What year were you born? Do you have any details about that day?

I was born in January, 1963 in a hospital in Trenton, New Jersey. I don’t know what day of the week it was, but I was a happy and smilely baby, so clearly it was not a Wednesday! My parents were very practical and matter-of-fact people, and already had two other children, a 4 year old boy and a 13 month old girl, so there was never any discussion about my birth or romanticizing about the wonderfulness of my arrival, as there might have been had I been the first child, or even the first daughter. There is one funny story, though, which is that when my parents brought me home, and told my brother he had another sister, he said, “throw her in the mud!” since I was not the brother he wanted. Fortunately for me, they did not heed him.

What was your life like growing up? What dreams and goals did you have for your life when you left High School?

Growing up…

I grew up in a mostly blue-collar small town on the Allegheny River in Pennsylvania. Our family was not like the others around us. Mom and Dad were European, well-educated, multi-lingual, and older than the parents of our peers. They had strange (to others) accents (Mom’s Dutch accent much stronger than Dad’s Swiss one), and different sensibilities than the other parents around us. We always made our beds, wore nice clothes, cleaned up our toys, had tea and cookies at 5:30, ate a home-cooked dinner together at 6:00 around the kitchen table (properly set with Blue Danube china and serving bowls, matched flatware and matched glassware), kept our elbows off the table, held our knives in our right hands and forks in our left, did our homework without a fuss, and played only with siblings in the den or backyard after dinner, friends being relegated to an afternoons-only slot.
Mom was warm, loving and affectionate to us when we were small children, and seemed happy in her roles as housewife and mother. She always dressed impeccably and smelled wonderful (Oil of Olay, Ponds and Jean Nate), kept a warmly decorated home full of beautiful, quality furniture, a yard full of lovely flowers, bushes and trees, and treated our friends like royalty, bringing us trays of fruit juice and Maria cookies filled with raspberry jam. Mom had beautiful blue eyes with much depth behind them and a smile that would light up a room. But she didn’t adjust too well to the pushing of boundaries and disruption of orderly calm that came with my older brother’s adolescence, and she became less and less emotionally available to me as I got older. Around the time I entered junior highschool, she pursued a certification in interior design through a 2-year correspondence course with hopes of a part-time career outside the home that would satisfy her artistic and intellectual needs.
I have warm and fuzzy memories of Mom until about 5th grade. I have one very fond memory of her teaching me how to make mashed potatoes, another of her letting me help her make Pepperidge Farm puff pastries and scoop out and eat the just-baked centers before we filled the shells with a delicious mixture of full-thickness Campbell's cream of chicken, canned chicken and peas, and another of her teaching me how to mix the dough for a German fruit flan on the countertop without a mixing bowl. Those times were so special because she and I were alone together and I was gifted with her attention…happy, friendly, carefree attention. I also had a bed-wetting problem when I was small and I remember night after night Mom would hear me whimpering, come to my bedroom, smile at me, hug me, kiss me, change me into dry pajamas, change my bedding, put dry flannels under me, and tuck me back into bed and to sleep; never with a cross or impatient word. I loved her so much for that.
But after about age 10, I felt unseen, overlooked and unknown by my mother. I have many memories of Mom lumping me homogeneously with my sister as “the girls” and never seeming to recognize, celebrate or encourage our quite significant differences in personality, temperament and talent. I have many memories of Mom shutting off and telling me nothing more than, “oh, Elisabeth, you don’t know anything” or “oh, Elisabeth, you wouldn’t understand” when I would try to get closer to her by asking her questions about her past, present or future.

Dad was also affectionate, though in a less-internally-comfortable, stiffer way; my sense is he wanted to be demonstrative but that had not been modeled for him growing up. For years, I ran to the front door to hug him every evening as he came home from work. I loved him fiercely, judging him to be imminently reasonable, kind and good. We kids saw much less of Dad than of Mom, of course, because he worked 8:00 to 5:00 as a mechanical engineer, wound down on the couch with a cup of tea and the newspaper between 5:00 and 6:00, and typically did his own job-related “homework” at the dining room table after dinner from 7:00 to 10:00. But weekends provided opportunities to spend time with Dad that I happily seized: home improvement projects. Changing light fixtures, spackling walls, painting, wallpapering, fixing appliances, pruning fruit trees, shoring up fence posts, rehanging fence gates, these were all things that my older brother and sister resented being called upon to help with, and my younger brother was too small to do. So I got to help him, and I am grateful for that time together.

Growing up, of course, was not limited to my relationships with my parents. My sibling, friend and teacher interactions were hugely formative. My sibling interactions were challenging. I have many memories of feeling ignored by my very smart but rather hermitile older brother, feeling belittled or ignored by my very smart and rather manic older sister, and feeling necessarily protective of and responsible for my naive little brother’s safety in the face of my siblings’ behavior. I had many friends in grade school in Pennsylvania and felt well loved by them and by my early school teachers.
But starting in 3rd grade in our small town, I felt I was being compared by my teachers to my siblings (both with IQs over 140) who had come before me, and that I was not measuring up. It was subtle, but I sensed their disappointment, and it contributed to some feelings of insecurity and low self-worth. We moved to Salt Lake City as I began 6th grade. It was beneficial to swim in a bigger pond and for a few years, in elementary and then junior high, I had teachers who had not also taught my siblings. I had a chance to shine without comparison, and that was nice. The friendship scene was very tough though…we were Presbyterian and not interested in becoming Mormon. Until I went to the University and developed a more diverse group of friends, it was very hard to fit in.

My parents raised us with very high expectations of excellence and productivity, and instilled in me a very strong work ethic. I was expected to work and contribute to the family’s finances as soon as I could, so my first job was mowing lawns at age 12. Just two lawns, and just a few dollars a week, until I could work for real. My next job was in fast food at age 14, which I supplemented with a second job in a retail stationery shop, and then with a third job preparing food, delivering trays and washing dishes in the Clinical Research Center in the University of Utah Hospital when the hours from the first two jobs were insufficient to pay the bills. And I did have my own bills, starting at age 16 in the late summer of 1979, when my parents and younger brother moved to California and I remained in Salt Lake City, living in an apartment with my 17 year old sister for my senior year in high school. Dad paid the rent and tuition, but we tried to earn enough to cover the rest of our expenses.

Dreams and Goals upon leaving High School…

I was never a dreamer nor a person motivated by goal-setting. I was a more practical one-step-leads-to-another, nose-to-the-grindstone sort of person, focused on doing the present things as well as I could do them. I was not interested in any subjects in particular, and struggled to decide what direction I would take when heading into college.
I knew education was important to my parents, I had always been told by both parents to “do my best”, and I had seen that “my best” typically placed me ahead of my peers scholastically. I had been told repeatedly that I needed to be practical and be able to support myself in 4 years. I was encouraged to be and knew the need for self-reliance. So I did know I would get an education, I did know I would in fact do my best, and I did suspect that doing my best would lead me somewhere professionally and would turn out alright.
But I had no idea about what I was really capable of, no idea about what interested me (being good at many things leads to no obvious natural selections, and conversations about exploring and refining our interests or identifying and fostering aspirations never occurred at home), and no background in making choices (I did what I was told and what was expected of me growing up; at the library I struggled to pick interesting books; in restaurants I copied my sister’s order). I had limited confidence in myself, feeling inferior to my sister in just about every dimension.
I had a boyfriend in high school and I treasured the feeling of being valued in a loving relationship. But I did not have dreams of “Prince Charming” or “Mr. Right”. I assumed I would marry someday, and assumed I would have a family. But I never for a minute thought about “married life” or being a housewife or what sort of wedding I would have, or the house I would live in, etc. etc.

What is the one piece of advice would you give your younger self?

When people treat you badly, it is often a reflection of them and their struggles, not a reflection of you and your worth. Try to understand them, try to help them, and above all, love them.

Name at least one outstanding experience you have had in your life. How did this or these events affect you?

I froze on my very first word, “reed” in a school-wide spelling bee in 3rd grade. I heard the definition of “a marshland grass,” I knew I had read books that contained the word, I knew it was not spelled “read,” and I knew everyone in my family could spell it. But my nerves got the best of me; I spelled it the only other way I could think of in the moment: “REID.” It was wrong of course. My parents were taken aback, my sister sneered and shook her head, and the mistake confirmed to me (quite incorrectly) that I was in fact stupid and a disappointment to my family.

I began playing the Cornet (a short trumpet) in 5th grade and quickly came to love my time in Band, and our Band teacher. Near the end of the year, my 5th grade teacher informed me that she had selected me and one other student to give farewell speeches to the Band teacher at his retirement assembly. I told my 5th grade teacher I did not feel able to do it, and didn’t want to do it. She said, “you will do it.” I said, “I can’t memorize a speech.” She said “yes, you can and you will.” She offered no pointers, no encouragement…just a demand. The next few days were hell. I wrote a speech, worked hard to memorize it, and when the time came for me to speak, I took the podium, couldn’t do it, and ran out of the room in tears. I never got to say goodbye to the Band teacher, and my 5th grade teacher never spoke to me about the experience. It taught me (incorrectly) that I could never speak publicly.
I took piano lessons in 7th and 8th grade, which included memorizing piano solos for the recitals. At my first recital, I made some mistakes, and I breathed so deeply to calm myself while playing that my mother told me she could hear me breathing from the back of the room. It taught me (incorrectly) that I could not perform in front of others.
My senior year in high school orchestra, I played principal French Horn. I was a solid player when others were playing too, but if my part was a solo for even a few measures, my nerves got the best of me. For one concert, the orchestra teacher decided we should play Ravel´s “Pavane for a Dead Princess,” a beautiful piece with a few measures of beautiful French Horn solo in the middle. Practicing alone at home, I could play it, but in full orchestral practices at school I froze each time, leading the orchestra director to decide to pull that piece from the program. This reconfirmed to me (incorrectly) that I could not perform in front of others.
I avoided debate in high school and intended to do the same in law school, thinking there were plenty of avenues in the legal field that would not require public speaking. Much to my dismay, I learned in the second semester of my first year of law school that we all had to participate in oral arguments. The week of my argument I was ill at ease; the night before it I was in tears and my partner, a practicing lawyer, tried to console me, saying, “Blattner, you’re not 10 years old any more,” and telling me that he had fainted the first time he spoke in the courtroom and he had managed to live through it. The morning of the argument, I couldn’t eat, and the half-hour before, I was in the restroom with diarrhea. At the last minute, I made my way to the moot courtroom. When I opened the classroom door I saw, in horror, that the room was full of my classmates who had come to watch. I began to speak but stumbled all over myself; I asked the judge if I could please start over and he graciously said I could. I can’t remember anything else I said, and I certainly did not have a good experience.
But I did get through that oral argument, and it turned into one of the most important events in my life, because the following day I made a life-changing realization and decision: The realization? I was sick and tired of the feeling that had plagued me since 3rd grade that I could not publicly perform under pressure. The decision? I was going to overcome that weakness in myself. I vowed to become a litigator, a path that would force myself to speak publicly, and I vowed to excel at it. And I did.

*“Don’t be afraid to replace the things that drain you with things that you personally feel, deep down, will bring you more joy.”*

When in your life, so far, have you felt most confident and why?

I’d say there are two eras so far.

In my late 40s practicing law, I had achieved professional and financial success; I was well-loved and appreciated by my clients and peers and community; I had survived a divorce and had maintained a good relationship with my ex-husband; I had helped create a son whom I adored and who was kind, thoughtful, brilliant and well-loved and appreciated by his peers and teachers; I had found love again and remarried; I had navigated the difficult landscape of a stepchild with a drug addiction.
Now, in the past few years, approaching 60, I am no longer raw from the deaths of my parents in 2015 and 2016, no longer frustrated by my own elder-care-necessitated early retirement in 2016, no longer burdened with handling my parents‘ estate, and no longer exhausted by my on-going role as a trustee and guardian-of-sorts to my younger, mentally-ill brother. I now am exploring and enjoying activities that I never had enough time for before…playing the alphorn, singing in a chorus, teaching water aerobics, cooking regularly and strengthening relationships with family and friends.

How have your dreams and goals changed now that you are 40+

I now have a far better sense of who I am, what I am good at, what I am interested in, and that I am valued.

Have your core values changed over time? What do you value now?

My core values have remained the same over time: truth, reason, love, compassion, service to others and creating beauty. The difference, though, is that when I was younger I was not self-reflective enough to be able to identify and articulate these values as my motivators. They were always there, but unspoken.

Share an indulgence:

Hagen Daz pistachio ice cream

3 fingers of scotch on ice
Spending a whole day in the yard gardening
Spending an hour almost every day playing the alphorn
Texting my grown-up son

How do other people describe you or see you?

I wasn’t sure, so I asked them! Here are their descriptors: vibrant, open, genuine, compassionate, musical, the embodiment of love, formidable, compelling, exciting, sensual, penetrating intellect, patient, impatient, spontaneous, unscripted, intuitive, serious/directed, welcoming, emotive, a mentor, artist, creator, nurturing.

What is your superpower?

The ability to connect with others and feel deeply their pain and joy as well as my own.

Can you share what your favourite part of your body is? Why?

My face, shoulders, neck and collarbones area. They look pretty whether I weigh 20 pounds more or 20 pounds less.

Do you like being 40+?

Yes, actually, I loved my 40s, and I loved my 50s…in most ways, each decade has been better than the one before. There are some aspects of aging, however, that aren’t for the faint of heart…stress fractures, arthritis and memory loss (wait…did I already say memory loss? 🤣!)

How has your relationship with yourself changed as you have gotten older?

It has improved tremendously. I have come into my own, know I am strong, know I am capable, know I am loved, and love myself.

Future…

What goals/ambitions/dreams would you like to be working on that you haven’t had the opportunity to start on yet?

I feel comfortable with my current situation. My early retirement has given me time to pursue new things and I am eager to see where they will go.

What advice would you give your future self?

There is not enough of you to go around. Recognize that just because you can lead a charge, doesn’t mean that you should. Be patient and think carefully about where you want to spend your energy, which is not unlimited.

How do you think women of your generation are perceived?

I’m not sure how to answer this. In my generation, as in any, there are vast differences in life experiences which shape what is being projected and what is being perceived. I perceive most professional women of my age and 10 years either side of me are competent, driven, powerful and successful, though typically not as successful as we feel we could have been had we been men, due to systemic societal and biological challenges. Many of the women I know embraced the idea that they could balance their careers and family and “have it all“, only to discover a different reality. Many in this generation have to re-define “success” before they can find satisfaction in their journeys.

Are there any myths you would like to bust about the over 40s? If so, can you tell us about them?

I am not sure what myths are out there, so I can’t bust them for you! But if anyone says that everything goes downhill after 40, I will vehemently disagree!

What advice do you have to offer to those who are approaching mid life or those that are in mid life and perhaps struggling with it.

Sit with yourself and take the time to hear your own voices. Lean in toward the wisdom you have gained from your own life experiences. Step away from the things that take more from you than they give back to you. Don’t be afraid to replace the things that drain you with things that you personally feel, deep down, will bring you more joy.

Was there a time in your life where you felt ‘stuck’, unable to find the energy or strength to move forward or to make a big change? And if not stuck, maybe patterns of frustration, being unhappy. If you don't mind, can you share what it was & what helped you get past this road block? Were there specific tools that you used? Community? etc.

I have felt lost or overwhelmed several times in my life:

When I was 18, I was working three part-time jobs, going to college, and holding a leadership position in my Greek sorority. I found myself stretched too thin, hating my coursework and struggling to keep up with it. At the same time, I was the unwelcome target of romantic advances by one of my middle-aged professors and by a middle-aged patient at the hospital where I was working. I was trying to handle things on my own, but I was getting way behind in my classwork, doing poorly with my exams, and feeling quite depressed. I finally got up the courage to talk to someone whom I knew loved me and had my best interests at heart (my dad) to tell him what was going on and how I was feeling. With his encouragement, I quit two of my jobs, changed majors, and let my dad call both my professor and the hospital patient to tell them to leave me alone. It was very difficult to admit to myself and others that I could not handle all of these things myself, but the truth was, I couldn‘t. Confiding in my dad was absolutely the right move; with his practical and decisive approach, he helped me readjust my load, refocus my priorities and get back on track. My message? Share your burdens with those that love you, and accept their help.
When I was 35, I got divorced. It came on the heels of my mother-in-law‘s death; my husband fell into a depression and decided he wanted to be single. I managed fine emotionally, believing I was not to blame for the failure of the marriage. Two years later, however, when a new love relationship I was in became quite difficult and ended, my foundational belief that I could be a successful life partner to someone unraveled. I had trouble focusing on my legal work and found myself crying often and at inopportune times, without provocation. When it happened in front of my mentor at the law firm, she suggested that I see a therapist for a few months. She also suggested I explore temporary use of an antidepressant. She told me she had taken one for about a year when she was in a very difficult period of life and that doing so had permitted her to feel like her normal capable self again—a person with enough strength to handle her personal, career and family responsibilities—while she underwent therapy to work through the issues that were undermining her. Ultimately, she was able to move forward without the need for further therapy or drugs. I took her suggestions to heart. I saw a therapist, Lynn, regularly for a few months. She diagnosed me as being clinically depressed and supported my decision to try a low dose of antidepressants. In our sessions, she was a wonderful sounding board and helped me regain my confidence. She felt like a true friend. She helped me develop better tools for self-reflection and gain perspective on my issues. I stopped seeing Lynn after a few months, empowered by the knowledge that I was making good progress and that I could visit her for a checkup/tuneup if I got overwhelmed again. I stopped taking antidepressants after 18 months, empowered by the knowledge that, for me, the drugs were an effective temporary tool. Over the next 15 years, I never needed antidepressants again, but I did see Lynn 3 or 4 more times, and each time it helped tremendously. My message? Strong and capable people are not invincible. They are human. When you feel overwhelmed, and you have tried the things you know should help you but they don’t fix it, don’t be afraid or ashamed to get professional help. Therapy and drugs are not a cop-out. They do not solve your problems… you solve your problems…they just help you find solid footing while you do it.