Baby shower day thoughts from a motherless daughter

There's a special kind of loss, special kind of lost, special kind of terror in preparing to be a mother without your own mother. The scared times you can't turn to her hurt like the happy excitement you can't share with her. The knowing that even though every mother is responsible for her child, you won't be able to draw on her wisdom and support breeds a scared for which I wasn't prepared. The knowing she won't be able to see what you've made and delight in your baby is unbearable.

As usual, my reason for sharing so openly about grief is to teach a lesson. It's important that in the weeks leading up to something as life altering as birth and in the first weeks and months of something as huge as motherhood, we are available for those who undertake these tasks with a measure of grief. These are times when it can be very hard to be present with someone, when the urge to reassure them that it's fine, that their loved one is "with them," that they'll do just fine can be very strong. As the friend of the grieving, it can be extremely difficult in this time to leave feelings unresolved, but the ultimate gift is to be present, to tend to and care for as your friend makes this transition, to provide practical comforts (food and time) and to give love knowing feelings won't resolve and grief and intense happiness will co-exist as they always do in this world.

Today, our lovely friends are getting together to celebrate me and Camilo and our baby boy and I will see a mommy-shaped hole in the day even as I experience great happiness and excitement at seeing all our friends and gratitude at their celebrating us. Joy and pain co-mingle because that's life. It's unresolved and one won't cancel out the other. It's a richer, fuller emotional experience that grief brings.

Surrender

There is a calm I have been feeling in my heart lately. I have been afraid to look it in the face for worry it will hide or worse, run away never to return again. I have tried not to think too hard about it for fear I will use my brain and logic to destroy it. It is an odd feeling for me to have, I of the ever anxious heart, ever watchful eye, ever present unnerving feeling the other shoe is about to drop. Because it does. It always does. And only those who live lives of ease, lives of calm, lives with a much, much lower threshold for what qualifies as “chaos” than mine are able to convince themselves that shoes do not drop or insipid quotes like, “If it’s not alright, it’s not the end” are actual fact. Never the less, I have been feeling a calm in my heart and perhaps it is time to examine it. 

I believe surrendering is the cause, no small feat for a raging heart such as mine. My very favorite response to God or anyone else is a loud, “Yes, but why?” But on some day, some time back in a moment I cannot even bring to mind, I must have just surrendered. I must have thrown up my hands and said to the universe, “You win.” I did not come to any great understanding. I do not know any more about the reasons behind what has happened. But I must have come to some kind of peace.

I had a miscarriage and that is the fact.

My mother is dead and will remain so.

My father is married to another woman now.

My little sister has, and will continue to have, a brain tumor that greatly impacts her sight and hugely impacts her life.

And I remain and am able to sleep, eat, live, contribute to the lives of others. And though I may not pray every day, I find comfort in the thought of God and I do not feel forgotten by Her. We have made a peaceful agreement, it seems: She will do what She will and I will live through it. The wild anger that has gripped my heart about the uncontrollable nature of my life has largely left and it seems there is nowhere left to direct my rage.

And so, I suppose you could call what I have done surrendering, though it was unintentional and not as poetic as all that.

I am not “fine,” though I am not broken in pieces. Every single part of my life has been upended and shaken out at some point or another and what remains are the pieces that held on tight through the turning upside down, so they must be the pieces that were solidly in place before all the upheaval. And for those pieces, those places and people and qualities and things, I am thankful. And for the very changed, well tested, at once solid and fragile faith I am able to maintain I am thankful. And for the immeasurable gifts given to me in the midst of chaos (my love, my marriage, my true and real friendships, the place I call home) I am thankful.

This is not the calm that comes with time healing all wounds because time does not. This is not the dulled affect that comes from denial. This is the calm that only comes from surrender.

In which I give an update on body acceptance

I woke up this morning and chose the Disney music station on Pandora because I am sometimes still an eight year old girl and with the many stressful things going on in my life lately, I needed to remember a time when my mommy was alive and took care of me and things were done for me and I had few responsibilities, when things were safe because someone else made them so or because I did not know any better. Listening to the lyrics as an adult woman however threw me into a whole other tailspin.

“She’s the most beautiful girl in town and that makes her the best! And don’t I deserve the best?”

“A girl can bring her family great honor in one way: by striking a good match and this can be the day!”

“Did they send me daughters when I asked for sons? You’re a spineless, pale, pathetic lot and you haven’t got a clue, Mr. I’ll make a man out of you.”

And then I saw this print and an ensuing discussion when a friend posted it on Facebook wherein her male friend asked, “Is this one of those ‘fat acceptance’ things?” and shared his feelings and opinions about how if we accept then we stop working and if his daughter was obese and did not like it, he would teach her how to work out and eat right and remind her that men like a little more cushion, completing what he no doubt thought was an awesome comment with the obligatory ;) and then I threw up everywhere and prayed he never has a daughter.

And then I saw this great segment from John Oliver’s show about America’s cognitive dissonance on Mother’s Day when we simultaneously worship our mothers and systematically deny them the rights they deserve, like mandatory paid maternity leave.

And all of this made me think about what it is like to be a woman and also about how I have progressed in my own journey of loving my own body. All before 8:00am. Because I am exhausting.

I cannot start any blog post about this without first acknowledging who I am. I am a white woman. Thus, I am afforded certain privileges (say, lack of a deep-rooted fear that the police will violate my bodily autonomy or an assurance that society values me and my white lady tears and feelings or the fact that when a woman is held up as a hero, she will most likely have my skin color or knowing that if I lose some weight, I will be considered the standard of beauty in our society because I am white or knowing that no one will try to touch my hair and compare me to a zoo animal) and we cannot do this whole thing without intersectionality (click here for a really helpful guide to that concept!) So when I talk about what it is like to be a woman and the difficulties, you have to consider that I am a white woman and my experience is different than the experiences of women of color because of my white privilege. And that my independent journey toward loving my body is made easier by the fact that I get a lot of reinforcement from society that even though I am fat, my white lady skin makes me better. And that is a big deal.

So, the dreaded FAT ACCEPTANCE MOVEMENT.  In case you have not heard, we have an OBESITY EPIDEMIC (and it has nothing to do with the systemic inequalities that deny adequate nutrition to poor people and nothing to do with big agri-business and nothing to do with our oddly emotional relationship to food and nothing to do with the inordinate amount of stress we live with on a daily basis because we live in a society that prizes consuming and productivity and money above all else everything to do with the fact that fatties be eating and lazy and just be eating all day, err’day). I have heard a lot about this body acceptance movement and maybe it is just me, but I have not personally experienced the supposedly DIRE CONSEQUENCES that arise from ceasing to say to yourself, “I hate you, body, because you are fat and ugly.” What has happened to me personally since I made a semi-serious commitment to loving my body like I love other people?

I went to the doctor for a health problem I had long been ignoring because I was embarrassed of my body and mad at it and I got some medicine that helps me feel better. And that problem went away!

I found a new job because the old one made me feel sick and sad and along with loving my body, I started to accept some things about myself (because as much as people want to tell you your body does not matter and it is all about what is inside, um, come the hell on. It freaking matters) and I realized I did not need to punish myself with that job.

I gave myself permission to accept my second chin. It sounds like it is not a big deal, but it actually truly is. I have an extra chin, y’all! Turns out I am still fan-freaking-tastic!

When my husband tells me I’m beautiful or grabs my large butt or my giant thighs because he likes them, I fucking believe him. Because I told that tiny voice in my head saying, “He’s lying and you’re gross” to move the fuck on because I know my husband and he does not lie and since I like my giant thighs, why wouldn’t he?

I eat really good food! I spend more money and I buy good groceries and I try new meals and new ways of eating and it is really fun.  

I give other people the permission to accept their bodies when they are around me. When I am in a room with other women and they start to talk about the things they do not like about themselves, I loudly proclaim that I love my body and I talk about the different things I love about it. At first, they look at me strangely because they are not used to a woman who looks like me talking like that about her big ol’ tummy, but then they stop talking badly about their own bodies and it is really awesome to see.

And I bought a bikini. And I am going to wear it this summer. In public, right out where people can see. I have tried it on and I look fabulous.

In my personal experience, this dangerous FAT ACCEPTANCE MOVEMENT (cue horror music) has been absolutely lethal…to the truly sick attitude I was walking around with regarding the body in which I live. Have I lost any weight? Who knows! I do not own a scale. I feel better than I did, so let’s go with that. Am I on a new diet? Nope, not at all, but I no longer have stress-induced chronic heartburn or nausea and I am enjoying cooking and getting my husband in on it too. Am I always able to look at myself and practice body acceptance? Nope, sure am not. Sometimes, a lot of times, I am reminded to accept my body after I say a mean thing to myself, but then I do try and hopefully next time, I get better.

So this is where and I am and this is at the heart of it: I am kind to myself. That is the long and short of it. That is the long and short of acceptance and it is the beginning of love. Extending a basic human kindness to myself in the form of accepting my body and allowing it simply to be as it is has changed me. And if that is buying into the dangerous fat acceptance movement then sign me up. I am personally volunteering to organize the next rally.

A Road Map to Successfully Interacting with the Infertile

Let’s talk about infertility.

If you have never experienced infertility, this might make you uncomfortable. You might squirm in your seat. You might have the urge to reassure me with a “I can feel it’s going to happen for you soon!” or to soothe with, “At least the trying is fun!” or maybe you will even think to yourself, “I should tell her the story of so and so who I know who got pregnant just as she was giving up!” When I start to talk about my particular journey, it may make you sad and you may want to comfort me when you hear about my miscarriage with, “At least it was early!” or “Well, that baby probably had some problems and would have had special needs, so it was a blessing in disguise.” Believe me, I know it is hard to hear and read about these sad things happening to people, so if you want to look away, it is ok. I will not judge you. However, if it is not too sad and you want to stay and you feel in your heart that you should say any of the things I mentioned above, I will make this journey much, much easier for you and give you a sort of guide, a Road Map for Interacting with the Infertile if you will.

1.       Do not under any circumstances say any of the things I mentioned above. If you are thinking of saying something else that resembles one of the things above, please do not say that either. Believe me, I know it is hard not to say any of these things. Before I personally was one of the Infertile, I said the above things and people were kind to me when I said those things to them and I still quietly ask for their forgiveness in my heart. You see, being one of the Infertile is hard. Really hard. Honestly, I do not know why I want to have a baby. I just really freaking do. And it makes me super sad that I cannot. Because reasons. And I do not need to know the reasons. They just exist. So, saying the above things makes me sadder. Because reasons.

2.       Please do not try to school me on the various options for growing my family. There are so many reasons why this is not a good idea. Unless you are my husband, you do not have access to my bank account and therefore, you are blissfully unaware of my financial status. The vast, vast majority of options outside of traditional “woman and man have sex and have baby” for growing my family are out of my reach financially. I know that maybe you heard some options were less expensive than others and that is great! Guess what: I know about those options! Y’all, we have scraped the barrel of the various ways in which people get babies and children. I swear to God, you are not bringing to my attention a way I have not heard of. There is adoption from foster care, fostering to adopt, domestic infant adoption, private adoption, invitro fertilization, embryo adoption/donation, international adoption, and on and on and on. There are even shady as hell Facebook groups where people put up their older children they no longer want for adoption and it is HORRIFYING. I promise you that I have looked into all kinds of ways. And considered all kinds of ways. And considered my life and my marriage and what both of those look like and consulted with my husband and decided ways that do and do not work for us. Additionally, I have the added bonus of ACTUALLY BEING A SOCIAL WORKER. I have worked for the state and within various steps of the process of adoption. I know of what I speak.

3.       Within the same vein, until you have walked this road, you do not get the judge the ways in which people grow their families. Let me say that again. YOU DO NOT GET TO JUDGE THE WAYS IN WHICH PEOPLE GROW THEIR FAMILIES. Y’all, this is a freaking hard decision. Doing any of the above named things is freaking hard. Wouldn’t consider IVF yourself? Thank God you never had to. Cannot imagine adopting? Congratulations on having fully functioning reproductive organs so you do not need to use your imagination. Think embryo adoption/donation is ridiculous when there are so many kids waiting for a home? Great, go start your own damn blog and let people know. Better yet, go adopt some of those children! Or volunteer with them! Or do anything you can to help them in some way instead of just sanctimoniously waving your bullshit opinions in my face! Judging like this, saying these things to people who are facing a situation about which you know nothing, it is fucking rude. I will not apologize for using profanity and getting pissed when I talk about this. Stop being fucking rude to people. Stop it right now.

4.       If you are one of the people reading this blog who knows me and loves me and you are pregnant or have children and you are thinking to yourself, “Oh Lord, I’ve hurt her by talking about my baby or my children and I can’t do that anymore,” STOP IT RIGHT NOW. I freaking love you! And I love your children! And I LOVE that you are the one having them and raising them because you are freaking awesome! Just stop it right now. The two are unrelated and that is a fact. Additionally, you know you will never have to wonder what I think, so if I need to take a step back or let you know that my ugly jealous side is getting the best of me and I need to take a break from talking about your baby and maybe talk about something else, I will definitely tell you. And there is no need to feel bad about that! It is ok! We are humans being vulnerable and we step on each other’s toes and we figure it out along the way. Nothing is irrevocably broken.

So what are some good things to say to us Infertiles?

“Man, that must be so hard! You two sure are some strong people.”

“I know that getting there is hard, but I am so excited that two awesome people want to become parents!”

“Would you like to get coffee and talk about it?”

“I just know that when it happens for you two, you will be great parents.”

“Please do not feel like you have to downplay the difficulty in this journey. It does not make me uncomfortable and even though I do not understand how it feels, I love you and I can imagine it is really hard. How can I help you feel better?”

And that is all it takes, people! That is how you do it! As usual, with a heart of vulnerability and by practicing empathy and drawing on the love you feel for that person, you too can interact successfully with the Infertile.

In which I embrace my deeply un-cool nature

Yesterday, A Practical Wedding ran an essay I wrote and submitted. Like a crazy person, I also listed this blog in my bio. Y’all, OMG. I have no other words because people actually read and were touched by something I wrote. And that is truly, really awesome because I have been writing for some time now and I have not been very brave and talked about it or shown my writing to people and part of that is being scared of vulnerability (having all my feelings out there is not as easy as it seems!), but a bigger part of that is a touch of embarrassment.

If you have met me in real life, well, I honestly have no idea what you think. I am going to guess you have recognized my passion, maybe you have been the unfortunate recipient of my fiery indictments, perhaps you have looked at me and thought to yourself, “Why is that woman yelling?” And it is not because I am an angry person, but because I am passionate about things. I freaking care a whole lot and I love that part of myself and I do not want to let it go. I like to debate with people and argue with them and bring up points and counter points and I do not shy away from tough conversations, like those about race and class and gender.

Yet for all my wanting very hard to be “hardcore” and above touchy-feely feelings, to be that cool person who just puts the truth out there and drops the mic, I am hopelessly un-cool. It is not an easy job, but at the end of the day, I am a touchy-feely, empathizing, “call me when you’re feeling sad,” social worker. I want to have that aloof, “I could take him or leave him,” cool approach to my marriage, but I am hopelessly, ridiculously in love with my husband in a decidedly un-cool way. And I would love to sit down and write an original, scathing indictment of the way our society systematically denies people of color, poor people, LGBT people their rights, but when I sit down to write, out comes feelings and empathy and vulnerability and body acceptance.

I wish the first thing someone had ever looked at and said was worth publishing on their website or in their magazine or anywhere really was something cooler than an essay about how much I love my husband, our wedding day, and my mommy dying, but it is not. So, I was a little bit embarrassed.

But I have been doing some thinking in the last 24 hours and I have come to a certain realization: these two halves of me are not on opposite ends of some personality, badass spectrum. We do not have the touchy-feely and the staunch battling each other out for the soul of humanity. I am not Black or poor or a lesbian or transgender, so why do I care so passionately about the fates of people who are? That right there is empathy. People marching in Ferguson, Missouri because one of their neighbors, an un-armed teenager on his way to college was shot dead in the street, reminding everyone of the immense pain that comes from the lack of safety for Black children (and adults) in this country? That right there is a hugely admirable amount of vulnerability. Here in Kentucky, people talking to their city councils and pleading for ordinances that would ensure gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people cannot be fired from their jobs or kicked out of their homes for being who they are and loving who they love? That is taking the conversation to an uncomfortable level of honesty and speaking the truth to bring a whole community to a higher level of understanding and unity. This kind of work (dismantling the structures of oppression within our society) is heart work. It IS vulnerability and empathy and truthfulness.

So what does that mean for me personally? Well, for starters, it means I am not going to be embarrassed my first published piece of writing was not a scathing indictment of society. Mostly because it is not what I want to write, but also because I do not think that is the part I want to play in this work. 

I think that people of color and poor people and LGBT people have demonstrated an incredible amount of vulnerability. People have spoken up and said, “This is what it’s like for me living here in this country.” Many people with privilege (white people, straight people, people who have enough money) have listened. Still many more of those same people have heard that vulnerability, doubled down, and refused to listen. Or worse, viewed that vulnerability as their own oppression, which is just ridiculous.  

What I am trying to say is these kinds of conversations require all those touchy-feely feelings. These are not non-essential things. These are vital traits and tools of interaction. They get at the very ways in which we understand one another. So, I vow to stop pretending like they do not matter and to stop being embarrassed when I re-read my blog posts and feel like a motivational poster because I have decided it is not un-cool to be genuine, to authentically listen and express one’s self, to be vulnerable and make yourself available for another person to be safely vulnerable. And if it is un-cool, oh well. I have gone this far being un-cool, maybe it is time I accept it.