Tag: life

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Motherhood

I’m cleaning tables at a cafe where I volunteer regularly and there’s a couple moms with their little ones. One of them is about to nurse her baby. It’s a little baby, still in that “feed me right now” frantic stage. Not crying, or even making a fuss, but as a mom having been there many times, if she doesn’t get the latch down right away, things could become a lot more frantic, real quick!

Don’t get me wrong, I am so grateful for the time I had to be with each of my girls, but I do not miss those frantic moments, sore nipples, wondering if people are watching me, wondering if I’ll ever feel like I’m getting it right. Oh my goodness, so many thoughts went through my head in those moments, but mostly it was the fear of failing, of getting it “wrong”.

Motherhood brings up a lot, I guess parenthood in general, but since I’m only a mom and I can only relate from my own experience, I’ll just talk about motherhood. No matter how confident you were before, you suddenly start to wonder if you’re “doing it right”, “getting it right”. Suddenly all the things you judged your own mom for not having done better become crystal clear and you find yourself wondering how she was able to do everything she did. Suddenly my own mom seems superhuman… Or is that just me?

Do other women feel this way? Do we all ask ourselves these questions?

It’s been a few years. I’ve had four babies. I’ve learned a few things, most of the time I still feel like I have a lot to learn. Mostly, what feels best is that I’ve learned about myself.

When I find myself worrying that I’m “getting it wrong”, I remind myself that my kids came to Me. They could have been born to any other mom, but they came to me because I have exactly what their souls were also looking for when they came to this life. I remember that it must have been the same for me and then traumas don’t feel like traumas anymore because I know I was exactly where I needed to be to learn what I need to learn. To grow and evolve and offer a different lesson to myself, to my family and essentially to the world.

I’ve learned that I’m amazing in my own way. I may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but I have an energy that draws people to me, other people who are also looking for growth, people who are not afraid of challenges and not afraid to challenge me to grow as well.

Sometimes letting go is hard, but I have an amazing capacity to forgive and be compassionate. Mostly, it’s hard to let go of guilt, that it’s somehow my fault, that I could have done better. Maybe I could have, but it’s also ok to make mistakes and to love myself through that. I apologize and take responsibility when I’m wrong. I look to innerstand which button got pushed and how can I soften that trigger; what is it actually touching that hurts? I examine myself and ask if, when I “got it wrong”, was I BEing in my highest integrity? Was I operating out of love? And if the answer is Yes, it can’t possibly be wrong. If the answer is no, I look to come back to Love. Come back to the Authoritative Love that is my guiding principle, my way of BEing. It’s all I can do and It. Is. Enough.

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I Know What I Know

I am guided by what used to be common sense; it’s not so common anymore, but it still makes sense. I don’t need a doctor to tell me when I’m sick, or the news to tell me when there’s an actual pandemic out there––I can feel it and I can see it.

I’ve lived almost 40 years of my life, my mother and grandmother and great grandmother many years collectively before that. I’ve watched them and the wisdom that has carried our species for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Clean water and fresh air, sunshine and healthy, fresh foods, plenty of exercise, rest and laughter, and good old TLC is what has kept us going and going strong. If the fact that we are here as living proof of that isn’t enough, until 2020, it was common knowledge, backed up by decades of research, that the preceding list is what has always worked best.

When scurvy was an issue, what was the answer? Vitamin C from citrus fruit. When rickets was a problem, and also seasonal affective disorder (SAD), what was the solution? Vitamin D, through both sunshine and supplementation. Babies cared for in orphanages were shown to thrive when they were held and given affection in addition to the basic needs such as food, water and shelter. Research over the years has shown that children learn best through play and socialization, and school curricula were even adapted to account for this. I could go on. But now, suddenly in 2020-21 all the aforementioned findings seem to be moot according to the “new science”.

Do they really want us to believe that we have evolved so much from one year to the next, such to the point that now the opposite of what used to work in the past is what we really need? I wouldn’t even call that evolution, then. If we need to rely on even more crutches and “outside” solutions like masks and vaccines and curfews to keep us safe, I’d say we’ve devolved––that does not sound like a species that is getting smarter and more well adapted to its surroundings, if you ascribe to the theory of evolution.

No, I know what I know. My faith has been tested time and time again, and here is what I know: My God shall supply all my needs according to His riches, not my limited knowledge or experience, but according to the goodness and richness of His supply. I know that we are made in the image of God, little replicas, we are made to imitate and be like the Almighty God. The God who spoke and brought the Universe forth with the sheer power of His word. I know that when I read and listen to His Word, written for me full of promises from Him, my faith grows stronger and drowns out fear. I have learned that whether you want to take the Bible literally or figuratively, it works, it’s that powerful. I know that when I speak to mountains, they move––whether that mountain is called sickness, or lack, or fear or any other name you want to put on it.

I know that my body was made by the Divine Designer and therefore it is not flawed, but perfectly equipped to give and get what it needs to and from its environment. I do not need to inject toxins and extra chemicals and substances into my body in order for it to learn something. My body is a highly intelligent operating system that processes all kinds of information about my environment and surroundings. I know that my body interprets the collective wisdom from the Great Spirit and translates it in a way that is relevant to me, and that when I pay attention to what is needed at the time I will always have everything I need. And, that it comes from within.

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The Gift on the Other Side

When my youngest was a baby, in her first year of life, she was dealing with severe eczema. No big deal, you might say, if you know nothing about eczema–– before this trial, I knew nothing of eczema. I heard eczema and I thought dry skin on your knees and elbows, maybe a little itchy, whatever.

I learned that there are different types of eczema, that had varying symptoms of varying degrees caused by many different things. G had weeping eczema with an insatiable itch. This meant that she could scratch herself till she bled and still, scratching the itch would be the only thing that would satisfy it, even if she was cutting through her skin and bleeding, which she did.

I rarely slept as all of my waking hours were spent caring for her, being attentive, carrying her almost non-stop and watching her like a hawk when I couldn’t so she wouldn’t start scratching, because I knew she couldn’t stop once she started. I could barely sleep even when she slept because I was listening for any little stirring that would indicate she had woken up and would start scratching. I swaddled her, tightly, for longer than you would swaddle most babies, in attempts to keep her from scratching in the night. I kept her little nails trimmed at all times. I would put little mittens on her but she quickly learned how to remove them. More than once I would awake to find her sheets bloodied and her cheeks scratched raw. Her siblings all had to be more patient and settle for less attention. Our marriage required a lot of patience. Diets and activities were restricted. Everything revolved around trying to keep her safe and give her some sort of relief. Needless to say it was a trying time for all of us.

The 3:00 am feedings were spent researching everything I possibly could. One night I came across mitten sleeves! I couldn’t seem to find any stores that carried them in my city, but thankfully that week my dad happened to be in Chicago. I found a store there that carried them and asked him to bring me some. They were exactly what they sound like, a sleeve with mittens, made of silky satin, on either end. Because it was a sleeve, she couldn’t get them off; they did have openings that could be folded back during the day for play time or eating when I could be right there with her. Hallelujah!! I could finally take a shower that lasted longer than two seconds or put her down to cook dinner without worrying if her face would survive. My dad had brought me two pairs of mitten sleeves; it was what he could find, and they got non-stop use. It didn’t take long before they began to form holes from the constant use––she would still rub her face, which would give her some relief but also save her cheeks; they had to be washed and kept clean all the time. Thankfully, one of our wonderful neighbors made her two more pairs and a friend of mine was able to repair the originals. I can still remember how it felt, the relief of getting back some semblance of “normal” life when those sleeves came on the scene. I had already forgotten what it felt like to not live on edge, concerned all the time.

It hadn’t always been like that. Her first three months were amazing. She was the happiest little smiliest baby I’d ever seen. Always laughing and giggling. A very good sleeper, at about 8 weeks or so I could get a good 5-6 hours of sleep each night, but that didn’t last long. Right around her third month she began to develop eczema––I’ll talk about the whys and hows of this in another post; including why I believe those first 2-3 months were so great. From there, it was about 9 months before we would finally be able to start unravelling our tightly wound nerves from being on constant edge and alert.

I spent so much time with her, but I feel like I missed a lot of it––measuring progress on her recovery rather than growth milestones. (Thank goodness for the first-year baby calendar I kept for her, as well as a little journal; at least we can go back and read about the life we were living as opposed to the disease we were experiencing.)

One of the things that added to the difficulty of the whole situation, was that it was so visible, you could see it all over her face. All kinds of well-meaning people would approach me telling me the things they tried when their kid or grandkid had eczema. Others, would stare, some of them probably judging me with whatever reason they needed to tell themselves for why a parent would dare to leave the house with their kid suffering like that, wondering what I was doing wrong . Others I could see the pity in their eyes, and I just felt even more pitiful, because I felt there was nothing I could do and that I had already tried a million and one things.

I remember one time, while making supper, after having obtained the mitten sleeves, looking over at G in the Exersaucer where I had placed her, and my once jolly, smiley baby looked forlorn and depressed. I had never before seen a “depressed” baby. She just looked so sad and hopeless. It broke my heart. It was such a contrast from the happy, smiley baby she was in her first three months. Now, a few years later, G has beautiful skin. And, as the baby of the family is always goofing off and doing stuff to get a laugh out of us. She is a very happy, healthy little girl. (I will talk about the natural healing side of that journey in another post.) But I wondered at that moment, if I would ever see her smile again.

That’s how it is, isn’t it? When you’re in the eye of the storm, it can be very hard to see anything beyond. While I would never, ever wish to repeat this experience, nor wish it on anybody, I am grateful for the lessons I learned. Coming through this trial, and many others, has taught me to have faith in the gift on the other side.

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Grief

I’m not sure exactly when I realized that grief was for more than just mourning the loss of people who are no longer in our lives. It was probably after I’d had what we, as BodyTalkers, call a Big Four Shift, (more about that in future posts). It was such a big shift in my thinking and perspective, and I had to process a really heavy sadness; I was grieving.

It was then I realized that we can grieve identities, old ways of thinking, and missed opportunities, real or perceived, (also known as regret). We grieve the loss of familiar patterns. You could even say that our physical bodies grieve the loss of the familiar chemical patterns they’ve grown used to, produced by the emotions we are used to experiencing on a regular basis*.

In its natural healthy state, grief serves a great purpose for us. It helps us to let go of attachments to what is no longer serving us. The problem is, though, that grief can be very uncomfortable and we seem to be caught up in the idea of trying to always feel happy and positive. Instead, we can learn to feel the things that are uncomfortable and know that not only is it normal, but it is actually essential to our growth. It is essential to let go of what no longer serves us.

Pureed carrots are great for babies, but can you imagine eating that forever?! It’s nice to have your parents drive you around, but it’s also nice to have the freedom to drive yourself around, too, even if the initial process of learning how to drive feels foreign and requires all your attention. These types of growth and changes are typically the kind we are motivated and excited to do.

But what about the growth and change that life expects of us? The kind that allows us to step into the destiny we came here to live? The types of growth and challenges that life nudges us into, situations that make us uncomfortable, that are even painful, sometimes gut-wrenching heart-break. The saying goes, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” Some of us die a slow death, though, never being able to fully let go. A healthy processing of grief makes us stronger when we feel all the feels and then let go. I love how William Lee Rand says it: “One could even say that the purpose of life is to grow and develop.”

And, this is not something we do once. We are continually asked to let go. Life continues to challenge us. I have learned to ask, what am I needing to let go of here? What can I grow into here? There are times when I’ve been at the lowest of lows. There are still times, when I dip low. And when I realize I’m there, I also realize how alive I am, and that, even though I’m in the depths, it feels so amazing to know that I feel this way simply because I can feel, because I’m here having this experience. And then I remember that I’m learning. I’m letting go and I’m growing.

*for more about this, see the book Becoming Supernatural by Dr. Joe Dispenza

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Gratitude

I was already having a great day. I’d had a morning zoom meeting that went really well and left me feeling very encouraged. I had a series of productive meetings and calls after that. It was a beautiful, albeit cold, day and I was planning a delicious dinner.

I had just picked up my youngest from preschool and while the older two were off somewhere else in the house, I had a quiet moment to sit with my little one in my lap while she finished off her veggies from her afternoon snack.

I held her and watched her while she quickly and quietly chomped each of her carrot sticks. It was a very mundane moment, but I was only feeling how lucky I was to be holding her in that moment and just enjoying her presence, and being fully present with her. I wasn’t thinking about anything else. I wasn’t rushing around to get dinner made, or running through a mental list of all the things I still had to do that evening. I was just being, and so was she.

In moments like those, it feels like everything that I can possibly feel grateful for is converging all at once and it’s so big. How is it possible that I am here? That we are here, having this experience? And the very reality that I am here having this experience is enough to feel immensely grateful.

If life has taught me anything, it’s that I am so grateful that I have the capacity to feel and to experience life. Even when those those feelings and experiences are heavy and difficult and I wonder, in the moment, if I’ll ever come out of it. In those moments, I go back to gratitude for the simple fact that I can feel it and experience it. And even more gratitude for knowing that I have always lived to see the other side of grief.