

As everything cooked, I felt so much better that I was able to sit down with Daren and talk through one of our consulting projects. I even went upstairs, wrapped myself in my weighted blanket (another reliable stress reliever), and got some focused work done.

Later, one of the kids called and really needed to talk. By that point, I felt clear again—steady, present. I closed my computer and was able to give my full attention to the conversation.

Somewhere in there, I had pulled myself back together. Not perfectly, not magically, not with grace! – but enough. And it felt really good.

Later, we sat down to eat the stew and brownies, which turned out amazing—and were exactly what I needed.

Nothing had been fixed. It had just been felt… and it passed. Sometimes that’s all it is.
You sit with it… and let something warm simmer until you come back to yourself.

A thank you to my friend who knows who she is. I’m calling this Beef Stew.

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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On Holidays, Divorce & Surrender

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

The holidays can be a difficult time for many people. Those who are newly divorced or navigating the aftermath of a long separation are no exception. There are many reasons people struggle this time of year—loss, uncertainty, or simply the weight of change—but for this reflection, I want to focus on divorce, something I’ve now experienced over many holiday seasons.

It took me a long time to understand that the holidays do not have to remain difficult after a separation. That shift, at least for me, began with accepting what was, including my own part in it. That acceptance didn’t happen quickly, but it changed everything over time.

The loss of shared traditions, expectations, and future plans leaves a space that isn’t easily filled. When children are involved, that space can feel even more complicated and painful. What often makes it harder is not just the loss itself, but the feelings that linger—resentment, blame, or an inability to let go of what once was.

In my yoga classes this month, the theme has been surrender. Not in a passive sense, but in the sense of releasing resistance to what is already happening. Letting go of what we think should be happening, and beginning to work with what actually is.

That sounds simple, but it can be incredibly difficult to live.

Over time, I’ve come to see that in many relationships, when things fall apart, it’s rarely as simple as one person being right and the other wrong. In my own experience, there were things I didn’t see at the time. I was focused on responsibilities—children, work, daily life—and I missed signs that my partner was struggling. When I did begin to see them, I focused on fixing what was visible, not what was underneath.

Looking back, I can see more clearly now that there were unmet needs on both sides. I didn’t understand that then. I thought there would always be time to figure things out later.

There wasn’t.

When things finally broke down, I felt hurt and betrayed. But with distance, I’ve been able to recognize that the situation was more complex than I allowed myself to see in the moment. That understanding didn’t excuse what happened, but it did allow me to move out of blame and into something more productive.

That shift matters, especially during times like the holidays.

When there is ongoing tension between former partners, it doesn’t just affect the two people involved. It impacts children, families, and everyone connected to them. When there is even a small amount of cooperation or understanding, the difference can be felt by everyone.

This doesn’t mean every relationship can or should look the same after it ends. It simply means that holding on to anger or resentment tends to keep the pain active, while working toward acceptance can gradually ease it.

I’ve also come to understand that relationships change for many reasons. Sometimes people grow together, and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes one person recognizes that something is no longer working before the other does. That doesn’t necessarily make one person wrong and the other right. It simply reflects where each person is at that point in time.

It’s easy to look back and wish things had been handled differently. It’s harder, but more useful, to look at what can be learned from the experience.

For me, that meant recognizing my own role, understanding where I had been unaware, and accepting that growth often comes through difficult transitions. Without that experience, I’m not sure I would have seen the patterns I’ve since worked to change.

The holidays can already carry a certain level of stress, even in the most stable situations. Adding unresolved tension to that mix only makes it heavier. It doesn’t have to be that way.

When we begin to let go of the need to assign blame and instead focus on acceptance, something shifts. It doesn’t erase the past, but it does change how we carry it.

Over time, that shift can make room for a lighter experience—not just during the holidays, but in life moving forward.

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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You are the MOST important person on your gift list

Posted on by Esterina Anderson
  • You are the most important person to take care of. Give your time and attention to yourself first.

    That statement can be misunderstood, so it’s worth clarifying what it does and does not mean. It is not a justification to be selfish, ignore others, break commitments, or dismiss the impact we have on people. It simply means that without taking care of ourselves, we don’t have much to offer anyone else.

    It’s similar to a car that won’t run without gas. We need rest, nourishment, and experiences that genuinely support our well-being. That nourishment isn’t only physical. It can come from time with people we love, being in nature, quiet moments alone, creative outlets, or practices like meditation or prayer. The specifics are different for each of us, but the principle is the same: when we are depleted, everything else suffers.

    Taking care of ourselves is not about accumulation or external things. It’s about being filled in a way that allows us to move through the world with more clarity and energy.

    Giving to others is one of the most meaningful ways to experience that sense of fullness. When it comes from a genuine place, it often feels better than receiving. It allows us to share what we have—our time, attention, care, or presence—in a way that connects us to others.

    This kind of giving is not about obligation. It’s not tied to holidays, expectations, or social pressure. It happens when we recognize a need and respond to it naturally, without keeping score. It’s an extension of having something to give in the first place.

    At the same time, there is an important distinction to be made. Not all giving is received in the same way, and not all of it is sustainable.

    There was a time when I spent a great deal of energy trying to give to people in my life—family members, friends, colleagues—in ways that weren’t recognized or appreciated. It wasn’t something anyone asked for. It was something I chose to do, often out of a desire to make others happy or maintain relationships. Over time, it became draining.

    That experience made something clearer to me. There is a difference between a simple “thank you” and a deeper sense of gratitude. Gratitude carries a kind of presence and appreciation that goes beyond acknowledgment. It has a way of continuing forward, often showing up as care, respect, or a desire to give in return, not necessarily to the same person, but outward into the world.

    When giving is consistently met without that kind of awareness, it can start to feel one-sided. Over time, that imbalance depletes rather than connects.

    This doesn’t mean we stop giving. It means we become more aware of where our energy goes. Giving where it is received with appreciation tends to create a cycle that continues, while giving where it is not can quietly drain us.

    In that way, taking care of ourselves and giving to others are not separate ideas. They are connected. When we are grounded and supported, we are better able to give in ways that are meaningful. And when we give in environments where it is received, it reinforces that sense of balance.

    Learning to recognize that difference has been part of my own process. It has shifted how I think about where I place my energy and how I choose to give it.

    Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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The reputation of Stepmothers

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

 

I post a lot of happy photos and experiences on social media. I have a pretty good life. One thing I almost never write or post about is Daren & my biggest struggle. The largest hurdle we haven’t gotten over and continue to learn about and navigate is having a blended family.

I’ve written countless journal entries over the years. We’ve written hundreds of heartfelt emails to one another, our kids and our extended family trying to explain where we are coming from. I don’t really know anyone in real life with a current blended family to turn to for advice or to vent. There are little to no resources.

Over the years in complete frustration I’ve turned to the Internet. It’s been helpful in learning how we are not alone, but as with many things in life the “tips” (if you can call them that) are much easier said than done. In the past week I’ve been a bit selfish and have only been looking up information about stepmothers. In the past I ran across information and angry forums where biological moms and step-moms posted and complained about one another. It was all a bit too much for me, yet I kept reading the same kind of stories and threads over and over. This week I tried to stick with peer-reviewed information only. There is little to none. The closest thing I can find that has a lot of information are Psychology periodicals. The New York Times and Huffington Post had some articles too, but on average 1–2 a year, and they are more informational for the public to be aware of the struggles that blended families experience rather than a help to the blended family itself.

What shocks me is how “textbook” we are. We fell hook, line & sinker into exactly what normally happens.

Stepmothers generally have such a bad reputation. It’s often long into adulthood, usually after grandchildren/step-grandchildren are born, that the relationship between a stepmother and her stepchildren starts to flourish. Until then it’s often contentious, and it doesn’t have to be. These are 3 things in order that a family could do to speed up that process.

The parents should work together to establish the boundaries, rules and consequences in their home (father and stepmother).
Both biological parents should work together to maintain as many commonalities as possible between both homes and back one another up, or at least check in when the children complain about one home or the other.
The biological mother should give her children permission to accept the stepmother in their lives.

This is the bare minimum to ensure success. Taking it further might look like all three (or four if mom is remarried) parents working together, especially if either stepparent has children living in their home. Mature adults realize this is in the best interest of all kids involved. Without the above three factors in place, the situation is practically a perfect setup for failure. However, we are so quick to blame the stepmother when anything goes wrong. Why? The world believes the fairy tale evil stepmother fantasy. She is the easy target because she is the outsider and no one feels any loyalty to her.

This is a very lonely feeling. As a stepmother you wonder what is wrong with you. You lose part of yourself. You question every word you say. I felt really alone for so long. It’s comforting to now know that many stepmothers experience similar feelings—being blamed, misunderstood, and caught in situations they didn’t create, simply because of the role they stepped into.

Wow, how that sits with me. So it’s not just me? It’s not something I did or our special situation?

I’ve been accused of thriving on drama, needing my husband’s ex as a common enemy to save my relationship with him, being verbally abusive, making capricious rules, being childish, having an eating disorder, trying to make the children into something they aren’t—the list goes on. To anyone who knows me in real life, this sounds ridiculous. But if you didn’t know me and heard I’m a stepmother, you really might believe it, because of the perception that already exists.

Why do so many women have the same experience?

From what I’ve read and experienced, the stepmother is often the first to notice something isn’t working and starts to look for ways to improve the situation. She tries to create structure and understanding within the home, and that can sometimes come across as controlling or authoritative, even when the intention is the opposite. That can create resentment and distance right from the start.

I’ve also noticed that stepfathers often seem to have a different experience. In many situations, dynamics between households play a role, especially when emotions from the past haven’t fully settled. That can create ongoing tension between homes, and the stepmother often ends up in the middle of it, feeling both responsible and powerless at the same time.

The above becomes even more complicated when the stepmother has children of her own and is trying to create a fair and balanced home for everyone. It’s so important that all the kids feel at home, but when expectations differ between households, it can create a divide between step-siblings and make it difficult to maintain consistency.

If we could all just co-parent seamlessly, many of these issues would likely ease, but that requires a level of communication and maturity that isn’t always present. Unfortunately, the stepmother is often the one labeled as the problem.

These are some common myths that I find so absurd.

She is jealous of the children.

That is such a strange accusation, yet it’s widely believed. I’ve heard it long before I ever became a stepmother, I’ve heard it about myself, and I see it come up again and again. The idea that someone would secretly try to manipulate situations to make children look bad just doesn’t align with the reality I’ve experienced.

She tries to exert power over the blended family and make the children’s lives miserable.

What kind of person actually wants to see children miserable? I ask that honestly. I can’t think of anyone in my real life who operates that way.

I think a lot of people hear one side of a story and form their opinions from that. What might look like strictness or control is often something as simple as asking for basic respect, structure, and consistency.

In step-families where the father is the biological parent, it’s not uncommon for dynamics between households to influence parenting styles. When expectations differ significantly, the stepmother can end up being the one trying to create balance, which can easily be misunderstood.

After this happens repeatedly, the stepmother can begin to feel like she has no control in her own home and has to walk on eggshells. Over time, that only makes things more difficult, and the situation can start to feel strained in ways that weren’t there at the beginning.

She shouldn’t have any say when it comes to the children.

This is a partial myth. There are areas where she should have a voice—anything that directly impacts her home, her time, her schedule, or her children. And there are areas where she shouldn’t. Finding that balance isn’t always clear.

Discipline is one of the most difficult areas. If something happens within the home, it makes sense that the adults in that home address it together. But when expectations differ across households, it can create confusion and tension for everyone involved. Consistency matters, especially when multiple children are involved, and when it’s lacking, it can create resentment between siblings.

If she is kind, the children will warm up to her.

Not necessarily. There are many factors at play, including loyalty. Children can feel that accepting a stepmother is a betrayal of their biological mother, even if that’s never said directly. That creates a barrier that the stepmother has no control over.

Over time, I’ve come to understand that even kindness doesn’t always resolve that dynamic. Relationships take time, and sometimes they don’t develop the way you expect.

Culturally, there is also a double standard. Children are allowed to feel however they feel, but the stepmother is expected to show patience and understanding at all times.

She isn’t immature and childish; she is human, often trying to navigate something incredibly complex without much guidance.

Are you a stepmother or know of any? Try looking at things from her perspective. Most little girls don’t grow up with dreams of marrying a man with children. Almost no woman sets out seeking that situation. Choosing it usually means you love someone enough to take on everything that comes with their life, including the parts that are already complicated.

That doesn’t make anyone perfect. It just makes them human.

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Running 

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Monday, July 18, 2016 around 8:15pm

Daren and I are on a small little puddle jumper plane to Toronto, en route to Vancouver for the week for a conference of his. We had been rushing all afternoon to make this flight. Once we arrived at the gate, it was delayed. We grabbed a quick bite—some apps and an IPA—only to learn the plane was somehow leaving on time. We rushed back to the gate and jumped on.

I was stressing the whole drive home from work today, realizing how poorly my organization treats its employees. I don’t know if I want to work for an organization like that any longer.

As soon as we sat down in our seats, I was incredibly thirsty and had severe indigestion from scarfing down unhealthy food and rushing around. Then, as soon as the plane took off and my body started to vibrate, it was like a wave of emotions was free to course through me. I started to sob uncontrollably beneath the sound of the loud engines and had my first panic attack in the last five weeks.

Daren held me tight and stroked my hair, asking me to talk to him. I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure what was wrong. Finally, he asked if it was those jokers at work, and I realized it was. My job really got to me today. Upon that realization, I broke down even more—now aware of what it was. The release of pent-up emotions was a welcome relief from the burden of stress that had been building over the past week.

Daren encouraged me to think about leaving my job again. Then he pointed out the beautiful sunset we were flying right into. Literally, right now, I am flying off into the sunset.

Is it time for a change?

 

Wednesday, July, 20, 2016 8:33am

Just taking a break after a 3-mile run on a beautiful pedestrian pathway in Vancouver, BC. What a beautiful morning. The temperature is only 62 degrees. I’m sitting on the water in Stanley Park. I’m so lucky to be alive and have this opportunity to explore a new city and travel.

As I was running, I was thinking about the Gwen Stefani song “Running.” It’s playing in my mind now. One day back in April, on the way home from work, I heard this song for the first time in years, and for some reason it made me cry.

I thought about Daren and how, since the moment I met him, we have been literally running. The pace of my life picked up tenfold—and not all for good reason or measure. My stress started to grow then, and it accumulated until I literally crashed after six years.

Blending a family is not easy. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into, and it has both broken and built us. We are stronger than ever as individuals and as a couple, but the path was ugly and very difficult. I wish someone had told me how hard it was going to be and helped guide us through the changes we were inevitably going to face.

It’s really time to stop running.

What’s next for me?

To even think about exploring that, I need to slow down and enjoy this most amazing journey and gift of life. I’ll continue to run for exercise and keep the old ticker in shape—but no more running through my life.

Thank you, panic attacks, for being my warning signal—showing me what I can handle and helping me stop and literally see the gorgeous sunset I’m flowing into as my life changes in the most beautiful ways.

Slower is better.

Time is really our enemy. Time and money, separation, being on the run… (Thanks, Pink Floyd—Dark Side of the Moon.)

I could write a whole book about the meaning of that album—maybe some other day.

For now, I need to run back 3 miles to the hotel, shower, and enjoy my slow, no-rush day while continuing my journey of contemplating how to be my best self in the world using what I’ve been given by this beautiful and expansive universe.

Namaste.

 

No Doubt lyrics (because they inspired me to stop, sit on a bench and write this morning while on a long jog)

Run, running all the time

Running to the future

With you right by my side

 

Me, I’m the one you chose

Out of all the people

You wanted me the most

And I’m so sorry that I’ve fallen

Help me up, let’s keep on running

Don’t let me fall out of love



Running, running, as fast as we can

Do you think we’ll make it?

(Do you think we’ll make it?)

We’re running, keep holding my hand

So we don’t get separated

 

Be, be the one I need

Be the one I trust most

Don’t stop inspiring me

 

Sometimes it’s hard to keep on running

We work so much to keep it going

Don’t make me want to give up

 

Running, running as fast as we can

I really hope we make it

(Do you think we’ll make it?)

We’re running, keep holding my hand

So we don’t get separated


The view I’m seeing as I write this while sitting on a dedicated bench. Thank you Jean Mary Kendall Eligh and your family. I have enjoyed a piece of your memory today. ☮

 

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Classes, Bonds & Namaste

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Yesterday I learned, by way of Facebook, that someone I went to high school with passed away. I didn’t know her well, but I remember her. It saddened me, but it also warmed my heart to see people come together—old classmates consoling one another, sharing memories, reconnecting in a quiet way.

Scrolling through the comments, I recognized so many names and faces. It got me thinking about something I’ve come to think of as “classes.”

“Classes,” for lack of a better word, are the groups we move through in different eras of our lives. Daren once used the term when I was trying to describe a moment at work—two former colleagues crossing paths, exchanging nothing more than eye contact and a subtle nod. No words, just recognition. A shared history. A quiet understanding.

A class.

Like high school. Like the military. Like a job, a training, a season of life.

My graduating class had over 500 students, and even now, decades later, I recognize almost every face. Time has passed, but something about that shared experience remains. It’s a bond that doesn’t disappear, even when life moves on.

I’ve had many of these “classes” in my life—military assignments, work teams, yoga training, even neighborhoods and childhood bus rides. Not all of them carry the same weight, but each holds something.

A few, though, run deeper.

My high school class.
My first ship in the Coast Guard.
My time in Primary Care at the VA.

Those groups feel like family. Not perfect, not always easy—but familiar. Safe. There’s a comfort that doesn’t require explanation.

Even the lighter connections carry something. When I meet someone from the Coast Guard, or from Long Island, there’s an instant recognition. A subtle shift. Like something in me already knows them.

That feeling—that quiet recognition—is why the word Namaste has come to mean more to me over time.

Not just a greeting, but an acknowledgment:
I see something in you that I recognize in myself.

It’s always there, but we don’t always notice it.

Moments like this—watching people come together, remembering someone they shared a piece of life with—remind me that those connections matter. That the threads between us don’t disappear.

And that recognizing them, even quietly, is a gift.

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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