So two nights in the past week or so I've had dreams in which I've started having sex with some hot woman (or multiple hot women in one case!) only to be interrupted by something before I get to really enjoy myself. My lesbian-side is even sexually frustrated in my dreams!!!
And for those of you who know anything about dream interpretation, what does sexual frustration mean in dream language? Any ideas????
Monday, December 28, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Merry Christmas!
The sun is slowly melting the drifts of snow outside my window. The snow glints and sparkles. The tree is still lit up. I am full of Christmas left-overs and I am deeply content.
This was my second Christmas spent away from my family-of-origin (f.o.o. for short!). Last year I realized that I had spent the first 30 Christmases of my life with my f.o.o. (most of them somewhat tense and miserable as my mother had a habit of blowing up on Christmas Eve, screaming, and locking herself in her room and refusing to come out for the Christmas Eve service). Last year I thought perhaps it was time to enjoy Christmas and not have to expend huge amounts of energy navigating craziness. I wanted to focus on my new family, and especially on my baby. I wanted to have energy to create a joyful experience for her. And so C. and SparkleEyes and I had Christmas alone in our cozy house. It was just our day. I thought about all the things I wanted, thought about what would make it special for us, and I made all of those things happen. It was the best, most joyful Christmas of my life (despite all the tremendous energy I had to expend resisting my mother's attempts to thwart my desire for independence). This year was again an f.o.o.-free Christmas (despite, again, repeated requests from my mom to be included). But this year I didn't feel a need to go as all-out as I did last year. And we decided to include others on our special day. We had two people from our church who are far away from their families over, and at the last minute we decided to invited C's mom, who is alone, as well. We were a bit worried about how this would go as our church friends speak only a few words of English (one is from El Salvador and the other from Guatemala), and we speak about 12 words of Spanish, and C's mom is a bit on the conservative, prejudiced side...but, wow, it rocked! Some of the food we made was a bit... ummm...overdone, and some of it was a bit cold, I couldn't find my tablecloth, SparkleEyes was grumpy and not excited about company, and I forgot to put the rolls on the table until everyone was almost done, but it was all yummy, and our table was filled with love and awkward computer-aided translations! (We had google translate open the whole time so when we couldn't figure out how to say something we could type it in and read the translations...sometimes we just did without and pantomimed or came up with the best translation we could. I didn't know the word for "housemates" and so I asked one of our friends if his "friends of the house" were still in Miami where they had traveled previously. We also ended up flapping our arms around and quacking like ducks when one of them was trying to explain that they often eat duck at Christmas in their countries). Our church friends are some of the kindest, gentlest people I've ever met despite their daily encounters with poverty and racism and loneliness, and their kind and loving spirit filled our home and even won over the MIL, I think!
Last year I think I felt a little like I needed to have a spectacular, meaning-filled Christmas to make up for years of painful and disappointing Christmases. I think it felt like so much of my life was empty and painful that I needed a kind of over-the-top emotional experience in order to really feel joy and contenment. Last Christmas was wonderful--and working so hard to make it a beautiful experience was so the right thing to do. But it was even better this year to feel like my basic experience of life now is good and peaceful so that I don't need an over-the-top, perfectly-planned experience to make up for all the rest. Finally I feel capable of knowing peace and joy and contentment and of staying grounded in the very best parts of myself even when my outer world is not perfect. I spent much of this break feeling out-of-sorts and irritable, but I also found that I was kind of celebrating my grumpiness. Sure, I was grumpy and irritable and tired and not particularly happy and not feeling a whole lot of holiday cheer, but I was also sleeping well (without meds!) and wasn't depressed and still felt like myself.
It used to be that I could be basically okay as long as my outer-world was okay, but as soon as things started to go particularly wrong I would get thrown out-of-whack (and once I had a kid, the potential for things in my outer-world to be out-of-balance just grew exponentially!). I'd be okay as long as stressors weren't triggering me (lack of sleep, time with family, a shift for-the-worse in a relationship, etc.). I'd fall apart and then I would work and work and work to get back to being okay, and I could, but I had little resilience. It felt like a massive gap would open in the center of my chest, and then I would seek comfort from friends, from my faith, from self-care, and I'd grow a thin layer of skin back over my chest, but then something would go wrong and would come tearing in like a strong wind, ripping my chest open again until I felt as if a crevice as deep as the grand canyon gaped open right at my center. This season--this imperfect, cold Christmas-vegetable, somewhat-messy-house, over-scheduled, lots-of-time-with-f.o.o., irritable season--has been amazing as I have discovered that even when stressors abound, I stay intact, intact enough that I sometimes seem to even influence my outer-world for the better. And I have something left to give--to give to my family, to give to my own little neglected inner-child, and to friends who miss their own families. And I have the capacity to receive and to be filled, and to stay that way.
It has been a merry Christmas indeed.
This was my second Christmas spent away from my family-of-origin (f.o.o. for short!). Last year I realized that I had spent the first 30 Christmases of my life with my f.o.o. (most of them somewhat tense and miserable as my mother had a habit of blowing up on Christmas Eve, screaming, and locking herself in her room and refusing to come out for the Christmas Eve service). Last year I thought perhaps it was time to enjoy Christmas and not have to expend huge amounts of energy navigating craziness. I wanted to focus on my new family, and especially on my baby. I wanted to have energy to create a joyful experience for her. And so C. and SparkleEyes and I had Christmas alone in our cozy house. It was just our day. I thought about all the things I wanted, thought about what would make it special for us, and I made all of those things happen. It was the best, most joyful Christmas of my life (despite all the tremendous energy I had to expend resisting my mother's attempts to thwart my desire for independence). This year was again an f.o.o.-free Christmas (despite, again, repeated requests from my mom to be included). But this year I didn't feel a need to go as all-out as I did last year. And we decided to include others on our special day. We had two people from our church who are far away from their families over, and at the last minute we decided to invited C's mom, who is alone, as well. We were a bit worried about how this would go as our church friends speak only a few words of English (one is from El Salvador and the other from Guatemala), and we speak about 12 words of Spanish, and C's mom is a bit on the conservative, prejudiced side...but, wow, it rocked! Some of the food we made was a bit... ummm...overdone, and some of it was a bit cold, I couldn't find my tablecloth, SparkleEyes was grumpy and not excited about company, and I forgot to put the rolls on the table until everyone was almost done, but it was all yummy, and our table was filled with love and awkward computer-aided translations! (We had google translate open the whole time so when we couldn't figure out how to say something we could type it in and read the translations...sometimes we just did without and pantomimed or came up with the best translation we could. I didn't know the word for "housemates" and so I asked one of our friends if his "friends of the house" were still in Miami where they had traveled previously. We also ended up flapping our arms around and quacking like ducks when one of them was trying to explain that they often eat duck at Christmas in their countries). Our church friends are some of the kindest, gentlest people I've ever met despite their daily encounters with poverty and racism and loneliness, and their kind and loving spirit filled our home and even won over the MIL, I think!
Last year I think I felt a little like I needed to have a spectacular, meaning-filled Christmas to make up for years of painful and disappointing Christmases. I think it felt like so much of my life was empty and painful that I needed a kind of over-the-top emotional experience in order to really feel joy and contenment. Last Christmas was wonderful--and working so hard to make it a beautiful experience was so the right thing to do. But it was even better this year to feel like my basic experience of life now is good and peaceful so that I don't need an over-the-top, perfectly-planned experience to make up for all the rest. Finally I feel capable of knowing peace and joy and contentment and of staying grounded in the very best parts of myself even when my outer world is not perfect. I spent much of this break feeling out-of-sorts and irritable, but I also found that I was kind of celebrating my grumpiness. Sure, I was grumpy and irritable and tired and not particularly happy and not feeling a whole lot of holiday cheer, but I was also sleeping well (without meds!) and wasn't depressed and still felt like myself.
It used to be that I could be basically okay as long as my outer-world was okay, but as soon as things started to go particularly wrong I would get thrown out-of-whack (and once I had a kid, the potential for things in my outer-world to be out-of-balance just grew exponentially!). I'd be okay as long as stressors weren't triggering me (lack of sleep, time with family, a shift for-the-worse in a relationship, etc.). I'd fall apart and then I would work and work and work to get back to being okay, and I could, but I had little resilience. It felt like a massive gap would open in the center of my chest, and then I would seek comfort from friends, from my faith, from self-care, and I'd grow a thin layer of skin back over my chest, but then something would go wrong and would come tearing in like a strong wind, ripping my chest open again until I felt as if a crevice as deep as the grand canyon gaped open right at my center. This season--this imperfect, cold Christmas-vegetable, somewhat-messy-house, over-scheduled, lots-of-time-with-f.o.o., irritable season--has been amazing as I have discovered that even when stressors abound, I stay intact, intact enough that I sometimes seem to even influence my outer-world for the better. And I have something left to give--to give to my family, to give to my own little neglected inner-child, and to friends who miss their own families. And I have the capacity to receive and to be filled, and to stay that way.
It has been a merry Christmas indeed.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
On wizardry
"The training of wizards is a very difficult thing. Wizards have to spend years standing in a chalk circle until they can manage without it. They push out their power bit by bit, first within their hearts, then within their bodies, then within their immediate circle. It is not possible to control the outside of yourself until you have mastered your breathing space. It is not possible to change anything until you understand the substance you wish to change. Of course people mutilate and modify, but these are fallen powers, and to change something you do not understand is the true nature of evil."
--Jeannete Winterson, from Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit
I just spent two days with my family-of-origin--all of them. We rented our own cabin up in the mountains right next to theirs, and spent a couple of days together, a family tradition. The five of us--myself, my parents, and my two younger brothers--used to cram into one small cabin full of tension and unspoken anger and resentment. We'd leave the cabin together to go skate or snow-shoe or hike and then we would come back to hot cocoa, a game (during which we would debate and argue loudly, exchanging insulting barbs under the guise of "jokes" and "teasing") and then we would fall silent and each sit in our own corner with a book (and as the years went by, a computer, then palm pilots, and now iphones come out alongside the books and magazines). We spent hours and hours together in total silence. Last year I broke with tradition and insisted that my new family and I get our own cabin. I also insisted that we get to spend Christmas Day alone. My mother had a silent temper-tantrum and became ice queen for the weekend. I cheerfully ignored her as she refused to play games with us and locked herself in her bedroom pretending to be asleep when I came to say good night. Friends met with me beforehand and gave me things to take with me to remember my goodness, to remember their love, and met with me afterwards to take me out for facials and chocolate and champage. I brought foods and candles and bath stuff that all helped me to nurture myself and remember myself. To not get lost in my f.o.o's logic and language. It was a lot of work to stay grounded, but I did. This year I didn't do much prep. I brought a few things that I thought might help me stay grounded and centered but realized once I got up there that I didn't need them. In this last year I have internalized so much of what I used to grasp only with constant outward reminders, and then usually only for fleeting moments. Now I feel whole. And I have something truly powerful. I have a "holy detachment". This vacation I knew I didn't need my f.o.o. I didn't need their love, their approval, their affection. I could lose all of them and be totally okay. My identity, sense of self, sense of value, sense of reality was no longer connected to them (after 6 years of talk therapy, 2 years of meds, and 2 years of trauma therapy--so much work, but oh so very very worth it!). And suddenly the situation that used to revolve around my mom and her moods and trying to keep her happy revolved around me and my internal joy. The gravitational pull has shifted.
I walked into my f.o.o.'s cabin feeling whole and peaceful and almost radiant, loved and loving, and I felt the atmosphere around me shift. Finally, finally, finally I was influencing the space rather than being drowned and silenced by the toxic emotions swirling in the atmosphere around me. I'll never know exactly how much of this weekend was about me and the influence I was exerting and how much was about a million other factors (my mom does genuinely seem to be trying in her own very limited way to be pleasant, for example). But I walked into that cabin where everyone was sitting silently in their corners reading and surfing the web and I interacted with everyone rather than withdrawing. And the place was cheerier and more talkative and lively, genuinely pleasant for the first time in recent memory.
To survive in my family I spent years and years and years learning to monitor other people's emotional states--to know when a storm was coming and how to calm it. I learned the intuition of the abused kid with the narcissistic mom. I can read people well, and though certainly I get it wrong, most often when I sense something about another person, I'm right. And I generally have some sense of what they need to feel better when they're angry or sad or lonely. Mostly this has been a detriment to me, though. I sometimes walk into a room and feel assaulted by people's emotional states--by all the info they're sending out about how they are, what they feel, what they think, who they're attracted to, who they're mad at, how insecure or secure they are. And though it seems like it would be useful to read others and know how to respond to them, in most cases I have just re-created a situation much like what I grew up with: I listen and receive and soothe and respond and intuit and the other sucks me dry. I used to end up feeling exploited a lot of the time. But now that I feel whole (most of the time), I no longer need to use the intuition and emotional intelligence I developed for survival in order to protect myself from impending abandonment or abuse. I don't have to use it as a (unconscious) bribe to keep someone from hurting or leaving me. And I found myself walking into this weekend knowing that if I wanted an enjoyable time and space, if I wanted to avoid the usual toxic and argumentative atmosphere, I would have to create it, I would have to be it. And I did, and I was. I felt a bit like a choreographer--taking emotion and need and putting it in the right place so I could move the way I needed to, so I could be surrounded by peace and love and joy, not in order to feed into someone else's need for power or attention so they wouldn't hurt or leave me. I used to read and respond compulsively--so deeply needing to be needed, giving what others wanted and needed even as I knew it was leaving me empty because I was so desperate for love and connection. Back then I would sacrifice anything. But this weekend I engaged that giftedness out of my fullness. I felt almost magical, like I do when SparkleEyes is just beginning a tempter-tantrum and I firmly and compassionately quell it almost automatically without getting at all flustered: compassionately separate enough that I don't get hooked in to her emotional state, intact in myself, and aware of what she needs to regain control of her emotional world.
Of course, sometimes a situation is so toxic and so outside of our control that no amount of emotional wholeness or awareness or separateness or love is going to change the energy, but this time it did. And I guess part of the reason I was able to be a director rather than a player directed by others is that I knew that I would and could leave the second anything happened to threaten my well-being or SparkleEye's. I knew inside and out I had the power to protect myself and her. And my f.o.o. knows that now too. And that freedom--that detachment--felt very much like wizardry this weekend. Now that I can (usually) master my own breathing space, I am finding that I can sometimes influence the space outside of me with the same confidence and love and compassion I have learned these last few years in therapy and in being a mom. I can use the same skills and love I have used to reshape my inner-world and to shape SparkleEyes' world to influence the world outside of me. What a lovely and unexpected discovery!
--Jeannete Winterson, from Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit
I just spent two days with my family-of-origin--all of them. We rented our own cabin up in the mountains right next to theirs, and spent a couple of days together, a family tradition. The five of us--myself, my parents, and my two younger brothers--used to cram into one small cabin full of tension and unspoken anger and resentment. We'd leave the cabin together to go skate or snow-shoe or hike and then we would come back to hot cocoa, a game (during which we would debate and argue loudly, exchanging insulting barbs under the guise of "jokes" and "teasing") and then we would fall silent and each sit in our own corner with a book (and as the years went by, a computer, then palm pilots, and now iphones come out alongside the books and magazines). We spent hours and hours together in total silence. Last year I broke with tradition and insisted that my new family and I get our own cabin. I also insisted that we get to spend Christmas Day alone. My mother had a silent temper-tantrum and became ice queen for the weekend. I cheerfully ignored her as she refused to play games with us and locked herself in her bedroom pretending to be asleep when I came to say good night. Friends met with me beforehand and gave me things to take with me to remember my goodness, to remember their love, and met with me afterwards to take me out for facials and chocolate and champage. I brought foods and candles and bath stuff that all helped me to nurture myself and remember myself. To not get lost in my f.o.o's logic and language. It was a lot of work to stay grounded, but I did. This year I didn't do much prep. I brought a few things that I thought might help me stay grounded and centered but realized once I got up there that I didn't need them. In this last year I have internalized so much of what I used to grasp only with constant outward reminders, and then usually only for fleeting moments. Now I feel whole. And I have something truly powerful. I have a "holy detachment". This vacation I knew I didn't need my f.o.o. I didn't need their love, their approval, their affection. I could lose all of them and be totally okay. My identity, sense of self, sense of value, sense of reality was no longer connected to them (after 6 years of talk therapy, 2 years of meds, and 2 years of trauma therapy--so much work, but oh so very very worth it!). And suddenly the situation that used to revolve around my mom and her moods and trying to keep her happy revolved around me and my internal joy. The gravitational pull has shifted.
I walked into my f.o.o.'s cabin feeling whole and peaceful and almost radiant, loved and loving, and I felt the atmosphere around me shift. Finally, finally, finally I was influencing the space rather than being drowned and silenced by the toxic emotions swirling in the atmosphere around me. I'll never know exactly how much of this weekend was about me and the influence I was exerting and how much was about a million other factors (my mom does genuinely seem to be trying in her own very limited way to be pleasant, for example). But I walked into that cabin where everyone was sitting silently in their corners reading and surfing the web and I interacted with everyone rather than withdrawing. And the place was cheerier and more talkative and lively, genuinely pleasant for the first time in recent memory.
To survive in my family I spent years and years and years learning to monitor other people's emotional states--to know when a storm was coming and how to calm it. I learned the intuition of the abused kid with the narcissistic mom. I can read people well, and though certainly I get it wrong, most often when I sense something about another person, I'm right. And I generally have some sense of what they need to feel better when they're angry or sad or lonely. Mostly this has been a detriment to me, though. I sometimes walk into a room and feel assaulted by people's emotional states--by all the info they're sending out about how they are, what they feel, what they think, who they're attracted to, who they're mad at, how insecure or secure they are. And though it seems like it would be useful to read others and know how to respond to them, in most cases I have just re-created a situation much like what I grew up with: I listen and receive and soothe and respond and intuit and the other sucks me dry. I used to end up feeling exploited a lot of the time. But now that I feel whole (most of the time), I no longer need to use the intuition and emotional intelligence I developed for survival in order to protect myself from impending abandonment or abuse. I don't have to use it as a (unconscious) bribe to keep someone from hurting or leaving me. And I found myself walking into this weekend knowing that if I wanted an enjoyable time and space, if I wanted to avoid the usual toxic and argumentative atmosphere, I would have to create it, I would have to be it. And I did, and I was. I felt a bit like a choreographer--taking emotion and need and putting it in the right place so I could move the way I needed to, so I could be surrounded by peace and love and joy, not in order to feed into someone else's need for power or attention so they wouldn't hurt or leave me. I used to read and respond compulsively--so deeply needing to be needed, giving what others wanted and needed even as I knew it was leaving me empty because I was so desperate for love and connection. Back then I would sacrifice anything. But this weekend I engaged that giftedness out of my fullness. I felt almost magical, like I do when SparkleEyes is just beginning a tempter-tantrum and I firmly and compassionately quell it almost automatically without getting at all flustered: compassionately separate enough that I don't get hooked in to her emotional state, intact in myself, and aware of what she needs to regain control of her emotional world.
Of course, sometimes a situation is so toxic and so outside of our control that no amount of emotional wholeness or awareness or separateness or love is going to change the energy, but this time it did. And I guess part of the reason I was able to be a director rather than a player directed by others is that I knew that I would and could leave the second anything happened to threaten my well-being or SparkleEye's. I knew inside and out I had the power to protect myself and her. And my f.o.o. knows that now too. And that freedom--that detachment--felt very much like wizardry this weekend. Now that I can (usually) master my own breathing space, I am finding that I can sometimes influence the space outside of me with the same confidence and love and compassion I have learned these last few years in therapy and in being a mom. I can use the same skills and love I have used to reshape my inner-world and to shape SparkleEyes' world to influence the world outside of me. What a lovely and unexpected discovery!
Friday, December 18, 2009
babies babies babies
Hmmm...now that I've had a good full night of sleep and am no longer PMS-ing, my neglected inner-child is not so totally adamantly opposed to the possibility of adding to my brood. I wonder how she'll feel tomorrow. She tends to be very mercurial.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Bye bye, baby?
A little over a year ago I tried to go off of my antidepressants largely because I thought I wanted to get pregnant again and wasn't comfortable with the risks involved in being pregnant on them*. I wasn't able to get off of my antidepressant. Now that I'm off of my sleeping meds (trazodone) and making really good progress in my DNMS, it seems somewhat more likely that I might be able to get off of the zoloft long enough to conceive and at least get through the first trimester drug-free. So I've been thinking a lot about the possibility of baby 2. Last year at this time I was facing the (still real) possibility that I may be on zoloft indefinitely if I want to avoid a relapse and I was shocked at the intensity of grief I felt, especially as I realized I might have to choose btwn putting my unborn child at risk of being hurt by my meds or put SparkleEyes and myself at risk of being hurt by a possible depressive relapse. Crappy choices, indeed. And I wasn't ok with either choice, so I really began to let go of the possibility of another pregnancy and to grieve that intensely. Now, though, as it seems more possible, I am surprised to encounter a very large part of myself that says "HELL NO!" when I think about having another. I'm realizing that I really may not want another child. I'm realizing that some of the most healthy parts of me may not want another child.
I always thought I'd want a lot of kids. And as I get happier and happier and enjoy SparkleEyes and her wonderful, vibrant personality, I often think about what sort of child C. and I would make a second time. I just know he or she would be amazing, that I would feel intense joy every time I thought of his/her existence like I do when I think of SparkleEyes. Probably the best thing that ever happened to me was having SparkleEyes. I've never felt love and joy like I feel with her.
At the same time, though, I really dislike how insular motherhood makes me. Yes, it causes me to look outward all the time as I attend to and seek to be present for SparkleEyes. It calls me daily to live for someone else, to give myself for someone else, to seek anothers' complete good (something I succeed at well sometimes and very poorly other times)...And yet it also means there is so much less of me for everyone else--for me, for C., for a world deeply in need, for my own call to ministry, to writing, for the students I work with, even for my poor neglected dogs. I am always looking inward to my own home and my own child and my own stuff that I need to work through to be present for my child. And this is holy and beautiful, but, for me, it is not enough.
As I am home during break I am realizing how much I long to answer that other call--that call to delve as deeply as possible into the divine that runs through all things, to bring my giftedness to areas of injustice and trauma, to speak and write what I know, to teach, to create. Being a mother engages those parts of me to some degree, but often not very fully. And often it really drains me of energy and time to attend to those things. And if I have another child, those parts of me--some of the most vibrant and alive parts of me--will have to again go on the back-burner, again wait to come fully alive.
When I got pregnant with SparkleEyes, I was just beginning to hear my call to ministry. I was just beginning to reconstruct my faith. Getting pregnant in some ways felt like a death to me...there was this part of me that had been silenced for so many years by the religion I grew up in that was just starting to struggle to be born. And suddenly here I was pregnant with someone else too. It was excruciating to have to turn my attention, once again, away from that part of me to attend to someone else--again, again, again. But fortunately as I nurtured SparkleEyes, that other pregnancy didn't disappear. As I struggled to become a mother to SparkleEyes, I was surprised by my joy, by my ability to survive even suicidal depression, by my ability to mother (fairly) well even in the midst of the worst pain I've ever experienced, surprised to discover my deep goodness. And that other part of me began to heal, began to think she could be born too. And this summer she really came into being. She really emerged into the world. And a good part of that is entirely (and ironically) precisely because of SparkleEyes--because of the pregnancy that at first felt like a death to me, because of the deep healing and love and joy that SparkleEyes and becoming a mother brought to me. On the other hand, though, I had to leave SparkleEyes to go attend to that part of me. I left to go on retreat, I left to go to school, I left to go to Koinonia and Trinity House and Ghost Ranch...I spent what felt like a long time away, finally being with and listening to that part of me who had been trying to speak, to emerge, to be born for years. And though my meds and my therapy had brought me so much healing, I didn't fully heal until I left. And now that I am on break and am home being a full-time stay-at-home mom, that part of me is yelling for attention. She needs long stretches of time to think, to meditate, to walk, to breathe, to write, to pray, to believe and hear...and I am finding ways to do that very soon. But if I have another, well, I fear this precious part of me will have to be content with crumbs for awhile. And I think maybe it is time for her to feast, time for me to give her even more of myself and to not feel shame about that...
Who knows? Maybe I'll begin to feel that longing for Baby 2 again. Maybe it will overwhelm me. Or maybe I will find that I've healed more than I thought and I have room for another child and for this little nascent part of me as well. Who knows?
But for now I am thinking of this piece of me as a precious adopted child who needs my deep mothering attention. She wasn't mothered. And now she has me. And I want to love her like she's never been loved before. I want to love her like I love my perfect, precious SparkleEyes.
* I'm on zoloft which is a category C drug--birth defects found in animal studies but not in human births--and also was on trazodone, not sure of the category--C or D. When I was trying to go off of zoloft, another antidepressant, paxil, had just been moved to category D--known and observed possibility of defects in human births--raising concerns about other ssri's in pregnancy).
I always thought I'd want a lot of kids. And as I get happier and happier and enjoy SparkleEyes and her wonderful, vibrant personality, I often think about what sort of child C. and I would make a second time. I just know he or she would be amazing, that I would feel intense joy every time I thought of his/her existence like I do when I think of SparkleEyes. Probably the best thing that ever happened to me was having SparkleEyes. I've never felt love and joy like I feel with her.
At the same time, though, I really dislike how insular motherhood makes me. Yes, it causes me to look outward all the time as I attend to and seek to be present for SparkleEyes. It calls me daily to live for someone else, to give myself for someone else, to seek anothers' complete good (something I succeed at well sometimes and very poorly other times)...And yet it also means there is so much less of me for everyone else--for me, for C., for a world deeply in need, for my own call to ministry, to writing, for the students I work with, even for my poor neglected dogs. I am always looking inward to my own home and my own child and my own stuff that I need to work through to be present for my child. And this is holy and beautiful, but, for me, it is not enough.
As I am home during break I am realizing how much I long to answer that other call--that call to delve as deeply as possible into the divine that runs through all things, to bring my giftedness to areas of injustice and trauma, to speak and write what I know, to teach, to create. Being a mother engages those parts of me to some degree, but often not very fully. And often it really drains me of energy and time to attend to those things. And if I have another child, those parts of me--some of the most vibrant and alive parts of me--will have to again go on the back-burner, again wait to come fully alive.
When I got pregnant with SparkleEyes, I was just beginning to hear my call to ministry. I was just beginning to reconstruct my faith. Getting pregnant in some ways felt like a death to me...there was this part of me that had been silenced for so many years by the religion I grew up in that was just starting to struggle to be born. And suddenly here I was pregnant with someone else too. It was excruciating to have to turn my attention, once again, away from that part of me to attend to someone else--again, again, again. But fortunately as I nurtured SparkleEyes, that other pregnancy didn't disappear. As I struggled to become a mother to SparkleEyes, I was surprised by my joy, by my ability to survive even suicidal depression, by my ability to mother (fairly) well even in the midst of the worst pain I've ever experienced, surprised to discover my deep goodness. And that other part of me began to heal, began to think she could be born too. And this summer she really came into being. She really emerged into the world. And a good part of that is entirely (and ironically) precisely because of SparkleEyes--because of the pregnancy that at first felt like a death to me, because of the deep healing and love and joy that SparkleEyes and becoming a mother brought to me. On the other hand, though, I had to leave SparkleEyes to go attend to that part of me. I left to go on retreat, I left to go to school, I left to go to Koinonia and Trinity House and Ghost Ranch...I spent what felt like a long time away, finally being with and listening to that part of me who had been trying to speak, to emerge, to be born for years. And though my meds and my therapy had brought me so much healing, I didn't fully heal until I left. And now that I am on break and am home being a full-time stay-at-home mom, that part of me is yelling for attention. She needs long stretches of time to think, to meditate, to walk, to breathe, to write, to pray, to believe and hear...and I am finding ways to do that very soon. But if I have another, well, I fear this precious part of me will have to be content with crumbs for awhile. And I think maybe it is time for her to feast, time for me to give her even more of myself and to not feel shame about that...
Who knows? Maybe I'll begin to feel that longing for Baby 2 again. Maybe it will overwhelm me. Or maybe I will find that I've healed more than I thought and I have room for another child and for this little nascent part of me as well. Who knows?
But for now I am thinking of this piece of me as a precious adopted child who needs my deep mothering attention. She wasn't mothered. And now she has me. And I want to love her like she's never been loved before. I want to love her like I love my perfect, precious SparkleEyes.
* I'm on zoloft which is a category C drug--birth defects found in animal studies but not in human births--and also was on trazodone, not sure of the category--C or D. When I was trying to go off of zoloft, another antidepressant, paxil, had just been moved to category D--known and observed possibility of defects in human births--raising concerns about other ssri's in pregnancy).
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Who stole my holiday cheer?
'Cause it is seriously missing.
I've spent most of this vacation either angry or irritable or sleep deprived. I have successfully weaned off my sleep meds (sleeping regularly without them for the first time in 2 years!!!!!), and the process of getting off of them, which I took very slowly, wasn't at all brutal, but it has left me tired. Add in a few nights of SparkleEyes not sleeping well + late night online Christmas shopping + late night gift-making + dealing with family-of-origin (my mom is having a bit of a temper-tantrum bcs I am not making time for a family Christmas party in addition to the two full days we're already spending up in the mountains with them--in separate cabins, fortunately!) + the worst fight C. and I have had in about 2 years, and I have NO holiday cheer left. I feel like beating someone. But I'm way too tired. And also don't believe in violence. Maybe I'll watch Kill Bill or something. Perhaps vicarious violence would make me feel better.
I did accidentally shop-lift something yesterday. It was in the stroller basket and I didn't realize I had neglected to pay for it until we'd left the store. I'm planning on sending a check to the store. But it did confirm for me just how easy it would be to have a career in shop-lifting as long as you've got a stroller and a cute kid as a decoy. I'm considering regularly shoplifting from Walmart and giving away the stuff to the poor in protest of Walmart's deplorable human-rights and labor-rights record.
Maybe a nice Robin-Hoodesque shoplifting adventure at the local Walmart would bring my holiday cheer back.
I've spent most of this vacation either angry or irritable or sleep deprived. I have successfully weaned off my sleep meds (sleeping regularly without them for the first time in 2 years!!!!!), and the process of getting off of them, which I took very slowly, wasn't at all brutal, but it has left me tired. Add in a few nights of SparkleEyes not sleeping well + late night online Christmas shopping + late night gift-making + dealing with family-of-origin (my mom is having a bit of a temper-tantrum bcs I am not making time for a family Christmas party in addition to the two full days we're already spending up in the mountains with them--in separate cabins, fortunately!) + the worst fight C. and I have had in about 2 years, and I have NO holiday cheer left. I feel like beating someone. But I'm way too tired. And also don't believe in violence. Maybe I'll watch Kill Bill or something. Perhaps vicarious violence would make me feel better.
I did accidentally shop-lift something yesterday. It was in the stroller basket and I didn't realize I had neglected to pay for it until we'd left the store. I'm planning on sending a check to the store. But it did confirm for me just how easy it would be to have a career in shop-lifting as long as you've got a stroller and a cute kid as a decoy. I'm considering regularly shoplifting from Walmart and giving away the stuff to the poor in protest of Walmart's deplorable human-rights and labor-rights record.
Maybe a nice Robin-Hoodesque shoplifting adventure at the local Walmart would bring my holiday cheer back.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Things that baffle me...
Women who are able to
1) get their hair done
2) get their make-up done
3) put on cute, matching outfits
4) fix their preschool girl's hair and put it in perfectly parted pony-tails
5) get their infant up, fed, dressed, with hair done
6) make lunch for preschooler
7) get preschooler and infant into car
8) drive to preschool
9) get prefectly-dressed-hair-done kid to school
All by 9 am
Seriously, it's baffling to me. SparkleEyes is totally the wild child of her school--staticky, fly-away hair in a wonky pony-tail, clothes covered with dog hair (which I don't notice until we're already in the car, running late...). But, then, she is also one of the happiest, smartest kids there, so I don't worry too much.
98% of the time the fact that I am pretty much entirely relationship- and emotion-oriented rather than goal- and productivity-oriented really benefits my parenting. It helps me to be patient and attuned, to pick my battles wisely, to value my daughter's feelings and needs above busyness, to interpret and respond to her needs (articulated or not) appropriately and quickly, to really trust that things like potty-training will come at some point and that I don't need to stress about it or push SparkleEyes (she was pretty much totally potty-trained, both during the day and at night, well before she turned 3), it helps me to come up with creative ways to play with her, and it especially helps me to be aware of my own emotions and wounds and to tend to them so that I don't spew them on SparkleEyes. What it does not help with is managing to get places on time, having any idea where that last pair of clean socks are, remembering to get SparkleEyes' hair cut before it reaches the wild-child stage, getting her lunch packed before the last minute, noticing a couple of days in advance that we're nearly out of bread (she went to school with a PB&J on half a pancake not too long ago), managing to get up early enough that I can fix my hair rather than stash it under a baseball cap and put clothes on rather than throwing the first sweater and pair of pants I see on over my PJs)...I am fairly confident that when it really begins to matter to SparkleEyes that she look at least as neat and together as her classmates and that her lunch looks normal I will figure it out because I am so aware of her emotional well-being and respond to that...I may just have to hire someone to come in every morning to fix her hair and find her matching and dog-hair-free clothing...
1) get their hair done
2) get their make-up done
3) put on cute, matching outfits
4) fix their preschool girl's hair and put it in perfectly parted pony-tails
5) get their infant up, fed, dressed, with hair done
6) make lunch for preschooler
7) get preschooler and infant into car
8) drive to preschool
9) get prefectly-dressed-hair-done kid to school
All by 9 am
Seriously, it's baffling to me. SparkleEyes is totally the wild child of her school--staticky, fly-away hair in a wonky pony-tail, clothes covered with dog hair (which I don't notice until we're already in the car, running late...). But, then, she is also one of the happiest, smartest kids there, so I don't worry too much.
98% of the time the fact that I am pretty much entirely relationship- and emotion-oriented rather than goal- and productivity-oriented really benefits my parenting. It helps me to be patient and attuned, to pick my battles wisely, to value my daughter's feelings and needs above busyness, to interpret and respond to her needs (articulated or not) appropriately and quickly, to really trust that things like potty-training will come at some point and that I don't need to stress about it or push SparkleEyes (she was pretty much totally potty-trained, both during the day and at night, well before she turned 3), it helps me to come up with creative ways to play with her, and it especially helps me to be aware of my own emotions and wounds and to tend to them so that I don't spew them on SparkleEyes. What it does not help with is managing to get places on time, having any idea where that last pair of clean socks are, remembering to get SparkleEyes' hair cut before it reaches the wild-child stage, getting her lunch packed before the last minute, noticing a couple of days in advance that we're nearly out of bread (she went to school with a PB&J on half a pancake not too long ago), managing to get up early enough that I can fix my hair rather than stash it under a baseball cap and put clothes on rather than throwing the first sweater and pair of pants I see on over my PJs)...I am fairly confident that when it really begins to matter to SparkleEyes that she look at least as neat and together as her classmates and that her lunch looks normal I will figure it out because I am so aware of her emotional well-being and respond to that...I may just have to hire someone to come in every morning to fix her hair and find her matching and dog-hair-free clothing...
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