I am a very vivid dreamer. When I go to sleep I can have all kinds of outlandish experiences, and for the most part, I have really appreciated this part of myself. As a psychologist, I like to analyze my own mind as much as anyone else's (more, probably), and I get a lot of insight from my dreams. So when I got pregnant, I was really looking forward to the dreams. I had heard that pregnancy could bring on some great ones, and I wanted to see what my mind would bring forth.
But with the Boodge...nothing. I actually felt disappointed--I barely dreamt about having a baby at all, and I certainly didn't have any bizarre dreams or re-occurring themes. I had a good pregnancy with him, happy and peaceful, excited to be getting something I'd hoped for for years. Aside from working too hard and having to move, the pregnancy was pretty stress free.
Peanut has been a different story. But not what I anticipated, either. In the first trimester, I had a set of dreams where I somehow lost the Boodge. I let him slip from my grasp on a rooftop and watched him fall to his death. I took him to a playground where I saw a dark figure lurking in the shadows...suddenly a whole preschool class came in, obscuring him from my view, and then he was gone and so was the dark figure. Those dreams were terrifying and I woke up with an upset that carried into the next day. Looking into pregnancy dreams online, I found another woman who spoke of similar dreams. She had put it up to her concerns that she would not be able to care for her child as well with a second baby on the way. This made perfect sense to me, a fear I recognized in myself from the minute I got the positive pregnancy test. Figuring it out and bringing it to my conscious mind made the dreams go away.
Then came second trimester. Suddenly my dreams were full of love affairs. Not the type where I was cheating on my husband and feeling guilty. In these dreams, I usually wasn't even married. I was a single girl, sometimes a teenager. I fell madly in love with a series of dream lovers. Nate Berkus, the designer/home improvement guy on Oprah (who is gay in real life), wanted to have me by his side everywhere...I was married in that dream and told him I couldn't leave my husband and child, but he didn't care about that. He would make room for them, he just wanted me any way he could have me. I also had a brief affair with Jamie Oliver. And another Food Network star, Bob Blumer, figured in a very intense dream where we reconnected after a past relationship, he humbly apologized for ever letting me go and pursued me to get me back.
My favorite one, though, was the one in which I was a young girl (maybe 20), living with my mother, torn between my long-term boyfriend who I'm pretty sure was Justin Timberlake, and an enigmatic, wise, sexy African hip-hop singer named Gazbo. I met Gazbo on the bus. He both scared and compelled me, and though he wanted me, he remained aloof while I sorted out my situation with Justin, who I loved but wasn't too excited by anymore. I'll never forget Gazbo, though we hadn't resolved our problem by the time I awoke. After that dream I lay in bed for a while wondering why the hell I was having all these crazy, intense love affairs in my sleep. Sean was snoring beside me and I knew that I loved him and our life together, and didn't want to jeopardize it or escape it at all. Infidelity, even flirting with it, is totally against my values and something I would never do to him.
In a gentle wave of insight, the answer came to me. I was never going to experience that sort of intense, early 20's, unfettered falling in love again. Peanut will make me a mother of two, and I'll be 36. If, by some horrible happening, my marriage ends, there is no chance that I will be the carefree girl I was in those dreams. With two children, falling in love in such an uncomplicated and all-consuming way is just not possible. I would have too much responsibility, and most men would have healthy caution about taking my family on. Maybe, with one child, and a bit younger, I could get away with that sort of love affair, but I guess my mind was telling me that I had crossed over a threshold now, and one part of my life was definitively over. And when I realized what it was, I was OK with it. And the dreams went away.
Flash forward to the third trimester. Lately, I am woken nightly by a terrifying nightmare. In one, I am crawling out of a ravine after a politically motivated train crash, my body being cut by shards of metal as I try to escape those below who are still trying to kill survivors. Afterwards I wander through a school where victims are being kept, occasionally finding someone I know and bursting into tears, holding them. In one classroom orphaned children are being held, and I instantly connect with one young boy and realize I am going to adopt him. I wake from that dream deeply disturbed. Falling back asleep, I dream that my cousin (that's you, KT) has snapped and is trying to kill me and my unborn baby, first by sitting on me and crushing me, then when I escape that by chasing me with a hammer. Next night, I am being pursued by a psycho teenager killer, straight out of a horror flick. And this morning, I dream that I look out the window and see Sean putting the Boodge into a little unstable boat in a pond (which we don't have in our backyard), note the anxiety on Boodge's face, and next see him fall through into the cavity of the boat (like a kayak but much bigger), which I fear is full of water. Sean is desperately trying to get him out. I run down the stairs and my pregnant body trips me up and I fall. Wake up, terrified.
Can anyone say anxiety? Yes, I'm anxious about the big change that is about to happen in our lives. And I'm hormonal and tired and frayed. And you know what, subconscious mind? I really don't need the nightmares. I don't need the waking up freaked out and being unable to sleep more. I want to sleep. I want to have peace at night when my day is done and I am recharging my battery. So here I am, acknowledging that one consciously in the hope that the dreams will go away. But unlike the other two issues, I'm not sure I have resolution in my mind on this one yet. I guess I have to try to work on it in the light of day, so that it doesn't come up to haunt me at night.
Beware what you wish for, they say. I wanted the vivid dreams, and I got them. The second trimester was pretty fun, though. I'll always have Gazbo, no matter what happens. But I hope I'll be able to leave all the murder, mayhem, and panic behind once I birth this baby.
What about you out there reading? Did you experience any of this crazy dreaming during your pregnancy? I'd love to hear about it, and I promise I won't try to analyze your brain (not publicly, anyway).
Showing posts with label coping with stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coping with stress. Show all posts
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Hidden Tigers
When we were expecting the Boodge, we took a fantastic "Birthing From Within" prenatal class through Dancing Star Birth in Vancouver. The class was based on the book Birthing from Within by Pam England and Rob Horowitz, which I highly recommend to anyone expecting a baby. It's a holistic guide to childbirth, taking into account that it is not just a physical journey but also a psychological and spiritual one. It offers women and their helpers many tools to confront the fears and misconceptions that may hinder birthing, and achieve a birth where they feel in control of an important rite of passage in their lives.
In one class, our facilitator, Sarah, pulled out a little statue of a cave-woman and another one of a tiger. "This woman is labouring in the woods, and she smells and hears this tiger coming. What do you think will happen to her labour?" Sarah explained that fear would stop the woman's labour, giving her time to get to a place of safety. As Birthing From Within explains:
My belief in the power of the mind, and my view of birthing as a rite of passage, was also why I chose midwifery care rather than the medical model. I couldn't imagine treating my pregnancy like I would treat a medical condition, with regular 15 minute check-ups that addressed only the physical. My midwife gave me an hour of her time each time I went, answering any questions I had, checking in about my emotions, my support system, my relationship with my husband, my stress level at work. She asked questions about the messages I had received about birthing so that she could understand any misconceptions I may have. She also went over all the physical aspects of birthing and the possible medical interventions in a way that educated me and offered me the ability to choose what I wanted.
But much as I prepared myself psychologically through our class, with my midwife, and on my own, I didn't anticipate what my "tigers" would be during labour. In hindsight, if seems obvious. I've always had the problem of being a "pleaser", trying to accommodate other people in spite of what I may prefer. This came into play even prior to the birth, as the women in my life expressed their desire to witness the event.
My mother, a trained Doula, wanted to be my support person. She was understanding when I told her that I may not feel comfortable having someone so close to me, who would likely be bothered by my pain and anxious in any complications, be the person I leaned on. Instead, I suggested she witness the birth. My mother-in-law and cousin wanted to be present at the birth too. Though I was comfortable with my cousin being there, I was less at ease with my mother-in-law watching, so in the end I turned them both down so that my mother-in-law wouldn't feel singled out. But, wanting to please, I told them that they, too, could be at my apartment during the labour so that they could come in as soon as the baby was born.
I was beginning to feel like my labour was going to be a spectator sport, and joking that I should sell tickets. But I ignored my uneasiness, as well as the warnings I had read in Birthing from Within that birthing was as private as making love or going to the bathroom. I thought I could overcome my discomfort. So there I was during labour in a small 2 bedroom apartment with my husband, my doula, my mother, mother-in-law, and cousin.
Before everyone came around noon, I was making great progress just relaxing in the tub and the bed. My midwife checked me and I was 4 cm, and she was very pleased. But as the afternoon wore on, my tigers began creeping up on me. My doula urged me to walk the stairs of our building and the sidewalk outside to get things moving. We had just moved, and I was afraid of running into our stodgy building manager or meeting a new neighbour while in labour--but I agreed, not wanting to offend. My mother was in the kitchen cooking up a nervous storm, and with my heightened senses I cringed every time I heard the knife crunching through the celery. When a contraction came and I started moaning, I would notice her come out of the kitchen and stand in the doorway watching me until it passed.
Meanwhile, the other "ladies in waiting" were in the adjoining office, trying to be unobtrusive. But I noticed that they had nowhere comfortable to sit, and they were whispering. About what? How long was this going to take, I wondered, and should I move to the bedroom so they could use the living room? Overall, I felt annoyed, conspicuous and on display. And then somewhere in all this, my Dad called.
I hadn't told my Dad I considering a home birth, because I knew that like most doctors, he would be against the idea. I didn't want that fear put into me, so difficult as it was not to share with him, I decided to just tell him about my birth once it was over. But he called during the labour, and Sean told him I was in labour, so felt like I needed to call him back. When I did, he figured out I was having a home birth and expressed his disapproval right then and there.
My contractions had started around 2:30am, and it was now 6pm. My doula had called the midwife over to check me, as things had been moving along well. But I had only dilated 2 more centimeters, and by the time she finished setting up for the birth, my intense contractions had stopped and I was alert and talking just like in early labour. I had stalled. She and the doula conferred and sent my waiting ladies out to get dinner. While they were gone, my midwife asked me if I really wanted all these people in my apartment. "Oh, it's OK." I replied.
"Is it really OK? Or are you just letting them be here to be nice?" I admitted that I felt pressure to get on with the show, not to keep them waiting any longer. She suggested that I send them home and call them when I started pushing. After she and the doula communicated this to them, she went home herself and instructed me to just do whatever felt right. So I lay down in bed with Sean and just relaxed. I didn't try to do anything to get labour moving. And within an hour, it picked up again and I was on my way. At 12:30 am that night, I finally delivered my baby.
Now, preparing for my second birth, I'm trying to anticipate my tigers. I know the one about feeling watched, and having too many people around. And I anticipate that if I feel like the Boodge isn't OK, I may not be able to relax. For this reason I feel like I won't go into labour until my mom arrives on the 13th of October, because she is the person (aside from my husband) that I trust most fully with Boodge. I've also told my doula that much as I want to labour at home for as long as possible, if I find myself too distracted by how my son is doing, I may have to go to the hospital earlier than anticipated.
The hospital, because there is a tiger in having a home birth again. I loved my home birth, and I would defend any woman's right to have one. Research indicates that they are just as safe as hospital births in normal, healthy pregnancies and labours assisted by a regulated midwife. But as I've mentioned before, Boodge was born with "wet lung" and we had to go to the hospital right away, where he spent his first 30 hours in an incubator. Though he was getting enough air and it was not a dire emergency, it was scary. Since the hospital is 1/2 an hour away this time, I don't want to take any risks. Labour and pushing was fine for me, and I feel confident that I can handle the pain (assuming that it will be somewhat similar to last time). But I don't want to be worrying about what will happen when the baby comes out, and I think that will be easier in the hospital.
On the other hand, I have reservations about the hospital. There will be people involved in my care that I've never met before, and I've heard that the wrong nurse can really have an impact on labour. Also, though we'll have access to emergency care if necessary, I don't want to feel pressured into getting any care that isn't necessary. If Boodge had been born in a hospital, I might have been told I was "failing to progress" when I stalled, instead of someone understanding that psychological factors were involved. Also, he likely would have been taken from me immediately after birth. As it was, I at least got about 45 minutes at home to hold him, sing to him, and try to nurse him. Those 45 minutes meant the world to me and consoled me when I felt, for myself and him, the horrible emptiness of being suddenly separated from the one who had been in my womb for so long. For this birth, I long to have that experience so many women talk about, where your baby is just put in your arms, perfectly healthy, and you nurse and cuddle and feel the bliss of new love.
We have been to the hospital though, and the birthing unit seems excellent and geared towards empowering women to make their own choices, and staying out of the way of her caregivers. Having a midwife as my caregiver also helps me feel comfortable that at least my preferences have been asked about and will be honored if at all possible. So I'm going to just try to be assertive if I need to be, and focus on my job of birthing my baby rather than the millions of possibilities of what can go wrong when it comes out.
Overall, I feel pretty confident in my ability to birth this baby and deal with whatever comes up in the process. But labour is such a wild card, and the stakes are so high. I wonder if there are any hidden tigers this time, and if I'll be better at sniffing them out than I was in my first labour. I'm interested in hearing about the tigers that affected you out there, reading this. How did fear, or discomfort, affect your labour? And how did you sniff it out and get to a place of safety?
In one class, our facilitator, Sarah, pulled out a little statue of a cave-woman and another one of a tiger. "This woman is labouring in the woods, and she smells and hears this tiger coming. What do you think will happen to her labour?" Sarah explained that fear would stop the woman's labour, giving her time to get to a place of safety. As Birthing From Within explains:
Fear activates the nervous system to produce adrenalin, which fuels the 'fight or flight' response. This increases heart and respiratory rates and shunts bloods away from the internal organs (including the uterus) to the large muscles. Increased levels of adrenalin also neutralize the effect of oxytocin (the hormone responsible for stimulating uterine contractions).This didn't come as a surprise to me. As a student of psychology, I generally believe that the body is affected strongly by the mind. But as Birthing From Within also explains, the nervous system does not know the difference between real or imagined "tigers". "That is why it's important to bring your images, beliefs, and fears to conscious awareness, where you can tame, eliminate, or even harness them."
My belief in the power of the mind, and my view of birthing as a rite of passage, was also why I chose midwifery care rather than the medical model. I couldn't imagine treating my pregnancy like I would treat a medical condition, with regular 15 minute check-ups that addressed only the physical. My midwife gave me an hour of her time each time I went, answering any questions I had, checking in about my emotions, my support system, my relationship with my husband, my stress level at work. She asked questions about the messages I had received about birthing so that she could understand any misconceptions I may have. She also went over all the physical aspects of birthing and the possible medical interventions in a way that educated me and offered me the ability to choose what I wanted.
But much as I prepared myself psychologically through our class, with my midwife, and on my own, I didn't anticipate what my "tigers" would be during labour. In hindsight, if seems obvious. I've always had the problem of being a "pleaser", trying to accommodate other people in spite of what I may prefer. This came into play even prior to the birth, as the women in my life expressed their desire to witness the event.
My mother, a trained Doula, wanted to be my support person. She was understanding when I told her that I may not feel comfortable having someone so close to me, who would likely be bothered by my pain and anxious in any complications, be the person I leaned on. Instead, I suggested she witness the birth. My mother-in-law and cousin wanted to be present at the birth too. Though I was comfortable with my cousin being there, I was less at ease with my mother-in-law watching, so in the end I turned them both down so that my mother-in-law wouldn't feel singled out. But, wanting to please, I told them that they, too, could be at my apartment during the labour so that they could come in as soon as the baby was born.
I was beginning to feel like my labour was going to be a spectator sport, and joking that I should sell tickets. But I ignored my uneasiness, as well as the warnings I had read in Birthing from Within that birthing was as private as making love or going to the bathroom. I thought I could overcome my discomfort. So there I was during labour in a small 2 bedroom apartment with my husband, my doula, my mother, mother-in-law, and cousin.
Before everyone came around noon, I was making great progress just relaxing in the tub and the bed. My midwife checked me and I was 4 cm, and she was very pleased. But as the afternoon wore on, my tigers began creeping up on me. My doula urged me to walk the stairs of our building and the sidewalk outside to get things moving. We had just moved, and I was afraid of running into our stodgy building manager or meeting a new neighbour while in labour--but I agreed, not wanting to offend. My mother was in the kitchen cooking up a nervous storm, and with my heightened senses I cringed every time I heard the knife crunching through the celery. When a contraction came and I started moaning, I would notice her come out of the kitchen and stand in the doorway watching me until it passed.
Meanwhile, the other "ladies in waiting" were in the adjoining office, trying to be unobtrusive. But I noticed that they had nowhere comfortable to sit, and they were whispering. About what? How long was this going to take, I wondered, and should I move to the bedroom so they could use the living room? Overall, I felt annoyed, conspicuous and on display. And then somewhere in all this, my Dad called.
I hadn't told my Dad I considering a home birth, because I knew that like most doctors, he would be against the idea. I didn't want that fear put into me, so difficult as it was not to share with him, I decided to just tell him about my birth once it was over. But he called during the labour, and Sean told him I was in labour, so felt like I needed to call him back. When I did, he figured out I was having a home birth and expressed his disapproval right then and there.
My contractions had started around 2:30am, and it was now 6pm. My doula had called the midwife over to check me, as things had been moving along well. But I had only dilated 2 more centimeters, and by the time she finished setting up for the birth, my intense contractions had stopped and I was alert and talking just like in early labour. I had stalled. She and the doula conferred and sent my waiting ladies out to get dinner. While they were gone, my midwife asked me if I really wanted all these people in my apartment. "Oh, it's OK." I replied.
"Is it really OK? Or are you just letting them be here to be nice?" I admitted that I felt pressure to get on with the show, not to keep them waiting any longer. She suggested that I send them home and call them when I started pushing. After she and the doula communicated this to them, she went home herself and instructed me to just do whatever felt right. So I lay down in bed with Sean and just relaxed. I didn't try to do anything to get labour moving. And within an hour, it picked up again and I was on my way. At 12:30 am that night, I finally delivered my baby.
Now, preparing for my second birth, I'm trying to anticipate my tigers. I know the one about feeling watched, and having too many people around. And I anticipate that if I feel like the Boodge isn't OK, I may not be able to relax. For this reason I feel like I won't go into labour until my mom arrives on the 13th of October, because she is the person (aside from my husband) that I trust most fully with Boodge. I've also told my doula that much as I want to labour at home for as long as possible, if I find myself too distracted by how my son is doing, I may have to go to the hospital earlier than anticipated.
The hospital, because there is a tiger in having a home birth again. I loved my home birth, and I would defend any woman's right to have one. Research indicates that they are just as safe as hospital births in normal, healthy pregnancies and labours assisted by a regulated midwife. But as I've mentioned before, Boodge was born with "wet lung" and we had to go to the hospital right away, where he spent his first 30 hours in an incubator. Though he was getting enough air and it was not a dire emergency, it was scary. Since the hospital is 1/2 an hour away this time, I don't want to take any risks. Labour and pushing was fine for me, and I feel confident that I can handle the pain (assuming that it will be somewhat similar to last time). But I don't want to be worrying about what will happen when the baby comes out, and I think that will be easier in the hospital.
On the other hand, I have reservations about the hospital. There will be people involved in my care that I've never met before, and I've heard that the wrong nurse can really have an impact on labour. Also, though we'll have access to emergency care if necessary, I don't want to feel pressured into getting any care that isn't necessary. If Boodge had been born in a hospital, I might have been told I was "failing to progress" when I stalled, instead of someone understanding that psychological factors were involved. Also, he likely would have been taken from me immediately after birth. As it was, I at least got about 45 minutes at home to hold him, sing to him, and try to nurse him. Those 45 minutes meant the world to me and consoled me when I felt, for myself and him, the horrible emptiness of being suddenly separated from the one who had been in my womb for so long. For this birth, I long to have that experience so many women talk about, where your baby is just put in your arms, perfectly healthy, and you nurse and cuddle and feel the bliss of new love.
We have been to the hospital though, and the birthing unit seems excellent and geared towards empowering women to make their own choices, and staying out of the way of her caregivers. Having a midwife as my caregiver also helps me feel comfortable that at least my preferences have been asked about and will be honored if at all possible. So I'm going to just try to be assertive if I need to be, and focus on my job of birthing my baby rather than the millions of possibilities of what can go wrong when it comes out.
Overall, I feel pretty confident in my ability to birth this baby and deal with whatever comes up in the process. But labour is such a wild card, and the stakes are so high. I wonder if there are any hidden tigers this time, and if I'll be better at sniffing them out than I was in my first labour. I'm interested in hearing about the tigers that affected you out there, reading this. How did fear, or discomfort, affect your labour? And how did you sniff it out and get to a place of safety?
Friday, July 16, 2010
The Love and the Hate of Parenting
A Mommy-friend from our prenatal class recently sent us this article from New York Magazine called "All Joy and No Love: Why Parents Hate Parenting". An interesting read by Jennifer Senior, who explores the wealth of academic research that suggest that non-parents are happier than parents, and some possible explanations for the happiness gap.
I balked at first, and then had to smile when the article mentioned that most parents don't like to hear this news. Fine. Of course we don't. Who wants to think that a choice we have made that amounts to an 18+ year commitment may have made us unhappier. Not me.
I freely admit that since becoming a mother, I've had a lot of struggles. Sleep deprivation, exhaustion, monotony, extreme frustration, questioning who I am and what I'm doing with my life, conflict with my spouse like we never experienced before. If you gave me a psychological test like the well-known and reputed "Beck Depression Inventory" on a bad week, I may look pretty depressed. The test asks questions like whether your sex drive has decreased, whether your ability to sleep has decreased, and whether you often feel irritable. Yeah, of course. So what?
But on the whole I feel happier for having become a mother. I've faced more challenge to my physical and emotional limits than ever before, yes, but I also now know myself to be stronger than I imagined. I feel like my life has purpose in a way that I didn't quite feel before Boodge, and I have much less time for navel-gazing and worrying about the opinions of others, which is good for me.
I've also experienced so many of what the article describes as "moments of transcendence". At last once daily, usually many times, I am struck by a giant wave of awesome feeling--amazement, gratitude, amusement, pride, tenderness, LOVE. Prior to parenting I don't remember feeling that kind of transcendence often, aside from when I fell in love or otherwise connected deeply with other people. Usually I had to get out of my daily grind, go out into nature, and sit by a lake for a day or two. Now, that awe-inspiring beauty is right there in my living room, the very source of my daily grind.
Here is one of my husbands regular moments of transcendence:
Happiness is a difficult thing to measure objectively. People devote their entire careers to coming up with a reliable measure for some small component of happiness. As a counsellor, I find psychological research helpful in some ways. It is helpful to know, for instance, that mine isn't the only marriage that experienced stress during the transition to parenthood. I appreciate when research can normalize an experience that feels threatening and confusing, or when it can highlight a social problem that we need to work on.
In other ways, I'm very skeptical. I'm just not sure parents and non-parents can legitimately be compared. Becoming a parent is such a huge transition. I remember feeling as if my whole brain and body was being re-wired. And what made me happy before I was a parent, I can barely remember now. What gives my life meaning, what I value, my spiritual beliefs and practice, who I am closest to and how I relate to those people--all different now. Parents and non-parents really are like two different cultures.
Legitimate scientific research (and I could write a post on that concept, believe me) depends on having two groups that are similar in all ways except the variable being measured. If you tried to compare, for example, the level of happiness of kids in two kindergarten classrooms, one full-day and one half-day, you'd better pick two classrooms with pretty much identical social, economic, and cultural backgrounds, or your research will be quickly discredited.
I do think Senior is right on in some of the reasons she suggests for less parental happiness. Lack of financial or social support, too high expectations for kids and parents in a competitive society, and so many choices that we can endlessly question whether we made the right one. Our culture is so based on individual gratification, and we pursue that right up until we become parents. Often that pursuit takes us far away from our parents and hometowns.
But once we have children, we need our communities, our extended families. We need to live in such a way that our own needs are not our primary focus. We need help, and we are often too tired, isolated, and discombobulated to get it. I think our individualistic culture probably makes the transition much harder on parents. We are so used to thinking only of ourselves, and we have been conditioned to believe that sacrificing our own forward progress for someone else is a no-no.
At any rate, it is a bit of a catch-22, isn't it? Because once you have kids, you have crossed over. I have yet to meet a parent that doesn't feel like losing one of their children would be a tragedy they could hardly withstand. It doesn't matter how stressful, tiring, and frustrating parenting is--once you are there, you can't imagine living without it.
So probably the best thing we can do is be grateful every day that our kid is there driving us insane, sucking our energy, and testing our limits, and forget all of the other things that we could be doing. And do whatever else it takes to get the help and support and time you need to survive these 18 years, including being easy on yourself. Then soak up those wonderful moments of transcendence when they come.
Good luck and blessings to all of you!
I balked at first, and then had to smile when the article mentioned that most parents don't like to hear this news. Fine. Of course we don't. Who wants to think that a choice we have made that amounts to an 18+ year commitment may have made us unhappier. Not me.
I freely admit that since becoming a mother, I've had a lot of struggles. Sleep deprivation, exhaustion, monotony, extreme frustration, questioning who I am and what I'm doing with my life, conflict with my spouse like we never experienced before. If you gave me a psychological test like the well-known and reputed "Beck Depression Inventory" on a bad week, I may look pretty depressed. The test asks questions like whether your sex drive has decreased, whether your ability to sleep has decreased, and whether you often feel irritable. Yeah, of course. So what?
But on the whole I feel happier for having become a mother. I've faced more challenge to my physical and emotional limits than ever before, yes, but I also now know myself to be stronger than I imagined. I feel like my life has purpose in a way that I didn't quite feel before Boodge, and I have much less time for navel-gazing and worrying about the opinions of others, which is good for me.
I've also experienced so many of what the article describes as "moments of transcendence". At last once daily, usually many times, I am struck by a giant wave of awesome feeling--amazement, gratitude, amusement, pride, tenderness, LOVE. Prior to parenting I don't remember feeling that kind of transcendence often, aside from when I fell in love or otherwise connected deeply with other people. Usually I had to get out of my daily grind, go out into nature, and sit by a lake for a day or two. Now, that awe-inspiring beauty is right there in my living room, the very source of my daily grind.
Here is one of my husbands regular moments of transcendence:
Happiness is a difficult thing to measure objectively. People devote their entire careers to coming up with a reliable measure for some small component of happiness. As a counsellor, I find psychological research helpful in some ways. It is helpful to know, for instance, that mine isn't the only marriage that experienced stress during the transition to parenthood. I appreciate when research can normalize an experience that feels threatening and confusing, or when it can highlight a social problem that we need to work on.
In other ways, I'm very skeptical. I'm just not sure parents and non-parents can legitimately be compared. Becoming a parent is such a huge transition. I remember feeling as if my whole brain and body was being re-wired. And what made me happy before I was a parent, I can barely remember now. What gives my life meaning, what I value, my spiritual beliefs and practice, who I am closest to and how I relate to those people--all different now. Parents and non-parents really are like two different cultures.
Legitimate scientific research (and I could write a post on that concept, believe me) depends on having two groups that are similar in all ways except the variable being measured. If you tried to compare, for example, the level of happiness of kids in two kindergarten classrooms, one full-day and one half-day, you'd better pick two classrooms with pretty much identical social, economic, and cultural backgrounds, or your research will be quickly discredited.
I do think Senior is right on in some of the reasons she suggests for less parental happiness. Lack of financial or social support, too high expectations for kids and parents in a competitive society, and so many choices that we can endlessly question whether we made the right one. Our culture is so based on individual gratification, and we pursue that right up until we become parents. Often that pursuit takes us far away from our parents and hometowns.
But once we have children, we need our communities, our extended families. We need to live in such a way that our own needs are not our primary focus. We need help, and we are often too tired, isolated, and discombobulated to get it. I think our individualistic culture probably makes the transition much harder on parents. We are so used to thinking only of ourselves, and we have been conditioned to believe that sacrificing our own forward progress for someone else is a no-no.
At any rate, it is a bit of a catch-22, isn't it? Because once you have kids, you have crossed over. I have yet to meet a parent that doesn't feel like losing one of their children would be a tragedy they could hardly withstand. It doesn't matter how stressful, tiring, and frustrating parenting is--once you are there, you can't imagine living without it.
So probably the best thing we can do is be grateful every day that our kid is there driving us insane, sucking our energy, and testing our limits, and forget all of the other things that we could be doing. And do whatever else it takes to get the help and support and time you need to survive these 18 years, including being easy on yourself. Then soak up those wonderful moments of transcendence when they come.
Good luck and blessings to all of you!
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Lessons From Solo Flying
This Monday began a long period of my flying solo as a parent. Sean is away for 12 days, back for 2, and away for 4 more. That means there are no breaks from the Boodge except naptime, so I let myself take it slack on everything else--tidying up, making meals, and general effort. I eat all my favorite foods that Sean doesn't like: roasted beets and yams with quinoa, artichokes, anything with a sweet sauce, pea soup. Tonight I think I'm going to treat myself to take out. I'm not saying I like having him gone--I don't. But I try to find things to look forward to about it.
Unfortunately, it's become a sort of cruel joke that the Boodge always gets sick when his Dad is away. Right on cue, he woke up at 4:30 the morning Sean was flying out with that barking-seal cough that strikes fear in parents' nighttime hearts. Lucky for us, Sean's alarm was just going off, so we got to relax in the steam of his shower to clear Boo's airways. I got his humidifier running, gave him some Nin Jiom cough medicine, then we kissed his Dad goodbye, read some books in bed, and went back to sleep. Four days in, it proved to be an easy cold. He's coughing a lot and snotting a little, but otherwise he's just as wild and crazy as usual.
But there were a couple of much more serious illnesses that happened during solo stints. The first time he had the croup, Sean was due home that very night at 11:45. At 11, I woke up to the sound of a wheezing, barking baby next to me. I knew only vaguely what to do...if I'd known for sure, I would have taken him out onto the patio and the cold misty air. But instead I took him into the bathroom and ran hot water, which can work but is not as effective. After some time his wheezing seemed to be getting worse, so I called the nurseline. The nurse asked me a series of questions. The last question she asked is whether his chest was pulling in with each breath. I felt it. "A little," I responded.
"Ok, you need to take him to the emergency, and you need to do it by ambulance, not car. Hang up and call 911."
So Sean came home to a hastily scrawled post-it on the door. "Boodge is not breathing well, we are at Children's Hosp. Call my cell." Had he arrived 15 minutes earlier, he would have entered our lobby lit by ambulance lights and seen his little baby with a breathing mask over his face and a small crowd of two ambulance attendants, me, and our property manager and his wife. Instead he met us at the hospital, where Boo was given steroids and quickly recovered, though we had to stay there till 4am just to be sure. It was a busy night; the halls were filled with the sound of barking babies.
Then there was last October. It was the middle of swine flu hysteria, and Sean was in Lexington, MA. Ardan came down with something that matched swine flu symptoms exactly, except for the vomiting. I called the nurseline, held for an hour, and they confirmed that it was probably the dreaded pig virus that he had. For 4 days he had 24-hour high fever and I could see him wincing when he swallowed. He nursed constantly, and I was so grateful to still be nursing (as I always am when he's sick) because he ate almost nothing else. I think this video says it all:
Through these solo sick experiences, I've learned some things about myself. I've learned that I can handle it. In fact, I'm pretty darn good. In both cases, I stayed really calm and kept the faith that everything was going to be fine. It would have been easy to panic watching my baby struggle to breathe, or watching the nightly news stories of someone's child dying from swine flu. But I gathered information, called for help, and otherwise breathed deeply and trusted that I could care for my child. I was proud of myself.
The not so good thing I've learned is that when I'm not alone, I lose that self-reliance. Actually, I get downright whiny and complainy about how hard it is, and how much I could use some help. I noticed that I do this even when Boo is not sick. One particularly sleep deprived solo-stint, I was cheerful about it with everyone I spoke to, "Oh, it's OK, I can nap in the day, I can handle it." But when Sean was home, I was crying in his office about how I couldn't take it any more.
It's normal and fair to want to share the load when things are hard, but the tone I can take is more accusatory--"Look how hard it is for me and not for you!" When I noticed what I was doing, I felt a bit ashamed. I am very good at taking care of things on my own, and it's hard for me to ask for help when I need it or want it. So I guess I default to trying to make the person whose help I want feel guilty and inadequate. Not very evolved of me. I'd like to say I've stopped doing this since I realized it, but it's never that easy, is it? I'm working on it though, and I think I'm improving.
Maya Angelou said something to the effect of "If you only have one smile to give, give it to the people who love and take care of you every day." It's so easy to put on a brave face and a smile for everyone else, but with the people we feel safest with we tend to let down our guard, and sometimes this means letting our worst selves out. It's the same thing kids are doing when parent's say "Gee, you're so good for the babysitter/grandmother/pre-school but at home, you're out of control."
I've been trying to remember lately to give that smile and can-do attitude to my family. After all, Sean is working pretty freaking hard too, and I know some things are hard for him in ways I don't even understand. When he saw that above video of Boo, he was so upset to be away, I felt terrible for sending it to him. I'd rather be in my shoes, playing with Boo, than in his working-stress shoes--most days.
We all respond so much better when we feel appreciated and loved, instead of feeling like we can never give enough to satisfy the other. Generosity flows from fullness, so the more we can fill each other up, the more we have to give. So true, and so hard to practice.
With Peanut on the way, I'm bracing myself for the upside-down and ugly that a new baby can bring. We'll be busier than ever, sleep-deprived, and we'll have Boo's tender little hurricane of emotions to address. I know there will be tears, accusations, and very bad days. But I'm going to try to make that quote above my mantra. And I'm going to let myself take it slack on everything else--tidying up, cooking, and general effort, in favour of having that one smile to give my family. Feel free to remind me if you see me slipping. I'm sure I'll need it.
Unfortunately, it's become a sort of cruel joke that the Boodge always gets sick when his Dad is away. Right on cue, he woke up at 4:30 the morning Sean was flying out with that barking-seal cough that strikes fear in parents' nighttime hearts. Lucky for us, Sean's alarm was just going off, so we got to relax in the steam of his shower to clear Boo's airways. I got his humidifier running, gave him some Nin Jiom cough medicine, then we kissed his Dad goodbye, read some books in bed, and went back to sleep. Four days in, it proved to be an easy cold. He's coughing a lot and snotting a little, but otherwise he's just as wild and crazy as usual.
But there were a couple of much more serious illnesses that happened during solo stints. The first time he had the croup, Sean was due home that very night at 11:45. At 11, I woke up to the sound of a wheezing, barking baby next to me. I knew only vaguely what to do...if I'd known for sure, I would have taken him out onto the patio and the cold misty air. But instead I took him into the bathroom and ran hot water, which can work but is not as effective. After some time his wheezing seemed to be getting worse, so I called the nurseline. The nurse asked me a series of questions. The last question she asked is whether his chest was pulling in with each breath. I felt it. "A little," I responded.
"Ok, you need to take him to the emergency, and you need to do it by ambulance, not car. Hang up and call 911."
So Sean came home to a hastily scrawled post-it on the door. "Boodge is not breathing well, we are at Children's Hosp. Call my cell." Had he arrived 15 minutes earlier, he would have entered our lobby lit by ambulance lights and seen his little baby with a breathing mask over his face and a small crowd of two ambulance attendants, me, and our property manager and his wife. Instead he met us at the hospital, where Boo was given steroids and quickly recovered, though we had to stay there till 4am just to be sure. It was a busy night; the halls were filled with the sound of barking babies.
Then there was last October. It was the middle of swine flu hysteria, and Sean was in Lexington, MA. Ardan came down with something that matched swine flu symptoms exactly, except for the vomiting. I called the nurseline, held for an hour, and they confirmed that it was probably the dreaded pig virus that he had. For 4 days he had 24-hour high fever and I could see him wincing when he swallowed. He nursed constantly, and I was so grateful to still be nursing (as I always am when he's sick) because he ate almost nothing else. I think this video says it all:
Through these solo sick experiences, I've learned some things about myself. I've learned that I can handle it. In fact, I'm pretty darn good. In both cases, I stayed really calm and kept the faith that everything was going to be fine. It would have been easy to panic watching my baby struggle to breathe, or watching the nightly news stories of someone's child dying from swine flu. But I gathered information, called for help, and otherwise breathed deeply and trusted that I could care for my child. I was proud of myself.
The not so good thing I've learned is that when I'm not alone, I lose that self-reliance. Actually, I get downright whiny and complainy about how hard it is, and how much I could use some help. I noticed that I do this even when Boo is not sick. One particularly sleep deprived solo-stint, I was cheerful about it with everyone I spoke to, "Oh, it's OK, I can nap in the day, I can handle it." But when Sean was home, I was crying in his office about how I couldn't take it any more.
It's normal and fair to want to share the load when things are hard, but the tone I can take is more accusatory--"Look how hard it is for me and not for you!" When I noticed what I was doing, I felt a bit ashamed. I am very good at taking care of things on my own, and it's hard for me to ask for help when I need it or want it. So I guess I default to trying to make the person whose help I want feel guilty and inadequate. Not very evolved of me. I'd like to say I've stopped doing this since I realized it, but it's never that easy, is it? I'm working on it though, and I think I'm improving.
Maya Angelou said something to the effect of "If you only have one smile to give, give it to the people who love and take care of you every day." It's so easy to put on a brave face and a smile for everyone else, but with the people we feel safest with we tend to let down our guard, and sometimes this means letting our worst selves out. It's the same thing kids are doing when parent's say "Gee, you're so good for the babysitter/grandmother/pre-school but at home, you're out of control."
I've been trying to remember lately to give that smile and can-do attitude to my family. After all, Sean is working pretty freaking hard too, and I know some things are hard for him in ways I don't even understand. When he saw that above video of Boo, he was so upset to be away, I felt terrible for sending it to him. I'd rather be in my shoes, playing with Boo, than in his working-stress shoes--most days.
We all respond so much better when we feel appreciated and loved, instead of feeling like we can never give enough to satisfy the other. Generosity flows from fullness, so the more we can fill each other up, the more we have to give. So true, and so hard to practice.
With Peanut on the way, I'm bracing myself for the upside-down and ugly that a new baby can bring. We'll be busier than ever, sleep-deprived, and we'll have Boo's tender little hurricane of emotions to address. I know there will be tears, accusations, and very bad days. But I'm going to try to make that quote above my mantra. And I'm going to let myself take it slack on everything else--tidying up, cooking, and general effort, in favour of having that one smile to give my family. Feel free to remind me if you see me slipping. I'm sure I'll need it.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Coming out
A while back a friend of mine e-mailed me describing some stresses she was having with her family life. She introduced the topic by saying she'd been catching up on my blog and didn't know how I could manage to be so "zen" about everything, even when it was hard. Immediately I sat down to reply, wanting to disabuse her of any idea that I somehow manage to maintain perfect calm and balance in the thick of this parenting and married life.
It's important to me to be an open, honest person, and not to pretend that my life is a bowl of cherries when it feels like a bowl of shit. I believe that we liberate others to be themselves when we can show who we really are: imperfect homes, parenting mistakes, relationship struggles and all. How intimidating and unapproachable are those people who seem to have it all together, who never admit to the struggles that frankly, we all face in our daily lives. I want my friends and family to feel safe revealing the good, bad and ugly with me, to know they can leave their dirty socks on my living room floor because I offer a place of comfort over a place of perfection. So I try to tell the truth, without veering into negativity, because I am blessed in countless ways.
That being said, I think we all present different faces to different people depending on the context and relationship. If we could be a fly on the wall in most people's homes we would see sides of them we have never seen. It's not a matter of not being genuine, it's a matter of having boundaries and of choosing how I want to be perceived, and what I want to put out into the world.
When I started this blog, I wanted it to be an honest place to talk about the struggles and joys that go with parenting and trying to live in accord with my values. But I also wanted it to be a positive place, a place of reflection, and a place where readers could find solutions or at least some small comfort that they are not alone, and it is not as bad as they thought. It's also important to respect my family's privacy, so you will never see me writing here about marital issues, and my extended family's personal problems, or certain aspects of my child's life (especially as he grows). That doesn't mean those things aren't happening and affecting me daily.
Still, I generally try to stay positive, to practice gratitude and to give of myself to the people I love and to my community. I make it a priority to maintain my inner peace, so whenever something throws me off balance, I like to try to address it right away. The problem is, as life moves forward and changes, often the balance point shifts, and I lose sight of the fact that I am toppling down, down, down into burnout and exhaustion. This is what has been happening lately, and if you had been a fly on our wall this week you would have seen a side of me that even I haven't seen since I was a teenager, a person filled with rage, throwing things, crying, out of control. I blew my top.
There is no-one to blame in it, nobody intentionally made me angry that day. What happened is this. I got pregnant in early February. That cat's out of the bag now. As happens in early pregnancy, my body started sucking my energy down into my womb, building another person, new organs, blood, and a volatile cocktail of hormones. I became tired and testy, and I craved solitude and quiet time. But we were moving. So I packed, cleaned, ran errands and arranged details. I also decided to take on night weaning because I saw it as the first step in a process of getting the Boodge into total sleep independence before the baby came. Sleep became severely disrupted--pile on the exhaustion.
After we moved, many friends and family came to visit to check out the new home and offer help where they could. It was lovely to see them all, and generous of them to travel and give their time to help us. I am grateful, and to show my gratitude I worked hard to suppress my craving for solitude and peace and to hide my exhaustion and irritability. Instead I cleaned, made yummy meals, and forced myself to be cheerful and loving with my guests. And I did feel cheerful and loving. But when each person left and I had a day or two until the next, I felt myself decompressing, trying to soak up the emptiness of the house and the safety of being with my little family.
There's another side to all of this, which is part of who I am. We all have ways of coping with stress. If you study psychology, you learn that there are some pretty typical patterns. There's the person who buries their head in the sand, or runs away somehow through work, substance abuse, shopping, or whatever his or her drug of choice happens to be. There's the person that creates more drama and chaos, so that all resources and attention go their way (this can be a great way to stop parents from fighting when you're a kid). And there's people like me, who go into super-caretaking mode, unconsciously stuffing my own needs away and instead making sure everyone and everything around me is getting what they need to make this stress a bit less stressful. Because if they're OK, I'm OK, right?
I used to be much worse than I am now. But still, when stress hits, it's easy to revert to old habits. Plus, my whole life was shifting--home, town, and body. Hormones are affecting me in ways I don't understand. That makes it harder to consult the inner compass and see that I'm straying off course.
So the last of the visitors left last weekend and I felt my soul reach for "me" time. But then my son had little wee naps and refused to go to bed early but woke up at 6am anyway, and so my days dragged on in exhaustion, I got no time to myself, and my resentment began to build. Finally, on Thursday, after finally getting the little dude to sleep only to have him wake up the MINUTE I finished doing what I had to do and sat down to relax, I blew.
It was ugly. I scared myself, and probably also my husband and child. And I felt embarrassed afterwards. But I also realized that I had let it get to this point by ignoring, suppressing, telling myself I could do it, just a little longer, just hold it together. Eventually, the body and soul have to send a clear signal, and mine did. Two days later, I came down with a flu.
So here I am on the other side, reminded that I am not superwoman. I realize that some of the long term parenting practice I have, such as nursing my babe to sleep and always being the one to comfort him in the night, have got to change. There's a new kid in town now, and the little peanut is already carving out some space for him/herself. And Mama needs her space too. As a dear friend told me the other day, I'm the most important one, because I'm the Mama. But that is so hard to believe, with all the sacrifice of self that motherhood demands, and all the cultural mythology of the perfect, all giving mother that is out there.
It's time to make some changes, set some boundaries, and ask for help. And I have begun that process. It shouldn't be that hard, but for me, it often is. I feel guilty, and I get down on myself for not being the person I could've or should've been. I wonder, just as my friend who e-mailed me did, how other people can handle it all so well when I can't. But I suspect everyone has moments like these.
So I guess I wanted to share this with you all, not to invite your pity or sympathy, but just to admit the truth, and hope that you all recognize that truth in yourselves too. Hope that I am not alone. And to remind myself, and you all, that the expectations we set for ourselves in life are just expectations, and just our own. It is only a matter of giving ourselves permission to be human, and to do differently. I hope you can be better than I have been lately at listening to that voice inside you telling you what you need to change. It's always in there, but it is all too easy to ignore.
It's important to me to be an open, honest person, and not to pretend that my life is a bowl of cherries when it feels like a bowl of shit. I believe that we liberate others to be themselves when we can show who we really are: imperfect homes, parenting mistakes, relationship struggles and all. How intimidating and unapproachable are those people who seem to have it all together, who never admit to the struggles that frankly, we all face in our daily lives. I want my friends and family to feel safe revealing the good, bad and ugly with me, to know they can leave their dirty socks on my living room floor because I offer a place of comfort over a place of perfection. So I try to tell the truth, without veering into negativity, because I am blessed in countless ways.
That being said, I think we all present different faces to different people depending on the context and relationship. If we could be a fly on the wall in most people's homes we would see sides of them we have never seen. It's not a matter of not being genuine, it's a matter of having boundaries and of choosing how I want to be perceived, and what I want to put out into the world.
When I started this blog, I wanted it to be an honest place to talk about the struggles and joys that go with parenting and trying to live in accord with my values. But I also wanted it to be a positive place, a place of reflection, and a place where readers could find solutions or at least some small comfort that they are not alone, and it is not as bad as they thought. It's also important to respect my family's privacy, so you will never see me writing here about marital issues, and my extended family's personal problems, or certain aspects of my child's life (especially as he grows). That doesn't mean those things aren't happening and affecting me daily.
Still, I generally try to stay positive, to practice gratitude and to give of myself to the people I love and to my community. I make it a priority to maintain my inner peace, so whenever something throws me off balance, I like to try to address it right away. The problem is, as life moves forward and changes, often the balance point shifts, and I lose sight of the fact that I am toppling down, down, down into burnout and exhaustion. This is what has been happening lately, and if you had been a fly on our wall this week you would have seen a side of me that even I haven't seen since I was a teenager, a person filled with rage, throwing things, crying, out of control. I blew my top.
There is no-one to blame in it, nobody intentionally made me angry that day. What happened is this. I got pregnant in early February. That cat's out of the bag now. As happens in early pregnancy, my body started sucking my energy down into my womb, building another person, new organs, blood, and a volatile cocktail of hormones. I became tired and testy, and I craved solitude and quiet time. But we were moving. So I packed, cleaned, ran errands and arranged details. I also decided to take on night weaning because I saw it as the first step in a process of getting the Boodge into total sleep independence before the baby came. Sleep became severely disrupted--pile on the exhaustion.
After we moved, many friends and family came to visit to check out the new home and offer help where they could. It was lovely to see them all, and generous of them to travel and give their time to help us. I am grateful, and to show my gratitude I worked hard to suppress my craving for solitude and peace and to hide my exhaustion and irritability. Instead I cleaned, made yummy meals, and forced myself to be cheerful and loving with my guests. And I did feel cheerful and loving. But when each person left and I had a day or two until the next, I felt myself decompressing, trying to soak up the emptiness of the house and the safety of being with my little family.
There's another side to all of this, which is part of who I am. We all have ways of coping with stress. If you study psychology, you learn that there are some pretty typical patterns. There's the person who buries their head in the sand, or runs away somehow through work, substance abuse, shopping, or whatever his or her drug of choice happens to be. There's the person that creates more drama and chaos, so that all resources and attention go their way (this can be a great way to stop parents from fighting when you're a kid). And there's people like me, who go into super-caretaking mode, unconsciously stuffing my own needs away and instead making sure everyone and everything around me is getting what they need to make this stress a bit less stressful. Because if they're OK, I'm OK, right?
I used to be much worse than I am now. But still, when stress hits, it's easy to revert to old habits. Plus, my whole life was shifting--home, town, and body. Hormones are affecting me in ways I don't understand. That makes it harder to consult the inner compass and see that I'm straying off course.
So the last of the visitors left last weekend and I felt my soul reach for "me" time. But then my son had little wee naps and refused to go to bed early but woke up at 6am anyway, and so my days dragged on in exhaustion, I got no time to myself, and my resentment began to build. Finally, on Thursday, after finally getting the little dude to sleep only to have him wake up the MINUTE I finished doing what I had to do and sat down to relax, I blew.
It was ugly. I scared myself, and probably also my husband and child. And I felt embarrassed afterwards. But I also realized that I had let it get to this point by ignoring, suppressing, telling myself I could do it, just a little longer, just hold it together. Eventually, the body and soul have to send a clear signal, and mine did. Two days later, I came down with a flu.
So here I am on the other side, reminded that I am not superwoman. I realize that some of the long term parenting practice I have, such as nursing my babe to sleep and always being the one to comfort him in the night, have got to change. There's a new kid in town now, and the little peanut is already carving out some space for him/herself. And Mama needs her space too. As a dear friend told me the other day, I'm the most important one, because I'm the Mama. But that is so hard to believe, with all the sacrifice of self that motherhood demands, and all the cultural mythology of the perfect, all giving mother that is out there.
It's time to make some changes, set some boundaries, and ask for help. And I have begun that process. It shouldn't be that hard, but for me, it often is. I feel guilty, and I get down on myself for not being the person I could've or should've been. I wonder, just as my friend who e-mailed me did, how other people can handle it all so well when I can't. But I suspect everyone has moments like these.
So I guess I wanted to share this with you all, not to invite your pity or sympathy, but just to admit the truth, and hope that you all recognize that truth in yourselves too. Hope that I am not alone. And to remind myself, and you all, that the expectations we set for ourselves in life are just expectations, and just our own. It is only a matter of giving ourselves permission to be human, and to do differently. I hope you can be better than I have been lately at listening to that voice inside you telling you what you need to change. It's always in there, but it is all too easy to ignore.
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