You can call me Robin, like the bird 🪶

Tolometry (noun) 
Pronunciation: tuh-LAH-mih-tree
Definition: transmission of poetry and other creative musings by Robin Tolochko

For as long as I can remember, most things came easily to me.

In first grade, I was declared “gifted” and sent to hang with Ms. Parmalee once a week (absolutely the best day of my week). Back in Mrs. Kelley’s class, I was usually the first to finish the Mad Minute math worksheets, tearing through 30 basic addition problems in less than a minute. I scored 100% on our weekly class spelling pre-tests, so I got to make up my own spelling lists. To this day, I can spell “P-T-E-R-O-D-A-C-T-Y-L” faster than you can say it.

As I got older, I hated when classmates would ask what my grade was because it was usually an A and people didn’t like when someone else got a better grade than them. I wasn’t just smart though. I was sweet and kind and respectful and respected and got along with 99% of people. I was tiny with a disproportionate amount of hair for my adorable face. I was an asset to any sports team (despite regularly being underestimated due to my stature and gender) and I won state competitions for piano composition in elementary school.

And yet, from a young age, a persistent voice in my head echoed: “You’re not ________ enough.”

My inner critic was harsh and loud. It always knew what was best, and no matter what I did, it wasn’t enough.

I wasn’t enough.

the day I was born

so much hair + suburban 80s outfit

to this day when I'm holding a ball I want to throw it (or hug it)

it will surprise no one that from a young age I loved to lead

At age 37, I uncovered previously repressed trauma, which led me to take an emergency medical leave of absence from work when I sank into deep depression. After a couple of months lying in bed reading old journals from high school, weekly therapy, and the occasional water aerobics class, I knew that I needed more help and enrolled in an outpatient mental health program to get holistic treatment. For three months, all-day-every-day Monday through Friday, I was engaging in some form of therapy. I can’t imagine where I would be now without it.

That is how I found myself in a group therapy class called, “Art and the Inner Critic.”

Kenzie opened class with a meditation, then told us about that day’s prompt: we were to create a tree to represent the story of ourselves. Per usual, she reminded us that when our inner critic popped up while we were working, to gently talk back to it.

As my inner critic came up for the umpteenth time that day, I said to myself: “ENOUGH! I am enough and I’ve had enough of this asshole occupying my brain. I don’t want to live with an asshole in my head for the rest of my life.” That day I took one step towards evolving that harsh inner critic into an inner coach.

Instead of a voice that reminded me of all the ways I was failing, I wanted a voice that showed me all the ways I was thriving — even when I couldn’t see it myself. I wanted an inner coach who would get on the ground to do a plank with me and motivate me to hold it long past I thought possible. I wanted an inner coach who was kind but not nice; I didn’t want a coach who would go too easy on me. I wanted an inner coach who could grab my attention when she needed, who would push me to find out what I was truly capable of, and celebrate my wins. I wanted an inner coach to help me keep going when I didn’t think I could anymore and who also knew the importance of rest. I wanted an inner coach who would respect me and raucously laugh with me. I wanted an inner coach who made me believe I was capable of anything. I wanted an inner coach who fucked up and then owned her mistakes. And when I inevitably fucked up too, I wanted her to help me understand that I was still enough, as a human being. No matter what.

Part of me believed that that voice existed inside me. I had heard it before, it just spoke really softly.

So here I am, working to make my inner coach louder.

For so long, I believed that my primary value was my Brain. I was trained to perform and excel and outwit and win. More recently, I’ve come to realize that my Brain is nothing without my Body. Combined they comprise my Being. My desire to create a home on the internet for myself stems from a desire to put my full Being out into the world, blending the artificial line between “personal” and “professional.”

That said, I do work to pay the bills, and I also happen to love what I do. After early career stints in the non-profit world, starting up a small handmade leather goods business, and working as a cartographer (yes, that’s still a job that exists), I now work as Lead Product Manager for Learn at Quizlet. I get to wake up every (week)day and work with a kickass team to make learning more effective, efficient, and fun.

In a typical week you might find me: biking my youngest to preschool along the Beltline; hosting a raucous house party for my Jewish community; discussing with my therapist whether I’m ready to move into trauma healing or whether to wait; sleeping past 9am on Saturday morning and luxuriating in bed thanks to screen time for my three kids; putzing around my backyard; soaking in the hot tub with my husband; and beyond giving up on responding to emails.

I have many superpowers, but the one I’m most proud of at work and in life is asking the question or saying the thing that everyone is thinking but too afraid to vocalize. I used to think I wasn’t afraid, but that was just because I hadn’t yet learned how to actually feel my feelings.

Now I know that I’m terrified every single time I say the thing out loud, but I do it anyway. Like I tell my kids: “You can’t have courage without fear.”

–Robin Tolochko

”Anger is a tool for change when it challenges us to become more of an expert on the self and less of an expert on others.”

Harriet Lerner, “The Dance of Anger”