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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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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Choosing Work

About 5 weeks ago, I began a journey into a higher level of peaceful, empathetic parenting. It's been an incredibly painful and difficult process but most of the best things are.

In the first few weeks, I was asked to come to terms with how I was parented and then to understand how it affects the way I parent and the things that elicit an emotional response from me.

I would venture to say that most of us would rather not dig into old wounds especially if they're still figuratively festering. Somethings are better left buried but in the case of emotional trauma, I think it's almost always beneficial to "do the work" and settle the past to let it go.

I could be considered an emotionally volatile person in that I have deep emotional responses when triggered. One of the hardest things I'm learning to do is understand when what I'm feeling isn't serving me. In those cases, I allow myself time to sit with the potentially irrational emotion and understand why I'm feeling it. Even "irrational" emotions deserve their day in the sun, to be heard and honored. Once I've sifted through things a bit, I do my best to turn the metaphorical burner off and allow it to simmer down and cool. I let it go.

Once I let it go, I move on to more situationally appropriate emotions that serve me, my kids, and whomever else I'm interacting with. I'm striving to live my life and feel my emotions more compassionately and empathetically.

I've learned something that is life changing for me: until this point, I've considered myself "broken" and "damaged." I tossed these words around in the description of myself for so long that it's started to feel like a safe place. But the reality is, I'm not actually either of those things. Those words describe a victim to whom things happen. I have come to the realization that depression is a state of being, like a pot of stew simmer on the stove. It doesn't require any action on it's own account. Someone else is doing all the work, adjusting the temperature and adding ingredients at will. Depression is an existence.

Emotion, on the other hand, require action. Sadness takes time to cope with, sometimes tears and sometimes the ear of an understanding and trusted friend. Sadness is a progressive emotion. Depression takes up residence.

This is not to say that depression is a choice for everyone. There are many people, myself included at times, who are truly overwhelmed and debilitated by depression that feels like outside force weighing down our breath. This is different from choosing to exist in a depressed state of being as I have allowed myself these last few months. It was easier to wallow in pain than to feel real emotion.

Regardless of whether our depression is inherent or a choice, WORK is always a choice. I choose to do work.

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Self discovery and the sauce.

The past few weeks, as I've been back to work, I've learned a lot about myself.

For the first time in my life, I'm realizing who **I** am. Me! Not me as wife, not mother, not cosmetologist or doula or lactation counselor. Just ME.

It's surprisingly interesting.

I'm more sarcastic and direct than I remembered and I laugh more than I have in a loooong time.

Through this process, I've realized just how much I eat my feelings. So my first goal is to get in front of that.

I'm planning to do a 21 day sugar detox in July but before I can do that, Momma's gotta go off the sauce. Diet Dew that is.

So I've got one Diet Dew left in the fridge and when it's gone, I'm all done. . .

I imagine I'm going to be kinda stabby over the next week. You've been warned.

xoxo,
Sara

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perspective

We each are dealt a specific hand in life and the challenges are unique and specific to us.

Each of us have some trial and/or difficultly we're currently facing and how it feels is also unique.  No two brains, hearts, or spirits FEEL the same way. So, what seems like no big deal to me, may feel overwhelming and earth shattering to you.

This is why it makes me sad when people say to one another, "this is supposed to be the best time," or "well if you don't like it now, it's all just downhill from here." Comments like these can make some feel like a failure.

I have to amazing, GREAT, little monsters who call me mom. However, one is incredibly high needs with a very specific set of challenges that we're still trying to learn how to navigate. The other is a sensitive and emotional child who also has many needs. Neither of these things are "bad" but they are difficult, exhausting, and at times very stressful.  This does not mean that I love my children any less than the next mother or that I wouldn't take a bullet and walk through the depths of hell to protect and fight for my monsters. What it means, is that I get tired, emotionally and physically, I get frazzled, and I need lots of love and support.

This week, my husband is gone on a cushy business trip to an exciting destination. Unfortunately, this leaves me feeling rather alone.

Each day, I am solely responsible for the children from the moment they wake.  I count the minutes until 5 pm comes and I can have a few precious minutes of reprieve before diving into dinner and bedtime routines. But this week, there will be no reprieve, no knight in shining armour to swoop in just in the nick of time to distract the children while Momma puts her feet up and downs a tall glass of ice water. It seems daunting to face this week feeling entirely alone in the world.

I've never made light of my struggles with post partum depression but I don't consider myself a negative Nancy either.

So it hurts my heart a bit when people suggest that if I just had a better attitude about the coming days, it would all be easier.

When someone tells me that I should be savoring every moment because some day I'll miss the tantrums, I feel incredibly judged and like I'm doing something wrong.

I will miss the quiet moments with my daughter nestled at my breast. I will miss the rare times of stillness as I read a book or two to my son while he sits in my lap.  I will miss the yummy smell that is so unique to small children.  I'll miss the stumbley toddler steps and the adorable way they struggle to make their words sound like mine. I'll probably even miss the way they NEED me every moment of every day.

But I highly doubt I will miss the years of sleepless nights, the screaming fits complete with hitting and biting, and I feel certain that I will not miss repeatedly saying "DO NOT hit/kick/knock over your sister," or "Please keep your hands to yourself!" I am certain I will not miss poopy diapers and especially not miss poop in the tub.

You see, I think it's all about perspective. We perceive our way to be right and our advice needed. We perceive our lot in life to be the most difficult. And so we pass judgement and, whether intentionally or not, toss out biting remarks.

As I look around, in the quiet night, while my children are peacefully tucked in their beds, I realize that there is no comparison, both no need for one and no ability to accurately do so.
We each carry our own individual burden and some of us do so at greater cost than others but the cost and weight can not be compared. I try to find the good in each day and strive to do my best with my children. So believe me when I say that I'm doing the very best I can. Some days that's more and some days it's less but it's the best I can do today and I can not give more.

rough start

2013 is off to a rough start for us.

We've lost a couple of really awesome Uncles. Both had been ill and in pain for some time so there is peace in their passing, the pain is removed. There's also pain. We who are left behind feel pain for the time we must go on without them. It seems long for us but for them, in a beautiful place with our Savior, it is but short.

The last 5 or 6 weeks everyone has been sick at least one but most 2 or more times. I haven't slept more than 3 hours at once since mid December and I literally can't remember the last time I slept 6 straight hours aside from the 2 nights we spent sans niños in Vegas earlier this month. My kids sleep even worse when we're away from home as we have been for funerals.

Being a mom is really tough. Being a sleep deprived mom who suffers from postpartum depression is even tougher. I've not been shy about my struggles but I've not come right out about some of my feelings toward my children.

I love and adore my children, but sometimes I don't LIKE them very much. I have moments of what I like to call "momma rage." Some days they try me to my wits' end and destroy whatever shred of patience I may have once had. I start to feel like I'm not cut out for this job, the most important job I'll ever hold, with the most lasting, eternal consequences.

My fears get the better of me. What if I end up utterly destroying my children the way that my childhood destroyed me? What if I give them cause to question their value and self worth and leave unable to trust in virtually every relationship they have for the rest of their lives? It's easy for me to lay blame for perceived shortcoming on my father and my upbringing. It's easy for me allow the fear to take over.

But, as wise men say, where fear resides faith cannot exist. How can I have faith in the plan for me and my own abilities and strengths if I allow fear to over shadow and over power my life?

I need to have faith in my Heavenly Father. I need to have faith in MYSELF and in my eternal companion. Some how I have to try each moment of every day to let go of those things that have left deep scars invisible to the eye. Letting go is the greatest challenge of my life and a battle I will fight each and every day.

In an effort to maintain my perspective, I've begun writing a journal to each of my monsters. First, I wrote out their birth story for them to hear from my perspective. Every day I try to write down one thing I love about them and one funny/happy thing that happened that day. So far, it's helping but we'll see if I remember to keep writing.

I've never been much good at journaling and my blogging habits are sporadic at best. I'll keep trying, each day to do better than I did yesterday.

So that where I'm at right now.

Sometimes it's ok to be selfish

This past weekend, I did something selfish. And I've decided sometimes it's okay to be selfish. Not just because I had Husband's blessing to do what I did, but because sometimes we're so self-LESS that we cease to care for ourselves properly. How can a momma care for her family when she's unwell? She can't.

Post partum depression is a beast. It's something I've battled before, but each baby bares a new and different challenge. For a while now, I'd been feeling like I was treading water but the last several weeks it's felt more like drowning. Gasping for air and beginning to sink under.

When people talk about drowning, real drowning not movie or television drowning, it's actually an incredibly quiet event. And it can happen right in front of a crowd of people without anyone taking real notice. There's no dramatic splashing or yelling for help, just the quiet gulps that fill a victim's lung with water as they sink below the surface practically paralyzed by fear and lack of oxygen.

For more than a month now, I've been struggling to keep my head above the water, feeling like I'm drowning, quietly gulping water and sinking below the surface. And virtually no one seemed to notice. I've even wished for an accident, to get hurt and need a prolonged hospital stay so that I could just rest and be undisturbed by dogs, chickens, poopy diapers, dirty faces, snot noses, or any of the other myriad of things that face moms of small people each day. "To just rest and be medicated would feel pretty good," I thought. And then there were times that I considered maybe just slipping under the surface quietly with no notice wouldn't necessarily be such a bad thing.

Sure I've got friends and family that would be sad and miss the girl I used to be. The cute, fun, sassy one who drew people in like a magnet. But, let's be honest: I haven't been that girl in a long time and lately I haven't been all that likable of a person. Any perceived closeness has all felt really superficial this year. And for some strange reason, I've kind of felt ok with it. I've been numb to the missing personal relationships and maybe it has mostly been how I've masked the raw and burning feelings, like the nerves exposed from gashing off a few layers of skin.

You're probably wondering where the selfish part is. Well here it is.

I left.

I packed a bag and took off for the weekend leaving my husband and children at home. I barely called or texted, only wanting not to worry the man any further but not actually wanting too many details about what was going on at home.

I told Husband and myself that it was just for the weekend, a turn around trip really. But a small portion of me was scared that I wouldn't want to come back.

I made big plans to park my tush in the sand with my toes in the water and not leave until I'd removed this lost, drifting, drowning feeling off my shoulders. Instead, I spent Friday with an old friend catching up, chatting, and just relaxing. And it felt good.

Saturday, I got up early and ran. Purposely leaving my headphones behind and pushing my speed so I'd have to focus only on my breathing and footsteps, running alone along the shoreline, those nerve endings felt like they were being picked at not healed. But isn't that often the first step, cutting away all the dead and broken skin?

Then I showered and got dressed. I drove out to Point Loma and hiked down to the tide pools.

And I sat watching the tide come in.

For a long time.

I realized I never really "lost" myself. I just sort of lost my way for a while but I was always there. However, the last few months I've been allowing my weaknesses to drive me. I'm impatient (though aren't we all), self doubting, and a perfectionist. And in my desire to not repeat the mistakes of my parents, I've been destroying myself and any confidence I had learned to this point in my life.

While I sat along the cliff edge, I saw this little seagull.

 

I know he's hard to see, but he's there sitting out on that rock.

 



I watched this little seagull for a long time.

Because the tide was coming in, the water on this rock was rising a teensy bit with each wave. He didn't seem to mind if he got sprayed a little with the water or if his toes got wet. He stood his ground and looked out toward the coastline as if planning his next move.

Eventually, the waves got a bit higher and he didn't want his bum to get wet so he began to hop as each wave washed over the rock. He continued this hop and wait for another while. Then the water became too deep. But he wasn't really ready to move on yet so he flew to the next highest rock and sat for another while repeating this process over until he was ready to fly away for good.

Despite the rising tide, he was not persuaded to change his plan or alter his course until he was really ready to do so.

... I know what your thinking: Wow, she really gave this silly bird a lot more thought than necessary. But hey, I was sitting out here on this cliff edge for the purpose of soul searching people. Sometimes ya just make do with what's available. Haha

Anyways, I figured I needed to learn something from this little seagull. It's okay when things get messy as long as we keep our perspective.

Striving for perfection can occasionally be a good thing, but in general it falls into the weakness category. It allows us to set unrealistic expectations for others and especially ourselves.

I've lost sight of the important things.
I feel like I've forgotten the extend of God's love for me, that imperfect as I am, I'm special and important just as I am.
Eternal perspective. What does that mean? "This too shall PASS."
Some where in the last couple of years, between hyperemisis, broken shoulder, new baby, etc, I stopped looking forward and making plans and goals. And while I 100% believe that life is what happens while we're busy making plans, I know that plans and goals are important. We should not just be wondering aimlessly through this life.

I've come to a new place through this weekend away that is ultimately a good thing for my family. I'm still a work in progress, still treading water but I can breathe again. It's been a while since I felt that way.

Relationships are important. Especially my marriage. With my husband's hand in mine I can overcome anything. And harsh as it may seem, right now, his is the only opinion I truly value. For too long I've been focusing on outside perceptions and expectations and I've realized that those things matter not.

I don't have to be a perfect mom, I just have to be better than I was yesterday.

And it's ok if I'm not a very good friend today because tomorrow I'll be a little bit more well than I am today which means I'll be able to be a better person the day after that.

Maybe my weekend of selfishness was a bit less selfish than I thought.

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good enough

When is "good enough" enough?

Daily we're inundated with perfect ideas of how each of us should be:
how to be the perfect housewife, the perfect lover, the perfect mother, the perfect outfit, haircut, DIY do-er, baker, cook, nail technician, up-cycler, seamstress.

There is even a list of perfect things we should have:
shoes, shade of lipstick, car, dog, diaper bag, car seat, stroller, coffee.

Our society if full of "perfectionists," myself included.

And, if you're anything like me, you only see how you're failing miserably those perfect standards. Every day I feel like I'm drowning, barely treading water, in an effort to be perfect. The perfect wife, the perfect mom, perfect friend, perfect hair and skin, even the perfect workout.

Let's get one thing clear: I am momma to a 2-yr-old (which in itself equals tantrum throwing, busy bodied, mess-making, loud and sometimes angry, adorable monster) and a very high needs, high maintenance almost one year old.
So what does this mean? It means for every mess picked up, one twice its size appears in its place without delay. All day long small people are hanging on me and climbing me for sport. They follow me around all day long and I'm never ever alone. All my food is shared and most days, my toddler TD logs more iPhone time than I do.
My house is endlessly and always a disaster, not dirty, just cluttered and toy piled. My kids often have dirty hands and faces. I'm stressed and frazzled and probably won't get a shower until my kids are in bed. Unless, of course, I got a run and shower in before Husband left for work at 6:15 this morning... which is highly unlikely.

Some days are okay, but most this constant struggle for perfection leaves me utterly exhausted emotionally and physically, feeling like I've been treading water, from sun up to sun down, just trying to find a little ray of sunshine. I know something good happens every day but most days, after the kids have gone to bed and Husband asks me about my day, I can't seem to remember them.

Sadly, when you can't ever seem to remember the good times and giggles, it's difficult to like yourself. When you constantly feel as though you're falling short at every measure.

As mothers, I think this is something we all struggle with at some point or another, especially in our early days. But what do we do about it? How do we find the balance between "good enough" and "perfection?"

I hope some of you know, because I still haven't figured it out.

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