Isn't it curious, how we can long for elements of earth we didn't grow up with? We can be called by the sea, knowing we should be by water, before we even see it. There is a pull of the familiar, an inherent knowing, without any concrete proof, that we're not where we belong.
I was born in a place with harsh winters, and cold parts of the year that last too long. I am uncomfortable when cold, covered, and bundled. I feel restricted by long pants on my legs and long sleeves on my arms. Trapped. I am much more myself when little material covers me. When my skin feels the environment on it. Bare feet on earth. Air on my limbs. Water on my skin. Perhaps I was meant to plop on a beach, eating a piece of fresh and sticky fruit, any given day of the year. To live a little more wild. Feral, almost.
If I could, I would pack up and move tomorrow.
I am constantly looking up as I walk, to the sky. Anything to remind of expansion, that the planet is big, and what lies beyond is bigger.
How curious, that I should find myself tethered in this life. Bound, for awhile, too and for a magical little boy, sent straight from the stars.
Perhaps that's why I have lived so many lives here. Married. Divorced. Maybe that's why I have lived so many places, after leaving my childhood home. The home that disappeared after, and would never be an option to set foot in again.
Snippets, vignettes, with different partners, different times. I have already been so many people. I've died, and been reborn again and again right here while living. Maybe, before this round on earth, my bones knew I'd be tethered, and I made an unconscious cosmic contract to live...in bits. To always be new. And each path is the right path. Every time.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
I don't regret a single life.
Perhaps, what I've been looking for...a place to land, simply doesn't exist. Words I wrote in my early twenties while living in New York pop into my head, "I move around the world to find my home, and I still can't get it right."
Maybe I'm not meant to ever land..but just to evolve, and evolve, and evolve...constant motion...like the water I seek. Constant chapters, dying, and being reborn.
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Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
May 6, 2020
Mar 29, 2020
Mask
I am walking, and I find that I am smiling...for some reason. I think it is just being outside, in the sun, breathing in fresh air. It invigorates.
I think about the mask workshop I took in NYC, and how there was a woman in the class who was always smiling. "No one is that happy", I thought to myself.
I've been thinking about that workshop lately. It was 2012, and that was the first time I died.
My grandpa had just passed away, I couldn't get home fast enough. I wanted to crawl out of my skin.
I picture myself in front of the class, both hidden and exposed by the wearing of this mask, trying my hardest to send out my heart. My energy, right from that spot smack in the center of my chest, out and over the sea, to a loved one who had just left, as the assignment required.
Stretching. Expansion.
I look up as I walk, I'm always looking up, to see what's above, what messages are in the sky. My constant, to remind me that life is still big.
I think about the time I stood on a Hawaiian beach, observing a father teaching his toddler how to surf, my writing of this observation, and the realization that there are so many ways in which to live life, and parent a child. This child of the waves teaching me a lesson in expansion in that instant.
It has never left me.
There is a new corner of the world, just every few miles.
Endless possibility at our feet.
I keep walking.
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Feb 14, 2020
Expansion, and being bound
I am looking at the moon, and thinking both of expansion, and being bound.
I forget. I so often forget that I am a Russian nesting doll, with so many lifetimes inside of me. I've lived in other cities, I've had a big life. Teardrops are here, and on the streets of New York.
How do you ever properly close a chapter? This one has been long. The one where I am a single mom. I've been a single mom, on my own for so long now, I can't imagine what it wouldn't be like.
This is the one where I own my own my own little condo. The space that I call home for myself, and my boy. This little space of the world. This tiny square of earth...how can it feel so small, and so vast?
I think of when I was in elementary, and I was so aware of the weight of my being and the space I took up. If I stood in the corner of my room, that is all I would occupy in the world. But I felt so much bigger than what I realized I was restricted to.
I think of how ancient I was, when I was new. I think of my boy, and wonder how he experiences his being, and wonder if he is aware of his vastness or his restriction.
I am many lives packed neatly into one, wondering how you ever say goodby, or move forward, propelled into the unknown again and again...
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Apr 1, 2018
April first.
Taking control of your healing.
Protecting your energy.
Nurturing your happiness in the face of whatever life is throwing your way.
That.
I was made to feel I wasn't entitled to my own happiness.
I began to understand.
I would no longer cast my pearls before shells, rather than souls.
My world expands.
I've been given back to myself.
Spring strengthens me.
Many attempts have been made to clip my wings.
I refuse.
Nobody gets to take them from me.
Hear me loud and clear when I roar the following...
My story will have a different ending. And that's okay.
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Protecting your energy.
Nurturing your happiness in the face of whatever life is throwing your way.
That.
I was made to feel I wasn't entitled to my own happiness.
I began to understand.
I would no longer cast my pearls before shells, rather than souls.
My world expands.
I've been given back to myself.
Spring strengthens me.
Many attempts have been made to clip my wings.
I refuse.
Nobody gets to take them from me.
Hear me loud and clear when I roar the following...
My story will have a different ending. And that's okay.
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Aug 23, 2017
Let me be clear
There has been no questioning or prompting from outside sources, but I've been thinking that I needed to explain my writing a bit.
If you look back over the history of my blog, my writing peaks in times of sadness, and hardship. Heartbreak, in particular, seems to be my muse. It is when I am most open, in tune, and the words are immediate. They are raw. When I'm not struggling with something, I don't have much to write about.
I've never kept a blog that is just day-to-day humdrum. That's not what this outlet is for me here. This is my heart-on-my-sleeve, pour-it-all-out, cathartic, therapeutic, artistic outlet for words. I have always said how much I love words. I love putting my feelings into form on the page.
I like my writing, I take pride in my writing. I love the connection it gives me to others, when I hear feedback that I am speaking for / to them.
But what I want to make clear, is that I put into words fleeting feelings. All feelings are temporary. My writing is poetic. It is not always literal.
What I mean is, I am not living in sadness 100% of the time. I have moments of great happiness and excitement through the day, on any given day. I am finding as I get older, my natural state is optimism. I can't be held down for too long, without naturally bouncing back. Even when it means loosing the muse.
I am not literally waiting for the one who broke my heart to bound back through the door, making our family whole again. Like any human, on occasion, I miss the good times. I do not miss the bad. I would not accept the bad again.
I am working through feelings when the flashes of hurt hit, and it feels so good to get them out here. I love the art of it, that the simplest flash sometimes spins into the best blog. I love the writings, and the musings that come. I love that they are coming, and that I feel connected to myself so deeply these days. Emotionally, and artistically.
I am working through feelings when the flashes of hurt hit, and it feels so good to get them out here. I love the art of it, that the simplest flash sometimes spins into the best blog. I love the writings, and the musings that come. I love that they are coming, and that I feel connected to myself so deeply these days. Emotionally, and artistically.
I hope that makes sense, and I hope all keep that in mind as you wander through my life here.
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These days, I'm thinking a lot about the reset button. When you've lost everything, you have nothing to lose. I am redefining. Questioning what boundaries mean to me, in all aspects of my life, and consciously trying to set them where they haven't been, or where they need adjustments. I am looking deeply inward, asking myself what is comfortable to me. Where I can breathe easy, or not. Where I feel safe, and peaceful. What perimeters I can live with, or without. What I need in the space I exist in. What I look for in a partner, and in friends. What I need to continue to mother my child in the way I know is best for him, and for me. I am learning that the reset button is not the monster I thought it was. Not even a little bit. I continually feel myself expanding, attracting, ready to accept all my new adventures that are presenting themselves. I feel myself shedding the skin of my old life more each day. I just may not have much to write about soon...
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Aug 20, 2017
August blurbs
A couple of musings from August 16th, the anniversary that wasn't.
one
In 2012, I shattered, entire. As I built myself back over a summer, fall, and winter, I was never more open. The omens were everywhere, and that's when I learned the universe is tailored just for me, as it is for you.
Relatives who had passed on came to visit me in animal form. The animals were everywhere. There were notes scrawled on the sidewalks, and the walls. I had visions of the child I would one day mother. I had dreams where I traveled from this plane, I saw heaven.
Never again, have I experienced that kind of connection to the universe. Never again, have I been that earthed.
Maybe I didn't need it. Until now. "I could sure use an omen or two", I've been whispering to the cosmos.
But I know it requires just as much effort on my part.
I must not be cloudy.
I must pay attention.
I must know it when I see it.
The visit from my ancestors yesterday was one.
When you left me, I experienced a dream like those from five years ago. This time it was to be embraced by a real, and equal love. How different.
Today's omen came in the reminder that there are no coincidences, and time is magical.
A chance conversation with a stranger to give me all the right reminders, and to send me on my way...okay.
two
Today, I sat where we sat every year. I had to go to our spot, because where else would I go? Buried deep, or not so deep at all, was my hope to see you. To see you had taken the day off. To be here.
"Your last name is Wride?" Surely someone would say. "How funny, there is a man here with that same last name!"
I wanted to write you. "Please, as someone who was so recently your wife, and love, give me a moment off the record. Please, if there is any part of you, I don't care how small, who doubts this...meet me tonight. If somewhere in there, past ego, past pride, you feel you don't want this, this emotional, financial, mental, devastation of us, meet me. Meet me in the lobby of our spot. 6 pm. The time we said our vows three years ago today. I'll be waiting for you with a glass of champagne. And if you choose not to, please don't use this against me. Please disregard this, as someone who was so recently your wife, and love."
In my minds eye, he he comes. He walks in, wearing his suit. He doesn't want our destruction. He wants to come home. "Yes," I say. But I approach delicately. I ask we just try for a day, or a weekend. It's so fragile.
And that's where it stops. I can't see further. And I know I am not allowed to ask this of him, although this is my biggest wish.
Come home, my heart says. Come home.
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Nov 10, 2016
The boy.
I can recall where I was four years ago instantly. Physically, I was wrapping up a temporary stay in NYC. I'd gone back for a few months to remember what it was like to be a student again, and immersed myself in classical training. Emotionally, it was the worst time of my life. 2012 wrecked havoc on my heart, head, and soul. We'd lost my uncle that May. He was lost to me in a slew of other losses that year, varying for me in degrees of devastation. I'd been shattered, and I was trying to rebuild. His birthday (the first he would not be there for) was November 9. On November 10, I saw a play. I left on a high. I came back to where I was staying only to find out via face-time that my Grandpa had just died. I could't get home fast enough. I'll never forget that feeling. I wanted to crawl out of my skin.
Four years later, everything I've lost has come back to me in a new form. All that loss cleared out space for me to gain so much. I truly believe that must happen, and I am left even more amazed at the way birth and death are, in fact, one.
But there's a final piece from 2012 that I've never shared, because it didn't click for me until recently. And four years later on the birthday/departing day anniversaries, here it is.
Four years ago I had what can only be described as a vision. I wrote bout it here.https://theshapeshiftingpoet.blogspot.com/2015/04/neither-here-nor-there.html I was in Southern Utah for my my grandpa's funeral. Falling asleep, I saw as clear as day my grandpa and uncle outside in a beautiful clearing. The sun was bright. The sky bright blue. The grass and trees around them a vibrant green. They were young, and they looked so good! They had with them a toddler. A boy. He was as blonde as can be. They were all so happy, playing with him. Doing that thing you do with little kids where you hold their hands and spin them around so their feet are off the ground. It was very real. It was happening, or had happened, wherever they were. I didn't know who the toddler was, but they seemed to be taking care of him.
I thought about it from time to time over the years, but it didn't hit me until recently who that boy was...
For the Squirrel and the Bluebird, who continue to give.
DM
May 27, 2016
Four.
I'm holding my newborn son in my arms, rocking him to sleep. I'm standing over his bassinet when I remember it's almost the 27th. I have to count it out on my fingers to really make sure that this will mark four whole years. Four suddenly seems like a lot.
I try to imagine as best as I can, you as a baby. My grandmother holding you in her arms, rocking you to sleep exactly as I am doing now. I can't quite see it, but I know it happened. It's so hard to wrap my head around the fact we all start out this way. We've all been held in the arms of a parent, or by someone who loved us.
I think about how you, Charles, lived in this very condo before my baby Charles did. You have the same residence. You have the same bedroom. You share the same name.
I remember the first time I came back here after you left. Everything exactly as you'd left it, and the air still smelling of you. My mom said I could take something, but I hardly dared to breathe let alone move a thing. I chose only the tiniest object, and the one that seemed most you. An itty-bitty baseball magnet off the fridge.
I don't let myself linger in this memory too long.
I come back to the present, and think about how the baseball magnet then traveled with me, only to end up back on this fridge. How Charles ended up back in this place, and while he is not you, nor supposed to be, this all feels connected. Inevitable. Strangely whole. This circle of life.
Into my head pops the Rumi quote, "Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form."
I get it.
I leave my heart at that, and put my son to bed.
May 20, 2016
Content.
Content.
That's the word.
Today I told my husband that I had no idea how content I'd feel to be at home, be with our boy. You can't possibly know how you'll feel pre-baby, but I assumed I'd want to continue life as usual, with baby now added. But I can't.
I am so content to be Charlie's mom at the moment, that I'm finding myself turning down work. Me five years ago couldn't have done this. Work was the most important thing in my life. Staying "relevant". The thought of "giving it up" for a baby wasn't an option. It was hardly a desire.
Fast forward to meeting the love of my life and doing a complete 180 with my feelings about having a baby, and here we are. A little over two months in and I can honestly and wholeheartedly say I love being his mom. He awakened a patience in me I never knew I had.
I believe in reincarnation. I believe we have certain lessons each cycle. I know mine this round have been patience, acceptance, and being present. I believe life hands us these lessons again and again until we finally get it. I have been through so many life experiences, and had countless opportunities to learn these lessons, but it just never quite clicked. Until Charlie.
He made patience and being in the moment absolutely bloom in me. It happened so naturally that I'm only now realizing the way it snuck up and seeped in. I so aware of what a privilege it is to be his mom. I'm so aware that it's going to go by fast, already is. I am so aware of how much this tiny being needs me. I can't imagine putting anything in front of this time. It is so, so very precious. I know I'll never regret saying no to anything that will take me away from him. Not anytime soon. Not during this babyhood I'll never have with him again.
Recently I turned down a play. Having lived my new life for two months now, I see that it's mom and only mom who will be putting him to bed anytime soon. We've established our routine. And as it's just the two of us home during the day, we've become so bonded. How could I leave him every weeknight for over a month and most of every Saturday to rehearse when he's so brand new? I signed up for this, I'm showing up for this.
I don't mind being tired. I don't mind saying no. I don't mind having a hard time fitting in a shower, or realizing I've been in the same t-shirt for days. It doesn't matter. Nothing is better than him smiling at me. Or how he'll stop crying once he's in my arms. Every morning I wake up excited. I have butterflies all the time.
I am truly content. I never thought contentment was something I'd feel so fully.
I can't believe how much this little soul has given me and taught me in the last 9 weeks. No way am I missing out on one thing he's here to show me.
Sure, I'll resume a few projects. But nothing that takes me away for too long. I'm going to be stingier with my time.
Charlie's mom first. Everything else, second.
xo
Deena
That's the word.
Today I told my husband that I had no idea how content I'd feel to be at home, be with our boy. You can't possibly know how you'll feel pre-baby, but I assumed I'd want to continue life as usual, with baby now added. But I can't.
I am so content to be Charlie's mom at the moment, that I'm finding myself turning down work. Me five years ago couldn't have done this. Work was the most important thing in my life. Staying "relevant". The thought of "giving it up" for a baby wasn't an option. It was hardly a desire.
Fast forward to meeting the love of my life and doing a complete 180 with my feelings about having a baby, and here we are. A little over two months in and I can honestly and wholeheartedly say I love being his mom. He awakened a patience in me I never knew I had.
I believe in reincarnation. I believe we have certain lessons each cycle. I know mine this round have been patience, acceptance, and being present. I believe life hands us these lessons again and again until we finally get it. I have been through so many life experiences, and had countless opportunities to learn these lessons, but it just never quite clicked. Until Charlie.
He made patience and being in the moment absolutely bloom in me. It happened so naturally that I'm only now realizing the way it snuck up and seeped in. I so aware of what a privilege it is to be his mom. I'm so aware that it's going to go by fast, already is. I am so aware of how much this tiny being needs me. I can't imagine putting anything in front of this time. It is so, so very precious. I know I'll never regret saying no to anything that will take me away from him. Not anytime soon. Not during this babyhood I'll never have with him again.
Recently I turned down a play. Having lived my new life for two months now, I see that it's mom and only mom who will be putting him to bed anytime soon. We've established our routine. And as it's just the two of us home during the day, we've become so bonded. How could I leave him every weeknight for over a month and most of every Saturday to rehearse when he's so brand new? I signed up for this, I'm showing up for this.
I don't mind being tired. I don't mind saying no. I don't mind having a hard time fitting in a shower, or realizing I've been in the same t-shirt for days. It doesn't matter. Nothing is better than him smiling at me. Or how he'll stop crying once he's in my arms. Every morning I wake up excited. I have butterflies all the time.
I am truly content. I never thought contentment was something I'd feel so fully.
I can't believe how much this little soul has given me and taught me in the last 9 weeks. No way am I missing out on one thing he's here to show me.
Sure, I'll resume a few projects. But nothing that takes me away for too long. I'm going to be stingier with my time.
Charlie's mom first. Everything else, second.
xo
Deena
Apr 16, 2016
A promise to my baby
A promise to my baby
Becoming a mother is a complete transformation. When I became one last month, I felt nothing short of having been reborn a completely new species. I even experienced inhabiting my physical body differently. I felt so fragile, small, and new.
While I was pregnant I tried to enjoy it, but honestly I couldn't wait for it to end. I wanted my baby out, here with us. I'm better with what I can see with my own eyes and touch with my own hands. The unknown was stressful to me. All I could do was long for the future.
I'm a firm believer that we control how time passes. Just think about the way one day can fly, another drag when they have the same amount of hours. We spend a lot of our time reflecting on the past, or waiting for the future. Living in the present is the hardest thing we humans have to master.
After childbirth, the way I experienced time completely changed.
I'm a firm believer that we control how time passes. Just think about the way one day can fly, another drag when they have the same amount of hours. We spend a lot of our time reflecting on the past, or waiting for the future. Living in the present is the hardest thing we humans have to master.
After childbirth, the way I experienced time completely changed.
Now that my baby is finally here, I understand the concept of time like never before. I have now lived through a pregnancy and birth, two of the biggest life-altering experiences a woman can have. I see that it's possible to get through, and that there's no way out but through. Above all, I see that all is temporary. Concepts I knew prior, but now run incredibly deep. Through my being, through my soul.
I read a quote once that said something like, "everyone, everything, everywhere, ends." I don't want to miss a single phase of him. Everything else can wait. Life will resume before I know it. The days of hibernating with my newborn son will end. I want to memorize him him exactly as he is right now, and in each moment.
My promise to my baby is to always be present with him.
My promise to my baby is to always be present with him.
Time feels tangible. It feels urgent. It doesn't lag, and it doesn't jump ahead. I see how much my son has grown in just one month. With this new life comes the gift to truly see and experience living in the moment. That's him. And I promise to be present for every phase, every age, every day.
Special thanks to Walmart and Pampers for parenting with me for the #MothersPromise challenge.
Thanks for reading.
Oh, and moms! Since there's little time to go anywhere, and we run out of diapers in the blink of an eye, be sure to place an order for a giant box of Pampers from Walmart who will deliver them right to your front door. I just got my delivery and let me tell you, I'm so appreciative of the little things that can make life a bit easier now that I'm a mom! Click here.
Deena Marie
Sponsored Post.
Special thanks to Walmart and Pampers for parenting with me for the #MothersPromise challenge.
Thanks for reading.
Oh, and moms! Since there's little time to go anywhere, and we run out of diapers in the blink of an eye, be sure to place an order for a giant box of Pampers from Walmart who will deliver them right to your front door. I just got my delivery and let me tell you, I'm so appreciative of the little things that can make life a bit easier now that I'm a mom! Click here.
Deena Marie
Sponsored Post.
Apr 11, 2016
The Birth Story (Part II)
Click HERE to read Part I, which is labor through birth, and up to this point.
I ask that those reading tread lightly here. I'm not looking for advice, opinion, or judgement on my experience, I'm simply writing as I always do. With the intention to purge, to document, and with hope that someone who has gone through something similar finds comfort in my story.
The week after Charlie's birth.
There are things I heard that week in the hospital that will stay with me forever.
If this had happened a hundred years ago, he wouldn't have made it.
He calmed down when his mom came in.
Things look a little different this morning.
It was bad.
He was sick.
The fevers were a big deal.
I don't know how we got through that week. I guess the same way we got through labor.
You just do.
You just get through.
After his beautiful one minute and thirty six second birth, came a nightmare. We were thrown into a completely unexpected and unnatural experience as first time parents.
I still don't feel ready to write about his and I don't think I ever will, but as we approach the one month milestone, I know I need to get it out sooner rather than later. It's not as fresh as it was while I was living it, but that's a good thing for me at this point.
Charlie had just been born. We had two hours of sacred time. I was put in my wheelchair, my newborn baby in my arms, and we were taken up to my recovery room. Room 319. I remember eating the turkey sandwich I had ordered. I'd been waning a turkey sandwich for months. I remember nurses taking the baby to the nursery for routine testing. He was supposed to be right back. I will never forget the look on my husbands face when he came back into the room, my mom following behind. No baby. I knew something was wrong. I feel the lump of sadness swell in my chest just thinking about it. It seemed like an eternity for my husband to get his words out. "Um...he has to stay in there tonight." Something with the word respiratory. Something about him breathing too fast. The next thing I knew I was being put back into the wheelchair so I could get in there. I didn't even get to say goodbye to my parents.
Later my mom would say, "You know what really touched my heart? I could see Matt through the nursery windows, they were talking to him, and his face just fell. Then he leaned over and kissed Charlie."
My baby was crying. I put my hand on him and started talking to him. He calmed down. "He knows your voice" someone said.
My baby had just had an x-ray. There was fluid in his lungs. Could be amniotic fluid he needed to cry out, he hadn't cried much at birth, so they told us crying was a good thing. It could also be infection. There was talk again of our fevers at birth. There would be antibiotics. IV's. Poking and prodding. For one full week.
I don't remember a lot about the rest of that night. I could ask my husband to remind me of the details, but I'm not ready.
I do remember falling asleep on my back that night. It had been months since I'd been able to do that. I couldn't believe how abruptly pregnancy ends. There is no transition. Once the baby is out, it is done. No more heaviness in my pelvis. No more backache. No more side sleeping. No more craving chocolate milk and apples.
I had no idea this was the beginning of one of the worst weeks we could imagine. All in room #319. I had no idea I would experience the kind of anxiety and PTSD in this week that I had only felt one other time. In 2012. The most awful year of my life.
I think we were left with hopeful words when we went to sleep, but I was deflated. The plan was for our baby to never leave our side. This was supposed to be the happiest time. What was happening with our baby? I couldn't accept a "congratulations" from anyone after that. I didn't know what was in store. That's as much as I care to say about where my dark thoughts were drifting. We were woken by a nurse in the morning telling us that "things look a little different today." Even now, typing this, my heart sinks in my chest all over again as I remember what that felt like to hear. There was another x-ray. There was still something in his lungs. He was sick. Infection. Later pneumonia.
I could and maybe should have kept track of each day, but it would break my heart all over again to re-read and re-live it. I barely left one small hospital room for seven days. The nursery was right across the hall. I went back and forth, and nothing else existed. Eventually they let Charlie come back to our room, and sleep in #319 with us. Nurses would come in through the night. Pediatricians would come in each morning. Night, day, and life were constantly interrupted. They came in to flush his IV, for his vitals, and temperature. I soon found myself holding my breath as I waited for them to tell me the results of each. All day. Every day. He went to the nursery for his meds in the morning and the evening. Putting an IV in a brand new baby is hard. It came out often. NICU had to come up to put it in again. Poked and prodded. Poked and prodded. An IV in his hand with a diaper wrapped around to keep it safe. It still fell out. A dark bruise on his foot from an attempted IV. The IV in his scalp. No new mom should ever have to see her new baby like this.
By the end, it scared me how routine this was becoming. It also scared me how helpless I was feeling as I became dependent on another nurse or pediatrician to tell me things were okay, and tell me what to do. How was I ever supposed to trust my instincts now? How would I ever relax? How would I tell if he was okay?
There was the morning one pediatrician told us how bad it was, and how amazing of Charlie to let us know there was a problem so they could catch it. "Thank god for modern medicine. If this had happened one hundred years ago, he wouldn't be here. He'll be your little angel." I think this was day two. New mom. New baby. Day TWO.
There was the night the nurse took him to flush an IV and it took longer than usual. I went to look for him, and she was on the phone with the on-call pediatrician, asking what to do because he had a temperature. They had him stripped down to his diaper, rocking him, cooling him off. No. No no no. This can't be happening. This time I knew what it was. I trusted my instincts and I was right. He'd had his first bath. I had the heat up a little too high in our room and him bundled a little too much. Once he cooled down his temperature was fine. But this meant repeating the story to the pediatricians in the following days when they'd see he'd had a temperature and look alarmed. Then I'd start to get scared all over again.
There was the day when someone mentioned jaundice (false alarm). Meningitis (no meningitis). Him loosing too much weight waiting for my milk to come in. It was one thing after another. I felt like we could not catch a break, and I felt myself becoming crippled with fear. I can't stress enough how much the nurses came in through the night. Each time I'd be woken up from sleep, I'd wake terrified. I was waiting for bad news each time. My heart would pound. I'd feel sick. I was waiting for the unthinkable. I found myself with PTSD from that first night and the bad news.
And the dreams. I had three of the most vivid, disturbing, anxiety dreams. I was in a car, heading for a crash. I could see it coming and I couldn't avoid it. I was trying my hardest to stay in my lane but I was going into oncoming traffic. I woke up with my foot trying to slam on the break. I dreamt I was trying to run to my dad, trying my hardest to get to him in a straight line but I was so dizzy I started falling and tumbled away from him. The last dream I was swept away at sea.
I felt like I could lose my mind. My baby was constantly being taken away, and his sleep interrupted to be poked and prodded. I couldn't leave room #319. I couldn't fall asleep in my husbands arms. I was stuck with this tiny hospital bed, and he with an uncomfortable futon.
There was the day toward the end where two nurses saw me. Really saw me. Asked me how I was. They brought in little handmade hats and let us choose one. One nurse tossed me an extra on the way out. I was so fragile at that point. The gesture was enormous.
There was the night I was seeing things.
There was the day we walked to another part of the hospital and briefly outside. My heart pounding the whole time to be out of room #319, and more than just a few feet away from my baby. I truly felt I was on the verge of crazy. My life was now living in that room, waiting for nurses to tell me what was either wrong or right with my sick baby. My life was now going to the nursery for my baby's scheduled meds. How was there ever going to be life outside of this?
I'd look at my husband with him. He was so natural with him. I was blown away how his instincts kicked in right away. I felt so frozen with fear, I relied on him so much to help our son, and help me. He took the lead a lot. He was great with diapers, talking with the nurses, everything. I felt like he was so much better at this than me. I felt lost. I just didn't know what the outcome would be. But Id' look at him, and think, "this is his experience, too." Whatever was going to happen, he was going to go through it as well. And the unthinkable was just not going to happen for my Matt. It just wasn't. It just couldn't. Knowing he was living this too was maybe the only thing that kept me from truly losing my mind.
I cried all the time. I felt turned completely inside out. I also felt so full of love for both Matt and Charlie it hurt. Whenever Charlie was out of our room I physically ached. I've never known that feeling before. It literally hurt to be separated.
I could go on, listing all the jargon we heard that scared us. The traumatizing trips to the nursery, but I think I'm done. I'm just done digging it up over and over. It hurts too much.
At the end of the week I found myself so ready to be home and away from the interruptions of the nurses, that my desire to be done outweighed the stress I thought I'd feel to be without them. I was so worried I'd be dependent on them, but I was ready for it to be just the three of us. I was ready to figure out what that would even be like, one week late. I was ready to start to learn who my baby was outside of all of that, and let my own instincts kick in.
He'll be a month in two days. Now our week in #319 seems like a lifetime ago. I have my moments where I will feel a traumatic ping of something I experienced that week, but for the most part I'm doing great. I had to leave the rough beginning behind, and move forward. I had to let myself believe the doctors, that Charlie was healthy. That he would be okay.
That week did leave me as an extra worried and paranoid mom. Each day gets easier, but there have been times when I have felt at a bit of a loss and some panic, still wishing there was someone to tell me whatever he is doing is normal. I've had a hard time with other people holding him at times, or wanting to visit. I can still ache when he's just across the room. A part of me wants to hibernate with him forever.
I can never go back to who I was before Charlie, I can never go back to who I was before Charlie.
I can't even explain to you the hug between myself and my husband once we put the carseat in the car, oncethe nurse left, and we were free.
I'll never be able to put into words the sadness I felt when we came home. The bed still unmade. Just as we'd left. Who knew what was in store that morning I woke up at 2:30 with contractions. I felt heartbroken for the version of me I now was, versus just one week ago.
That's where I'll leave that part of the story. It's just time to be done.
And now?
Charlie is great. He is okay. He is strong. He is healthy. He is so beautiful.
It's never felt better to keep moving forward.
xo Charlies' mom.
I ask that those reading tread lightly here. I'm not looking for advice, opinion, or judgement on my experience, I'm simply writing as I always do. With the intention to purge, to document, and with hope that someone who has gone through something similar finds comfort in my story.
The week after Charlie's birth.
There are things I heard that week in the hospital that will stay with me forever.
If this had happened a hundred years ago, he wouldn't have made it.
He calmed down when his mom came in.
Things look a little different this morning.
It was bad.
He was sick.
The fevers were a big deal.
I don't know how we got through that week. I guess the same way we got through labor.
You just do.
You just get through.
After his beautiful one minute and thirty six second birth, came a nightmare. We were thrown into a completely unexpected and unnatural experience as first time parents.
I still don't feel ready to write about his and I don't think I ever will, but as we approach the one month milestone, I know I need to get it out sooner rather than later. It's not as fresh as it was while I was living it, but that's a good thing for me at this point.
Charlie had just been born. We had two hours of sacred time. I was put in my wheelchair, my newborn baby in my arms, and we were taken up to my recovery room. Room 319. I remember eating the turkey sandwich I had ordered. I'd been waning a turkey sandwich for months. I remember nurses taking the baby to the nursery for routine testing. He was supposed to be right back. I will never forget the look on my husbands face when he came back into the room, my mom following behind. No baby. I knew something was wrong. I feel the lump of sadness swell in my chest just thinking about it. It seemed like an eternity for my husband to get his words out. "Um...he has to stay in there tonight." Something with the word respiratory. Something about him breathing too fast. The next thing I knew I was being put back into the wheelchair so I could get in there. I didn't even get to say goodbye to my parents.
Later my mom would say, "You know what really touched my heart? I could see Matt through the nursery windows, they were talking to him, and his face just fell. Then he leaned over and kissed Charlie."
My baby was crying. I put my hand on him and started talking to him. He calmed down. "He knows your voice" someone said.
My baby had just had an x-ray. There was fluid in his lungs. Could be amniotic fluid he needed to cry out, he hadn't cried much at birth, so they told us crying was a good thing. It could also be infection. There was talk again of our fevers at birth. There would be antibiotics. IV's. Poking and prodding. For one full week.
I don't remember a lot about the rest of that night. I could ask my husband to remind me of the details, but I'm not ready.
I do remember falling asleep on my back that night. It had been months since I'd been able to do that. I couldn't believe how abruptly pregnancy ends. There is no transition. Once the baby is out, it is done. No more heaviness in my pelvis. No more backache. No more side sleeping. No more craving chocolate milk and apples.
I had no idea this was the beginning of one of the worst weeks we could imagine. All in room #319. I had no idea I would experience the kind of anxiety and PTSD in this week that I had only felt one other time. In 2012. The most awful year of my life.
I think we were left with hopeful words when we went to sleep, but I was deflated. The plan was for our baby to never leave our side. This was supposed to be the happiest time. What was happening with our baby? I couldn't accept a "congratulations" from anyone after that. I didn't know what was in store. That's as much as I care to say about where my dark thoughts were drifting. We were woken by a nurse in the morning telling us that "things look a little different today." Even now, typing this, my heart sinks in my chest all over again as I remember what that felt like to hear. There was another x-ray. There was still something in his lungs. He was sick. Infection. Later pneumonia.
I could and maybe should have kept track of each day, but it would break my heart all over again to re-read and re-live it. I barely left one small hospital room for seven days. The nursery was right across the hall. I went back and forth, and nothing else existed. Eventually they let Charlie come back to our room, and sleep in #319 with us. Nurses would come in through the night. Pediatricians would come in each morning. Night, day, and life were constantly interrupted. They came in to flush his IV, for his vitals, and temperature. I soon found myself holding my breath as I waited for them to tell me the results of each. All day. Every day. He went to the nursery for his meds in the morning and the evening. Putting an IV in a brand new baby is hard. It came out often. NICU had to come up to put it in again. Poked and prodded. Poked and prodded. An IV in his hand with a diaper wrapped around to keep it safe. It still fell out. A dark bruise on his foot from an attempted IV. The IV in his scalp. No new mom should ever have to see her new baby like this.
By the end, it scared me how routine this was becoming. It also scared me how helpless I was feeling as I became dependent on another nurse or pediatrician to tell me things were okay, and tell me what to do. How was I ever supposed to trust my instincts now? How would I ever relax? How would I tell if he was okay?
There was the morning one pediatrician told us how bad it was, and how amazing of Charlie to let us know there was a problem so they could catch it. "Thank god for modern medicine. If this had happened one hundred years ago, he wouldn't be here. He'll be your little angel." I think this was day two. New mom. New baby. Day TWO.
There was the night the nurse took him to flush an IV and it took longer than usual. I went to look for him, and she was on the phone with the on-call pediatrician, asking what to do because he had a temperature. They had him stripped down to his diaper, rocking him, cooling him off. No. No no no. This can't be happening. This time I knew what it was. I trusted my instincts and I was right. He'd had his first bath. I had the heat up a little too high in our room and him bundled a little too much. Once he cooled down his temperature was fine. But this meant repeating the story to the pediatricians in the following days when they'd see he'd had a temperature and look alarmed. Then I'd start to get scared all over again.
There was the day when someone mentioned jaundice (false alarm). Meningitis (no meningitis). Him loosing too much weight waiting for my milk to come in. It was one thing after another. I felt like we could not catch a break, and I felt myself becoming crippled with fear. I can't stress enough how much the nurses came in through the night. Each time I'd be woken up from sleep, I'd wake terrified. I was waiting for bad news each time. My heart would pound. I'd feel sick. I was waiting for the unthinkable. I found myself with PTSD from that first night and the bad news.
And the dreams. I had three of the most vivid, disturbing, anxiety dreams. I was in a car, heading for a crash. I could see it coming and I couldn't avoid it. I was trying my hardest to stay in my lane but I was going into oncoming traffic. I woke up with my foot trying to slam on the break. I dreamt I was trying to run to my dad, trying my hardest to get to him in a straight line but I was so dizzy I started falling and tumbled away from him. The last dream I was swept away at sea.
I felt like I could lose my mind. My baby was constantly being taken away, and his sleep interrupted to be poked and prodded. I couldn't leave room #319. I couldn't fall asleep in my husbands arms. I was stuck with this tiny hospital bed, and he with an uncomfortable futon.
There was the day toward the end where two nurses saw me. Really saw me. Asked me how I was. They brought in little handmade hats and let us choose one. One nurse tossed me an extra on the way out. I was so fragile at that point. The gesture was enormous.
There was the night I was seeing things.
There was the day we walked to another part of the hospital and briefly outside. My heart pounding the whole time to be out of room #319, and more than just a few feet away from my baby. I truly felt I was on the verge of crazy. My life was now living in that room, waiting for nurses to tell me what was either wrong or right with my sick baby. My life was now going to the nursery for my baby's scheduled meds. How was there ever going to be life outside of this?
I'd look at my husband with him. He was so natural with him. I was blown away how his instincts kicked in right away. I felt so frozen with fear, I relied on him so much to help our son, and help me. He took the lead a lot. He was great with diapers, talking with the nurses, everything. I felt like he was so much better at this than me. I felt lost. I just didn't know what the outcome would be. But Id' look at him, and think, "this is his experience, too." Whatever was going to happen, he was going to go through it as well. And the unthinkable was just not going to happen for my Matt. It just wasn't. It just couldn't. Knowing he was living this too was maybe the only thing that kept me from truly losing my mind.
I cried all the time. I felt turned completely inside out. I also felt so full of love for both Matt and Charlie it hurt. Whenever Charlie was out of our room I physically ached. I've never known that feeling before. It literally hurt to be separated.
I could go on, listing all the jargon we heard that scared us. The traumatizing trips to the nursery, but I think I'm done. I'm just done digging it up over and over. It hurts too much.
At the end of the week I found myself so ready to be home and away from the interruptions of the nurses, that my desire to be done outweighed the stress I thought I'd feel to be without them. I was so worried I'd be dependent on them, but I was ready for it to be just the three of us. I was ready to figure out what that would even be like, one week late. I was ready to start to learn who my baby was outside of all of that, and let my own instincts kick in.
He'll be a month in two days. Now our week in #319 seems like a lifetime ago. I have my moments where I will feel a traumatic ping of something I experienced that week, but for the most part I'm doing great. I had to leave the rough beginning behind, and move forward. I had to let myself believe the doctors, that Charlie was healthy. That he would be okay.
That week did leave me as an extra worried and paranoid mom. Each day gets easier, but there have been times when I have felt at a bit of a loss and some panic, still wishing there was someone to tell me whatever he is doing is normal. I've had a hard time with other people holding him at times, or wanting to visit. I can still ache when he's just across the room. A part of me wants to hibernate with him forever.
I can never go back to who I was before Charlie, I can never go back to who I was before Charlie.
I can't even explain to you the hug between myself and my husband once we put the carseat in the car, oncethe nurse left, and we were free.
I'll never be able to put into words the sadness I felt when we came home. The bed still unmade. Just as we'd left. Who knew what was in store that morning I woke up at 2:30 with contractions. I felt heartbroken for the version of me I now was, versus just one week ago.
That's where I'll leave that part of the story. It's just time to be done.
And now?
Charlie is great. He is okay. He is strong. He is healthy. He is so beautiful.
It's never felt better to keep moving forward.
xo Charlies' mom.
Jan 26, 2016
What's on the inside
I have sat down to write about my personal pregnancy journey this far (nearing week 34) a few times now, and it never comes out right. While it feels good for me to purge my thoughts, it doesn't end up being something I want to post. I suppose that falls in line with how I've felt all along the way. Tidbits are fun to share, but only to a point. This is such a private, vulnerable, and intimate time. I am reluctant to let the world in. I'm not even sure what I want to say today.
I saw this photo and it touched me deeply. The phrase that sprang into my mind was, "It's what's on the inside that counts." I giggled to myself, but these words have never rang more true to me as they do with pregnancy. This may be repetitive to you if you've been following my blog, but I've had a hard time with everyone commenting on appearance. Mine, and pregnant women in general. It's like it's the only thing anyone can, wants, or knows how to talk about. They compare you to others, or their former pregnant selves, they hijack your stories to talk of their own experience, and they offer unwelcome advice.
It's hard enough to trust your own body, which is now doing something it's never done before, and get comfortable in skin you've never lived in before. With all the information out there, books to read, the focus narrowed to our outward appearance of what our growing bellies look like, all that's sacred about pregnancy is easily lost in the shuffle.
I've had quite an internal struggle with the concept of trust. The further I get and can look back on my pregnancy, I see (knock on wood) it's been fairly smooth sailing. The problem is, I've spent the majority of my pregnancy afraid of what my body will or will not do. It's been a time of great stress for me. It's been eye opening to see that for most of my life I haven't trusted my own body. I've been waiting for it to fail me in some way, and for no reason. It hasn't done so yet.
Why aren't we helping to empower pregnant women instead? Why aren't we simply listening to whatever they choose to share about their experience, or expressing genuine happiness for them and leaving it at that? Why do we instead offer unsolicited advice? Or tell them they look bigger than her, or smaller than her? How is this helpful in any way? Why aren't we connecting deeper as not only women and mothers, but as fathers and humans?
This is the time to reshape the frame we hang any and all ideas of what womanhood and human life mean.
I am reminded once again that life and birth are part of the same whole. Until you experience it (especially that earth-shattering first), there is no way you can fully relate. With both there is transformation. There is the deepest permanence. An end, and a beginning. A metamorphosis that can only come with life, and with death.
It's a rearranging of identity, and purpose, and intention of how we will now choose to live.
It can be fun to document through imagery a growing belly. For my sake mostly, but also for my family and friends. But that's just the external. Belly size, maternity clothes, and weight gain are the last on the list of what's interesting about pregnancy, not to mention what matters.
It's my journey of pregnancy, yes. But even more, it's his journey. It's his journey into life.
I'm merely a vessel.
I prefer to concentrate on the depth of what this experience is as the two of us race toward the finish line. Our combined energy is palpable. I prefer to think about how I will explain the world to him when he is here. I'd rather wonder how sensitive, dreamy, and wise my little pieces may or may not be, and how no matter what he is I will never label it. I will never tell him he should be one thing, or should not be another, or should have any other interest or love than whatever he will innately bring into the world. I will teach him from day one that the universe is vast, the possibilities are endless, and the only right way is the right way for him. I'd rather focus on what it may feel like in six-ish weeks from now when my body, heart, and soul crack open in ways I can only begin to fathom. When I get to meet someone I somehow know, but have never seen.
This, this, all of this...
This is for him.
"There is no way out of the experience except through it, because it is not really your experience at all but the baby's. Your body is the child's instrument of birth."
-Penelope Leach
xo Deena Marie
I saw this photo and it touched me deeply. The phrase that sprang into my mind was, "It's what's on the inside that counts." I giggled to myself, but these words have never rang more true to me as they do with pregnancy. This may be repetitive to you if you've been following my blog, but I've had a hard time with everyone commenting on appearance. Mine, and pregnant women in general. It's like it's the only thing anyone can, wants, or knows how to talk about. They compare you to others, or their former pregnant selves, they hijack your stories to talk of their own experience, and they offer unwelcome advice.
It's hard enough to trust your own body, which is now doing something it's never done before, and get comfortable in skin you've never lived in before. With all the information out there, books to read, the focus narrowed to our outward appearance of what our growing bellies look like, all that's sacred about pregnancy is easily lost in the shuffle.
I've had quite an internal struggle with the concept of trust. The further I get and can look back on my pregnancy, I see (knock on wood) it's been fairly smooth sailing. The problem is, I've spent the majority of my pregnancy afraid of what my body will or will not do. It's been a time of great stress for me. It's been eye opening to see that for most of my life I haven't trusted my own body. I've been waiting for it to fail me in some way, and for no reason. It hasn't done so yet.
Why aren't we helping to empower pregnant women instead? Why aren't we simply listening to whatever they choose to share about their experience, or expressing genuine happiness for them and leaving it at that? Why do we instead offer unsolicited advice? Or tell them they look bigger than her, or smaller than her? How is this helpful in any way? Why aren't we connecting deeper as not only women and mothers, but as fathers and humans?
This is the time to reshape the frame we hang any and all ideas of what womanhood and human life mean.
I am reminded once again that life and birth are part of the same whole. Until you experience it (especially that earth-shattering first), there is no way you can fully relate. With both there is transformation. There is the deepest permanence. An end, and a beginning. A metamorphosis that can only come with life, and with death.
It's a rearranging of identity, and purpose, and intention of how we will now choose to live.
It can be fun to document through imagery a growing belly. For my sake mostly, but also for my family and friends. But that's just the external. Belly size, maternity clothes, and weight gain are the last on the list of what's interesting about pregnancy, not to mention what matters.
It's my journey of pregnancy, yes. But even more, it's his journey. It's his journey into life.
I'm merely a vessel.
I prefer to concentrate on the depth of what this experience is as the two of us race toward the finish line. Our combined energy is palpable. I prefer to think about how I will explain the world to him when he is here. I'd rather wonder how sensitive, dreamy, and wise my little pieces may or may not be, and how no matter what he is I will never label it. I will never tell him he should be one thing, or should not be another, or should have any other interest or love than whatever he will innately bring into the world. I will teach him from day one that the universe is vast, the possibilities are endless, and the only right way is the right way for him. I'd rather focus on what it may feel like in six-ish weeks from now when my body, heart, and soul crack open in ways I can only begin to fathom. When I get to meet someone I somehow know, but have never seen.
This, this, all of this...
This is for him.
"There is no way out of the experience except through it, because it is not really your experience at all but the baby's. Your body is the child's instrument of birth."
-Penelope Leach
xo Deena Marie
Dec 3, 2015
Progress weeks 21-25!
Yesterday marked week 25. It's time for the next set of progress pictures. To see pre-pregnancy through week 20 (and to read about my experience and feelings so far) make sure to start with this post! I'm still feeling good physically, and haven't been slowed down by pregnancy. I'm feeling my Charlie move quite a bit these days. Matt finally got to feel him move, and has now felt him twice! At my last Dr. appointment she told me how active he is as we were listening to the heartbeat. He has been since the first ultrasound in August. He is hyper!
I'm sad to have missed my photo for week 24. We were out of town for Thanksgiving and I forgot. Progress pictures have turned out to be just amazing to me. The changes happen so gradually, and seeing these week to week show me so much more than living in my body day to day, surprisingly. I haven't had to buy any maternity clothes yet, but I'm sure that's coming soon. I haven't worn anything form-fitting yet, because I'm still not sure it looks enough like a bump (rather than a big lunch) to show it off. So people still don't know I'm pregnant if I'm just out and about in a loose top!
Being used to your body being a certain size through your adult life, it's definitely strange (and at times very hard) to transform. I keep looking back at previous weeks when I thought I was big, and now it makes me laugh at how crazy I was for thinking that! It really took a long time to start showing much of anything. Three weeks until the LAST TRIMESTER. I'm trying to savor every day before I get huge!
It feels more real every day. I can't believe how much love I feel for my baby already. I can't wait to see him with his Dad, too.
It's yet to be determined if social media will ever see our son, so like I said in a previous post, I won't be sharing his ultrasounds. But man, if you could see how beautiful he is already! I can't help but stare at his pictures all the time.
~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 17, 2015
How to Ruin Your Life - response
How to Ruin Your Life (Without Even Noticing That You Are)
By Bianca Sparacino on Thought Catalog
"You are allowed to figure out what inspires you. You are allowed time, and I think we often forget that. We take the next step, and the next step, and the next step, thinking that we are fulfilling some checklist for life, and one day we wake up depressed. What is it with our need to fast-track relationships? Why are we so enamored with the idea of first becoming somebody’s rather than somebodies?"
I've blogged about this, but I've never said it in these exact words. I wanted to respond to this post that resonated so deeply in hopes others hear Bianca's words, and my words. What she writes about in the blog above is exactly what I would tell my younger self. I regret nothing, as it made me who I am, but with that I can now help someone else learn these lessons earlier than I did, or find comfort or inspiration in these words.
I got caught up living the checklist and not my truth.
If I go back and read over old journal entries I am blown away by the girl in the pages. She wants acting school in NYC to hurry and be done. She wants to be a success and she wants people to know her name now. She wants love. She wants to be married. She feels like the clock is ticking and there is a deadline and she is panicked. She needs these things to happen and she needs it now. I'm not sure she understands the why behind the wants, but nevertheless, she feels she must hurry. She has her checklist and as she begins to knock each one off, she feels a bit more successful. She is getting it done. She is getting what she wants, right? And by the way, she is so so terribly young. Of course she doesn't know this. She just knows that time is never on anyone's side. She even lists age she is sure she needs to be married by! And by the way, this age is so, so terribly young.
I knew nothing back then of self awareness. I hadn't dug deep, gotten to know truly and deeply who I was or what I wanted. I had yet to find out what city felt like home, what "success" meant to me in this career, my strengths and my shortcomings, let alone what kind of partner would best serve me. I simply hadn't experienced enough. I hadn't lived enough life. But there is no time to explore the world, your mind, or your heart when you have tunnel vision and only see the list in front of you.
But I had a list. The list gave me a purpose and a focus and I knocked the items off, more often than not so desperate for it that I lived almost always in the future. All that mattered was what came next.
Fast forward a number of years later. Checklist completed. And you know what was most surprising? I felt young. So, so terribly young. I was. I am. I'd completed my list. I was done.
I had nothing left on it and I was at the very beginning of the rest of my life.
Oh shit. And it's in the moments of the biggest "oh shits" we learn and grow the most. I was only starting to dig, to uncover who I was, and what I wanted. I reflected on the choices I had made and I realized that each time I said yes to the next step, I said yes to the checklist, but not always to what was true for me. I'd led myself right down the most unsatisfied, stagnant, and small path I could have.
Suddenly, I had never felt so convoluted in my whole life. It was the scariest, and messiest time. For a couple of years I stayed bound to the checklist. The funny thing was, from the outside, I had it all. But nobody knew my internal journey. Nobody knew what had governed me inside up to this point. I had made a string of choices based on fear. Fear of running out of time, and now I was trapped. I had no plan, no list, to guide me through what happens next. Yet there I was. The boat had been cruising along at a high speed, when suddenly the motor gave out. I was stuck. Still. Feeling the weight of the waves and water now upon me.
I know I'm not the only one. I know I am describing a lot of people. This is the crucial point. Where you stay bound, or you leave to find what truly aligns with your soul. It took me some time to make the leap, but I chose to do it. I chose to live completely differently. No guidelines, lists, or rules. I jumped. I only knew I had to follow my gut. What I'd done before wasn't working, so I went the other way. The way of the unknown. I started be patient with myself. I started saying yes to the things and the people that lit me up. That made me feel like me. That felt like passion, and joy.
Everything changed. My relationship status, my home, my car, my jobs, you name it and it was shaken up in all kinds of ways.
I said yes to the right things for me for once. I tuned in. I finally realized there is no rushing anything, just like there is no forcing a fit. I spent time with men who hurt me, who I hurt, who were mean to me, who were good to me, but who were not it no matter how much I tried to tell myself they were. When I did meet the love of my life (and now husband), it happened much later than my old diary would have liked, but that's ok when you know there is no deadline. Do you hear me? There is no deadline. Hold out. Hold out for anything that you are still looking for to fuel your soul if you haven't found it yet. It's there, and you won't get a chance to see it or live it if you are filling your life with what "should" be, or settling for mediocrity because it's good enough, and you're afraid great isn't out there.
It is. I promise that it is. Make the space in your mind, life, and heart for it so you can find it. Don't give yourself to the job or relationship that is only okay, because you're scared that its as good as it gets. That doesn't make you an ideal partner, employee, or person, nor is it fair to those around you. Nobody grows up excited to only get so far, only so happy, to choose to live life at half mass. And are you drawn to the people who do live at half mass? Do they inspire you? Do they bring you to life? No.
This is everything I would have told my younger self. While she was stubborn and wouldn't have listened, maybe now I needed to write this simply as my love letter to her in order to forgive her. To tell her I now understand, and it's going to be okay.
Going forward all I can say is that fear is so often not real, and it passes. All is temporary. Good and bad. And time is both endless and fleeting. And there is no reason to be in this world other than to live your truth. No one else can do it. You are here, and that is your one job. That's it. Whatever it means, whatever it looks like, whenever it happens. You don't have to look like, or do, or be anything. And you can change your mind. And change it again. Be many things and anything that makes you happy.
There are no rules.
Only the boundaries you learn to set for yourself over time. The ones that are authentic to your soul. What kinds of things and people you should learn to say yes to, and should learn to say no to.
Life didn't begin for me until I set myself free,
and released the "should be's".
The world cracked open, and it turned out she loved me.
I loved her back, and I soared.
You are here to live, and thrive, and shine.
The more you do, the easier things get.
Free yourself, the world needs you to.
DM
By Bianca Sparacino on Thought Catalog
"You are allowed to figure out what inspires you. You are allowed time, and I think we often forget that. We take the next step, and the next step, and the next step, thinking that we are fulfilling some checklist for life, and one day we wake up depressed. What is it with our need to fast-track relationships? Why are we so enamored with the idea of first becoming somebody’s rather than somebodies?"
I've blogged about this, but I've never said it in these exact words. I wanted to respond to this post that resonated so deeply in hopes others hear Bianca's words, and my words. What she writes about in the blog above is exactly what I would tell my younger self. I regret nothing, as it made me who I am, but with that I can now help someone else learn these lessons earlier than I did, or find comfort or inspiration in these words.
I got caught up living the checklist and not my truth.
If I go back and read over old journal entries I am blown away by the girl in the pages. She wants acting school in NYC to hurry and be done. She wants to be a success and she wants people to know her name now. She wants love. She wants to be married. She feels like the clock is ticking and there is a deadline and she is panicked. She needs these things to happen and she needs it now. I'm not sure she understands the why behind the wants, but nevertheless, she feels she must hurry. She has her checklist and as she begins to knock each one off, she feels a bit more successful. She is getting it done. She is getting what she wants, right? And by the way, she is so so terribly young. Of course she doesn't know this. She just knows that time is never on anyone's side. She even lists age she is sure she needs to be married by! And by the way, this age is so, so terribly young.
I knew nothing back then of self awareness. I hadn't dug deep, gotten to know truly and deeply who I was or what I wanted. I had yet to find out what city felt like home, what "success" meant to me in this career, my strengths and my shortcomings, let alone what kind of partner would best serve me. I simply hadn't experienced enough. I hadn't lived enough life. But there is no time to explore the world, your mind, or your heart when you have tunnel vision and only see the list in front of you.
But I had a list. The list gave me a purpose and a focus and I knocked the items off, more often than not so desperate for it that I lived almost always in the future. All that mattered was what came next.
Fast forward a number of years later. Checklist completed. And you know what was most surprising? I felt young. So, so terribly young. I was. I am. I'd completed my list. I was done.
I had nothing left on it and I was at the very beginning of the rest of my life.
Oh shit. And it's in the moments of the biggest "oh shits" we learn and grow the most. I was only starting to dig, to uncover who I was, and what I wanted. I reflected on the choices I had made and I realized that each time I said yes to the next step, I said yes to the checklist, but not always to what was true for me. I'd led myself right down the most unsatisfied, stagnant, and small path I could have.
Suddenly, I had never felt so convoluted in my whole life. It was the scariest, and messiest time. For a couple of years I stayed bound to the checklist. The funny thing was, from the outside, I had it all. But nobody knew my internal journey. Nobody knew what had governed me inside up to this point. I had made a string of choices based on fear. Fear of running out of time, and now I was trapped. I had no plan, no list, to guide me through what happens next. Yet there I was. The boat had been cruising along at a high speed, when suddenly the motor gave out. I was stuck. Still. Feeling the weight of the waves and water now upon me.
I know I'm not the only one. I know I am describing a lot of people. This is the crucial point. Where you stay bound, or you leave to find what truly aligns with your soul. It took me some time to make the leap, but I chose to do it. I chose to live completely differently. No guidelines, lists, or rules. I jumped. I only knew I had to follow my gut. What I'd done before wasn't working, so I went the other way. The way of the unknown. I started be patient with myself. I started saying yes to the things and the people that lit me up. That made me feel like me. That felt like passion, and joy.
Everything changed. My relationship status, my home, my car, my jobs, you name it and it was shaken up in all kinds of ways.
I said yes to the right things for me for once. I tuned in. I finally realized there is no rushing anything, just like there is no forcing a fit. I spent time with men who hurt me, who I hurt, who were mean to me, who were good to me, but who were not it no matter how much I tried to tell myself they were. When I did meet the love of my life (and now husband), it happened much later than my old diary would have liked, but that's ok when you know there is no deadline. Do you hear me? There is no deadline. Hold out. Hold out for anything that you are still looking for to fuel your soul if you haven't found it yet. It's there, and you won't get a chance to see it or live it if you are filling your life with what "should" be, or settling for mediocrity because it's good enough, and you're afraid great isn't out there.
It is. I promise that it is. Make the space in your mind, life, and heart for it so you can find it. Don't give yourself to the job or relationship that is only okay, because you're scared that its as good as it gets. That doesn't make you an ideal partner, employee, or person, nor is it fair to those around you. Nobody grows up excited to only get so far, only so happy, to choose to live life at half mass. And are you drawn to the people who do live at half mass? Do they inspire you? Do they bring you to life? No.
This is everything I would have told my younger self. While she was stubborn and wouldn't have listened, maybe now I needed to write this simply as my love letter to her in order to forgive her. To tell her I now understand, and it's going to be okay.
Going forward all I can say is that fear is so often not real, and it passes. All is temporary. Good and bad. And time is both endless and fleeting. And there is no reason to be in this world other than to live your truth. No one else can do it. You are here, and that is your one job. That's it. Whatever it means, whatever it looks like, whenever it happens. You don't have to look like, or do, or be anything. And you can change your mind. And change it again. Be many things and anything that makes you happy.
There are no rules.
Only the boundaries you learn to set for yourself over time. The ones that are authentic to your soul. What kinds of things and people you should learn to say yes to, and should learn to say no to.
Life didn't begin for me until I set myself free,
and released the "should be's".
The world cracked open, and it turned out she loved me.
I loved her back, and I soared.
You are here to live, and thrive, and shine.
The more you do, the easier things get.
Free yourself, the world needs you to.
DM
Jun 9, 2015
May 27, 2015
Grief, three years later.
Today is the 27th. That number is burned into me, but I manage to survive it okay.
I wonder why I can, if I should be something other than okay, but I remind myself to let go of a should or shouldn't. I am where I am, how I feel, today.
Today is okay.
I woke up next to my husband, did the dishes, sent him off to an interview, hopped in the shower. My mom came over, because it's the 27th, and we talked in my living room while my pup took turns sitting on our laps.
My husband came home, I made him something to eat.
We worked from home, we ran errands. We laughed. We ate. We kissed. We said I love you. We spent the evening playing nintendo.
That's what I did on the 27th, three years later.
I haven't cried. I don't know that I will. I feel healed. I feel whole. I have to know that it's okay.
Time is so surprising. Three years ago today I remember leaving my house in the morning to get back to my aunts, where he and his hospital bed had been set up in the living room. I thought I'd still get to see him. I pulled up mere minutes too late. My dad out front to meet me, "he's gone". "What?" Feeling everything sink. Purple pajama pants, blue flannel shirt. Running in. How profound. The first death is the most profound thing a person can go through. His bed surrounded. A spot now taken by me. His things at his bedside. What becomes of things? You can't take them with you. How he looked. He was, and yet he wasn't. We are not our bodies.
The reaction of my grandpa when he came in and realized he was also too late. Three years ago, I also still had a grandpa.
The blanket that had been keeping him warm. A kids blanket. Navy blue, with clocks. The time was frozen around the 10 o'clock hour. Very near the time he left.
At some point, he left us, entire. I don't know what happened then.
Three years ago tonight I sat in my backyard looking at the moon and questioning everything. Everything was new, and open, and vast, from the moon to my heart. I was reborn. I drank three big red cups of vodka and soda to drown out the world and cried myself to sleep wondering why I should get to sleep in a bed if he couldn't.
Those are the most vivid memories of the most surreal day.
Time blurs from there. I will always remember spending that spring and most of 2012 shattered. Before that, and after that. For so long, so terribly broken. I still carry that weight with me more than I'd like to, and find myself angry at times I ever had to go so low.
Crushed. Heart smashed.
Sad, sad, sad.
I did everything I could to keep moving and continue the rebirth. I shaved my head. I was so open. I read everything. I expanded. I learned. I saw omens. I saw heaven. I saw him in the form of animals. I ran. I ran, ran, ran. Anything to keep moving. I was afraid if I sat still something awful would happen to me.
I thought I was dying. I also had nightmares and began to feel sick all the time. The losses piled up and I could barely breathe.
I thought maybe I too, wanted to die.
Get me out of here.
I kept digging, I kept being buried alive.
I am mad at that time.
Mad, mad, mad.
But yet here I am, presently. So whole. Parallels exist at any given time. Extreme opposites. Both are true. I learned this then, and it still holds today.
Today the number 27 is burned into my brain. The contrast from three years to today feels like it might as well have happened to someone else.
I don't feel guilty for my happiness. I don't know how I should behave, or pay tribute, or not, on this day. I haven't cried, but I still feel it all. It happened, and left its mark all through my insides.
I still don't know what to make of it at times. Sometimes it's still not real. Sometimes a wave rocks me for no reason, death it says, he died, and the permanence takes me over for just a second. My brain can't process it for long, and my soul goes into protection mode.
It's another heaviness that simply is. Inside.
I thought of asking him for a sign today. Just like the first Christmas after he left I asked him to throw me a snowball on Christmas eve. "Make it hit the window outside", I said. Nothing. Today? Nothing. But today I also feel like I'm too closed off to it to see it anyway. Because if it happened, if it really happened, I think deep down I couldn't take it.
So that's it. That's today.
The third of these 27's so far.
And I have to stop now, because if I go on I think I might cry.
And I think what I need today, is to let myself be okay.
P.S The views on this post are quite high. I'm not sure why, but I'm glad people are reading. I find I am most comforted by words. I am so thankful there are writers, bloggers, and people living with open hearts who are willing to share their words. We all teach each other. I hope this entry is comforting to you if you have experienced any kind of loss. I have so much to say on the topic of loss, lessons learned through loss, and rebirth. If you go back to May of 2012 here on my blog and read up through about the first part of 2013, you might find even more that can hopefully be of comfort as I went through my journey of losing myself, and finding a new normal. Things turned out better than I ever could have hoped, but I had to go through darkness first that I never dreamed was possible.
I also hope you subscribe here, bookmark, or look around through other posts. This is the place where I pour my heart out.
~DM
I wonder why I can, if I should be something other than okay, but I remind myself to let go of a should or shouldn't. I am where I am, how I feel, today.
Today is okay.
I woke up next to my husband, did the dishes, sent him off to an interview, hopped in the shower. My mom came over, because it's the 27th, and we talked in my living room while my pup took turns sitting on our laps.
My husband came home, I made him something to eat.
We worked from home, we ran errands. We laughed. We ate. We kissed. We said I love you. We spent the evening playing nintendo.
That's what I did on the 27th, three years later.
I haven't cried. I don't know that I will. I feel healed. I feel whole. I have to know that it's okay.
Time is so surprising. Three years ago today I remember leaving my house in the morning to get back to my aunts, where he and his hospital bed had been set up in the living room. I thought I'd still get to see him. I pulled up mere minutes too late. My dad out front to meet me, "he's gone". "What?" Feeling everything sink. Purple pajama pants, blue flannel shirt. Running in. How profound. The first death is the most profound thing a person can go through. His bed surrounded. A spot now taken by me. His things at his bedside. What becomes of things? You can't take them with you. How he looked. He was, and yet he wasn't. We are not our bodies.
The reaction of my grandpa when he came in and realized he was also too late. Three years ago, I also still had a grandpa.
The blanket that had been keeping him warm. A kids blanket. Navy blue, with clocks. The time was frozen around the 10 o'clock hour. Very near the time he left.
At some point, he left us, entire. I don't know what happened then.
Three years ago tonight I sat in my backyard looking at the moon and questioning everything. Everything was new, and open, and vast, from the moon to my heart. I was reborn. I drank three big red cups of vodka and soda to drown out the world and cried myself to sleep wondering why I should get to sleep in a bed if he couldn't.
Those are the most vivid memories of the most surreal day.
Time blurs from there. I will always remember spending that spring and most of 2012 shattered. Before that, and after that. For so long, so terribly broken. I still carry that weight with me more than I'd like to, and find myself angry at times I ever had to go so low.
Crushed. Heart smashed.
Sad, sad, sad.
I did everything I could to keep moving and continue the rebirth. I shaved my head. I was so open. I read everything. I expanded. I learned. I saw omens. I saw heaven. I saw him in the form of animals. I ran. I ran, ran, ran. Anything to keep moving. I was afraid if I sat still something awful would happen to me.
I thought I was dying. I also had nightmares and began to feel sick all the time. The losses piled up and I could barely breathe.
I thought maybe I too, wanted to die.
Get me out of here.
I kept digging, I kept being buried alive.
I am mad at that time.
Mad, mad, mad.
But yet here I am, presently. So whole. Parallels exist at any given time. Extreme opposites. Both are true. I learned this then, and it still holds today.
Today the number 27 is burned into my brain. The contrast from three years to today feels like it might as well have happened to someone else.
I don't feel guilty for my happiness. I don't know how I should behave, or pay tribute, or not, on this day. I haven't cried, but I still feel it all. It happened, and left its mark all through my insides.
I still don't know what to make of it at times. Sometimes it's still not real. Sometimes a wave rocks me for no reason, death it says, he died, and the permanence takes me over for just a second. My brain can't process it for long, and my soul goes into protection mode.
It's another heaviness that simply is. Inside.
I thought of asking him for a sign today. Just like the first Christmas after he left I asked him to throw me a snowball on Christmas eve. "Make it hit the window outside", I said. Nothing. Today? Nothing. But today I also feel like I'm too closed off to it to see it anyway. Because if it happened, if it really happened, I think deep down I couldn't take it.
So that's it. That's today.
The third of these 27's so far.
And I have to stop now, because if I go on I think I might cry.
And I think what I need today, is to let myself be okay.
P.S The views on this post are quite high. I'm not sure why, but I'm glad people are reading. I find I am most comforted by words. I am so thankful there are writers, bloggers, and people living with open hearts who are willing to share their words. We all teach each other. I hope this entry is comforting to you if you have experienced any kind of loss. I have so much to say on the topic of loss, lessons learned through loss, and rebirth. If you go back to May of 2012 here on my blog and read up through about the first part of 2013, you might find even more that can hopefully be of comfort as I went through my journey of losing myself, and finding a new normal. Things turned out better than I ever could have hoped, but I had to go through darkness first that I never dreamed was possible.
I also hope you subscribe here, bookmark, or look around through other posts. This is the place where I pour my heart out.
~DM
Apr 24, 2015
Schrödinger's Cat
When exactly does quantum superstition end and reality collapse into one possibility or another?
My husband and I are in limbo. We are waiting to find out things (three very specific things at the moment) that will shape our future paths and the rest of our lives. Yeah, no big deal.
I've been known to be impatient. Not as much as I once was, but it's in me. My sweet love is stressed. Yet, for some reason I find myself a little more comfortable in this situation than I would expect.
Maybe it's time, getting older, or the comfort I take knowing from experience that the universe is to be trusted. I can't help but feel some magic in the air before anything is known, and all is possible. No matter the outcomes, it's okay. The universe knows, and keeps steering us to things we never saw coming. All in it's own time, I suppose.
Right now we are with, and without. As much as I want to know, I also don't.
I kinda like this feeling of possibility.
I kinda like this feeling of possibility.
Thanks for reading,
DM
Apr 22, 2015
At this very moment.
leeds, UT | 4.17.2015
She used to come here to escape. To try to mend her broken soul. Heart shattered, she missed him terribly. She hoped that the farther away she got, maybe the easier it would be to forget he'd existed. But the truth was, when he tore through her world he changed everything. Left her in flames.
She spent so much time looking at the sky here, and teaching herself to find the beauty in everything. She had to find a way to live in the word again, and to see the good. And when she did not find it at times, "at least he's given me new eyes with which to see", she'd think.
She was open to the omens in a way she'd never been before. She was thankful for her new eyes. But just as she was resigning herself to the fact that he was lost forever, the universe stepped in, not done with them after all.
Now he is here. Her husband, holding the camera. She sees the sky in a different way now. Gone is the longing to be off of the earth and into the blue, for she loves so much what grounds her here.
Right at this moment, this is what's going through her head. And as she turns from the sunset to look at him, these are the thoughts she wants captured in this photo.
~DM
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