the dust is settling.

Tags

Hard Shit, Motherhood, Newborns, Parenting, Postpartum Depression, Self-Love

It’s a scene in many-a-war films…  The village has just been under attack.  It’s quiet now.  The dust is starting to settle and the villagers start to emerge from beneath the rubble.  Apprehensive, they start to rub their eyes, push the hair out of their faces, tend to their wounds.

Is it over?

They realize the worst is over and relief washes over their faces.  They start to smile, laugh and hug each other.  They made it out alive.  And now it is time to rebuild.

That’s kinda what is happening here.

Needless to say, these past 3 months have been rough.  Actually, if I am being honest, I haven’t had a tougher time physically and emotionally.

Just when I thought I had beat the darkness of postpartum depression, it creeped up on me in an unexpected way.  Instead of the deep-dark-despair-depression that I had with Lula, it has manifested itself in a pretty bad case of anxiety.  Heart racing, can’t breathe, walls are closing in, can’t swallow, somebody-make-it-stop anxiety.

i’m in over my head.

i’ve been through extremely intense situations in my life.  why can’t i handle this?

women have two children all the time.  more, even.  i must be so weak.  a failure.  i wasn’t cut out for this.

i’m so alone.  does no one see that i am so alone here? i’m floundering.  why won’t someone hold my hand?  pull me out.  pick me up.

i keep losing my shit.  poor lula.  poor olive.  poor ryan.  they didn’t sign up for this.  i need to get it together. 

there is something wrong with me.  i’m going to be like this forever. 

olive is so unhappy.  i’m doing something wrong.  she’s not even 3 months old yet, and i’ve failed as a mother in so many ways.

These thoughts, they take over, and spin ’round and ’round in my head until I can’t take it anymore.  I break down.

Olive is a high-needs baby.  Well, all babies are high-needs, but Olive really is high-needs.   Some babies don’t care who holds them, some babies tune out sensory over-load and fall asleep anywhere.  “What a happy baby!  What a joy!”  Olive cries if I am not holding her.  She fusses most of the time, and typical soothing techniques do not work for her.  She will be smiling and laughing one minute, and literally start screaming the next.  Dr. Sears calls them “Draining” Babies.  Or more like a “Siphoning Baby” because I am transferring my energy to her to help her thrive.  Lula was the same way.  I have taken it personally.  The parents of happy babies have it figured out.  They must be better parents than me because their baby is so happy.

I know deep down this isn’t true.  I caught up with an old friend last week who has a 6 month old, and she said something that struck a chord with me.  She said she has to remind herself that her daughter is a human.  She is an entire person, whom she cannot control.  This is so true.  Olive has her own feelings.  Her own needs. She is different than me.  Different than her sister.  Different than other babies.  And different is OK.

Lula was a sensitive baby.  The chaos of the world around her was too much for her a lot of the time, and she wasn’t able to process the overload.  My sensitive little baby has grown into a brilliant, curious, and vibrant child.  I have to remember this.  Olive is a lot like her sister.  Right now, all I can do is meet her needs.  So I do.  Through all of the anxiety, all of the frustration, the exhaustion…I feed my baby.  I change her and bathe her.  I wear her most of the hours of the day, and cuddle her close at night.  When she cries, I try my best to make her feel comforted.  And slowly, little by little, my baby is trusting me.  Learning that her Momma is here to do nothing but love her.

The past couple of days Olive has been transforming.  She has been smiling smiles that take up her entire face.  Giggling and squealing with delight.  She has been easier to soothe, easier to get to sleep.  She can be set down for long periods of time and she is able to take in the world without becoming as easily overwhelmed.  I can lay her down by herself for naps, and for that, my aching body is thankful.  I have noticed my anxiety lessen, my ruminating thoughts subside…the relief of knowing that this chapter might be ending.  I know she will only be this little once, as this newborn stage is so fleeting.  But it is oh-so-very-hard.  My tank is on low, and some days, I wonder if there is enough left in me to give to my family.

But there always is.

It’s been a blur.  But the dust is settling, and I am starting to clearly see the joy that the future holds for me.  I’ve stood myself up, brushed myself off.  Now I’m ready to start really living this life.  I’m ready to embrace every moment, good and bad.  Practice “being present” like I have always preached.

I have to remember that I am that much stronger for making it through this.  That much wiser.  Someday, I will pull from this experience and be able to hold my daughter’s hands through the sometimes merciless territory of Motherhood and be living proof that they will make it out alive.  And not just alive, but they will come out stronger, better, happier versions of themselves.

I love my daughters.  I love my family.  This battle is ending, and I am ready to rebuild myself.  Put my pieces back together.  All is not lost.  And really, I have gained so much more.

To Lindsay, The Hypocrite.

Tags

Hypocrisy, Motherhood, Parenting, Self-Love

*This isn’t just a letter to myself.  But a letter to every mother. *

Dear Lindsay,

You are a firm believer in treating others how you would want to be treated.  You stand firm on practicing tolerance, acceptance, and non-judgement.  You try to see the best in people, and nothing breaks your heart more than seeing others beat themselves down when they have so much to offer the world.

So, why?  Why do you pick yourself apart?  Why do you look in the mirror and describe yourself in ways you wouldn’t describe your worst enemy?  Why do you shut your husband out when he tells you that you are beautiful?

That bump on your nose is ugly, and just look at what pregnancy has done to your hips.  Your boobs will never be where they used to be, and you never seem to have a “good hair day.”  The bags under your eyes age you and long gone are the days of your cute little belly button.   The pounds just don’t come off the way they used to, and you will never be the size you were in college ever again.

You hypocrite.  You say you want your daughters to love who they are, just as they are.  You say you never want to hear them speak negatively about themselves.  You say you want them to truly feel beautiful, just as they are.  Who do you think they will learn from?  Lula is starting to mimic the people around her.  Watch your words.  Watch your actions.

Stop complaining about your weight.

She is listening. 

Stop picking yourself apart in the mirror.

She is watching.

You say you strive to find beauty in the world around you.  Start by finding it in yourself.

You say your hips are too wide.  You carried two humans for nine months…and they needed room to grow.  Is there no beauty in that?  You say your boobs will never be where they used to be.  You are nursing your baby, feeding her, bonding with her.  She is building trust in you everytime she cries and you offer her your breast in comfort.  Is there no beauty in that?  You never have a good hair day…well you spend your days putting your girls first.  Changing their diapers, feeding them, playing with them, the way your hair looks is last on your mind.  Is there no beauty in that?  You say you have bags under your eyes.  You are up all night and sacrificing your sleep to nurse your little one, or you rock a sick toddler back to sleep.  Is there no beauty in that?  Your cute belly button is gone…well your belly grew round and stretched as your precious babies grew inside you.  Isn’t that a beautiful thing? 

Create your own definition of beauty.  For you.  For your daughters.  The world has turned into a very un-family place and motherhood is written off as a death sentence.  True beauty is in the life-giving scars, the selfless messy-buns, and the milk-stained shirts that are all a part of motherhood.

Mourn the loss of who you were, and then step into the light of who you have now become.  Stop comparing yourself to who you were.  Start embracing the incredible changes that are happening to not just your body, but to your life.  You have always taken great pride in any job you have had.  Motherhood is a damn hard job.  The hardest.  Take some pride in what you have done, and what you will continue to do for the rest of your life.

You are a beautiful woman, Lindsay.  Inside and out.  Don’t let yourself tell you otherwise.

Lindsay’s Soap Box Post

Tags

Bullying, Parenting, Self-Love

Today’s post is a little rant.  I’m on my soap box.  But, I’m pissed off.

And my heart hurts.

Another young child committed suicide a couple weeks ago because of relentless bullying at his junior high.  He was only 14 years old.  Kid’s tortured him at school and online, calling him gay–amongst other things.  It got to be too much for him to endure everyday, and the only way he thought he could escape it was to take his own life.

What is it?  Are kids just getting meaner?  Do you blame the kids?  Are the teachers and principals getting more complacent?  Do you blame the teachers?  No.  I don’t think so.  More of our tax dollars are going to anti-bullying education…why isn’t that working?

Where are the parents?  The grandparents?  The guardians?  WHERE?

We can’t rely on the schools to teach our children morals, compassion, and acceptance.  The schools aren’t there for that, and it isn’t the teacher’s responsibility.

14 years old?!  He had SO much life ahead of him.  He had so much to offer the world.  Are children nowadays already supposed to know their sexual preference, so young?  And not only to be sure about it, but to also be confident enough to proclaim it, wear it,  and be it?  They shouldn’t have to worry about that yet.  Not at 14.  Straight, gay, lesbian, bi, transgendered…those are small words with HUGE meaning.  Can’t our children be children?  Do they have to worry about these things so young?

Apparently they do.

Because, apparently children are already learning how to hate.  Children.  I always thought hate grew from a lifetime of hardship.  Ignorance.  Or fear of the unknown.  How is it that children know what hate is?  It is being learned.  Are parents these days displaying what it is to hate?  What it is to be intolerant?  Are parents being bullies while their little sponges are soaking it all in?  I think so.

Children should be learning that it’s OK to be different.  It’s OK to look different, talk different, wear different clothes, eat different diets, go to different churches, have different families…It’s the differences that make this world so wonderfully rich.  It’s learning about our differences that broaden us as people.  Parents need to be teaching them how to love people, not hate them.

It makes me scared for my kids.  Petrified.  I can teach my children love, compassion, and tolerance.  I can instill self-love and courage in my children.  But I can’t do that for everyone else’s children.  I can’t stop other children from spewing hate towards MY babies.  I can tell my kids to shake it off.  I can tell them that there is nothing wrong with them.  I can tell them they are loved and beautiful JUST the way they are.  But, it’s not enough.  I don’t think it is enough.  Apparently it isn’t enough, because kids from good families, loving families, attentive families, are killing themselves because the bullying is too much.

What else can I do?  How do I protect my children from all this hate?

Like I said, my heart hurts today.  I’m having one of those days where being a parent is really really hard.  Gut-wrenchingly hard.  I want Lula to stay a 22 month old forever today.  I get all “momma bear” when a little kid pushes her down at the park…what is going to happen when she comes home from school in tears because kids called her names?  Or left her out?  Or made her feel less-than?

*Puke*

It makes me feel sick.

I’d love some advice.  For the parents with older kids, or even adult-kids…how did you do it?  For the parents with littles, like me, how do you plan on bully-proofing your kids, without winding yourself up in the clink?

Now, excuse me, while I go kiss on my daughter and tell her how beautiful that crooked little smile of hers is.

Procrastination At It’s Finest.

Tags

Self-Love, Wannabe Blogging

So, with only a few hours to spare, I submitted my article to Parenting Magazine.  I woke up this morning without any clue as to which topic I was going to write on.  Then I got Lula and I ready to head out to see my midwife.  Then, I invited a friend and her son over while also watching my other friend’s little babe.  I fed Lula lunch, put her down.  Then stared in the pantry and refrigerator for God knows how long.  Sat down with my lap top and a full belly and started writing while also watching Dr. Phil interview Casey Anthony’s parents (majorly shady shit went down in that family).  You would think that I could really care less if I get this gig or not.  You would think that if I really wanted it, I would have had it done awhile ago, with plenty of time for 5 other people to edit and give me their comments.  But, girlfriend just doesn’t roll like that.  I have come to realize and accept that sometimes, I just work way better under pressure.

Finally, for your reading pleasure, (without the pictures) here is my last minute, award winning, article on Acceptance.  Let’s hope that the editors like it enough to test me some more…

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I have been called many things in my life- Over-Analyzer.  Obsessive.  People Pleaser…most of which it was me calling myself these things.  Self-Lover was never on my list of labels.  I usually have a hard time taking a compliment.  I always find an excuse for someone giving me some sort of affirmation.  I used to be constantly worried about what people thought of me and my life choices and my worst fear was someone talking horrible about me without me there to defend myself.  I always tried to show off all the good happening with me, and I would hide the shitty stuff.  I wanted people to think I had it all together all of the time.

I would sit and wonder about why I had shallow friendships.  Or why I struggled in my relationship.  Or why I wasn’t happy.

I just wasn’t happy. 

You hear people say that the only person who can make you truly happy is YOU.  I don’t think that statement really resonates in people until they hit a point of real unhappiness and are desperately trying to find a way out.  Trying to grab onto a glimmer of something other than what they are feeling inside.  But it is so true.  I can’t be happy from anything else other than me.

I think my path to self-love (which I am still on, and have a ways to go) started with self-acceptance.  I think I was always trying to be something or someone other than who I was to try and fit into what I thought the world wanted me to be.  Accepting the fact that I can be a bit obsessive sometimes.  Accepting the fact that I will always struggle with control and worry.  Accepting the fact that I am not a perfect mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend…Accepting the fact that I will never squeeze my ass into my highschool size 0′s ever again.  Accepting the fact that I get down sometimes, and sometimes, there is no real reason why.  When I started to not only accept those things about me, but opened up about my shortcomings to others, (which they were already fully aware of…I was just in denial that I put on a perfect facade) my vulnerability to myself and to others made me feel real.  I mean really real.  I felt like I was participating in life as it was happening.  Not living in my head in constant fear about what people thought about me, or worrying that I wasn’t moving up in life like I was “supposed to.”  I am present with myself.  Present with my family, my friends.  My anxiety started to dissolve. The pressure started to dissolve.  The pressure I put on myself.  My friendships went deeper.  My marriage started healing.  I started to feel happy again. Really happy.

And, it’s kind of this evolving thing.  Learning to accept things about myself I didn’t like, led to me liking more things about myself.  And, me liking more things about myself is making it easier for me to love myself, and for others to love me too.  I mean, isn’t that what we want for our children?  As a parent, I think that is the most valuable lesson that we can teach them…to love themselves as they are, and love others as they are.  I can preach it to my children…but if I am not living it, if I am not loving myself, accepting myself…they won’t learn.  I want my kids to see their mother as a strong, yet vulnerable woman who loves herself and loves all people.  They will see that, learn from that, and begin to thrive in a passionate, compassionate, accepting, self-loving, and confident world that they will create for themselves.  *Sigh* That’s my little bite of chocolate-covered, sparkly rainbow goodness.  And, I’m running with it.

I have a long way to go.  There are days it’s a mighty struggle for me to like myself.  Even a little.  There are days I wish I could be more for my daughter.  Better for my husband.  More enjoyable for my family.  But I’m getting better.  I continue to move forward.  Continue to accept.  Continue to love.  And did I mention I am happy?  Man…

I am so happy.