Meme of person crying: "Me in my room imagining fake scenarios and hurting my own feelings."
I saw this meme awhile back, and last night I did exactly this. What started out as a simple trip down memory lane, left me feeling so sad by the end that I actually cried. Like out loud, made myself sob.
Looking back at images over the last few years, instead of a feeling wistful nostalgia, I was just pissed off that I've lived so much hurt. And then, as if that wasn't painful enough, I created all sorts of alternate universes in my mind of where life could go from here, with every one of them leaving me the short end of the stick.
I totally understand how people get to the point where they no longer choose to open up their hearts, since it's just a big old disappointment every time. A track record of people never delivering.
Maybe there's a little bit of the past I still need to reconcile. Little pieces of broken hearts left over from the years, in the sense that you can be over something, you can move on, and move along, but maybe you haven't fully processed, fully absorbed? The little pangs of hurt haven't become part of the whole, and they can bump and sting, like a game of Operation.
Maybe quarantine is getting to me. I've liked being alone so much lately, but perhaps now it's reached a point where being alone too much isn't a good thing. It gives me too much time to wander in my mind, and I should have known that I have a limit there. It can become too much. My imagination, big feelings, and love of time to just think is what makes me a great artist. Performer, and writer. But. This is also what makes being human so damn tricky for someone like me. The spiral becomes too deep, and you long to claw out, but you've explored so internally you can't enter into the outside world yet, leaving you in a big conundrum. If you know, you know.
Alone. This was the problem last night, you see. It was thinking about being alone...forever. And if I'm being honest, I'm not sure I'm up for that, should that happen. I started to worry about the types of love I have in my life, and is that enough to sustain me? Family, friends, and the love of my sweet son - which I am so lucky and grateful for.
But what about the other type of love?
And then...what if my son never sees me loved?
And then...am I okay with that?!
I just don't know.
It's now the morning after, and I am out for a run. I notice my thighs hurt from last night's run, but my heart doesn't hurt from last night's cry. And by 9 o'clock this morning...I am mostly okay. Will I be okay in years to come? Will my story be beautiful? Are there great surprises in store? Will it all "work out"? Only time will tell. But for now, it's just 9 am, and I am mostly okay.
What's the quote? Something about doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results is the definition of insanity? Well, consider me certifiably insane, because I will never close off. I will never stop trying.
I will not stop opening my heart, even though it's only ever ended...
And even though it's only ever ended...
I am mostly okay...
so...I keep running.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
May 16, 2020
Jul 22, 2017
This is not love.
I met a beautiful long haired boy. He was oh so sad. I was drawn to his turmoil, to his sadness. "You are sensitive, nostalgic, and sad", I said. "I see you. Your melancholia is beautiful.". I mistook his talk of sadness, for an open heart. I mistook his woes, for connection. I thought he was letting me in. I thought I understood. But really...I knew nothing beyond the surface of his sad.
It is a fragile, convoluted thing, to learn what love is. Three years married. Four together. One month to live a crash course in what love is.
It is not love to be yelled at. It is not love for your spouse to yell to your face that you are a bitch. It is not love for your spouse to yell at you to fuck off, or fuck you. It is not love to be grabbed roughly. It is not love to be run out on. It is not love to be given the silent treatment. It is not love to be without communication. It is not love to never be comforted, to be ignored when you cry, and to called a "little bitch lamb" because you are crying. It is not love to be told your access to your bank account will be stopped. It is not love to be threatened with divorce, and a fight for your child. Time and time again. It is not love for things to be thrown, and broken around you. It is not love to be "taught lessons"..."didn't these last two days teach you anything?" Or, "if you're going to behave like a child, I'm going to treat you like one." It is not love to beg for therapy, to finally get to go together, to last only four sessions, for one of you to get kicked out, and to never make another attempt at repairing. It is not love to be told you must have another baby or you will be left. It is not love to beg not to be left. It is not love to beg for anything.
It is not love to beg.
It is not love for any of this to happen in front of your baby.
It is not love for your baby to bear witness to these things.
There is so much shame, denial and confusion, surrounding emotional, verbal, and mental abuse. Even the strongest women are not immune. It sneaks up. You explain it away, because you can’t possibly have gotten yourself into this situation. You're too smart for that. You are not one of those women. You actually try to start telling yourself that maybe being called names doesn't really matter because, "it's just words". Plus, you are a deep-feeling, loving, and hopeful person, and you have enough love and commitment for the both of you. So that should do, right? When the going gets hard, you don’t run, you fix! You try everything and anything because we declared our commitment for all our family and friends to see, proudly. We have a child together. Leaving is not an option.
But I've learned there is no such thing as having enough love for the both of you. Or having enough faith for you both. Yes, you still have faith. But now you also have fear.
Fear is a slippery slope.
Fear also sneaks up.
You don’t dare to call for help, because you’ll work this out, and nobody will have a tainted view of your relationship. You don't want to call the police, because what if you hurt his career? And what if he takes the baby, like he said he would? You'd better sit tight. You don't dare to tell anyone, you make excuses. You pretend. But it starts to eat you alive. Your appetite grinds to a halt. You begin to have regular anxiety attacks. You are underweight. You are walking on eggshells. You've assumed a new role, of the baby’s protector. Your stomach drops and your heart sinks on a regular basis. You being to have PTSD. You turn down social activities. You say no to your friends. You beat him back home every night. You want to keep him pleased. You are sick. This. Has. Made. You. Sick. But you love him. You love him. You love him.
Letting this behavior happen is not love.
This is not love.
It is not love to excuse.
It is not love to enable.
It is not love to sweep problems under the rug with no communication.
It is not love to put up with this behavior.
It is loving to set boundaries.
It is loving to have strength, to know your son cannot and will not see this again.
It is loving to break your own heart, because you never wished for a fractured home.
It is loving to take time away, to reflect, and remember you are a worthy person.
That’s the scariest part of all. By the end, you are so upside down that your worth is nearly gone. Your WORTH. Hear me loud and clear when I tell you that YOU WILL QUESTION IF YOU ARE A PERSON WORTHY TO BE A LIVING, BREATHING THING ON THE EARTH. Many factors add up to this, including cries for help that were understood, but never responded to from those you truly thought would help. Instead, it was glossed over, and you and your son were left...feeling unloved, sure...but also unsafe. THIS IS NOT LOVE. Not love comes from a cycle of not love, and not love before that. Not love cannot be sustained when matched with real love.
And it's that simple. And it's that hard.
And yet time works wonders.
And in the beginning you're certain you'll never get through, because the man of your dreams is gone. It's gone. It is all gone. And then weeks go by. And then you near a month, then more, and you see things so much clearer now that your source of anxiety is gone. And you're right, it is gone. It is all gone. But what's gone is the darkness. The turmoil, and the sadness, the storm brought with it.
But your love is intact. And you find that you are actually intact. And you no longer pine for someone who tried so hard to leave you, for so long. And when you really take a look back...you see that someone has been trying to leave you for the last year, yes, but also since they met you.
If I stay silent, I do no favors. I enable. I patch over. I pretend. I allow no women to come forward, to say, "me too!" I have heard so many times that it appears my life is perfect. That it looked like I was living the dream. Reality is that my heart, soul, and trust were shattered. That I will pine for who knows how long for the life I thought I had. The family I thought I was building and could save, could fix. The idea that you don't throw in the towel on marriage when it's this level of love, when there is a baby. The idea that raising our baby under the same roof was the only option.
My reality is that I am broken.
As broken as the shadow of the person I thought I knew. The one who told me he never wanted me to be afraid of him. The one who told me that he hated his profession and took it out on me.The one who I both still love, and fear. The one I must turn over our son to at times now - without me. The one who belongs to a family that has now been made clear in court after the protective order, is lost to me. I thought many of those relationships could stay intact. I had a completely different vision of him being helped, and our relationships sustained. I thought family is family is family and family helps. I have been so naive. I now have no choice but to hand over my baby. This will also mean handing over my baby to family that I feel I no longer know, or will be allowed to know. I will hand over my baby to one family member whom I loved, but who always made me nervous because of the effect of their pain pills. I'd witnessed them nod off on more than one occasion...including once when my newborn son was in their arms. That is an image you don't forget. I was told I love my baby too much. But I don't for one second believe that is even a thing. Thank god I love my son and will fight to keep him healthy and safe. Thank god he has me, and I have him. My little boy all but saved my life.
I have no idea how to rebuild my life. I'd been setting myself up to be primarily a stay-at-home-mom. I have had no regular income since I was pregnant. Only freelance work. I have no idea how to pay my lawyers. I have no idea how to pay to recover and start over from any of this. It is total devastation in every aspect. Emotionally, mentally, physically, financially. You name it. So no, my life is not perfect. I am certainly not living my dream.
But what I have learned I am, is an eternal optimist. I am an amazing mother who loves her son more than anything, and will fight to protect him when, and where I need to. I also know that people are good. That men are good. That men are out there who come from communication, or want to learn communication. Who want to dig deep. Who would look at themselves, and choose to sort out their share of the issues. Who speak kindly to and of the women in his life. Who strive to discover who they truly are, and what they want. Who won't tell me that I won't be able to go get a job and provide like he does. Who won't yell at me for buying a cup of coffee. Who won't tell me he wouldn't have to yell if I didn't make him mad. Who won't want to "put me on an allowance." Who dig in to the experience of parenthood. I didn't have what I now know I needed in a partner while navigating my way into motherhood. Lost to the haze of new motherhood, I wasn't able to deeply express and work through my first 6 months of post partum anxiety. I wasn't able to express my contentment with becoming a mother, and my deep connection to our son, or talk about the kind of baby he was, and the parenting styles my mother's instincts told me fit him best. I didn't have those big exciting moments to talk about for years to come when I found out I was pregnant, or when we saw the first ultra-sound. Instead, I had someone who told me time and time again, "I'm a cold person." That his family, "bottles everything up. It's what we do." He was so determined. So committed to the cold. To the bottling.
I've been in long term relationships for the past 20 years. Never in my life did I experience a relationship where I needed to ask for help. Never in my life did I experience a relationship where someone told me I was the cause of everything. Certainly not in the 8 year relationship I was in prior. That was a good man, so good he was willing to come to my defense even now. So I am not without hope. I am confident about the fact that there are good men.
I feel a pang of sadness when I see a baby out and about with both a mom, and a dad. I keep having moments of panic because my wedding ring isn't on. For a split second I'm worried I've lost it. I'm not used to having it off. Ahead of me lies a hard road, and no, I'm not sure how I'm going to start down it, or pay for it. And yes, it still feels like all is being taken. A spouse, my baby, quite possibly any chance at future pregnancies, quite possibly the roof over our heads. I have no idea what we'll do. I am learning how crushed the stay-at-home-mom often becomes in this scenario. Where are the resources?! Life is dealing me cards I have never, ever, wanted. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. I don't know how anyone can take the required divorce classes and still want to go through this, rather than committing harder, and fixing it. Those classes are devastating.
I'm aware that this all sounds very heavy, so let me leave you with some lightness.
Recently, my bouts of sadness have started to lessen. I have ever so gently begun to feel lighter, and to feel a freedom that had gone missing. I still feel a spark inside. A spark I didn't even realize had started to go out. It is there, it is back, and it is glowing. Urging me on. I have to believe that there is better ahead. There is different, there is new. I have worked too hard, for too long to lose every scrap of myself for this. I know I was certainly not put on this earth to be this sad. And also, "Charlie's Mom" is amazing, you guys. She is tough, and strong, and soft, and sensitive, and in tune, and confident, and fun. No way would she let someone else take her worth. Someone with so much potential, but so deeply wounded. Someone so young. I've lived way too much life to see myself demolished at the hands of another. Parents and friends had begun to comment on why I was always asking permission to do things, wondering where my independence had gone.
I have a lot to figure out, about why I let this happen. Where along the way I got it into my head that romance was tragic. How I could let my attraction blind me so deeply. I am researching and reading like crazy, and will link a couple of articles at the end to help you all better understand.
If you're reading this and you've been through something similar, I hope my words and transparency help you. Help you be less alone. Help you to feel less shame. Help to remind you to stay hopeful.
And if f you ever feel that you need to ask for help - ask. And don't let anyone minimize your fear. They are not living, breathing, experiencing it firsthand. They have no right to tell you your experience is not valid. This is exactly why people feel there is no way out. If someone tells you they are scared, please listen. Respond. I beg you. And if you find yourself in the camp of the other party, help that person with some tough love, rather than a blind eye. Please, I beg you. To stay silent, to stay inactive does them no favors. The cycle will never have an end.
I am in progress. I am both happy, and sad. I am worried, but hopeful. I am full of love for my incredible family and circle of friends. My supportive community. My tribe who reached right out and helped me stay afloat. My therapist. I am learning. Every day I am digging deep and figuring it out.
What I do know now, is love is not cruel.
If it's cruel, it's not love.
It is not love.
This one really helped me understand the why and how of my participation:
22 stages of relationship between an empath and a narcissist
Understanding emotional abuse
Understanding emotional and physiological abuse
Podcast
It is a fragile, convoluted thing, to learn what love is. Three years married. Four together. One month to live a crash course in what love is.
It is not love to be yelled at. It is not love for your spouse to yell to your face that you are a bitch. It is not love for your spouse to yell at you to fuck off, or fuck you. It is not love to be grabbed roughly. It is not love to be run out on. It is not love to be given the silent treatment. It is not love to be without communication. It is not love to never be comforted, to be ignored when you cry, and to called a "little bitch lamb" because you are crying. It is not love to be told your access to your bank account will be stopped. It is not love to be threatened with divorce, and a fight for your child. Time and time again. It is not love for things to be thrown, and broken around you. It is not love to be "taught lessons"..."didn't these last two days teach you anything?" Or, "if you're going to behave like a child, I'm going to treat you like one." It is not love to beg for therapy, to finally get to go together, to last only four sessions, for one of you to get kicked out, and to never make another attempt at repairing. It is not love to be told you must have another baby or you will be left. It is not love to beg not to be left. It is not love to beg for anything.
It is not love to beg.
It is not love for any of this to happen in front of your baby.
It is not love for your baby to bear witness to these things.
There is so much shame, denial and confusion, surrounding emotional, verbal, and mental abuse. Even the strongest women are not immune. It sneaks up. You explain it away, because you can’t possibly have gotten yourself into this situation. You're too smart for that. You are not one of those women. You actually try to start telling yourself that maybe being called names doesn't really matter because, "it's just words". Plus, you are a deep-feeling, loving, and hopeful person, and you have enough love and commitment for the both of you. So that should do, right? When the going gets hard, you don’t run, you fix! You try everything and anything because we declared our commitment for all our family and friends to see, proudly. We have a child together. Leaving is not an option.
But I've learned there is no such thing as having enough love for the both of you. Or having enough faith for you both. Yes, you still have faith. But now you also have fear.
Fear is a slippery slope.
Fear also sneaks up.
You don’t dare to call for help, because you’ll work this out, and nobody will have a tainted view of your relationship. You don't want to call the police, because what if you hurt his career? And what if he takes the baby, like he said he would? You'd better sit tight. You don't dare to tell anyone, you make excuses. You pretend. But it starts to eat you alive. Your appetite grinds to a halt. You begin to have regular anxiety attacks. You are underweight. You are walking on eggshells. You've assumed a new role, of the baby’s protector. Your stomach drops and your heart sinks on a regular basis. You being to have PTSD. You turn down social activities. You say no to your friends. You beat him back home every night. You want to keep him pleased. You are sick. This. Has. Made. You. Sick. But you love him. You love him. You love him.
Letting this behavior happen is not love.
This is not love.
It is not love to excuse.
It is not love to enable.
It is not love to sweep problems under the rug with no communication.
It is not love to put up with this behavior.
It is loving to set boundaries.
It is loving to have strength, to know your son cannot and will not see this again.
It is loving to break your own heart, because you never wished for a fractured home.
It is loving to take time away, to reflect, and remember you are a worthy person.
That’s the scariest part of all. By the end, you are so upside down that your worth is nearly gone. Your WORTH. Hear me loud and clear when I tell you that YOU WILL QUESTION IF YOU ARE A PERSON WORTHY TO BE A LIVING, BREATHING THING ON THE EARTH. Many factors add up to this, including cries for help that were understood, but never responded to from those you truly thought would help. Instead, it was glossed over, and you and your son were left...feeling unloved, sure...but also unsafe. THIS IS NOT LOVE. Not love comes from a cycle of not love, and not love before that. Not love cannot be sustained when matched with real love.
And it's that simple. And it's that hard.
And yet time works wonders.
And in the beginning you're certain you'll never get through, because the man of your dreams is gone. It's gone. It is all gone. And then weeks go by. And then you near a month, then more, and you see things so much clearer now that your source of anxiety is gone. And you're right, it is gone. It is all gone. But what's gone is the darkness. The turmoil, and the sadness, the storm brought with it.
But your love is intact. And you find that you are actually intact. And you no longer pine for someone who tried so hard to leave you, for so long. And when you really take a look back...you see that someone has been trying to leave you for the last year, yes, but also since they met you.
If I stay silent, I do no favors. I enable. I patch over. I pretend. I allow no women to come forward, to say, "me too!" I have heard so many times that it appears my life is perfect. That it looked like I was living the dream. Reality is that my heart, soul, and trust were shattered. That I will pine for who knows how long for the life I thought I had. The family I thought I was building and could save, could fix. The idea that you don't throw in the towel on marriage when it's this level of love, when there is a baby. The idea that raising our baby under the same roof was the only option.
My reality is that I am broken.
As broken as the shadow of the person I thought I knew. The one who told me he never wanted me to be afraid of him. The one who told me that he hated his profession and took it out on me.The one who I both still love, and fear. The one I must turn over our son to at times now - without me. The one who belongs to a family that has now been made clear in court after the protective order, is lost to me. I thought many of those relationships could stay intact. I had a completely different vision of him being helped, and our relationships sustained. I thought family is family is family and family helps. I have been so naive. I now have no choice but to hand over my baby. This will also mean handing over my baby to family that I feel I no longer know, or will be allowed to know. I will hand over my baby to one family member whom I loved, but who always made me nervous because of the effect of their pain pills. I'd witnessed them nod off on more than one occasion...including once when my newborn son was in their arms. That is an image you don't forget. I was told I love my baby too much. But I don't for one second believe that is even a thing. Thank god I love my son and will fight to keep him healthy and safe. Thank god he has me, and I have him. My little boy all but saved my life.
I have no idea how to rebuild my life. I'd been setting myself up to be primarily a stay-at-home-mom. I have had no regular income since I was pregnant. Only freelance work. I have no idea how to pay my lawyers. I have no idea how to pay to recover and start over from any of this. It is total devastation in every aspect. Emotionally, mentally, physically, financially. You name it. So no, my life is not perfect. I am certainly not living my dream.
But what I have learned I am, is an eternal optimist. I am an amazing mother who loves her son more than anything, and will fight to protect him when, and where I need to. I also know that people are good. That men are good. That men are out there who come from communication, or want to learn communication. Who want to dig deep. Who would look at themselves, and choose to sort out their share of the issues. Who speak kindly to and of the women in his life. Who strive to discover who they truly are, and what they want. Who won't tell me that I won't be able to go get a job and provide like he does. Who won't yell at me for buying a cup of coffee. Who won't tell me he wouldn't have to yell if I didn't make him mad. Who won't want to "put me on an allowance." Who dig in to the experience of parenthood. I didn't have what I now know I needed in a partner while navigating my way into motherhood. Lost to the haze of new motherhood, I wasn't able to deeply express and work through my first 6 months of post partum anxiety. I wasn't able to express my contentment with becoming a mother, and my deep connection to our son, or talk about the kind of baby he was, and the parenting styles my mother's instincts told me fit him best. I didn't have those big exciting moments to talk about for years to come when I found out I was pregnant, or when we saw the first ultra-sound. Instead, I had someone who told me time and time again, "I'm a cold person." That his family, "bottles everything up. It's what we do." He was so determined. So committed to the cold. To the bottling.
I've been in long term relationships for the past 20 years. Never in my life did I experience a relationship where I needed to ask for help. Never in my life did I experience a relationship where someone told me I was the cause of everything. Certainly not in the 8 year relationship I was in prior. That was a good man, so good he was willing to come to my defense even now. So I am not without hope. I am confident about the fact that there are good men.
I feel a pang of sadness when I see a baby out and about with both a mom, and a dad. I keep having moments of panic because my wedding ring isn't on. For a split second I'm worried I've lost it. I'm not used to having it off. Ahead of me lies a hard road, and no, I'm not sure how I'm going to start down it, or pay for it. And yes, it still feels like all is being taken. A spouse, my baby, quite possibly any chance at future pregnancies, quite possibly the roof over our heads. I have no idea what we'll do. I am learning how crushed the stay-at-home-mom often becomes in this scenario. Where are the resources?! Life is dealing me cards I have never, ever, wanted. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. I don't know how anyone can take the required divorce classes and still want to go through this, rather than committing harder, and fixing it. Those classes are devastating.
I'm aware that this all sounds very heavy, so let me leave you with some lightness.
Recently, my bouts of sadness have started to lessen. I have ever so gently begun to feel lighter, and to feel a freedom that had gone missing. I still feel a spark inside. A spark I didn't even realize had started to go out. It is there, it is back, and it is glowing. Urging me on. I have to believe that there is better ahead. There is different, there is new. I have worked too hard, for too long to lose every scrap of myself for this. I know I was certainly not put on this earth to be this sad. And also, "Charlie's Mom" is amazing, you guys. She is tough, and strong, and soft, and sensitive, and in tune, and confident, and fun. No way would she let someone else take her worth. Someone with so much potential, but so deeply wounded. Someone so young. I've lived way too much life to see myself demolished at the hands of another. Parents and friends had begun to comment on why I was always asking permission to do things, wondering where my independence had gone.
I have a lot to figure out, about why I let this happen. Where along the way I got it into my head that romance was tragic. How I could let my attraction blind me so deeply. I am researching and reading like crazy, and will link a couple of articles at the end to help you all better understand.
If you're reading this and you've been through something similar, I hope my words and transparency help you. Help you be less alone. Help you to feel less shame. Help to remind you to stay hopeful.
And if f you ever feel that you need to ask for help - ask. And don't let anyone minimize your fear. They are not living, breathing, experiencing it firsthand. They have no right to tell you your experience is not valid. This is exactly why people feel there is no way out. If someone tells you they are scared, please listen. Respond. I beg you. And if you find yourself in the camp of the other party, help that person with some tough love, rather than a blind eye. Please, I beg you. To stay silent, to stay inactive does them no favors. The cycle will never have an end.
I am in progress. I am both happy, and sad. I am worried, but hopeful. I am full of love for my incredible family and circle of friends. My supportive community. My tribe who reached right out and helped me stay afloat. My therapist. I am learning. Every day I am digging deep and figuring it out.
What I do know now, is love is not cruel.
If it's cruel, it's not love.
It is not love.
This one really helped me understand the why and how of my participation:
22 stages of relationship between an empath and a narcissist
Understanding emotional abuse
Understanding emotional and physiological abuse
Podcast
Nov 5, 2015
HALFWAY!
The way life can completely change within only one year is mind blowing. Every so often, an entire lifetime is crammed into just one year. I've only experienced this one other time, in 2012. It's was then and is now, a complete rebirth. Here we are in 2015, with a lifetime having taken place in the last 11 months. And once again, it's leaving me completely and forever altered. Only this time, my life is being added to. Things aren't being taken away from. Everything balances out over time. My year of great loss has lead me to my year of great gain. I'm halfway through my pregnancy. I'm 21 weeks along as of yesterday. The 20 week ultrasound was a game changer. Finding out the gender early (late August) gave us plenty of time for things to sink in. We went from thinking we were having a girl to being so in love with our son that my eyes well up with tears every time I think about him. Which is all the time. I feel it in my bones, this was exactly as it was meant to be. He is exactly who is meant to come to us. This also meant that by the time we had our 20 ultrasound and saw him so clearly, I already knew who was in there. What a change from the first ultrasound two months prior, when I my feeling was overwhelmingly, "who is that?" This time, I knew him. It was a long appointment. One where I felt like I got to spend the afternoon with him. I got to hang out with him. And I know him now. It's taken me to a very spiritual and deep place with him. The most mind blowing this about this, something I never could have guessed would happen, is how it feels to have a soul inside me. It is the most profound, divine, spiritual experience I never knew existed. Another soul. My son's soul is in my body. It is only temporary. We are in the same body for only four and a half more months. For some reason, through this pregnancy, I have not been scared of the pain of childbirth. This was something I feared my entire life. Then I got pregnant, and it just seemed like something I could do. Or I should say, something I was suddenly willing to do. Even more so now. I'll do whatever it takes to protect this soul and bring him to the world safely. Below are pictures of me through January 2015 - now. What transformation. What rebirth. In every sense of the word. He's forever changed me already.
My first attempt at a picture to document any changes. I wasn't seeing much yet, but weeks 15 - 17 brought the first of the changes.
Something's happening!
And to think I thought this was big! This was the last I saw of any abs or hipbones! Bye bye, hope to see you again someday!
And here we are. A few blogs back I wrote about my fear of losing my pre-baby body, just when I'd come to be a woman who loves and appreciates her body. I find myself having struggles from time to time, but I'm slowly learning to appreciate what my body is capable of. This becomes easier as time goes on and things get more real. Life is pretty incredible. The fact that I'm here at this time, that I met my husband, that he loved me back, that we made a life. It just doesn't get any more powerful than that. Because we chose to try to (and were able to) have a baby, this specific life is coming into being at this specific time. I am the vessel to bring him here. Because of my specific parents and my mother being the vessel, I get to be here. I want to savor every moment of this, but I also want to see him in person so badly I can't stand it. It's like being little and waiting for Christmas. Times a million.
I have chosen not to share ultrasound photos, because I feel way too protective. I am constantly torn every time I talk about my pregnancy on social media, because so many people I don't know have something to say (it's almost always good), but I feel so private and protective of him, and this time. I'm not interested in unsolicited advice (unless I know, love, and trust you). I'm not interested in the "but just wait until you…" since this is my journey, I am where I am each day, and I am choosing to to savor each moment of my journey at a time. All of this experience is extremely valid, and extremely personal, as I live it for the first time each new day. I'm torn between wanting to share the things that seemed like such a mystery before I was a mom-to-be, and not wanting to say a word.
We'll see how it goes.
I have chosen not to share ultrasound photos, because I feel way too protective. I am constantly torn every time I talk about my pregnancy on social media, because so many people I don't know have something to say (it's almost always good), but I feel so private and protective of him, and this time. I'm not interested in unsolicited advice (unless I know, love, and trust you). I'm not interested in the "but just wait until you…" since this is my journey, I am where I am each day, and I am choosing to to savor each moment of my journey at a time. All of this experience is extremely valid, and extremely personal, as I live it for the first time each new day. I'm torn between wanting to share the things that seemed like such a mystery before I was a mom-to-be, and not wanting to say a word.
We'll see how it goes.
DM
Sep 22, 2015
In case I never see you again...
Too many women spend too much time hating on their bodies. I used to be one. When I was 19 I had a an eating disorder, and didn't get my period for months. I simply was not eating. My case was not the norm. I never had a weight problem, I was just so bombarded with the media telling me to be skinny (and too young to know better) that I figured whatever I was wasn't good enough. That if everyone had to be skinny, that must mean I should be skinnier. I remember wearing my new coat that winter, and thanks to my newfound body dysmorphia, I chose to freeze rather than attempt zipping it up. I was convinced it wouldn't fit. A year or two later when I tried it, it zipped of course, with plenty of room to spare. I was small to begin with, and even smaller at the time.
Soon after, I moved to NYC. I rebelled. I'd drink many sugary alcoholic drinks in the evening and end the night with a giant burrito. I'd start the next morning with a caramel macchiato and cinnamon coffee cake. I stuffed myself. My diet had never been so out of control. I felt myself purposely rebelling, and for the first time in my life, I gained weight. I remember going home that first Christmas, excited to get more of my clothes to take back with me, only nothing fit. Luckily my break was long, I spent time working out, and the weight began to shed. It came off completely over the next few months. It was short lived.
I spent much of my youth a perfectionist. Over the years I slowly eased up on myself. I would was still aware of what I was putting into my body, but over time I stopped counting calories and restricting. In fact, the last few years I've paid no attention whatsoever. As in I just eat what I want when I want (just not out of control like in NYC). I'm no longer worried about it. I just live my life. I love food. I love sweets. And I've realized how lucky I am. I don't have a weight issue. I stay fairly small, and fairly the same. I don't have to stress about calories, and I don't have to be a slave in the gym.
Over the years I've come to appreciate my body. It's what houses my soul, and lets me experience this life. I saw loved ones pass away, and felt honored to still be here in the healthy body I'd been dealt. Thank you, body. I met the love of my life, and felt humbled I am in a body right now on earth to meet him and experience this love. Thank you, body. I got pregnant. Our son is growing in me right now. I am creating life. Thank you, body.
But. Will I be okay if I never see my old body again? What does pregnancy, childbirth, and recovery have in store for me? Will I look the same? What if I don't? I didn't gain any weight during my first trimester, but it's coming. How will I feel? It's the first time in my life in years (while I'm aware of the miracle that is happening) that I feel out of control over my body, and what's in store feels foreign. I admit, it's a little scary. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel concerned about impeding weight gain and body changes, and I'm also sad at how shallow this worry is. It's strange. On one hand, I never knew life could feel this elevated, magical, and right. It's another level. On the other hand, I don't know yet how to wrap my head around this fear of what's to come.
I'm full of contradictions. I want to see it. I want to see my bump. I want to know the baby is growing, and feel him move. But what will I really look like?
What if I don't feel comfortable in my own skin?
What if I don't feel like myself?
I know all is temporary. It's already going by so quickly. I do think I'm good at accepting. I've been so grateful for my body as I've gotten older, I hope it's tenfold once I truly experience what it's going to do for myself and my husband.
So, I wanted a place to document the old me. The me that I've been for (almost) all of my life this far. I swear I'm not trying to be annoying, or self indulgent, or brag. I just want to remember, in case I never see this me again.
Maybe I'm scared to lose what I finally learned to love so much.
I don't believe in regret, but if I did, it would be that I didn't always love and appreciate my body throughout my entire life. I hope and long for this to carry forward into the unknown.
Summer 2015
May 2015
May 2015
August 2015
DM
Soon after, I moved to NYC. I rebelled. I'd drink many sugary alcoholic drinks in the evening and end the night with a giant burrito. I'd start the next morning with a caramel macchiato and cinnamon coffee cake. I stuffed myself. My diet had never been so out of control. I felt myself purposely rebelling, and for the first time in my life, I gained weight. I remember going home that first Christmas, excited to get more of my clothes to take back with me, only nothing fit. Luckily my break was long, I spent time working out, and the weight began to shed. It came off completely over the next few months. It was short lived.
I spent much of my youth a perfectionist. Over the years I slowly eased up on myself. I would was still aware of what I was putting into my body, but over time I stopped counting calories and restricting. In fact, the last few years I've paid no attention whatsoever. As in I just eat what I want when I want (just not out of control like in NYC). I'm no longer worried about it. I just live my life. I love food. I love sweets. And I've realized how lucky I am. I don't have a weight issue. I stay fairly small, and fairly the same. I don't have to stress about calories, and I don't have to be a slave in the gym.
Over the years I've come to appreciate my body. It's what houses my soul, and lets me experience this life. I saw loved ones pass away, and felt honored to still be here in the healthy body I'd been dealt. Thank you, body. I met the love of my life, and felt humbled I am in a body right now on earth to meet him and experience this love. Thank you, body. I got pregnant. Our son is growing in me right now. I am creating life. Thank you, body.
But. Will I be okay if I never see my old body again? What does pregnancy, childbirth, and recovery have in store for me? Will I look the same? What if I don't? I didn't gain any weight during my first trimester, but it's coming. How will I feel? It's the first time in my life in years (while I'm aware of the miracle that is happening) that I feel out of control over my body, and what's in store feels foreign. I admit, it's a little scary. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel concerned about impeding weight gain and body changes, and I'm also sad at how shallow this worry is. It's strange. On one hand, I never knew life could feel this elevated, magical, and right. It's another level. On the other hand, I don't know yet how to wrap my head around this fear of what's to come.
I'm full of contradictions. I want to see it. I want to see my bump. I want to know the baby is growing, and feel him move. But what will I really look like?
What if I don't feel comfortable in my own skin?
What if I don't feel like myself?
I know all is temporary. It's already going by so quickly. I do think I'm good at accepting. I've been so grateful for my body as I've gotten older, I hope it's tenfold once I truly experience what it's going to do for myself and my husband.
So, I wanted a place to document the old me. The me that I've been for (almost) all of my life this far. I swear I'm not trying to be annoying, or self indulgent, or brag. I just want to remember, in case I never see this me again.
Maybe I'm scared to lose what I finally learned to love so much.
I don't believe in regret, but if I did, it would be that I didn't always love and appreciate my body throughout my entire life. I hope and long for this to carry forward into the unknown.
 |
| Winter 2015, I had been sick and hadn't been able to eat much. |
Summer 2015
August 2015
DM
Jun 3, 2015
The women we don't speak of.
I've been thinking about this for awhile. This is probably one of the most personal entries I could ever write. The internet and social media is saturated with mommy bloggers. Women posting about their pregnancies, and what they're learning as they set off on the journey of new mom. It's a club you don't belong to until you become a mother yourself. Babies. Toddlers. Everywhere. Women sharing jokes, and advice, and parenting tips among themselves, all able to relate to each other. This isn't hard to find. You're probably a click away from finding one now.
Then there are stories of women who tried to get pregnant, but weren't able to. There are blogs and articles dedicated to infertility. There aren't as many dedicated to this side, but they're out there.
Lately, I've found myself asking the question, "what about the in-between?" There is a group of us who lie in the haze of the middle. The group of women currently trying. We are floating in the grey area, without belonging to one category or the other. It's a strange, anxious, and superstitious place to be. Half of the month you may be sure you aren't. This is either a hopeful or hopeless phase, depending, I've found. More on that in a bit. The next half of the month you are with, and without. You proceed accordingly, but what does that mean? You may treat yourself as though you are, but if you find you're not, it's back to square one.
This is the hardest place. It's hard not to be frustrated. To scare yourself by wondering if something is wrong. To put pressure on yourself. The emotional roller coaster is constant.
I find it spills over into many aspects of my life. It obviously affects what I eat and drink, but also my mood, and what activity I may choose to do on a weekend. It affects conversations, and how social I may feel. You must dance around your conversations and plans because you don't yet know yourself. You can't plan something months ahead since you have this priority, yet you don't know for sure, and you don't know when. You can't really talk about what you're going through, so you try to adapt as best as you can to this new existence where it all revolves around trying. A couple of weeks of extreme hope, and a couple of weeks of extreme disappointment. How I'm going to behave that month purely depends where you catch me. I'd say sorry, but I'm not. My husband, my well being, and this future family trumps everything. That's why this is hard.
I find it spills over into many aspects of my life. It obviously affects what I eat and drink, but also my mood, and what activity I may choose to do on a weekend. It affects conversations, and how social I may feel. You must dance around your conversations and plans because you don't yet know yourself. You can't plan something months ahead since you have this priority, yet you don't know for sure, and you don't know when. You can't really talk about what you're going through, so you try to adapt as best as you can to this new existence where it all revolves around trying. A couple of weeks of extreme hope, and a couple of weeks of extreme disappointment. How I'm going to behave that month purely depends where you catch me. I'd say sorry, but I'm not. My husband, my well being, and this future family trumps everything. That's why this is hard.
When you tell someone you're trying, in hopes of some support, you wish you hadn't more often than not. Even other women, and women who are mothers, seem to forget that before they had their babies they too went through this fragile, sacred time. A time that will be short for some, long for others.
They ask you when. When hurts. It's impossible to know. If only we had control of what month we could get pregnant. What month we'd like a baby to be born. If only. Some know you're trying, but ask when anyway. Some make jokes. Some tease you that you are, or going to be soon, when they don't know what you've embarked on, and what you've already been experiencing. I've already written about the insensitivity of this for YoU Mag (Are you pregnant yet? Page 13) . You don't know your ultimate outcome, and what if (god forbid) you end up falling in the can't category?
Why aren't there blogs or articles dedicated to us? Who live in half hope, half disappointment each month? Who don't yet belong to a can or can't category? Who buy expensive test after test, heart pounding as we wait for the result. Who are dying for this to be the time we get to tell our husband, "I'm pregnant!" Who can sometimes power through, with faith that it's just not our time. But who sometimes spend the day crumbling, fighting back heartbreak, sure it's never going to happen. Those days, and very well the days that follow, I retreat from the world. I feel I have failed. Again.
I know I'm not alone, and I'd sure like to hear the words of others who get it. We're our own club. There is more to it here in the club of trying than I'd expected. It's definitely different than life before. I'm no longer a woman existing as I did before we decided to join.
I am reluctant to write this. This means letting even more people in on my most personal plans. But I'm in the category of women that we don't speak of, so I'm speaking about us. I'd like to meet my others. This is it's own club and I'd like to know where my women are that exist this way each month, emotionally exhausted, and wondering when it's finally going to end.
I know I'm not alone, and I'd sure like to hear the words of others who get it. We're our own club. There is more to it here in the club of trying than I'd expected. It's definitely different than life before. I'm no longer a woman existing as I did before we decided to join.
I am reluctant to write this. This means letting even more people in on my most personal plans. But I'm in the category of women that we don't speak of, so I'm speaking about us. I'd like to meet my others. This is it's own club and I'd like to know where my women are that exist this way each month, emotionally exhausted, and wondering when it's finally going to end.
~DM
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