Angels Among Us

I woke up this morning just as I have for most mornings since Willa was born last August...completely exhausted to my core.  I rarely get more than five hours of sleep each night; and rarely do those five hours happen consecutively.  Some nights she will wake up every hour and some nights she will wake up and be up for 2-3 hours.  We've tried a variety of things to help her sleep through the night, but alas, nothing has worked.  So, now, we are purely surviving until this stage passes.

One of the side effects of sleep deprivation is that my emotions are laid bare right on the surface.  At its worst this manifests as anger, which can show itself in the form of rage directed at my children. This leads to shame and guilt and unending worry...and also an unending stream of apologies.  This, my friends is not healthy, and I am wholly unashamed to reveal that I am again seeing a psychologist to help me work through what I now know is moderate to severe postpartum anxiety.  Here I was looking around the corner, expecting and preparing for a return of my postpartum depression, when ol' postpartum anxiety came in from the opposite direction and wrapped itself around me like "a boa constrictor, a boa constrictor, a boa constrictor...and I don't like it one bit."

And while this is a chapter in my life that is proving to be one of the most difficult yet, it is not without its silver linings.  With my emotions laid bare, I'm also finding that when I'm at my most exhausted, my guard falls, and my heart is at its most open and raw.  And when your heart is open, miraculous things can happen.  And that's just what happened this morning...something miraculous.

It's important, first, to back track to yesterday evening.  I was outside on our porch with the girls and Ike when I noticed a handmade plant stake in one of the potted plants that hadn't been there a few days ago when I had watered.

As you can see, it reads "Mija."  I guessed (correctly, I might add, based on a story I had just read to Bea where the little boy was called "mijo" by his mother or grandmother) that "mija" means "daughter" in Spanish.  I had an idea of where it came from...my sweet friend Laura Parish makes these and is known to leave gifts on our front porch.  I didn't, however, know why she left this particular stake.

I had every intention of sending her a thank you text, but the girls distracted me and I forgot.  So, I was delighted when I received a text from her this morning explaining the "mija" plant stake.  She has been making these stakes for the Day of the Dead saying she liked "the idea of remembering the dearly departed, but not going as far as an all out Ofrenda."  She had given me this stake as a tribute to Helen (and for those who may not know who Helen is, she is my daughter who was stillborn 4 1/2 years ago).  With an already raw and open heart, you can imagine that it begin to ache for Helen in what I can only describe as a purely joyous appreciation for her having existed and for getting to share the short time I had with her.  

So, with Helen occupying my thoughts, I opened the back door and looked down to see this:

The knowing in the deepest part of my soul cried out that this was from Helen.  Not only was it from Helen, but it was her way of telling me that everything is okay; that everything is going to be okay. That she's always with me.

People, our angels are among us.  Our loved ones who have passed.  Our spirit guides.  They are there.  And sometimes it takes a raw heart, a heart raw from hurting, to help us see what is always right there in front of us.  I don't wish for you to have a heart raw from hurt, but I do hope that each of you has an open heart ready to receive all of the miraculous gifts the universe has to give.  

A Day Like Today

Do you ever have those days where your heart literally aches for the past? Or those days where everything seems just right? There was just something about today that made me simultaneously nostalgic and utterly grateful for exactly where I am.  What was it that made today so special?  From an outsider's point of view it probably would have looked like a relatively routine day:

Bea woke us up around 7:30am.  

I made breakfast (which took Bea about an hour to finish..seriously...it was just a bowl of yogurt with strawberries and granola), started a load of diapers and swept, vacuumed the house and hung up aforementioned diapers.  

Bea and I went to the library for about an hour and then came home to eat lunch with Ike.  

She took a nice two hour nap which gave me time to organize all of my digital photos and files.  

When she finally did wake up, we had a snack and then headed off to the pool.  

About 5pm, we came home; Bea hung out with Ike outside while I cooked dinner.  

We read a few books while our salmon patties cooled down and after dinner I watered flowers and then the three of us relaxed on the front porch.  

And finally, bath time for Bea and then off to bed.

See, pretty routine.  Some might even say boring.  So, again, why did today stand out to me?

Well, it really didn't, until I started reflecting on it while I was cooking dinner.  I started thinking about what a beautiful, fleeting time it is in our life: Ike (our sole breadwinner) has an abundance of work coming in...work he thoroughly enjoys. Bea is challenging us in every way, but remains an endless source of joy throughout the day and amazes me almost constantly.  She wants to be with me all the time...helping me, hugging me, cuddling with me, and I know that this won't last much longer.  My pregnancy is winding down into its last two months; a pregnancy that will be my last, and as someone who loves being pregnant, it is really an awe-inspiring time to be in this body.  The light is really shining on our family right now.

(Photo by Mary Lundberg of Bloom Photography)

Are our days perfect?  Um, no...far from it.  Ike and I annoy each other pretty regularly, and have our fair share of matrimonial woes that I won't get into here.  Bea has perfected the art of the high pitched little girl scream and pushes my buttons as frequently as Ike does.  She is a stubborn, independent little cuss.  The political climate in our country, the struggles of those in need and those suffering unbearable oppression here and around the world, weigh heavily on us almost constantly.

But they are beautiful in their messy imperfectness.  And from an insider's perspective they are anything but boring...they are punctuated by the small miracles of everyday life:

When Bea wakes up, I can always hear the pitter patter of her feet coming into our bedroom.  I hoist her up into bed and she curls up between Ike and I.  And in those early moments of the morning, no matter how uncomfortable I slept, or how much Ike snored during the night, it's just the three of us, all soft and warm from sleep.

And no matter how long it takes Bea to eat, or how much she messes around, we have food to feed her, healthy food even, and we never have to hear her cry from hunger pains or look into her eyes and tell her we have nothing to give her.

And no matter how often an argument arises between Ike and I in the morning, there is always unending, unconditional love beneath it.

While walking into the library, an elderly man held open the door for Bea and I and told me that seeing us brought back memories of when his mother took him to the library when he was young.  This filled my heart with so much joy for him and with the hope that Bea will have these special memories when she is old and I am long gone.

While Bea was eating her snack, I put on my swimming suit to get ready to go to the pool and it smelled exactly the same way my swimming suit smelled when I was a kid.  I closed my eyes and I was 10-years-old again, swimming with my brother and sister at the Braman pool and riding in the boat with my family and James, Kay and Jenny Ryan, my hair whipping in the wind.

I got to cook a simple, healthy meal for my family and see the man I love the most caring so sweetly for our daughter while a new life moved around inside of me.

While Bea and I were reading on the couch, she said to me, "You're a good mama."

Surrounded by the beauty of our garden, we got to spend a quite evening outside just enjoying each other's company and breaking the stillness of our neighborhood with laughter.

When I get nostalgic for my own childhood, these are the kinds of moments that overwhelm me with joy and gratitude.  It's rarely the big events like our trip to Disneyland when I was little, and it's never the things we had or didn't have, that I look back on.  It's always the little moments with my loved ones: playing hide-n-seek after dark with my mom, my dad and my brother and sister; laughing in my grandparents' basement with my cousins; swimming at Drury with my friends; or riding bikes down a dusty, country road.

And I know, in 20 or 30 years it will be days like today that take my breath away, and I'm filled with gratitude for the chance to live a life that has and continues to give me these moments.

The World is Not Impressed By Me

This morning I was hiding out in the bathroom amidst a motherhood/marriage meltdown and needed a little mindless distraction, so naturally I scanned through Facebook.  I came upon an article a friend had posted from Time.com: Wondering What Happened to Your Class Valedictorian? Not Much, Research Shows.  As a class Valedictorian (one of five actually), I was, of course, interested to find out how, exactly, I have managed to amount to “not much” in my life.

Someone should warn her!!

There was much in the article that I did agree with: that schools do favor students who follow the rules, that “academic grades correlate only loosely with intelligence,” and that grades are an “excellent predictor of self-discipline, conscientiousness, and the ability to comply with rules.”  Schools are in the business of getting kids to fall in line and to conform to what society wants of them.  However, there are those schools, and those teachers, who try to go against this system and encourage their students to think outside the box and to challenge the status quo.  As a former high school teacher, myself, I have seen many teachers in both camps, almost all of whom were dedicating their lives, and hearts, to their students and doing the best that they could…but I digress.

The article goes on to state that most valedictorians are “extremely well rounded and successful, personally and professionally, but they’ve never been devoted to a single area in which they put all their passion,” and that they are “reliable, consistent, and well-adjusted, and by all measures the majority have good lives,” but that many of these things are not “usually a recipe for eminence.”  

Um, guess what?  Not everyone wants to be “eminent.”  Many people are happy being well rounded and pouring their energy into many different causes and interests rather than pursuing one singular passion.  And, guess what else?  Some people are perfectly happy to pour themselves into one singular passion for the pure joy of realizing that passion without seeking fame or glory. 

As someone who has never had just one singular passion, I know how fulfilling it can be to not devote yourself to “one single area.”  I’ve found so much joy in photography, gardening, cooking, weaving, yoga, sewing and countless other interests that I can’t imagine picking just one.  I know that I will never be an expert at any one of these things, but I’m filled with gratitude and wonder every time I get to engage in one of these activities.  And as a life-long learner I spend countless hours reading up on subjects that interest me and losing myself in great works of literature.  I also know that none of these things will lead to riches or fame.  But what they do lead to, is a happy heart and a stronger connection with others with whom I’m able to share these things.

The problem, to me, is that our society constantly equates success with money, power, fame…eminence.  Not all people aspire to those things, and not all people equate them with success.  Does that make them unsuccessful just because they don’t adhere to what society expects them to want or to strive for?  Is having a “good life” just not good enough if you can’t prove it with a bank statement or flaunt it through powerful connections and notoriety?

The author also lets us know that basically none of the high performers in high school go on to “change the world, run the world or impress the world.”  

First of all, just because someone isn’t finding the cure for cancer or running a country doesn’t mean they aren’t changing the world.  The people I know who are changing the world do it by changing their world: donating time and money to worthy organizations, writing letters to their legislative representatives, spending time loving and learning from their loved ones, teaching children, saving lives as nurses and doctors, fighting for the rights of the oppressed, speaking out against hate, intolerance and ignorance, and raising their children to be kind, compassionate, humble, joyful human beings.  And frankly, if the world isn’t impressed by that, then the world can go fuck itself, because frankly I’m not that impressed with the world right now anyway.  

In the eyes of this author, I, too, would fit into the findings of the study: I was a high school valedictorian.  I had about a 3.4 GPA in college and I went on to a professional career as a teacher.  I feel like I’m “reliable, consistent and well-adjusted” and live a good life.  I don't run the world or apparently impress it.  I’m not at the “top of adult achievement arenas”.  I’m not a visionary. I don’t shake up the system.

But here’s what any study would fail to see and what this study would fail to recognize and celebrate: that I am someone who cares deeply about her friends and family and tries to show it and express it as much as possible; someone who finds so much beauty in her everyday life that it sometimes overwhelms her; someone who is always trying to better herself by learning about the world, the lives of others, the teachings of others and coming to a better understanding of herself; someone who does everything she can to protect and honor the earth; someone who values humility, compassion, empathy and respect; someone who is working her butt off to instill humility, compassion, empathy and respect in her daughter; someone who is sincerely trying to make the lives of others better.

The older I get, and the more I learn and grow, the less money, fame and notoriety mean to me (if they ever really meant anything), and the more the above mentioned things fill my life and my heart with joy.  Some, like the author of the Time.com piece, may call this a mediocre life absent of “earthshaking accomplishments” (read this article!!!! What if All I Want is a Mediocre Life?), but I think it’s quite extraordinary.

If I can stop one Heart from breaking

I shall no live in vain

If I can ease one Life the Aching

Or cool one Pain

Or help one fainting Robin

Unto his Nest again

I shall not live in vain.

-Emily Dickinson

Magic in the Madness

Every night after Bea goes to sleep I settle down on the couch and begin catching myself up on the happenings of the day.  I peruse NPR, The Washington Post, The New York Times, The New Yorker, The Atlantic, our local Manhattan Mercury and every now and then, just to see what's being said on "the other side"... Fox News.  In the last few months or so, after the election and especially after the inauguration, it has obviously been extra depressing.  It feels like every value I hold, every cause I support, is being desecrated by our current administration.

In my own small way, I've tried to make a difference...donating to a variety of organizations and causes that seem most vulnerable in our current political climate and throwing a dinner party/fundraiser to support Planned Parenthood.  I know it's not much, but if everyone did a little, it would equal a lot.  Could I do more? Yes.  Am I doing the best I can right now? Yes.

So, blah, blah, blah, it's all a big depressing mess.

Pile on top of that finding out I'm pregnant and almost immediately being plunged into pretty awful all-day nausea and an upswing of my postpartum depression all while taking care of an almost 2-year-old and an almost 39-year-old.  Yeah, I know, woe-is-me.  But it felt pretty shitty.  And I promise I have a point in whining about this (I have to build up the "madness" to help you fully appreciate the "magic").

So, a few weeks ago, with all of this weighing heavily on my heart, I traveled to Omaha for my seventh weekend (out of 9) of yoga teacher training.  On Saturday afternoon, we were treated to a field trip of sorts by getting to take part in a cacao ceremony at another yoga studio.  For those not familiar (I wasn't either before I actually attended one):

When you consume cacao prepared for ceremony using high quality raw cacao beans, all the mood enhancing neurochemicals in cacao become particularly active. There is increased blood flow and nutrition to the brain, heart and skin, the whole body is nourished, awareness and focus is heightened and sensations are intensified.

The context of the ceremony is a safe and beautiful space that supports meditation (reflection and connection to the “larger aspects of yourself”). This creates a rare opportunity to explore and sit with the stories of the heart and to identify areas that are causing you restriction, limitation and pain. You have the chance to relax deeply and receive insights, inspiration and creative ideas that can give you a clarity on the “next steps” of your life and where you can support your overall health.

Many people report a deep sense of joy and peace, a connection to something bigger than themselves as well as insights of limiting behaviors, thoughts and feelings that are able to be understood and released within the safe environment of the ceremony (from cacao ceremonies.com)

There were about 25-30 of us in attendance at this particular ceremony.  We were each given cups of raw cacao to drink throughout the almost two hour ceremony, which consisted of blessing the cacao, some intense bonding experiences, singing, chanting, dancing and sharing.  

But before I go any further with this part of the story, I have to backtrack a little.  

For those of you who may not know, in May 2014 I was driving to work when a car pulled out in front of me on the highway causing an accident that resulted in the stillbirth of my daughter, Helen, with whom I was five months pregnant.  About three months later, I found out I was pregnant with my daughter Beatrice.  While I was pregnant, I had a dream that a man came to me and told me that the baby I was carrying (Beatrice) would be a healing for me. 

Okay, back to present day and the cacao ceremony.  So, the first "ice breaker" activity we participated in was a super intense, insanely beautiful experience, where everyone walked around the room, and when you made eye contact with someone, you put your hands on each others' shoulders, looked deep into each others eyes and inhaled and exhaled, one time, together, and no one could say a word the entire time.  We had to continue to do this until we had breathed together with each person there.  I made my way around the room and then came to a man who I had never seen or met before.  We put our hands on each others' shoulders and I looked into his eyes.  And every fiber of my being exploded... it was him...the man from my dream.  The man who told me Bea would be a healing for me.  I stared into his eyes wondering how this could even be possible!?  I continued on through the rest of the activity, making some beautiful connections with strangers and friends, all the while wondering what I should say...what I should do!  Or should I even say or do anything!?

Well, the universe, my dear friends, takes care of many things for us.

For our next exercise we had to find a partner, preferably someone we didn't know at all or very well. We were to sit crossed-legged in front of each other, knees touching knees.  One person would have three minutes to say whatever they wanted or needed to say and the other person couldn't react with as much as a head nod or the slightest touch.  After the three minutes were up, the next person would go.  As fate would have it, the man from my dream approached me and asked if I would like to partner up.  With my heart beating out of my chest, I agreed.

I went first and told him, sobbing, about what happened with Helen, about Beatrice, about the dream and that he was the man who came to me in the dream.  I can't really put into words what he shared with me, just that he thanked me over and over and had many profound things to say to me.  After our time together was up, we embraced and each went on to enjoy the rest of the ceremony.

I can't really tell you what it all meant; why at that moment this man appeared to me in person.  The universe has yet to reveal to me what the purpose of this whole experience was or is.  But the magic remains.  My belief in magic remains.  My belief in the beauty of life and the goodness of human kind remains.

Maybe that was the only meaning I needed.

Let There Be Light

When I gave this speech back in May, I had no idea how much I would need these words, these sentiments, now and in the coming months and years; how much we would all need them.  In what, to me, seems like a world suddenly cast into the darkness, I choose light.  I choose to love, respect, support and lift up my fellow (wo)man.  I choose to believe in the inherent goodness in us and I send out to the universe a prayer that all of us find that goodness, that light, in ourselves and in others.  

                        The light within me honors the light within each of you.

           Blue Valley High School Graduation, 2016, Randolph, Kansas

Once I had accepted the invitation to be here today, the first questions I asked myself were,  “What wisdom have I gathered about life in my 30+ years on planet Earth?” “What do I know about the human experience?” “What does it really mean to be human?”  “What does it really mean to be a good human?” “What are we all here for?”  “What does it all mean?!”  Yes.  I ask a lot of questions.

I looked deep within myself, mulled it over, sifted through everything I believe to be true and came to the conclusion that humanity, as in kindness shown to ourselves, to other people, to all living things and to the earth is what this human experience is all about.  Within the concept of humanity, I have discovered that the most important elements are gratitude, humility, empathy, compassion and forgiveness.  And these elements are what I’m going to open up to you today.

Gandhi said, “The greatness of humanity is not in being human, but in being humane.”  Often times when we think about offering up sentiments like empathy, compassion or forgiveness we think of them in the context of being empathetic, compassionate or forgiving to the ones we love, which is an extremely important aspect of being humane.  However, I propose that it is just as important to practice these aspects as they apply to people we, maybe don’t like so much, people we don’t really understand or people who we feel have wronged us in some way.  The only thing that makes these people “different” from our loved ones is that we haven’t yet begun to practice opening ourselves up to the elements of our humanity where they are concerned.  When we look at them we see an “other.” This is when we need to reach deep within ourselves for our gratitude, for our humility, for our empathy and compassion and for our ability to forgive.  Because, in truth, there is no “other”.  There is only us.  We humans, taking part in this human experience.  We all breathe the same air.  We all share the same Earth.  And we all just want to be happy.  And in this search for happiness we all crave connections.  It is through these five elements of humanity that we will find those connections we long for.

Okay, that’s all well and good, but what do these things really look like?  What do they really mean?  (See, more questions!) Well, like any good English teacher, I started researching.  I picked the virtual brains of religious leaders and gurus, as well as the minds of great secular thinkers.  I took what I found and reflected upon it, internalized it, digested it.  And this is what I discovered: you have to start in a place of gratitude.  In this place, the seeds of humility, empathy, compassion and forgiveness can be planted, nurtured and grow into a path that you can follow for your whole life. 

Gratitude starts with slowing down, opening our eyes, opening our hearts, listening and realizing that this moment is a gift; that every moment we have on Earth is a gift. It starts by taking inventory of all we have, every day, to be thankful for.  We have clean air to breath, fresh water to drink, beating hearts and people in our lives who love us.  When we operate from a place of true gratefulness, we are able to see that what we have, truly is enough. When we take the time to fully appreciate what we have and who we are, we are more apt to take care of ourselves.  The same principle applies with how we interact with other humans and with nature.  When we recognize and are thankful for the people we come in contact with every day we can begin to build authentic connections with them.  When we spend time in nature and take time to wonder at it in all its glory, we are more likely to take care of it.  These actions help us cultivate an awareness that will allow humility to flourish.

Someone once declared that “there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance…it’s called humility.”  I feel that in our current society, humility is a quality that often gets overlooked or even looked down upon.  I think we need to take it upon ourselves to bring it back into fashion.  I think we need to recognize and celebrate humility when we see it in ourselves and in others.  In doing so I think we will find, as William Temple the Archbishop of Canterbury said, that “humility does not mean thinking less of yourself than other people, nor does it mean having a low opinion of your own gifts.  It means freedom from thinking about yourself at all.”  It means recognizing that each one of us was put on this Earth for a purpose.  It means recognizing that it’s our life’s work to find that purpose and use it to help others.  

I want each of you to think about what your goals are.  What is your ultimate career goal?  What is it you want to do with your life?  What is your passion?  Now, think about how you can use your unique talents to help others no matter what your passion is, no matter what career path you follow.  Within your work you can ask “How can I help?” instead of “What’s in it for me?”  Because when you are able to be of service to others by doing what you love, “what’s in it for you” is moving beyond simple happiness to true joy and fulfillment. 

Once we have turned our focus inward to find gratitude and then back out to meet the world with humility, we can develop true empathy and compassion.

We must acknowledge that every one of us has a story.  Every one of us has faced or is facing hardship.  Only we can know what our own hardship feels like.  There is no real way of knowing for sure what another person’s hardship feels like.  Writer Azar Nafisi asserts that “the biggest sin is to be blind to others’ problems and pains.  Not seeing them means denying their existence.”  We can only listen, comfort and try to understand; understand that none of us is separate from one another’s suffering, just as none of us is separate from one another’s joy.  This understanding is how we truly build connections with one another.  This understanding is how we come to know that we are all connected; that all we have to do is look another person in the eye.  Really look at them.  When you really start to look at people and really see them, really see who they are, it can feel like your heart is going to explode from so much beauty.  Thoreau gets it exactly right when he asked, “Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other’s eyes for an instant?

But we can’t stop at recognizing and trying to understand others’ suffering; we must also aspire to transform it through compassion.  True compassion is not easy; it takes real strength and an open heart.  It lives within each of us already, we just need to set it in motion.  It starts by seeing beauty in the “other”, not just what needs helping.  And where our loved ones are concerned, it starts with just being present.

We must also find a collective compassion for the Earth or as Albert Einstein suggests, “our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”  We must create and cultivate a symbiotic relationship with the Earth, not just for us, but for the generations that come after us.  It belongs to all of us; for, as Imam Ja’far al Sadiq insists “there is no joy in life unless three things are available: clean, fresh air, abundant pure water, and fertile land.”

Finding ourselves full of empathy and compassion can naturally lead to a heart willing to forgive.     The anger and animosity that overtakes us when we can’t find the strength to forgive will pollute our spirit and poison our soul.  I know, personally, how the power of forgiveness can affect one’s spirt and soul.  A few years ago I suffered a very tragic loss because of the choices made by another person.  It would have been easy to stay angry, but I chose a path of forgiveness; a path that wasn’t easy. But, once I decided to forgive, my heart opened up and I felt more at peace than I ever had in my life.  This allowed me to be fully present to grieve and heal.  There is a Tibetan Buddhist story about two monks who encounter each other some years after being released from prison where they had been tortured by their captors.  “Have you forgiven them?” asks the first.  “I will never forgive them!  Never!” replies the second.  “Well, I guess they still have you in prison, don’t they?” the first says.  We must find a way to forgive those who have wronged us, or risk spending our lives never truly free.

None of these things are easy to do.  It takes time, dedication and effort.  We are human, so we will never be perfect, but the point isn’t perfection.  The point is effort.  When you make the effort and start seeing change, you’ll notice how it uplifts everyone around you.

Doctor and writer Rachel Naomi Remen has shared a beautiful story that her grandfather shared with her, a story rooted in the Jewish religion.  And I want to share it with you because it encapsulates everything I’ve talked about today: “In the beginning there was only the holy darkness, the Ein Sof, the source of life.  And then, in the course of history, at a moment in time, this world, the world of a thousand, thousand things, emerged from the heart of the holy darkness as a great ray of light.  And then, there was an accident, and the vessels containing the light of the world, the wholeness of the world, broke.  And the wholeness of the world, the light of the world was scattered into a thousand, thousand fragments of light, and they fell into all events and all people, where they remain deeply hidden until this very day.”  And according to Dr. Remen’s grandfather, “the whole human race is a response to this accident.  We are here because we are born with the capacity to find the hidden light in all events and all people, to lift it up and make it visible once again and thereby to restore the innate wholeness of the world.  And this task is called tikkun olam in Hebrew.  It’s the restoration of the world.

As we leave here today ready to do our part to “restore the world” I would like to leave you with a Peace Prayer which is an adaptation of a famous mantra from the Hindu Upanishads :

Lead me from death to life, from falsehood to truth.

Lead me from despair to hope, from fear to trust.

Lead me from hate to love, from war to peace.

Let peace fill our hearts, our world, our universe.

Peace.  Peace.  Peace.

May peace, light and joy fill each one of your hearts and may gratitude, humility, empathy, compassion, and forgiveness guide each of you through life.

Motherhood Musings: Postpartum Depression

Everyone tells you how wonderful it is to be a mother, but no one really tells you how hard it will be, and it’s impossible to really know how hard until you’re knee deep in it. 

The first few days after Bea was born, I was in heaven.  I felt confident, radiant and peaceful.  But gradually the euphoria wore off and reality set in.  I became a crying milk-machine still carrying around the after effects of gaining 40 pounds during pregnancy.  Don’t get me wrong, I was utterly in love with her, but that doesn’t change the fact that postpartum depression showed up and is still rearing its ugly head.

Every day is different.  Some days I feel happy and confident; on these days I feel totally in tune with her and we sail through the day.  Many days though find me crying in the rocking chair while trying to get her to take a nap, knowing the nap will only last about 30 minutes and she won’t want another one until 3 or so hours later.  Or you might find me in tears desperately trying to find something in my closet that makes me feel good about myself, that fits and that I’m able to nurse in.  Or you might find me sitting at the kitchen table weeping because I haven’t gotten anything done and I’m afraid that Ike will get home and wonder what I’ve been doing all day (even though he has assured me that he doesn’t think this).  See a theme here?

There have been many, many times that I have questioned whether or not Bea and Ike would be better off without me, and many, many times I have wondered how permanently my sadness or anger have affected Bea.  Every morning I wake up and promise myself that I will stay calm and patient, and focus on everything I have to be grateful for.  Some days I hold on to this all day, some days I make it a couple of hours.

I’ve heard from friends and seen comments on social media that, hey, it gets easier.  I loathe this comment because that isn’t always true, and when it isn’t true, when it gets harder, it only makes that mom (me) feel even worse; like I’m doing something wrong.

This is also why I’ve quit reading any books on baby anything and quit looking things up online.  If I don’t match up, or Bea doesn’t match up with what is “supposed to be” it only serves to make me feel like I am failing her in some way, which I know in my heart isn’t true.  There are times when I know I’m a good mom, but then it gets clouded over with doubt and insecurities.

Postpartum depression is real and it is incredibly hard to live with.  It makes you feel weak and ashamed and guilty.  And worst of all, it makes you feel like a bad mom.  It helps to have loved ones around who really care about your well-being, a partner who is reassuring, loving, supportive and non-judgmental, and other mothers who are honest about the realities of motherhood.

I know that I will eventually make it through this, I just have to keep looking at Bea’s smile and how happy she is and how happy she makes people when they see her smile; I just have to keep looking at Bea and how healthy and bright she is; and I just have to keep reminding myself that I am a good mom even if I don’t always feel like it and even if I don’t always believe it.  I know I’ll continue to make mistakes and I’m probably not doing things the way you’re “supposed to”, but I’m doing the best I can and I’ve just got to hold on to that.

—-I hope that by sharing this it helps even one mom out there feel less alone.  If you are scared or sad or angry and need someone to talk to, I would be glad to listen.  I’m still in the thick of it, too, and know how lonely it can feel.  If not me, please talk to someone or even write down how you are feeling.  It helps to put it out there.  Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable especially with those who love you.  There is no shame in feeling this way.  Remember that.—-

—-Also, if someone confides in you that she is suffering from postpartum depression, she probably just wants someone to listen to her; she doesn’t necessarily want advice.  Sometimes giving her advice can make her feel even worse.  Just be an ear.—-

Pregnant Musings

With my due date only 2 1/2 weeks away I felt compelled to get a few things off my chest so that I may go into labor and experience the birth of our child with a clear head and open heart.  I want to make sure that I don’t have any unresolved issues or hang ups that could impede or slow down the natural birth process.  I also want our baby to be born into a calm, positive, peaceful environment.  

So, on that note, I just want to share a few questions I have been routinely asked throughout the last handful of months and why they have been difficult for me to answer honestly.  In short, this is my attempt to finally answer them honestly.  This is mostly for myself; a kind of therapeutic release, but I also hope that in sharing my experience that it may shine a light on something for someone else out there.

First question (asked more recently as I enter the last part of pregnancy): “Aren’t you ready for it to be over?”

How I usually answer: Oh, I still feel pretty good.  The baby will come when he/she is ready.

What I really want to say: As excited as I am to meet our baby, I’m really going to miss being pregnant.  I will never get to be this close to my child again, especially in such a profound and intimate way.  Each pregnancy, for each woman is experienced in such a unique way; it’s heartbreaking that this once-in-a-lifetime experience will be over soon.   Of course the reward will be mind-blowingly awesome, but after being pregnant for so long, one’s identity becomes increasing wrapped up in being “the pregnant one”.  Everyone is kinder and more generous with you, and unfortunately, in our society, that doesn’t really carry over to a woman once she is a mother.  Pregnant women are met with smiles and warmth, while mothers are often met with eye rolls and judgement.  Instead of becoming anxious and impatient, I’m really just trying to revel in this beautiful, blissful experience (swollen ankles, sore back and all)!  I try to remind myself every day that, yes, the baby will come when he/she and my body are ready, and in the mean time, I should soak up every second of this divine closeness with this brand new soul.

        Photo by K. Bree Walker Photography

Second question (especially if the person asking finds out that I’m giving birth at home): “Aren’t you scared/nervous/worried about the pain/(or any other negative perceptions about birth)?”

How I usually answer:  No, not really.  I’m actually pretty excited.

What I really want to say:  If you had any idea what my previous birth experience was like, and the fact that I made it through that, you would know that nothing else could scare me/make me nervous/or worry me.  You see, nosy stranger, a little under a year ago I had to give birth to my stillborn daughter.  After a man who was tweeked out on meth pulled out in front of me on the highway, causing a serious car accident, I had to find out in the hospital later that night that, at 22 weeks pregnant, I had lost our baby.  Over the next twelve hours, I had to have a pill digitally inserted into my cervix every few hours to induce labor, and then lay flat on my back for another hour while it dissolved.  When that didn’t work I was given Pitocin, which is a synthetic form of Oxytocin, also to induce labor.  Pitocin increases the severity and strength of your contractions beyond what you can imagine (especially when they crank the dosage up to an ungodly level).  When the pain from the Pitcocin combined with the pain from the injuries I sustained from the accident became too much, I was convinced to get an epidural, which literally, temporarily paralyzed me from the waist down.  The paralysis from the epidural was worse than the contractions from the Pitocin, but worse than all of it, was the emotional pain of knowing that all of this was happening so I could give birth, for the first time, to a child who would not be coming home with me.  Soon after receiving the epidural, the baby was born, and Ike and I found out we had a daughter, who we named Helen.

This experience turned out to be the exact opposite of the quiet, serene home birth we had been planning for Helen.  So, now as we inch closer to the quiet, serene home birth we are planning for our second child, I can assure you, that if I can get through the above scenario, and come out of it in one piece, I can damn well get through anything, especially something as beautiful and awe-inspiring as a natural birth.

Photo courtesy of The Manhattan Mercury

Third question, and by far the hardest to answer: “Is this your first?”

How I usually answer: Yes.

What I really want to say:  Actually, no.  If I’m going to be honest with you, this is my third pregnancy, but no, I don’t have any other children at home to show for it.  You see, about two years ago I had a miscarriage—on my honeymoon—when I was four weeks along.  Oh, and last May, I gave birth to my stillborn daughter.

Every time I answer yes, I feel a dagger going through my heart because I feel like I’m betraying Helen.  It makes me sick to answer this way, but I can’t, emotionally, continue to explain Helen to strangers.  They want a nice, short answer, not to be made aware that these things are often more complicated than they seem.

I know that this may all come off as sounding bitter, and really I’m not.  I make my own choices, and I have chosen to answer these questions this way, mostly because it’s exhausting to answer honestly.  And also because I don’t feel like being vulnerable with every person who asks these questions; questions that to them seem harmless enough, but to me, open up a wound that will never fully heal.

There will always be questions about my children or our family, and I will have to choose, for the rest of my life, how or where our story of Helen fits into that.  But, right now, I’m choosing to let my guard down and be honest with you, my friends, and honest with myself: I love being pregnant and am sad to see it come to an end, but excited about meeting our baby—After having experienced the worst, nothing about birth scares me.  I trust nature, my baby and my body.—No, this is not my first baby.  I had a daughter.  Her name was Helen and I miss her every day.