A Day in the Life

Tag: mental-health

  • Times Change

    I was born in the early 90s. Growing up we drank from hoses, ran around all day in the summer and curfew was when the streetlights came on. You knew where all your friends were by the bikes piled together on front lawns, and the way to call a friend was calling the house phone and praying a parent wasn’t on it already. There are a lot of moments I miss about those times, they seemed simpler. My parents did what they could to raise two children that never liked to stay in one spot for long. We visit museums, parks and playgrounds, and historical sites, that way we were at least learning while we had our fun. They instilled manners, the need for communication, and how to be as civilized as possible.

    When I was a teenager I went from being the youngest child, to being the middle child. When my younger sibling was born, a lot in the house changed. Change wasn’t a bad thing, but it all was new to me. My mom needed extra help with the baby and I happily obliged, knowing that in the long run I would be helping to raise a life, as well as get some practice in for the children I wanted when I grew up. It ended up being beneficial all around, but as my sibling got older, I started running into some complications. “You never let us get away with that when we were there age.” Became a constant statement from me. I understood that they were the baby of the family, but there were situations that my parents let slide that my older sibling and I would have gotten in trouble for. Talking back all the time, major tantrums, among other things. We would have been placed in time out in a hot minute, but my parents seemed to let it go. When I asked I tended to get the answer “Well times are different now, this is parenting. It may not be what you are used to, but they will be okay”.

    They were right in the long run, mostly, but it still was odd to see everything so different. How emotions and communication were handled, or ignored. How outside play time was exchanged for staying inside all day with video games, TV, and whatever other electronics my sibling could get there hands on. Technology isn’t a bad thing, but I wanted the kid to get some sunshine. My parents did try, don’t get me wrong. They tried instilling a love of nature and respect for the world outside the house, it didn’t seem to take, nor did my younger sibling didn’t care about it. I moved in with my partner when my younger sibling was about 7 years old, went a state away and would visit when I could. But between my and my partners jobs, it became difficult to visit as often as I wanted.

    I would still hear about my sibling and how they were doing, how they were growing into a preteen and all the problems that came with that. Every preteen to teenager can be a handful, but my mom would call me for advice on occasion because even she felt like she was out of her element. “You’ve raised two kids already and went through this, why is this any different?” I would ask, thinking it would be cut and dry like when I was younger. “Well times are different.” She’d answer, oh, that line again. But this part stuck with me “I can’t handle these things the way that I did with you guys, I could be labeled a bad parent.” Wait. . . What? What was wrong with telling your kid that what they did was wrong, putting them in time out or grounding them? How is that being a bad parent? Looking back on my childhood, none of the ways my parents raised us ever came across as being bad. They were teaching us how to be better people, how to be ready for the world outside our little home. But apparently in the 2010s all that translated to being too harsh on your child, or being over reactive. It all made me think about what I would do if/when I became a parent.

    This year, I did that, I became a mom. On top of that, due to unforeseen circumstances, I had to move back in with my parents. I needed help with the baby, among other things, and was grateful to their welcoming arms. My younger sibling is now 17, almost an adult, and once again, everything was new to me. I had been away for almost 10 years, and in doing so, had to hear second hand about everything. Now being home and being front and center with it all was a whole different ball game. “I would have gotten grounded for that” is a new repeated saying. I thought I had attitude when I was a teenager, but they blow me out of the water. I expected the usual statement. That times are different now, but I didn’t. My mom and dad would give a small smile and say “I know. We are doing what we can.” And it hit me. Years of trying to be ‘good parents’ by the new standards had made them lax in ways that they didn’t want to be. That being afraid of not keeping up with the times would make them a bad parent. But in turn, it made it harder to be the good parent. Trying to be gentler and and following along with new standards had dulled instincts, and made it more difficult to wrangle in a dramatic and overly stimulated teenager.

    As a group we have been working together. I remind my parents of the values that they raised us on, and help them to try and use that with the teachings of now. I work as a buffer between my sibling and them as well, defusing situations for either side. Sometimes I am on my parents side, reminding my sibling how much is done for them and how much they take for granted. Sometimes I am on their side, helping to explain something calmer, or to break down thought processes to my parents. It’s a constant back and forth, but one that we are starting to find common ground for in the process.

    Being on the outside for so long, had given me a different perspective, but also made me think about what I want to do as a mom. Looking at my baby girl, I think about what kind of parent I want to be. I want to be gentle when I can, but stern when it’s needed, I want to instill that my daughter can express herself and her emotions, but that she also needs to communicate those emotions properly. I understand every kid and teenager can catch attitude, and to an extent it will be allowed, but attitude with cruelty will not be tolerated. Likewise, I want my daughter to be independent and have an understanding of the world around her, but I also want her to know that she can come to me for help whenever she needs it. I want to combine the values of now while incorporating some of the teachings and values that I was raised on. It’s like walking a tight rope. I may stumble a few times, even lose my balance, but in the long run I don’t want to lose sight of my goal. To raise my daughter to be the best she can be, and do the best that I can.

  • Like Riding a Bike

    How do you hold onto the passion of your hobbies? I wish I actually had the answer to this. When I was a kid there were many hobbies I used to love doing. Running around in the woods and watching nature. Playing in the garden and getting my hands dirty while watching the fruits of my labor grow. Reading so vigorously that I could devour 400-page books in less than a day. Demolishing book series after series, unable to put them down. Drawing and painting, creating my own pieces of art for friends and family in different mediums. Writing. I used to write poems, craft elaborate stories and epic tales, pour my heart out on to the pages of journals and in Microsoft Word. But somewhere along the line, the passion for it, died.

    One by one the hobbies came and went, in and out of my life. When I was little, I was all about being in nature. Staying out of the house for as long as possible and trying to avoid curfew. Running amongst the trees, dancing through flower and fauna, and watching all the animals that would move about their daily lives. I’d dig my hands through the dirt in our garden, getting more dirt on myself than in the vegetable patch. Uprooting weeds, planting seeds while talking to them, welcoming them to their new home. Dousing them with the hose because more water means bigger plants right? That’s what 6-year-old me thought anyway, much to my grandfathers dismay. As I grew, I learned the ins and outs of the different flowers, vegetables, and herbs we grew. Knew what they needed and when.

    Once I was a teenager, I didn’t want to be outside all that much, I’d rather be hunkered down in my room avoiding the world like a cave troll. Hissing at the sun like it had a personal vendetta against me. There I could be alone, away from the harshness of people. There I could lose myself for hours in music and paints. Get wrapped up in the fantasy worlds my brain spun on pages in pencil and ink. I immersed myself fully in these, working my skill and pencil to be able to improve daily. Constantly working on my craft. Who cared about homework when I could be painting dragons in graphite, chalk pencil and water color. Who cared about essays when I could fabricate characters with their own problems and lives, their fates hanging on the next sentence I created. I found it easy to lose myself in it, to get wrapped up in their lives more than my own. To get covered in swatches of color and charcoal like nothing.

    All throughout these years, whenever I found that I was idle, I had towers of books to read through. Even went back to some of my favorites, so I could relive their plots. Fall into the romances between the characters and dream about it for myself. Lose myself to their fantasy worlds and how they lived their epic lives. Relishing in the sagas of adventure and laughing at their sarcastic remarks. I loved characters, hated others, acting like they were as tangible as my own friends. Imagining myself in their shoes, would I have done the same as them? Or would I have changed it up, you know, for the plot.

    Then I graduated from college and had to be in the real world. Getting lost to the monotony of jobs and bills. I worked my body to the bone, drove myself to the point of near insanity with the hours and pressure that I constantly put myself under. Only to watch it all get wiped away by getting hit by a car. I was out of commission for half a year, and slowly worked myself back up. But it seemed too late by then, my job didn’t want me back, I had taken to long to recover. I moved to a different state. Started over with a clean slate. I tried to keep myself busy, find a new job. Managed to do so, but it didn’t feel like a good enough fit, that I wasn’t doing enough. I tried my hobbies, but they didn’t feel the same to me any longer. They didn’t give me the same passion that I once reveled in.

    I began to stagnate. No matter what I did, nothing felt right. I found hyperfixations, tasks that would fill time, but they never seemed to last. I learned to work with resin, and make beautiful creations with it, experimented with colors and techniques, wanted so badly to do something with it, to sell my products. But with an oversaturated market and not having a full understanding of online stores, the boxes of cool items started to become little Christmas gifts. The rest of the items sitting in boxes on the shelf, collecting dust. The spark for painting never fully came back, but I did love doing these paint by numbers canvases for adults. Their intricate designs bringing color to life. I could lose hours of the day by following along with them, color by color and watching as the designs came to life in front of me. But even they lost their whimsy over time, the strain my body took, hunched over trying to find individual numbers didn’t seem overly worth it. Writing didn’t bring the same immersive effect anymore. Stories going unfinished, poems becoming dark entities that I didn’t want to see the light of day. Reading became mindless and boring, I began to find myself stuck on the same page or paragraph for hours. Rereading the lines over and over but still never having them set in. Gardening became a chore, something else that needed to be taken care of and handled. I didn’t like the dirt building up under my finger nails, or how sweaty the effort would make me.

    I felt like my passion had died. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, nothing seemed to work. I felt broken, unhinged. Like nothing could bring me that spark anymore. Doom-scrolling on my phone or watching hours of mindless TV began to fill the space that I used to use for creativity. It all began to blur together. And because of it, I felt the walls building up around me, blocking out the rest that used to bring me happiness. But I was happy, wasn’t I? Spending the days with my loved ones and pets, working and paying bills, living the same lives as everyone else. But it wasn’t really living. This was coasting. And now that the cycle has been broken by outside forces, I see that I was the one that let the passion die. I was the one that gave up on the hobbies I loved, all because some seemed childish, or others took up too much time. I let myself fall into the everyday mundane because I thought that was what was expected of me.

    What I needed was time. Time to let the things set in, time to let myself relax and actually enjoy what I was doing, not just repeating the same thing over and over again. Now that I have my daughter, I see that. No day is the same with her. Every day is experiencing new things, new sounds and movements. Every day that I spend with her reminds me what it feels like to be joyful. To be alive and watch growth happen in front of your eyes. She loves the outdoors, so I find myself outside often. Soaking up the sun and getting burned in the process, but finding that I honestly don’t care. Enjoying the time with animals and weather. She doesn’t care about getting dirty, she cares about feeling new textures and the vibrant colors around her. She cares about living her little life to the fullest. I started to live like her, without much remorse. I dug my hands into the dirt again. The first time it didn’t bring as much joy as it used to, nor did the second. But by the third time of tending to the garden and watching what my effort brought forth, I found a peace I hadn’t known for some time. A relaxation and happiness that I had forgotten about.

    With these blogs I have started to remember why I loved to write. To weave words on a page and pour your heart into something, whether people agree with it or not. It’s empowering and a release. I may not read as much as I used to when I was younger, but books are starting to be a little escape again. Being able to lose myself in the pages, even if just for a little while, is enough for me. For now anyway. I haven’t started up with painting or drawing again, but I know the skill is still there, it never fully leaves you. One day I know I will pick up a pencil or pen and scrawl something onto a page. Sketch out little characters for my daughter to laugh at, maybe even help her color them in. It may not be a thriving passion anymore, but it’s still something that brings me a bit of joy, and one day may bring joy to my baby girl.

    Hobbies may come and go, they even may feel like they flat line. But they aren’t fully gone. You have to learn how they still fit in your life. Some may phase out, but others lay dormant, waiting for your passion to reignite. It may seem like it won’t, but it will. When you least expect it, it will. Sometimes it takes coaxing, sometimes it takes a little practice and a few tries, but it will still be there for you. You just have to give it the chance to be there. To let yourself be immersed in it once again, to remember why you liked it in the first place. Once you do that, it will come back. Just like riding a bike.

  • 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.