Holding onto Hope

See what I did there?

This blog was a little harder for me to write because capturing, in writing, all that Hope is required me to dig deeper than I usually do. I feel compelled to write her story because, not only will she read it one day, but her story is one that everyone should read. 

Between 2011 and 2016, I had a recurring violent nightmare that I was on the ground in the midst of the wreckage of a plane crash. I was the only one there and I was surrounded by body parts and dead people. I was frantically trying to find survivors, while at the same time picking up the broken pieces of people's bodies and attempting to put them back together. It didn’t matter that they were already dead. I had to help them and I had to clean this horrific and tragic mess. I would awake sweating and panicked and the images I saw never left my mind. Each time I had this dream, it was more gory and violent and terrifying. 

There was never a doubt that this nightmare was my subconscious metaphor for what was happening to my life. 

A lot of people can say, “That’s the time my life fell apart,” and I am one of them. The timeline is easy for me to recall, and it remains so raw that each memory still brings tears to my eyes. When my sweet cousin took her life at the end of 2010, my universe turned on its side. The violent ending to her beautiful and kind Self called All Things Good into question. She was only 18, and I’d spent her entire life loving her. The whole family had. Everyone who knew her had. She was wonderful. But if Anita had lived in such darkness for so long, which we later learned when we found her journal, then the truth of the universe was clearly not Truth at all. Her death predicated a series of events that left the world I had spent my adult life building completely decimated. By the end of 2011, the pillars of my soul-house had crashed and my landscape burned. Each loss took reality and morphed it into something unrecognizable. By December of that year, there was nothing left of the world as I had known it. I had been reduced to believing that if I could just make my bed in the morning, that might be the best accomplishment I would have that day. 

While my faith was so shaken that only a sliver of it remained, I still prayed the most simple prayer of, “Help me.” I knew of only one, steadfast purpose, and that was my role as Mom. During those years, the girls and I experienced huge changes. In addition to the tragic losses I was somewhat able to protect them from, our family was going through a divorce and my new career required us to move across the country. Although my world was obliterated, I knew I was responsible for maintaining the weather in theirs.

Children are powerful and it’s no wonder Christ likes them the most. My role as a mother would turn out to be the force that sustained me through the next several years. That reality was one which hadn’t changed at all. Our bond was the truest beauty I had ever seen and it was one that I  was determined to focus on. Being a mother was the anchor that kept me from floating away into oblivion. They were light, life, and purpose. We did everything together as we experienced a new life in a strange place. While I had gone out on dates here and there, I would ultimately end up sitting there thinking, “Yeah, I’d rather be at home with Naomi and Rachel. You suck.” So, I stopped wasting my time dating. I wasn’t fit for it anyway, and I knew that. My focus was still on picking up that wreckage and putting things back together. Apart from the corners of my heart that were devoted to my job and my calling as a mother, there was nothing left of it to give to anyone. Its tenderness and sorrow regulated me to accepting that putting one foot in front of the other was all I could really do. 

I somehow knew this wasn’t the end of the line for me. Mostly because I believed that if Anita had held on a little longer, it wouldn’t have been the end of the line for her. So I had this belief that, one day, I’d come up for air and feel the sun again. 

It turns out that as soon as I felt glimmers of warmth, like the storm had finally begun to pass, and my heart was finally on the mend, Dan walked into my life. Just a month before we started dating, I had told a dear friend that I felt like I had something to offer and I was ready to give my newly repaired heart to someone. 

That was less than three years ago.  

Because Naomi and Rachel were everything that was perfect, I knew beyond any doubt that I was finished having children. I never second-guessed that decision. They were the Be All, End All and our relationship was a beauty that was its own amazing universe. 

However, there was one thing that those years of hell had taught me, and that was the reality that Reality can change in an instant. 

I don’t recall exactly when my heart softened to the idea of having another child, but I do know that as my love for Dan grew, I was more and more receptive to doing anything that would make him happy. Anything. 

When we found out we were having a little girl, her name was a no-brainer. She is a miracle. She is "You never know what can happen" personified.  She is the sunrise after the hurricane. Through the years, I had written about and explored the concepts and practices of hoping. I had hoped that when I  said, “If God isn’t the God of second, third, millionth chances, then the entire Bible is a lie,” that I was right about the God I had come to doubt. Naomi and Rachel were my redemption. Then there was more.  Then there was Dan....and after that, there was the family we created... and then there was this perfect baby girl. 

She is evidence that when it feels like the end of the line, we never really know what tomorrow will bring.  She is a life that never entered my mind. She is Divine Plans that were bigger and better than mine could ever be. She is a bright landscape after the controlled burn. She is steady breaths, one foot in front of the other; waiting, waiting, waiting; praying, praying, praying; perseverance through plane wreckage and swimming upstream; determination,  grace, joy, and redemption. She is....

Hope.  

Back to Work

We all know that being a mom is not for the weak or faint of heart. The only thing easy about being a mom is loving your children (note that I did not use the word "liking"). A mother's love is so natural and immediate. With that easy love, however, comes more struggle and uncertainty than any mom is prepared to experience. So many decisions to be made. 

There has never been a true consensus amongst women about what is better: working or staying home. There are a few enlightened mamas who say that whatever is good for mom is good for baby. That makes up about five percent of women, in my experience. The other 95% are condescending, passive aggressive know-it-alls who are certain that their choice in the matter is the universally right choice. These are the women who shame anyone who makes a different choice, perpetuating a cycle of women against women that continues for generations and generations. 

The truth is that this incredibly personal decision is an absolute struggle for all moms. I think it presents more tears, concerns, and internal struggle than almost any other parental decision we make. Even if mom is sure of her decision to go into work or stay home, the domino effects on the baby and her family weigh on her day and night. It's not just one decision; it's a million decisions which are reevaluated constantly, and for years. 

I am in the "I want to work" camp, and, trust me, I've heard just about every nasty remark there could be over the last 13 years. Everything from "We can't all pay someone else to raise our kids" to "Awww, when do you get time with your children" and, my personal favorite, "Oh, I just don't know how you leave her each day! You're stronger than me" (imagine the most condescending tone you can for that one). I've known enough stay-at-home counterparts to know that they also put up with the same nastiness. "I just have to have adult interaction," or "Don't you miss getting a paycheck?" and, "Oh, you don't work? Don't you get bored?" Ahem, really?  

She can't sleep at night,
but she can sleep during hockey.
We need to get this figured out soon.

I spent the last 13 years growing accustomed to juggling a job outside the home and after school care and daycare for my girls. It became like second nature to me. While I am used to giving an agonizing amount of thought to who helps with my daughters and where they go after school, I forgot that these choices are a completely different ballgame than considering care for an infant. With an infant, the mom who works outside the home has to anguish over a whole different set of issues. An infant can't defend herself or tell mom when something is wrong. Even a toddler can display definite signs of "this situation needs to change." The cries of an infant can mean anything. So, now I have been thrust back into that special layer of hell. Who can be trusted with my little Hope? 

My job is my calling and I have never hesitated to answer that call. Now, after having taken time off, I am eager to get back and do what I do. But my baby.... She's so small. It's crazy that I had forgotten these feelings. I know I felt them before and I remember how it all turned out. The perfect women came at the perfect times and my daughters were always loved and adored by my various villages while I worked outside my house. This time will be no different. 

Next Up: "The Third Time's a Charm" 

Who Needs Sleep?

Sleep is overrated. She tricked me for about three days and made me think she might actually have turned that wonderful "sleep" corner. Not so much. It was more like two steps forward and 20 steps backward. But being awake in the middle of the night certainly has its advantages. The house is quiet and I can sit there and think... And also continue to master the fine art of falling asleep in a seated position. It's remarkable how having a baby changes a mother's mindset and goals (probably dads, too, but I can't speak for them). It's not that the bar is lowered exactly, but babies are the great Equalizers and reality can be a real bitch. New goals include world-conquering achievements like brushing my teeth sometime before dinner and showering on gym days. I've gone out in public in my pajamas more times in the last six weeks than I did in the last six years. The best part about it is that I don't even give it a second thought. It's sort of liberating, actually. Plus, I live in a town where the men shamelessly wear Uggs, so it's not like I need to impress anyone. 

The middle of the night is sacred. No, I do not enjoy "bonding" with my daughter while we should both be sleeping. However, there is definitely something special about 5am to me. It's morning, but still quiet. She's pretty tuckered out from being up all night and eats peacefully. These are the moments that I truly enjoy. It's just the two of us and we are simply there. No distractions and nowhere to be for some time. Just peace and love. I reset my goals again and they are all centered around her and her sisters. It's like hitting the same button we hit every New Years Eve and on birthdays,except I have the luxury of thoughtfully hitting it each morning: today I will be more patient; today I will take better care of myself so that I can take better care of them; today I enjoy the little things and I won't rush; and on and on the list goes. 

The great Equalizer comes in this little 10 pound package of pink beauty and innocence, and she reminds me that life is full of miracles and second chances.  She brings me to a sleep-deprived state of delirium and somehow still has the ability to bring me to a level of overwhelming love and desire to do right by her. It's pretty incredible. 

Next Up: Back to Work- How can anticipation and dread coexist so equally? 

Rebuilding the Empire

Pregnancy and childbirth are so unique.  My experience with them has been extremely humbling and empowering at the same time. I can't think of anything else that requires women to be so attuned to their bodies. There is no room for stubborn goals or unrealistic expectations. My workouts had to be adjusted weekly, sometimes daily, to accommodate how I felt. And there is nothing more real than postpartum weakness in my back, legs, joints, abs, and brain. I think postpartum life, at least temporarily, is anything but beautiful (speaking about ME and not the baby, of course). 

If you can workout during pregnancy, there are numerous benefits, including a distant sense of normalcy, an equally distant connection with your previous non-pregnant self, and the false notion that it will somehow make labor,delivery, and recovery easier. Not so much. There is no "easy" or "easier" for mothers of infants. There is only hard work and constantly shifting expectations. 

I worked out the entire time, completing my final sweat sesh the day before I went in to have Hope. So naturally, I imagined that when I returned to the gym I would pickup where I left off. About Day Three after having her, I was ready to start walking again. This is when I realized that my body had been completely hijacked by some postpartum alien which apparently spent the last three days eating any of my remaining muscle tone; and had also taken a tire iron and repeatedly beaten my legs and back until they were nothing more than a collection of cellulite and weakness. As we walked that first mile, I felt like I had not walked anywhere in a year. The glacial pace was too fast for me and everything hurt. Naturally, I cried. 

Around Day 10, I felt ready to get back in the gym. I was now walking two to three miles at a time and the pace was just slightly faster than what I imagine my dead grandmother walks now. So, I get to the gym and about five minutes into my workout I realize that, once again, I am nowhere near where I left off. In a year, I went from level 10 workouts, to levels 9,8,7,6,5... You get it. 

What the hell happened when I went in to have this baby? I gave birth not only to her, but to my muscle tone, my stamina, my cardio health, and every last bit of my pride and self respect while I was at it. No one tells you that, even though you may stay in shape and eat right while you are pregnant, you still emerge from that delivery room weak, exhausted, and with the muscle tone of a wet sponge. The work of reclaiming your physical self is going to be like rebuilding Rome one brick at a time. I assume the rebuilding takes a shorter time because you have muscle memory going for you, but whatever. I know that when I finally made it back to the gym, I felt like I didn't even belong there anymore. My muscles went from "yo, we are so bad ass" to "wtf are you doing" in a matter of days. In fact, I don't like to workout with my contacts in because I'd rather not see what I look like in those gym mirrors. For some reason, I remember them making me look way more hardcore a year ago. 

For just over two weeks, I went into the gym and did the equivalent of geriatric workouts which I would have designed for actual dead people. Then, one day after I had an incredible night rest involving almost three straight hours of sleep, I had enough energy to do a little run. Uh... How do nursing mothers accomplish this? Are nursing sports bras required? Because I can tell you right now that a regular sports bra ain't gonna cut it. I mean, I was kinda nervous for the guy on the treadmill in front of me. Maybe nursing sports bras are equipped with enough underwire to build a prison wall, which might be ALMOST sufficient enough to support all that nursing moms have going on with their overweighted, working, painfully sensitive breasts. 

I digress....

My note that day in my workout notebook read, "running: WAIT." Although getting a little cardio felt nice, I did get the feeling that my insides might fall out. Weird feeling. 

But I need someone to tell me if nursing sports bras are worth the investment. 

Rebuilding Rome one slow, painful, muscle-depleted brick at a time. The comparison is fair and I am amazed at what the human body can do. Honestly...

I joke about being weak and defenseless, but when I consider what just happened, I am in awe of it all. 

Now, at five weeks PP, I can finally see what MIGHT be a muscle in my arms and legs, but my midsection still hasn't gotten the memo that HELLO! There is no longer a baby in there!! 

Stupid midsection... 

Next up: the baby wants to hang out in the middle of the night and, as a result of these shenanigans, I'm pretty sure I saw the Grateful Dead dancing bears at the foot of my bed the other night. Sleep deprivation truly is an effective form of torture. 

The Newborn Life

I guess my blog may shift gears for a while. I have all these saved posts on different topics, but writing about the Here and Now is going to be a lot more fun. I think writing while being completely sleep deprived and experiencing extreme mood swings is definitely the smartest way to go. It's more genuine and all that. 

How is life with a newborn? This time around, I can only describe it as Surreal. Well, actually, I can describe it better than that. Why else would I write an entire blog about it?

I have to laugh at my prideful foolishness over the years where I swore I was finished
having children. Now, I look at this little person and wonder how my life seemed complete without her. She's so sweet! Along with all the quiet moments of motherly bliss, I have also noticed a few things I totally forgot about since I haven't done this whole New Baby gig in a while. 

This is the first time in my life as an adult that I have essentially hit the STOP button. I'm not rushing anywhere, and haven't for weeks. I love it! This is the closest I will ever be to being an OC Housewife. All I do is eat, sleep, nurse, take care of the kids, and workout. The end. And repeat. It's awesome. However, the flip side of ignoring my work phone and staring longingly and lovingly into my newborn's eyes is the loneliness that comes with being the mother of an infant. I think all moms can relate: having an infant can be isolating AF. 

I struggled a bit with some postpartum blues- they come and go. But I expected that. The reality of the Newborn Life is that there is no one else who the baby really wants; people are typically hesitant to check in or stop over for a visit because they want you to sleep; sleep deprivation makes you sensitive; oh yeah, and none of your clothes fit. You walk around smelling like breast milk and spit-up the majority of the time and for a solid month your entire body hurts. And then there are the fun surprises like gigantic painful breasts, muscle loss, extreme hunger, and more isolation. The baby wants to eat ALL THE TIME (hence, porn-sized boobs), so you ultimately experience this weird "host/parasite" situation... Only you actually love the parasite even when she projectile spits up all over you while she's eating, hence perpetuating the looming musty smell that covers your clothing, shoulders, and chest. My adventures went from flying a surveillance mission in a helicopter or arresting bad guys to strategically planning a trip to the grocery store that doesn't include my child needing to breastfeed as I walk through the store like some primal lady in secluded Africa. It's an adjustment!! 

Those are the downsides, but they are so fleeting. That's what I love most about Baby #3: I am not overwhelmed by the negatives because I already know that within a few months they will all pass. 

The girls are super helpful and they are so in love with Hope. It's incredible to watch all the love that has come into is house because of her. 

Next up: when you workout your entire pregnancy only to realize that the first few weeks back in the gym are more similar to that fat kid from Super Bad attempting to run the Boston Marathon than the Return of the the Great Warrior a Goddess you dreamed about. 

Advent 2016: The Determination of Hoping

It's my favorite time of year again! The season of Advent, which literally means "coming." During this time, the church is in a state pf preparation to celebrate and observe the birth of Christ. We have weekly rituals which highlight the primary themes of Advent: hope, peace, joy, and love. The candles typically are purple (pink for the candle of joy), or they can be blue to symbolise hope and expectation. The Advent wreath is made of fresh evergreens, which symbolize life in the midst of death (winter). During Advent, we wait. 

"Waiting is a period of learning. The longer we wait, the more we hear about him for whom we are waiting." -Henri Nouwen 

While Advent is a time of deep peace and reflection for me, I am always keenly aware that this time of year can be extremely painful and lonely for so many. I can admit that there have been years recently where Advent, although hopeful, has been painful for me. With Christmas being advertized as a time of family and gifts and parties, it's hard to find peace when Loss is the primary state of someone's existence. 

It is in these reflections on loss and turmoil that I came to the realization that Hope is a discipline. It is a determination, a will of its own. It's like eating a healthy diet and exercising and saving money. Hope is a lifestyle which takes practice and aforethought. It's realizing that life has seasons, which means that spring is bound to come. 

"Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness. " -Desmond Tutu 

Hope requires an openness of mind which is free to believe that, although one can't see why winter seems to last so long, there is a supreme purpose for everything (yes, I believe this is an absolute truth). The springtime seems short because when its beauty fades, the all-enveloping darkness of winter- and all the death it causes- is overwhelming. The warmth of the sun can barely be felt or remembered. 

But this brings me back to the evergreen. There is always life in the midst of death. There is always a sparkle in the midst of darkness. Moreover, and most importantly, the sun always rises at the end of night. The seasons change, the light turns to darkness, the darkness is illuminated with the warmth of the sun. 

It takes resolve to see these things. 

"There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul." -Ella Wheeler Wilcox 

When the darkness lasts for years, it might be useful to remember this: the most beautiful metals are made by being melted down completely. Once the refining process is finished, and all impurities have been removed, all that is left is the pure metal. This is what we want. The process is pain and suffering, but the outcome is beautiful. It's similar to a controlled burn in a forest. This is done to allow new life to flourish. 

The process of refinement or a controlled burn is the time when Hope is the most crucial. To me, the season of Advent facilitates a time when this Hope can be practiced through acts of love, kindness, graciousness, and mercy. They say it takes 30 days to form a habit. I think that if people take the month of December and make the focus their mediations on All Things Hopeful, they might have a chance of navigating the next year  with a level of peace they have yet to experience.  

Abraham Lincoln always said things best: "The best way to predict your future is to create it."

Happy Advent, everyone! I hope you find your peace, your sparkle, your life, and your love.  

Hope as the only Option

From Thomas Merton, regarding the nation: "this is a case where, in spite of evidence, one must continue to hope. One must not give in to defeatism and despair, just as one must hope for life in a mortal illness which has been declared incurable. " 

The thing about Hope is that it must be allowed to change our perspective on outcomes. The example of life in spite of an incurable illness is perfect. Life can be lived in spite of that illness. It can be a full and beautiful life with love and laughter and dreams realized. The change in outcome is that it will not be a life lived over an extended period of time, which is what we have come to expect. The life will be truncated. But Hope should not be allowed to flee in spite of that reality. In looking at the state of the nation, and having a long list of human and political concerns, one must never lose hope. Our way of being may be changed when the new president is elected, but accepting the defeat of our nation can never be an option. We must continue our daily work of creating the reality we desire. I believe the only way to create these realities is to hold on to Hope just as tightly as anything we can possibly hold in life. Without it, we are lost in darkness. Perspectives must be allowed to change. To me, this is a sign of growth. It may feel like we are moving backward; like we are losing ground; like our great nation is going to hell in a hand bag... It its moments like these that I think hope and hard work are the most essential. 

We could be on the precipice of greatness, for all we know. After all, controlled burns are used all the time to help grow the most beautiful of landscapes.