Mary Novaria

Have you ever had a conversation with someone that stayed with you long after the talking was over? Or maybe, sometime down the road, you recalled a piece of wisdom or advice and realized it had made an impact on you? Just this morning a friend shared she was working hard to find silver linings. Yes! I thought. Thank you for reminding me to stay grateful and focus on the positive. I bet if I paid close enough attention, I’d hear many things worth taking to heart and many opportunities to say, “So glad they told me!” In fact, a viral essay and a #SoGladTheyToldMe social media campaign inspired an essay collection filled with insights that moms took to heart. After more than a year in the making, today is launch day for SO GLAD THEY TOLD ME/Women Get Real About Motherhood (HerStories Press) and I’m thrilled to have an essay included in this book!  I confess, there’s something very heady about holding a book in your hands and seeing your name and words on the pages. ...

   AS FEATURED IN HEALTH RAISING KIDS When You Miss the Signs of Your Kid’s Anxiety BY Mary Novaria POSTED  June 7, 2016 It began with the “sock problem.” My daughter Ellie and I spent an agonizing ten minutes every morning finding the perfect pair of socks for her tiny, three-year-old feet. The nubby seam across the toes bothered my daughter to the point of such intense aggravation that she’d kick, cry, and throw socks in frustration. At Target we’d sit on the floor tearing open plastic packaging so she could try on socks before we bought them — whatever it took to avoid the ones that were uncomfortable and angst-producing. I tried to be calm and sympathetic, but the truth is I thought she was willful and finicky. I didn’t recognize Ellie’s tactile discomfort as a symptom of a larger problem. I missed the significance of the early signs, unaware that her sensitivity and shyness foreshadowed an anxiety disord...

This piece first appeared in the Huffington Post. Even with dozens of family trips under my belt, I still can't get myself or the rest of my brood out of the house without a meltdown. And I'm not talking about the kids, here. They're way past the age of tantrums. Unfortunately, I'm not. It's not even the actual travel that makes me come unglued. I could almost justify that since travel these days seems to be fraught with peril. Mostly, I enjoy travelling -- once the trip's in progress. I don't even mind making the arrangements. I happily shop the travel sites for the best airfares and great deals on hotels. I'm fine once we hit the road or get to the airport. Until then? I'm like an 18-wheeler that's lost its brakes on the way down the mountain. Too often, before I lock the front door behind me, I am whipped into a frenzy, suffering that gnawing, doubting clutch of Trip Anxiety. My daughter calls it "that thing that makes us all s...

It’s not terribly original to call an oversized something “Big Bertha.” It’s so played and I suspect Callaway Golf has the name copyrighted for their ginormous driver. There’s a big hunter at our barn—part draft horse--called Bertha, as well. Otherwise, I’ve never personally known a Bertha (and I hope no one nowadays would give their daughter such a name), but that’s what I’m temporarily calling my new suitcase. Feel free to suggest a more imaginative name. This big-ass suit case came into my life the evening before a recent trip to LA. Although I don’t fly out every week like some road warriors do, I’ve done my share of travelling and I’m really grateful for that. Most of it has been for what you call “pleasure,” although getting ready for a trip is rarely that. Shouldn’t it be easy to throw a few things in a suitcase and head for the c oast? Not when my old nemesis “trip anxiety” sets in. Symptoms include the three “P”s—panic, procrastination and paralysis. For love or money, I coul...