Demon and Savior

In my career as a birth doula, I have had the opportunity to encapsulate roughly 100 placentas.

It's a process I cherish and feel to my core. But, I decided that I should probably hire someone to encapsulate mine so that I would have one less stressor in the newborn haze. I sought out a sister doula and spoke with her about it but never got around to actually completing the contract. Something always distracted me, sleep, nesting, eating, reading, feeling like I still had plenty of time.

Like my second pregnancy, I had been having contractions at very regular intervals for several weeks but Friday, when I woke up feel like these were of a different variety, I told myself that I'd do it today.
But then Friday became Saturday and as we were driving to the hospital, I realized I still had not officially hired her.

Some how, I didn't find myself stressing about what could have been (which is rare since my head is always, always over thinking). I'm sure I could have called her Sunday morning and she would have come anyway. Instead, I birthed our baby girl and sent my placenta home with my mother to wait in her freezer for me to be ready.

As I opened the bucket tonight, I immediately felt the force of the anomaly of preparing my own placenta. I wondered if I would come to face my demon. See, this time HG (Hyperemesis Gravidarum) wasn't enough. I also developed a massive sub chorionic hemorrhage that because of it's size and location, had the potential to cause placenta abruption and early delivery. This giant blood clot became my demon, my battle to fight in defense of both myself and our unborn baby.

We had told the baby catcher we wanted to see the beast who's held me hostage the last 14 weeks. Sadly, he was unable to locate it at the time.

But there it sat. Right on top as I lifted my organ out of the bucket. I called my husband in to see it. We stood staring at it in my hand for a few moments together. He put his hand reassuringly on my back and grounded me in the way only he can. And then he left because BLOOD.

As I held my little demon in my hand, just half of it's original size, I was overcome by emotion. This little thing made our life hell. It scared us at 25 weeks and was nearly the cause of an emergency cesarean. It kept me in bed and made me unable to care for our Little Monsters for MONTHS. It is the cause of so many tears, feelings of inadequacy, and the stress of many who had to step in and take over my role.

How many of us can say we have literally held our demons in our hand? I got to curse at it and sob over it. I got to grieve for what could of been and then stare it down and declare my independence from it. It is no longer in control. I get to choose to let this moment heal me.

And then, I began to examine my placenta and begin my ritual. I am astounded at the size and density of it. Some how, despite the demon dwelling on it, it managed to remain healthy and strong and absolutely beautiful! Half me and half my husband, this is the savior of our beautiful baby girl we so gravely feared loosing for so long! It's strength is undeniable and stunning.

Part of my process is to pray over and thank the organ for it's work and the life it sustained. I try to infuse each one with love and strength for the woman who will use it's nutrients to restore her battle weary body (because pregnancy and birth are always a battle).
How am I, who sees so clearly all my flaws, faults, struggles, and damage, to speak  praise and love for the woman who grew this beautiful organ and baby? How am I to see good and beauty in my gestation when I've felt so broken in the process?

Self love has never been my strong suit but I stood over this savior and felt it's glow deep in my chest. It sustained and supported my sweet daughter who is fast asleep in our bed. It deserves to hear praise for that and for the work it has yet to do. It will help my body find its balance once more.

Tonight, I stand in awe of my demon, my baby's savior, and my body who grew both and gave me a most precious miracle.


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An open letter to my 5 year old

Dearest Monster Man,

First, I'd like to remind you that it's widely accepted that your Momma is a little passed halfway to crazy town on a good day. Today, is not one of my good days.

I'm sorry that I didn't know you'd really like a new pair of mittens for the hayride at school until it was time to walk out the door and that your new "scarf" is merely a length of hastily cut jersey fabric that was on the top of my fabric bin.

I'm NOT sorry that I coerced you into wearing your new wool coat I spent $50 on instead of your two year old, worn, and well loved Batman hoodie that's simply not warm enough to be out extendedly in 50 degree weather.

I AM sorry that in my current state of being, namely sleep-deprived, half way through a debilitating illness, dehydrated, under-caffeinated, and generally feeling like I've been hit by a MAC truck, I was unable to act with the appropriate empathy and patience toward your plight in our entryway before rushing you out to the car.

Alas, sweet boy who made me "Momma," yours will never be the perfect, happy, Holly-Homemaker mother. She'll likely always always forget something and be rigging something on the fly in the eleventh hour. She'll probably never fully learn to plan ahead more effectively and NOT be finishing up the handout/project/whatever, or in today's case, the gift for the Ward Christmas Party she's chair of tomorrow on the night before it's needed. She may never feel like there isn't something she could have or should have done better.

But your mom has one single saving grace. She LOVES YOU. More than you'll likely ever fully understand.

Ours will be an amazingly fun and wonderfully messy life. I'll screw up and sometimes you will too. The best part is that every moment we can make new choices and try to be better.

Above all, thanks for showing me some grace. I know we held up the drop off line for a few moments while we talked it through again, but then you took a deep breath and hopped out into your teacher's arms even though you were mad at me and really wanted to cry. Sometimes your strength and compassion astound me.

Sincerely,
Your perfectly-imperfect, Domesticated Damsel definitely in distress, crazy-town, mother

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Damaged

Labeling yourself as "damaged" or "broken" and allowing that define who you are is relatively easy. Once you've seen rock bottom, felt utterly alone, and believed yourself completely worthless, being broken seems like a vast improvement and a touch like a coping mechanism. Eventually, it's much more than comfortable... some where close to a security blanket. It's safe, warm, and seems honest. Self-identifying as "damaged" becomes the constant in the chaos, noise, and instability of life.

You can use it as an excuse for bad behavior. Because being "broken" and "damaged" makes it incredibly easy to be self-centered under the guise of self-preservation.

You can wear it like a badge that helps makes your walls darker, higher, and more imposing. It often wards off those who may consider getting to close.

Some are content to wear that badge for life.

Some begin to notice that they're not the only ones who've been through hell and lived to tell about it. And, maybe, just maybe, we could figure out how to have some semblance of security WITHOUT calling ourselves "broken."
But what does that really look like? I mean, REALLY look like?

I've seen happiness from a distance and experienced some glimmers of goodness here and there through my life but sometimes I'm not sure I know enough of joy to be able to identify it in myself. You know, without all the "broken" and "damaged" crap.

There's been times when I've been okay and some moments when I've been close to good but up to this point, I've never fully let go of believing that I am damaged. Irrevocably.

I've always believed that I was some how deserving of all the shit I've been through and earned all the bad that's happened to me, that maybe I never really had a chance at anything close to a good life. I wasn't so sure that I was deserving of good... that it was possible for anyone to actually love me instead of just feeling sorry for me. The loneliness and emptiness that comes with those beliefs make calling yourself damaged feel the stinging relief that comes when pressure is applied to a gushing wound.

But this week, I find myself realizing that I really didn't "deserve" any of it and I didn't DO anything to earn it either. I just experienced it. Maybe I'm not actually damaged. A little broken, yes. But breaks heal. Bruises fade.

When I was young, I used to believe in happily ever afters and that all my dreams really could come true but I gave all that up when I began to wear "damaged" like badge.
I'm finding picking those dreams back up a lot harder than putting that badge on was. Why is it that choosing light feels a lot like training for your first Ironman (not that I'd actually know what that's like...)?
Maybe our minds need endurance training much like our bodies do. If we look hard enough, we can see that even on our trek through hell, scattered moments of mercy or relief existed. We have the power to create them for ourselves and others if we train our minds. And maybe, eventually, we'll quit feeling off balance missing the badge we should have never worn in the first place.

I have come to a place where I have to choose to let all the broken-ness swallow me up or really and truly, for the first time ever, figure out how to let it all go.

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Walk with Him

Today, after a long weekend away at a leadership conference, I decided to take the opportunity to tour our newest Phoenix area LDS Temple.

Before entering the Temple, each visitor is assisted in placing white paper booties over their shoes in order to keep the white and light color flooring clean. Of course, my sensory processing disorder Monster Man, wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. I informed him that he either had to ride on my back THE WHOLE TIME or wear the booties so he could walk. Sadly, this didn't help my case.

As we walked through the nearly 40 minute tour, I expected to become tired quickly. I mean, the kid weighs about 40 pounds!

The temple was extraordinary. There was extensive beautiful molding, magnificent chandeliers, and truly amazing art. Most of the art work were depictions were of Christ and His life and ministries.
As we walked through the halls of the temple, I saw an image of Christ with Mary Magdalene at His feet and suddenly I realized that the weight of my son on my back was nearly non-existent.
I was sweating a little, and occasionally felt a twinge of stress in my shoulder, but the weight of this child on my back was not bother some.

Tears began to fall. I realized the parallel of this short tour with our journey walking with Christ, our Savior.

When we give all of our burdens over to Him, and allow Him to guide and direct our lives, our burdens feel lighter. This doesn't mean there's never any trials, but the weight of them feel lighter.
I can't fully express my feelings in that moment but I can say that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He loves you and me and is ready to lighten our burdens if we will accept Him into our lives.

As we exited the temple and returned to the outside world, removed our booties, and headed toward the parking lot, the heaviness of this child on my back became great, and quickly.
There are parallels in this too; when we decide we don't need Him, our burdens begin to weigh us down again.

Give Him all your cares and worries and walk in the Light.

xoxo!


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Time out.

Sometimes, I reach a point where I can no longer be as peaceful and empathetic toward my children as I would like to be. For whatever reason, I'm not fully present.

I begin to feel like a really, really crappy mom.

At that moment today, I texted Husband that my patience was running low. His response was one single, and yet wildly profound word:

Refocus. 

And just like that, I am reminded that empathy starts with me.

But what does that mean? Well, empathy looks different on every person, and sometimes every day.

Today, for me, being empathetic to myself means putting the monsters in their beds, each with a show to watch on an electronic device. It means Momma needs a time out.

doTERRA's Elevation and Serenity on, tall cold glass of water with lime, sitting at my desk, feet up. I just need 10 minutes of quiet; I need a time out.

Quickly into my solitude, the Princess Girl comes storming out. "My Sad. My need My momma."

**sigh** ok... empathy. "Darlin', Momma is in time out. Momma did not make good choices and momma is in time out."

She erupts into giggles and settles herself into the couch adjacent to where I'm sitting, apparently happy to continue her movie near to me.

Moments later, she is angry I will not replace the 1/3 eaten tortilla on the ottoman for a brand new one. She throws a plate. "You seem upset."

She throws a toy and it ricochets into my feet. "hmmm... That's two. You may have another tortilla when you eat that one."

She proceeds to throw the tortilla at me.  "That's three. Time to cool down."

I walk her to our spot in the hall where we sit and breathe.

She slaps me. "you seem really angry"

I carry her to bed and lay her down. "Take some deep breaths, cool down. You may come out when you're ready to use soft words and soft hands."

I close the door and walk back to my desk. 90 seconds passes. She's no longer screaming in my direction.

I hear tiny her feet scurry across the floor.

The door opens and closes loudly.

Silence.

A minute or two passes.

Quietly, I hear the door open and close softly followed by hesitant scampering down the hall.

She comes around the corner into the play room and pauses. "My Sad."

"I know. Are you ready to talk?"

She runs to me and climbs into my lap. She nestles into my shoulder. "Princess, do we throw things when we're mad?"

"sometimes..."

"Should we?"

"No."

"Okay. Are you ready to play?"

"yes."

She takes off to find her Hello Kittys without so much as a mention of her need for a fresh tortilla.

My darling Princess Girl, I love you more than my life, sass and all. You're giving me gray hairs. You're giving me sleepless nights and bags under my eyes. But Love, I absolutely adore you.

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I'm in Control

I've been on an incredible parenting journey the last year or so.

Together, Husband and I have been trying to learn and adapt ourselves to be more patient, non-aggressive, non-violent, peaceful parents. Empathy is sometimes a hard thing to teach if you struggle to be empathetic toward yourself.

I recently heard a quote I love:

                Empathy isn't taught. It’s caught.

So I’m trying hard to be more empathetic so our Monsters can catch it. Sometimes empathy starts with autonomy.  

As mothers, autonomy isn't something we typically excel at. We feel guilty locking the bathroom door while we poop or shower. We feel guilty wanting to grocery shop alone.  I cannot teach my Monsters to be strong and independent if I never allow myself the right of autonomy and self-governance. That means the guilt has to go away. It is perfectly acceptable to pee alone and shop for jeans without the family in-tow.

Guilt does not serve me. It doesn't put food on the table, buy groceries, fold laundry, keep me sane, or change diapers. Let the guilt go. **deep breaths**

As I’m learning to allow myself space, I’m noticing how empowered my Monsters are becoming in their own skin.

Monster Man REALLY likes to antagonize Princess Girl, just as most older brothers do their little sisters, especially in the car, but tonight on our drive home as he began to pick at her, she held her palm up to him. Calmly, and a little loudly, she said “Stop. My in control my body. My not listening.”

It only took a small prompting for her to remember that only she is in control of her body, just as he is the only one in control of his. They each have used this in their own defense. Monster Man even told a beloved relative that he could not have a hug because “only I control my body. I hug when I’m ready.”

How profound that at the ages of 2 and 3, they already have a grasp on something that took me nearly 27 years to just begin learn. Learning this has been HUGE for my Monsters. Unfortunately, it makes them even more head strong J but I know that no one will ever be able to push my kids around or force them into anything.  Ever.

I am so amazed every day at the strength of my wonderful Monsters who continually show me all the things I need to heal within myself. Heavenly Father knew exactly what we needed when He sent them to us and I thank Him every day.

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Potential

Each of us has potential inside of us, some for good and some for bad. We all also have who we inherently are if we don't strive for any change whether for good or bad.

Tonight, I saw a glimmer of who I will become if I stop striving to do and be "better." It wasn't pretty; in fact, it was entirely frightening. It was as if I was staring directly into the face of what I fear the most: becoming my father. The anger and aggression in my words were staggering to hear coming out of my mouth. Husband and my little brother were taken aback and stunned at the striking resemblance I had to the person I try so hard to separate myself from. Of two things I'm grateful. First, that none of this was directed at my little monsters. And second, both my darling husband and my brother were very quick to call me out on my shit.

Driving home, Husband and I had a good talk and I had many tears.

I was reminded that the part of who I am that was inherently good at my beginning, was damaged, quite possibly irrevocably broken, long ago, well before I could be accountable for determining right from wrong.
From very early in my life, I knew I was completely alone in my choices and that no one would save me even though I so desperately needed saving. I grew up in an environment that never allowed me to feel safe in my own home until the day I married my Husband.

I do NOT want to be that cause of fear in the lives of my little monsters. I do not want to foster the kind of resentment in my marriage or other relationships that I witnessed growing up.

So what do I do now in the face of my greatest fear becoming a reality?? After I dry my tears and apologize to two of the most important men in my life, what do I do next?

First, I think these fears and tears need a moment of validation. Next, the apologies and a good night's sleep.

And then, the work.

I doubt I'll ever be able to fully repair the part of me that used to be inherently good. . . What I can do is work hard every. single. day. to create muscle memory that always leads me to the good.

In these moments, it's hard for me to not think about what could have been if someone had been there to protect me or if I'd had a different man for my father, one who was kind, patient, and loving, someone like my father in law or any of my brothers in law, someone like my husband. But some day I've got to figure out how to give up all those what ifs.

Sadly, I'm not there yet. I'm still in it. I'm still doing the work. All I can do is TRY. Every day. For the rest of my life.

I know that in the Eternities, all these wounds of mine will be healed. My pain will be taken from me. Sometimes I wish I could be there in that paradise sooner. But then I remember that every day is a gift. No matter how much pain I feel, I can make a better life for my monsters than the one I had and pray that they will give their own little monsters a better life too. Little by little, I'm putting the pieces together.

Without my Husband or the gospel, I'd be the face in the mirror that causes nightmares.

Tonight I pray and tomorrow I go to work. Thank Heaven for Eternal Perspective.


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