A Day in the Life

Tag: life

  • Mother’s Day

    When I was a kid and well into my teenage years, Mother’s Day was always a labor of love. Emphasis on the labor part, though that wasn’t a bad thing. Every year we would wake up at dawn, get ourselves dressed and ready to go and then make our way down into the city. With a quick stop at a convenience store for a small breakfast thrown in. We’d find parking amongst the large crowds, gather our water bottles and whatever else we would need, and make our way to check in. The only thing my mom wanted to do every year was the Breast Cancer Walk. It was her way of spending time with us, getting out for fresh air and exercise, and giving back to the community.

    Every year we did this, like clock work, for nearly 13 years. It wasn’t about the merch you could get, or the free Wawa tent you could get snacks from after the walk was over, it was about enjoying the time we had with our mom. By the end of the long trek, our belly’s full and legs like jelly, we’d head back to the house and all take a well deserved nap. My dad would wake us up well before my mom would have her alarm set for, and we’d pile in the car to go to her favorite gardening stop and pick her out some flowers. Then we’d stop at the grocery store and get ingredients for whatever we were making her that night. It tended to be something that my dad would hear her say “You know what we haven’t had in a while?” over the course of the month. We’d get back in time to get the groceries away, and place the plants in an obvious spot as mom’s alarm was waking her up. She’d come out smiling, and we would present our gifts, then all make dinner as a family and settle down for the day. Our fun yearly routine.

    Over the years, though we still saw it as fun, it became harder to manage. My older brother would be unable to get out of work, I would have to barter with my college professors to be able to skip the day with minimal repercussion, and over time, my mom’s knees began to not be able to make the full trek. We had to retire the tradition fully when I moved to the next state over, and work made it impossible to get off. Didn’t help that my older brother moved across country and my younger sibling didn’t like taking the long walk at all. We all made it up to mom in our own ways. Surprise visits on days off, or making a point to send her some of her favorite plants, even going as far as sending a special order of her favorite chocolate covered strawberries. We all managed in our own ways, and mom always appreciated it.

    As I got older, I always made a point to call my mom on Mother’s Day, and my mom would always wish me one back. I was a “Fur Mom” as she put it, because my dog was more like my and my partners’ child than a family pet. That’s the way it went for a handful of years, until 2 and a half years ago when I got pregnant. I was excited to be a mom, my partner equally excited to be a father. But due to unfortunate circumstance, it wasn’t meant to be. When I lost our first daughter, I was devastated, and there is a part of me that will carry that loss with me for the rest of my life. I know it, and don’t regret it. I’d rather hold onto that small piece of heartache then lose the memory of her existence. The first Mother’s Day after the loss, I was given off from work, my boss saying that she didn’t want me too overwhelmed since our tragedy a few months prior. I had greatly appreciated the sentiment. The second year I thought I would be better, I had planned to work. Prepared myself mentally the whole week beforehand, but when I woke up that morning and my mother-in-law called to wish me a happy Mother’s Day, I physically got ill. My body and brain had betrayed me, and I was told to stay home. Thankfully my coworkers were understanding and didn’t mind covering the shift.

    That day I still called my mom like I did every year, talked to her for a good two hours, but by the end of the conversation I was still in tears. My best friend came over after she was finished her shift, made sure I could hold down food and water, got me outside for a while for some fresh air, and did whatever she could to get my mind into a better place. I appreciate her hard work and effort, and to this day love her so much for what she has done for me. This year brought much brighter prospects and a much more stable frame of mind. There have still been many things going on, chaos of a baby and work schedules, trying to balance life amongst it all. But this year I was able to get a taste of why my mom had smiled every Mother’s Day for so long.

    I had been able to visit my parents around Mother’s Day, so we made the best of what we had. Upon waking to my daughters happy Coo’s and gentle smiles I already felt like I had won the day, achieved all that I could have wanted. Seeing her laying in her little bed, my heart had felt full. Once the rest of the house was awake it got even better. I got sweet baby cuddles and a small nap time with her resting on my chest. My mom got play time with her granddaughter, and then we all headed outside for some air. My dad watched the baby for a while so my mom and I could do some planting in the garden. We enjoyed getting our hands dirty as we talked and planted, time seemed like it stood still for us to enjoy what we could. After our time playing in the dirt, we all enjoyed playing with the baby in the shade of the backyard, taking turns showing her the trees and flowers. Falling in love with the sounds she made to the birds, and her feisty little arm swings at the petals floating on the breeze. Dinner was a family favorite of mixed seafood and roasted corn, no phones allowed. Just good conversation, good food, and a bottle of formula for the baby.

    The day as a whole was simple and sweet. Not something overly complex or planned out to specific time frames, events happened as they happened. Over all, it was comforting, joyous, and plain fun. When I was young, Mother’s Day meant I was going to be tired, but my mom would be happy. As I got older it seemed another day that I had to work during, then for a while it became a day of pain. Now, looking at my mom and my daughter’s smiling faces, it feels warm. In the future, I may not always get to enjoy it to the fullest, and I know it won’t always be perfect, and some years it may just be chaos. But now I know why my mom always did what she did. It was never about the event or how much money was used, it was about the time spent together and thought that went into what we did. Most moms get flowers on Mother’s Day, but she would get her favorites, in ways that she could add them to her garden to look at them every year they bloomed.

    Now I can experience that too, because every year I visit the house, I can see the plants she and I planted together this year and look back fondly on the memories we shared. My daughter may not remember the day given her age, but she will remember her love of nature and through our stories understand how it all started. Given my own journey, I know that my daughter may not always be a ray of sunshine, and will have highs and lows depending on what happens as she grows. If I could wish one thing for her though, it would be that she gets to enjoy her time with her grandmothers, her mom and one day be able to look down at her own children with the same amount of joy that I have when I look down at her.

  • Alone Time

    Navigating through motherhood is a major learning experience, one that has constant ups and downs. One of the hardest is understanding alone time. My daughter is 2 months old. Still very much a baby, so of course I want to hold, cuddle, and love her constantly. Unfortunately I know that I can’t do that as much as I want to. We don’t want to make her dependent on us, and not be able to be placed down. Finding the balance though, is one of the most difficult tasks I have tried to figure out.

    When my daughter cries, she cries hard. Heart-wrenching wails that can be heard from one side of the house all the way to the other. There’s never a doubt that her little lungs aren’t strong. That being said, whenever she cries like that, I instantly want to scoop her up in my arms and comfort her. Cuddle her little face and body until the crying stops. Sometimes she cries because she is hungry or needs a diaper change like any other child. Sometimes she does it because she specifically WANTS to be held, which I don’t want to deny her either. At the same time, I also know that she needs to learn how to self soothe. To have the alone time to calm herself down, because that is also something that babies need to learn.

    Finding that balance of it all, has to be one of the hardest things I have ever had to deal with. How are you supposed to know when it is or isn’t okay to scoop them up? How am I supposed to just stand there doing minor housework while my child is screaming her head off? I check her diaper often and make sure she is eating when she is hungry, but what about the times that she is crying when none of that is the issue? People tell me “You have to let her cry, she’ll cry herself to sleep,” but what about the times that she doesn’t? What am I supposed to do then?

    My partner and I have different approaches to the situations, but sometimes it seems like they are clashing. He goes the route of letting her cry it out, and can follow through with that fully. Be able to put her down in her chair and talk with her but also refrain from doting on her every whim. Check the necessities, but still maintain a sense of alone time and distance. Whereas I struggle with that. I let her have alone time in her chair but still find myself interacting with her, talking with her, playing with her little hands and feet. It keeps her happy and smiling, she doesn’t overly fuss and will still hang out in her chair long enough for me to be able to get small tasks done. But it feels like that those little interactions make it so it’s difficult for my partner to put her down fully. She instantly cries and wants to be picked back up, or to be interacted with. Am I the problem? It genuinely feels like I am at times.

    At the same time, if I put her down and she wails while I am doing a task, people have told me that I am being negligent or ignoring her. Which I don’t want that to be the case either. I love my daughter and don’t want her to feel like she is being ignored. Nor do I want other people to think I am being a bad mother, but I also don’t know the way to balance what I have to do with what I want to do, or what people tell me to do. It’s all so overwhelming and no matter what I do I feel like I’m falling short. I do think to myself about what that one mom told me “mind your own motherhood” and I try to let that apply when I am interacting with other mothers and taking advice with a grain of salt. But as time went on it became difficult to not let it feel like it all stacked up against me.

    I’ve recently been able to get some alone time in for myself. But even then I feel like I’m not letting myself enjoy or fully use it. My partner is taking care of her on his days off from work, so I can get some tasks done, but it seems she won’t settle for him or sleep well. She won’t let him put her down even for a second, and it feels like that is a reflection on me and how I have been taking care of her while he is working. I find myself checking in constantly when I’m supposed to be working on things or taking time to breathe. That in itself probably isn’t the best, seeing as I’m not even giving myself the alone time that is needed. That being said, I know I need to do better. I need to do better for myself, so I can do better by our daughter. I have to learn to not give in to every little cry, that yes she is a baby and needs attention and social interaction, but that she also needs to be able to play and coo on her own at times to.

    Its hard, almost feels impossible at times, but for the betterment of the both of us, I know I have to try harder. Do better to find the balance of togetherness and alone time. Be able to let her cry and self soothe, while still letting her know that we are here. Interacting and cuddling with her, but also make it so she can be set down for a time and not immediately freak out. Will finding that balance be an easy task? From what I have experienced so far, no it will not. But I know for our shared wellbeing, it will be worth it.

  • The Hardest Part Is Goodbye

    In life, many things are gone as time moves forward. Memories are replaced with new ones, leaving old to be lost in the fog. Friends come and go, drifting in and out of our lives like the seasons. It’s true some stick around but not everyone we encounter stays for long. Loved ones are taken with age, no one can live forever. It always hurts to say goodbye no matter the situation.

    I have experienced these losses, watched as bonds I thought to be endlessly strong, broke one by one. Some went easily, a quick snap like a broken string and the person disappeared. Others were like a fraying rope, slow and painful. With each unfurling string, growing a little bit weaker until there was nothing to hold. Distant memories drifting out of focus. No matter how it happened, each loss still leaving a mark that would fade in time, but never truly heal.

    Deaths were always the hardest for me. One moment someone is there, and then they aren’t. You go to pick up a phone or send a message and realize there isn’t a point, you wouldn’t get an answer. Then there are the ones that it seems you can’t talk about. The deaths that fall under taboos. Cancer, mental illness, miscarriage. The deaths that no one is willing to truly talk about. I have had to deal with plenty of these. From family members that have fought the long fight to cancer, to 2 years ago dealing with having a miscarriage. I was 5 months along and due to what was found to be a weak cervix, I lost my first little girl. We had just picked out a name, and I was so excited, but it wasn’t meant to be. I got rocked, hard. The loss weighing so heavy on my mind and body. The pain of having to let go of a life that hadn’t gotten the full chance to start. I mourned what was, and what could have been. As did my partner.

    As time went on, it got easier for him. He was able to step above the pain and try to find himself a new, but for a long time I was not. I let myself wallow, to mourn so deeply that I never thought I could feel true happiness again. I pushed people away, severed more bonds on my end, so I didn’t have to be reminded of having to say goodbye so soon. Let myself miss out on opportunities to grow or give myself the chance to smile again. I created strain and sadness, far more than I even imagined, focusing on my own pain. I hurt those around me because I was hurting, and it’s something I will never fully forgive myself for.

    It wasn’t until a year and a half later when I found out that I was pregnant again, that I actually let myself smile for the first time and fully meant it. I still mourned for my first and dreaded the idea of losing my second, becoming overly afraid of the “What If’s”. But I still had hope for a new life, a new beginning, and new chance to love and grow. Now that my daughter is 2 months old, and her little chubby cheeks smile at me, I still find myself thinking of my previous lose. What would it have been like if my daughter had her sister? How would they have been together? When you lose like that, it never truly leaves you. You have to learn to live with it, walk with it, and grow from it. To be better in some way from the loss. It will still hurt, with time it may become so small that you barely even notice it. But for me, it will still be there.

    Now that I look back, my first isn’t the only one I mourned for. I mourn for the relationships I lost along the way of my pain. The friendships that should have had so much more time left to them. The bonds that frayed so havocally that they can’t be mended, no matter how you try, you can’t get them back. But even though it all hurts, that in itself is a learning experience. And understanding that pain and loss shouldn’t hang over your head. You shouldn’t let it define you, because in the long run it will ruin you. You have to grow from it, strive to move beyond it, and there you will find happiness again. It takes time, and so much effort that sometimes you want to give up. But you can’t. You shouldn’t give in, because you won’t be the only one to suffer.

    When I look down at my daughter I do think about what could have been, but I also think about who she could be. About her future and her growth. The journey that she will have to go through, the losses that she will have to withstand. I know she will feel pain, but she will also feel love, happiness and understanding. And I have come to understand that I won’t see any of that unless I am able to stand above my losses and push forward. To stop holding on to something that I had no real control over at the time, and take the initiative to grasp what I do have and keep moving. Sometimes you have to deal with the hardest part, and actually say goodbye.

  • The Bonds That Matter

    When you bring a child into the world, there are many different things that you will go through. From getting used to the child and their own quirks, finding a rhythm and balance of routines, to trying to regain your own sense of self. One of the things I found to be the hardest though, is keeping and managing the relationships with the people around me. It’s something you wouldn’t think you have to have a full grasp on, but it’s quintessential in the learning curve. The term “It takes a village to raise a child” is very true, especially if you want to keep a firm grasp on reality. But it means nothing unless you truly have a village at your back. To be able to have that, you have to find the balance of interacting with the ones you love and respect.

    When you are sleep-deprived, baby brained, and hating the way you feel and look, the last thing you want to do is interact with anyone outside your immediate household. Speaking from experience there. Many times people would want to visit, to see us and interact with our daughter, and many times I just wanted to skip out. I was tired. My brain felt like walking in a constant fog, and sometimes it still does. I hated the way that I felt in my own skin, and I didn’t like the thought of having to put on “real clothes” and entertain people, when I’d much rather sit in bed and cuddle my daughter. But to deny her family and our friends from being able to interact with her, could also cause some major backlash that I wasn’t fully prepared for.

    I constantly felt ragged and run down, but felt guilty for saying “No” or turning people away. Family members have the right to see the baby, as do friends. I just didn’t feel like keeping up appearances. People will tell you “you’re new parents, it doesn’t matter what you look like, we just want to see you” but my partner and I still felt the need to run around and tidy up the house before people came over. Or at least felt the need to apologize for the state of the house or ourselves as soon as someone walked in the door. More often then not there were only a few dishes in the sink, or laundry half folded on the table. Minor things that most people would look over and not care about. Most of the time people were only stopping by for a few minutes, just to say “hello, how are you? The baby is beautiful” and then head on their way. But sadly it all just felt like one more chore to add to the list. As time went on, I wanted to deal with it less and less. But in doing so, it also added more weight and strain to our already heavy shoulders.

    There were a few people in particular that I found it easier to interact with. My and my partners parents being some, because they had dealt with kids and parenting already, so they knew the ins and outs, and we were able to get things done while they were interacting with our daughter. Errands could be run, chores could get handled, this was also time that we could use to take a moment and breathe. My best friend was another that allowed this. My home was my rock, my stable place, and She was another that allowed me to feel stable. Without her there were times I would have mentally and physically lost my marbles.

    These people are the ones that made me realize what “it takes a village” actually meant. They were the people that truly had your back and could help you manage the weight of being a new parent. They didn’t care about mess, or what you wore, they just wanted you happy and healthy. These were the relationships that didn’t take strain or fussing, and it was a relief to have them. That’s not to say that they didn’t take work still, because they did. They still do. It takes checking in, and vocalizing feelings and intent. But these are also the relationships that don’t make you feel guilty for saying “No”. They take it in stride and say “okay, maybe next time” and move on, because they know you are tired, and running yourself thin. They know your brain and don’t want to add on to the fog of it.

    These bonds don’t add extra weight to your life, they try to carry it with you. Likewise, they don’t criticize for what you haven’t done, but offer to help get it done, or give you the time to do it. They are your village, the ones that have your backs and want to watch you thrive, not just placate society standards and move on. These are also the people that know and understand you are overwhelmed with new and learning things every day, so they check in first instead of waiting for you to reach out. They are the ones that love, and they should be cherished at all costs. Because there will come a time when all seems run down and bleak, like you can’t keep your head above water, and these people will be the ones plunging into the waters to bring you up for air. They will be your life raft. They are the bonds that matter.

  • Talking with the Wall

    Growing up and looking at all the surrounding adults, I thought they had it all together. That they had everything figured out and had all the answers. The older I got, the more I realized how wrong I was. It was a farce. No one has all the answers and no one actually knows what they are doing. Every single person is either fighting or coasting through life to the best of their ability. But the one thing that I was told my whole life by these adults, was to communicate. Whether it be in relationships, in work, or in general, communication is key. I did my best trying to do that whenever I could, to communicate intent and emotion. But there was one thing that no one explained, maybe they didn’t know anything about it either. It wasn’t until my 30s had I even started to understand, communication is key, but without comprehension it means nothing.

    You can communicate all you want, express all you want, but if the other person is talking and not actually comprehending or listening to what is being said, it’s futile. It’s like talking to a wall, you aren’t going to get anything back. The reality was that I was the person that wasn’t comprehending. Topics would be said to me, emotions would be expressed, but that was where it ended. I thought I was listening and trying to be better, to act on what was being said, but sadly I was mistaken. All the moments talked about would go in one ear and out the other, leaving little to actually take root in my brain. And when someone is actually trying to have a heart-to-heart, that is not a way that you should treat the situation. It doesn’t matter if the words made sense to you with the way they were spoken, what matters is the intent behind them and how it should affect you.

    In a nutshell, you shouldn’t let peoples words just roll off you. If they are being rude or mean, there is usually reasoning behind it. Just like words of love have meaning and intent behind them. Obviously you shouldn’t take everything to heart, but you still need to be able to fully understand why things are being said the way they are. If you don’t, you will get left behind, because everyone else will be growing around you, while you are left figuring out how they are growing in the first place. If I had sat and actually tried to truly listen and understand what certain people were trying to tell me, if I had actually comprehended their feelings and intents, then I wouldn’t have lost the friendships that I had cherished so deeply. I wouldn’t have gotten left in the dust of them moving on. I would have been able to grow with them, but because of my lack of comprehension, I stunted my own growth and ended up getting stuck back at the starting line.

    It’s a terrible feeling, finding out that you were the wall that people felt like they were talking to. To know that you were the one that wasn’t giving them anything back, especially when you thought you were trying. But when multiple people say the same thing, they all can’t be wrong. What do you do? Do you give up and hang your head? Or do you try and take that step up and actually start the race? For me, I don’t want to be left behind, I don’t want to be the wall that offers nothing. I want to be able to grow, to listen and to learn. To be able to offer comprehension and act on it. Is it going to be easy? Absolutely not. Especially when you’ve been a wall for so long, It’s hard to know if you are actually doing anything right. But that isn’t the point.

    The point is doing what you can to communicate, comprehend and grow. To be able to have a conversation without completely falling apart, or falling short. To be able to reciprocate in discussions and have the other person walking away feeling satisfied as well, not just thinking I accomplished something. Doing so will allow both parties to have true understanding and be able to solve whatever problem has been presented and get through it. To grow together and keep pushing forward. Because that is what makes things easier, that’s what truly gives the air of having things figured out. If I had learned all this sooner, maybe I would have been able to save some of the bonds that I have lost. I honestly don’t have the answers to that. But one thing I do know, is that I am not going to let myself be the wall anymore. The wall benefits no one, and it’s about time to grow.

  • Face To Face with the Mirror

    As I have stated in a previous post, there are moments in motherhood that I was not ready for. From mental strain, to sleep schedules, life as a new mom is tough. There are ways you are going to learn every day, and ways that you are going to fail at too. It all comes with the learning curve. And each journey is different for every individual mother. But one of the things I wasn’t ready for, was the the fight with the mirror that I would have.

    I have struggled with body image issues for a good chunk of my life. It always seemed that I was caught in the cross fire of beauty and people were never afraid to share their opinion about it. From a young age I was told about my proportions. “You’re breasts and butt are great, but your waist is too big”, “If you lose weight, you are going to lose your only assets”, “You’re thighs touch, you should work on that”. Every comment and dig at the way that I looked felt like a dart biting into my skin. It ultimately made me uncomfortable in my own flesh and made me hate buying clothes or passing a mirror. Many go through it. When I met my partner, he did what he could to help me understand and assess my body image issues, to make me feel confidant and care about myself more. Taught me to be kinder to myself and I honestly commend him for it. And for a while it worked. Until it didn’t.

    Right before I had gotten pregnant with my daughter, I had finally felt something positive about my body. I had been getting more exercise, losing weight in a way that made me comfortable, and I was truly happy with where I was. When I found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic, and I couldn’t have asked for anything more. But as the months went on, and I got rounder, I wasn’t as excited as an expectant mother should have been. Where everyone else saw a round belly and growing baby, I saw a woman that was getting excessively heavy. I was happy to carry my daughter and knew that the weight I gained was her growing, and needed for the betterment of her. But it still hurt seeing the weight that I had wrestled with for years coming back. By my second trimester I was nice and round, as most mothers tend to be. But one day I looked in the mirror and I didn’t see a glowing woman that was growing life. I saw an ugly woman staring back at me that I didn’t recognize.

    From that point on I was extremely uncomfortable looking at myself in the mirror. I did what I could to not do that, which is difficult when you have to brush your teeth, brush your hair or wash your face. To get in and out of the shower without looking was the hardest part for me seeing as the mirror in our bathroom had to be passed to get there. My partner, family and friends constantly told me how beautiful I was. How round and healthy I looked. But I didn’t feel it. I thought they were lying, consistently giving weak smiles and whispered words of appreciation. I still ate when I needed to, because I knew I was doing it to keep my daughter healthy, not for my benefit at that point. As my due date crept closer I was beginning to breathe a sigh of relief. Because one, I would be able to hold my daughter in my arms and I wanted so badly to do so. But also because in my eyes, I would get relief from the person that I saw in the mirror. How wrong I was.

    After giving birth, my daughter became my world, wholly and truly. She is my sunshine on a cloudy day and her smile can chase away any doubts. But the mirror still ended up being the enemy. Giving birth, I did lose a good amount of the weight that I had gained, but not everything. On top of that, there is now skin that was overly stretched that had to right itself, stretch marks that marred a good amount of my lower abdomen despite the amount of moisturizing I did during pregnancy. Plus my body felt all out of whack, organs having to go back to their right positions, learning how to do everything all over again because things were finally going back to their rightful place. It all felt like one big mess. At first, I didn’t notice it, but after the first month of my daughters’ life, I had gone to grab a shower, and stupidly looked in the mirror. Breasts full and sagging from milk, fresh stretch marks plastered across my skin in tones of pink and purple, traveling much farther than I had originally realized, and belly fat that shifted in ways that I had never noticed before. I felt like a hot mess. And I cried.

    I didn’t want to get undressed around my partner out of worry that he might not find me attractive anymore. It seemed a false notion, but it was still the way my mind worked, and I hated it so much. Many people would come to see us and the baby and would comment about how great I looked, how well I had sprung back, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe them. It all started weighing very heavily on my mind, and then my partner had found a picture with a saying that helped to change my way of thinking, even if just a little bit. It was a picture of water with light reflecting off it, so the light refracted in little lines and curves, sparking dots and dashes that danced across the surface. And the writing compared stretch marks to the way light refracted off moving water. The lines weren’t perfect or pristine, and they reflected in every direction imaginable, but they were still perceived as beautiful. That night was another shower night, and when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see straggly stretch marks as much anymore. I started to see light refracting off my skin, evidence of the time I carried my daughter for. And how those marks made it, so I could hold my little baby in my arms. Without those marks I wouldn’t have her. And even if just a little, I started to actually like the marks.

    As simple as it was, and as small of a gesture, that picture was enough to help change my view on a part of my body. And though it’s still a struggle to see myself fully in the mirror, I am happy that there is a little something that I can see and smile. Nothing is prefect and my view of myself is still all around rough, and I feel like it will be for a while. Hormones are still trying to right themselves and so is my body, it’s still healing. And in time I feel that my view of myself will be healed as well. But, like with many things, it’s a journey. One that will be difficult, and have its ups and downs. But with the right mindset, and a different perspective, I also feel like it will get easier with time. And I will be able to see and love myself again, the way that everyone around me does.

  • A Walk Through the Past

    I have found times in life when you have to start walking through the past to be able to better your future. Whether it be trauma, Life events, or even after a rough day, reflection can sometimes help with growth and realization. I myself have had to do it a few times over the past few years, because I believe the past can teach us moments so we can grow to be better people. I wish on some of those walks I had paid more attention, I feel like I would have learned to be better long before those moments came back to bite me.

    Typically, am a person that tends to be called “Too Much”. Feeling too much and to deeply, can be observed as being overly sensitive or fragile. Overreacting can be perceived as argumentative. Seeming to talk too much because I feel like I have to over explain myself to make sure that I’m not misunderstood. Though these “Too Much” topics tend to come from trauma, I also never understood why they were perceived as being a bad thing. Sure I talk a lot, but at least anyone can understand what I am saying and fully where I am coming from. I wear my heart on my sleeve and am not afraid to show that I feel emotions more thoroughly then others, but at least people know that I am feeling anything at all. I may be reactive and tend to come across as argumentative, but at least I am asking questions or expressing different opinions instead of going with the crowd and agreeing for the sake of doing so.

    Not everyone sees aspects from that point of view and I can respect that. But all together those feelings can tend to become a problem if they aren’t kept in check. Especially if you are constantly doing them to the same people over and over again. It can become suffocating and almost intolerable. I wanted to know why I was like that. Why I felt those feelings, reacted in those ways, and the best way that I could do that, was taking a trip through the past. Taking some self reflection. And needless to say, there were ways I could have learned if I had paid attention more on my last few walks. I’m not saying that I haven’t learned from those walks before, because I have. But I was typically seemed to pay attention to what I wanted to learn, not what I needed to learn.

    One of the moments that had popped up in more recent times, was how I could be overly doting and would coddle. Toward my child is one thing, she’s a baby and there is nothing wrong with being overly loving and motherly, given how young she is it makes sense. But it can be a problem when I am doing it to full-grown adults. They don’t need to be mothered like that, they had that growing up and don’t need it into adulthood. It wasn’t all the time either, specifically when certain conversations or topics applied. Tough conversations that most people find uncomfortable and tend to need to go through to grow. But instead of sitting and having a tough conversation, I would get overly upset and turn to extreme care. Practically to the point of suffocating because of being the easier way out, plus, that was what my brain told me to do. But why?

    I decided to take one of those walks down memory lane, to go back to my childhood. There I found memories that were normal, happy, and good. I found care and support. Until I got to my teenage years. Don’t get me wrong, my parents were great parents. They still are, and are even better grandparents. But I discovered something hidden in the past that I never fully focused on before. I was what would be called a “Good Kid”. The statement was expressed often by my parents and by other adults. I did my school work, helped when asked and more often then not even when I wasn’t. Likewise, I did the tasks that normal teenagers did as well, but with an older brother that loved to test boundaries and lash out, and an infant younger brother, my parents constantly had their hands full. I kept my head down, did what I was instructed or what I thought was needed of me, and skated through the years. But that led to my own downfall for a while.

    Because I was so good, and considered “The One that didn’t have to be worried about”, I felt like it would be harder to speak up when I did have a problem. When I was hurting and needed to be worried about. I didn’t want to break my parents’ perception of me, because in my head it would mean that I was becoming a burden. I didn’t want to be one more thing that they had to worry about when they already had so much on their plates. I realize now, that way of thinking isn’t good for anyone. It denied me help that I needed, and denied my parents from knowing what was actually going through their daughters head. I had ups and downs in high school, heart break, ending friendships, feeling like I wasn’t good enough, while also feeling jealous because of the new baby. My parents did give each one of us their attention, but I felt like I had gotten lost in the crowd. Over time of dealing with those thoughts and other typical teenager aspects, I ended up getting depressed, but didn’t want to talk about it at risk of being another thing that my parents had to worry about. In turn, I resorted to the worst possible thing. Self harm, and even worse, hiding it.

    I got good at the hiding it part. I was an active teen that loved to be out in nature. Constantly took walks in the woods by my house, helped in our expansive garden, ran around and rough housed with friends. On top of that I was also a natural klutz. Always had bruises from walking into corners, smacking or scraping limbs on furniture or slipping while trying to trim plants. When I would self harm, I would do it while out of the house, that way when I got back home, it became easier to lie about how it had happened. No witnesses so who was to say I was lying. Plus I would do it in ways that resembled wounds from being a klutz. “I slipped off the dirt path and fell in brambles”, “I was trimming the rose bushes and some thorns must have caught me”. Being “the good kid that didn’t have to be worried about” my parents never questioned me. Never thought that I would lie right to their faces. Because of that, they didn’t look past the surface. I don’t blame them, never have. I was the one that didn’t want to hurt them or add on to their worries. But in doing so, I also didn’t get the attention and care that I needed.

    Walking through those memories, I realized something. By lying and hiding, I denied myself what I needed most in those times. Love and understanding. Fast-forward to being an adult, it clicked, why when people would talk about being low or not in the right headspace, I would coddle them or smother them with affection. I was giving them what I had wanted back then, because I felt like that’s also what they wanted, not paying attention to what each individual person actually needed. Not everyone needs extreme affection when they talk about their low times. Sometimes people need someone to sit with them in the dark and talk with them. Let them get thoughts off their chest instead of being instantly smothered without being able to express anything. And I had overlooked it. Despite what happened to me when I was younger, I went to the opposite extreme and still ended up doing the same thing, ignoring others needs. People stopped talking to me about those topics, and in turn ended up hurting themselves because they didn’t want to hurt me. Which wasn’t fair to them at all. By over reacting, by over feeling, by being “Too Much”, I ended up making those people feel like they were a burden and made them feel like they couldn’t express themselves. Different start to what I went through, but still had the same result.

    If I had paid attention on my past walks down memory lane, I might have realized this sooner. It took someone close telling me that they couldn’t talk to me anymore about sensitive or emotional topics, because of the “Too Much” aspect, to realize what I had missed. I had been hurting them for a long time by overlooking what they needed and forcing on them what I thought they wanted, in turn becoming the burden I never wanted to be. This made situations unfair for both sides, which was never my intention. I want to be better, to help my loved ones, so I can actually have the hard discussions. To be someone that people can come to with their problems and know that they are being listened to. That being stated, I will keep having these walks through the past. To understand myself better, to be a better listener, and in turn to be a better person as a whole.

  • The Lows That Are Only Whispered

    The thing about motherhood is growth. Learning every day about what is new and how it can benefit your child as well as yourself. But there are aspects that I was not prepared for, let alone felt like I could talk about. There tend to be stigmas and what seems like information gate keeping at times. Internal thoughts that can plague you as well as a lack of general information. You can study all you want to try and get yourself ready, but you won’t know what actually works for you until you are at that moment and have to try.

    When I got pregnant with my daughter, my partner and I did what research we could, tried to get a list together of what we would need, and in general do what we could to prepare ourselves. We went to every doctor’s appointment, followed every doctor’s instructions, and did whatever we could do. But then the tides started to take a turn. Tests and ultrasounds started showing that something was off and if I wanted to be able to hold full term, I would need some extra help. I didn’t like the fact that I needed to get it and a stitch to ensure I could hold my daughter the full 9 months. I felt like my body was failing me and that there was something wrong with me. The doctors told me that this happens and that there are plenty of women that needed the help, but I still didn’t like it. But one hospital trip and a Cerclage later, we were back on the road to our first child.

    Enter the next issues that I was not expecting nor ready for. Because of the Cerclage stitch, the doctor recommended that I would have an epidural during childbirth to ensure the best conditions for delivery, and I agreed. There were already complications before, so why would I want there to be anymore? I was going to take the medical advice given to me. That is until I talked to other moms. Whether it would be coworkers, family or friends, I would get questioned about the pregnancy and what I was going to do as time went on. Which in itself is common and understandable. All would be well with the conversations, until I talked about the Cerclage, or the fact that I would want the epidural. People tried explaining that I was denying myself real childbirth by doing the epidural. Or that it wasn’t “proper”. That once again, I was denying myself being a real mother. Even had someone tell me that by getting the Cerclage I was intervening with the powers that be and I shouldn’t have gotten it. That if I was supposed to lose my daughter then that is what was supposed to happen. It hurt, it all hurt so deeply to do what ever I could to keep my daughter and be able to go full term, to be able to hold her in my arms, and not just in my belly, and still have it explained that what I was doing was wrong. Every pregnancy is different, and every mother has to make the decisions that would be best for her, but it hurt immensely to be told that my decisions were mocked or discredited.

    I stopped talking about the pregnancy much because I didn’t want to be hit with the stigmas anymore, I didn’t want to be told that I was wrong for this or wrong for that. My partner and I continued to do as the doctors instructed, and I kept my head down. It seemed to be better that way, easier. But the thoughts of what those women had told me still haunted me as time went on. Months slipped by, and I got rounder and the baby got bigger. She was healthy, and that’s all I let matter to me. We continued to prepare and build what we needed in our home so we were ready to bring our little girl into the world and bring her home. A week before she was due, I started getting dizzy, and short of breath, something seemed off, and I had no idea what to do. Off to the doctor we went, to find out that my blood pressure and heart rate were through the roof and I would have to have be induced before she was due. I was scared, scared that I had done something that could hurt the baby, scared that my body was failing me once again. But once at the hospital doctors explained that I was being induced because I was already starting to go into labor, but my body wasn’t fully keeping up, hence the rising blood pressure.

    Once again I was faced with decisions to make, go with pain management while I waited or not. Should I get the epidural or not? My partner was fully understanding and helped in any way he could. He listened and let me know his opinions but said that it would ultimately be my decision, that he wanted what was necessary to ensure a smooth delivery for both myself and our daughter. I agreed, though I still had the hurtful words in my head from the women I had talked to, I pressed forward and went with our original decisions, pain management until necessary and then move to the epidural as time and contractions went on. 24 hours of labor and 20 mins of delivery later, my daughter was laying on my chest, and she was the most precious thing in the world. I was happy that I didn’t listen to the naysayers, because my daughter was healthy and in my arms, and that’s all that mattered.

    I thought that would be the end of the stigmas and the whispers, the lows that I had been facing, boy was I wrong. They say that the first three months of life with a baby are always the hardest, and that is indeed true. But what no one tells you is how it truly affects the mind. Every new mother has the risk of going through postpartum depression. Nothing wrong with that because your emotions and hormones are all over the place. You are sleep-deprived and still trying to figure out what is going on while your body is trying to heal. According to my charts and tests I was also at risk for PPD, but felt like I couldn’t discuss that or what was going through my head with anyone but my partner and my doctors. I was told “it’s not proper to talk about that” acting like 1 in 10 women don’t get it after having a child. Most do recover and as weeks went on my scores went down, and I was out of the woods, but it already left an impression that if I was going through something, it wasn’t right to talk about it.

    Then the next trial got thrown my way. At first, I was able to keep up with breastfeeding my daughter, and all was well. But by the end of the first month, I was having trouble keeping up and once again I didn’t know what to do. The pediatrician recommended feeding her when I could while I could and supplementing with formula. And if needed, switching to formula all together. My OBGYN agreed, that I needed to do what was best for my family and for myself. And at first I was fine with that. But once again I had the voices of others around me telling me that I was wrong, that I needed to try harder to breastfeed. That breastfeeding was the better way to go and that I was once again denying myself the ways of being a “real” mother. I was starting to question what that statement actually meant. In my eyes, every mother that does what ever they can for their child is a real mother. Why is that when I was doing whatever I could and following doctors advice, I still wasn’t enough?

    Don’t get me wrong, my partner did everything he could to help combat what others said, telling me that we would stick to listening to the doctors and do what we needed for ourselves. That what mattered was the health of our daughter. And he was right, still is. But that doesn’t stop the hurtful words from hurting, from spinning around your head at 3 in morning while staring at the ceiling between feedings. It seemed whatever decision I made in the pregnancy, to my daughters first few months, outsiders told me I was wrong. And sooner or later you start thinking that you can’t do anything right. Then I started realizing that I actually didn’t need the naysayers in my life. If they weren’t going to be supportive then why were they there? Why did I let their words hurt me or affect me when I was doing everything I could? I didn’t know.

    Then one day while out running errands, I met a mother with a shirt that changed my perspective. “Mind Your Own Motherhood” it said, and I loved it. Told her so and this stranger looked at me with a smile that said “I see you, I understand you” and told me that as much as we want to have the advice of others to help guide us, that we shouldn’t let other peoples words dictate us. Each mothers journey is unique and shouldn’t be discredited for what they have to do for themselves and their children. And that was the best advice I had received by any outside party. Its one thing when you hear it from your partner or those that are in your corner, because though they matter, you start to feel like they are telling you what you want to hear. But here was this complete stranger that reiterated all those gentle voices with a few words of wisdom and a simple homemade t-shirt.

    Despite what everyone tries to tell us, or dictate us to do, the journey is our own. And I am here to say that I understand the struggle. The lows that are reached, the ones you feel like you can only whisper, or not say at all in fear of being deterred, or told you aren’t enough. To any mother that is struggling. I see you, I understand the struggle, and I want you to know you are not alone in the pain that can come along with learning. But I also want it to be expressed, that this is your journey to take, to learn from and follow. Listen to your doctors, listen to the gentle voices in your corner encouraging you. Block out the naysayers and do what you need to do for your family. Mind your own Motherhood. That should be what matters.