Started collecting these *long* before I had babies :)

My very-pregnant first-time mother friend asked me to send her my collection of thoughts on pregnancy and birth, and reading them made me tear up. I freakin' loved birth! Feeling such a mixture of grief and gratitude about never being pregnant or giving birth again. My feelings about motherhood are, like everything worthwhile, so paradoxical. Feeling pretty damn good about that.

Sharing here too:  

In The Women's Room, Marilyn French describes pregnancy as, "a long waiting in which you learn what it means to lose control over your life." 

Rain, after all is only rain; it is not bad weather. So also, pain is only pain; unless we resist it, then it becomes torment. - I Ching


"There is power that comes to women when they give birth. They don't ask for it, it simply invades them. Accumulates like clouds on the horizon and passes through, carrying the child with it." Sheryl Feldman


"During this pregnancy I had been reading Ina May Gaskin's book Spiritual Midwifery and remembered a passage in which a boy asked his pregnant mother, "Is it going to hurt?" She replied, "No, Abraham, it's going to be strong." - Joy Rose-Larsen

"The moments in my life when the veil between heaven and earth has been the most thin have been during childbirth."
- Debbie Wallace (my terrible paraphrase from memory)

If I had my life to live over, instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished ever moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle. -Irma Bombeck

300,000 women will be giving birth with you today. Relax and breathe and do nothing else. Labor is hard work, it hurts and you can do it. - Unknown 

Focus on what you can do, then do it with all your heart. - Lois Wilson

Birth is an experience that demonstrates that life is not merely function and utility, but form and beauty.- Christopher Largen
"Yea, I say unto you, my son, that there could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains. Yea, and again I say unto you, my son, that on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy." Alma 36:21, Book of Mormon


"If you lay down, the baby will never come out." -Native American Saying

From an interview with Ina May Gaskin:

We’re so affected by prudery and corporate media that you don’t get to see the reality of birth on television unless you go to YouTube. I’d say type in “The Dramatic Struggle for Life.” There, you’ll see an elephant give birth. Her baby doesn’t breathe spontaneously and she has to resuscitate the baby. That’s powerful to watch. The second I’d recommend is “Chimp Birth Attica Zoo” and there you see a chimpanzee give birth and labors in a position that nobody would ever guess that anyone would take. But, you watch her expertly give birthwithout any damage to herself with definite calm and perhaps pleasure. You realize when you see these that neither of these mammals are afraid. They’re comfortable with their body and what people will begin to ask is, “What could we learn from this?” They’re not afraid and we’re afraid as a people; we’re terrified of birth. That makes us extremely vulnerable to exploitation. You can make a lot of money off scared women. Birth has been commodified so escaping it is like finding your own wild nature. If you choose to go to a hospital, which I’m not putting down, then I suggest be wild when you’re there and you’ll teach ‘em something!

"We have a secret in our culture, and it's not that birth is painful; it's that women are strong." 

-Laura Stavoe Harm 

I feel less short-sighted and self-aggrandizing

I LOVE this post and then this discussion about it from the comments section:

"More sour grapes?

It’s commendable to appreciate the kids one has rather than constantly trying to change them into the kids one wanted, but it’s ridiculous to keep going off on the things one’s kids don’t do as if they’re useless.

Reading is a great way to learn. Perhaps it’s a great way to learn for only a minority of the population, but that doesn’t matter unless your job is teaching large groups of certain demographics. Each one of us is in a minority somehow.

My ability to learn through reading was fundamental to my success. Perhaps I would have had other core skills were I a different person, but reading has served me well. I went from a series of terrible rural schools to a PhD and a six figure salary, which wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t like to read and learn from reading.

Most people whose kids like to read (my boy just found Harry Potter, which ought to take care of him for a while) feel happy about it because we know that reading is the easiest way to gain vocabulary and learn grammar, which will be relevant in testing, college, and the professions. I know that standard middle-class track gets pooh-poohed here a lot, but most of us wouldn’t be here without it, and most of our kids will follow it to some extent.

In our specific case, my son hopes to test into a local exam school. Liking to read will be sufficient on its own to get an acceptable score on the reading sections. If he didn’t like to read (and learn by reading), he’d need intensive tutoring to be able to pass the test. Later on, if he still wants to go to college for mechanical engineering, he’ll have to be able to read and write well to get in. This won’t happen without reading; even if the only learning resulting from reading were just the form of language itself, that would be sufficiently important.

It’s fair game to ridicule the “excellent sheep” of Mr. Deresiewicz’ epic rant, but the truth is that if you want to work in the professions, you have to read just to get there, let alone succeed. Just because you don’t want that path for your children, or they’re not inclined to succeed on it, doesn’t mean it’s useless for everybody else.

When I feel sad at the idea that my son will no longer be at home with me, one of the things I realize I’ll miss is reading with him. I would have liked to host a great books course for older kids. Perhaps I’ll find a way to do that anyway.

Posted by Bostonian on August 3, 2015 at 4:48 am | permalink | Reply

You misunderstand the point of the post.

I am not saying whether or not readers should read. This post is not about readers. This post is about non-readers and how we tell them they should read.

The post is also about how dull it becomes to extol the glories of reading when less than half the human race likes to do it. And when it has been more natural throughout the evolution of humans to learn by doing.

There is a whole half of humanity that is very smart but does not like to read. They learn just fine and they learn many things you cannot learn in a book.

I wrote the post because I did not know about this until I had a son who doesn’t like to read. I never even really understood that there were smart people who don’t read.

And it’s a problem that school has no way to teach by doing or copying, so school overemphasizes reading and then people who like to read think that somehow they are smarter or better for liking to read.

I know, because I was raised to be one of those people. And I think it’s short-sighted and self-aggrandizing.

Penelope

Posted by Penelope Trunk on August 4, 2015 at 11:21 am | permalink | Reply

• 

  The points you make in your reply are good, and would have been a good addition to your original post.

  I remember when I was a kid there seemed to be more of a place in school for learning that didn’t require reading. Shop class, for example. And we used to have more of an apprenticeship system in this country (as they still do in Germany). I’d like to see that brought back.

  It’s quite clear to me, for example, that I am a mediocre mechanic and carpenter. The simplest things (changing a battery, or making a shelf) are inordinate challenges to me. Other people have greater skills in non-verbal learning and coordination that make them better at this sort of thing. I am astounded by the work of the fellow I hired to fix the siding and sills on my bays. I honestly could never make those joints, and it’s a good thing I figured that out as a teenager.

  I agree with you that our schools focus too narrowly on a certain set of skills and systems of learning, and it is not very kind of those of us who are very good at such sets and systems to ignore that problem. Having children who learn best through non-verbal means and who don’t like to read is yet another good reason to homeschool.

  My initial response, however, was to what you wrote in the post. It’s not based on a misunderstanding but a misstatement. If you wouldn’t like someone to react negatively to you saying that reading is no way to learn, you oughtn’t say “In short, reading is no way to learn.” That continues to be untrue; reading is a great way to learn, though perhaps not for everybody. Hyperbole does clarity a disservice.

  Posted by Bostonian on August 5, 2015 at 4:14 am
• 
  

The birth of Joan

Friday evening as Davey and I lay with Sophia to help her fall asleep for the night I noticed some contractions, but didn’t think much of them. I thought I was just tired and they’d go away after I fell asleep. Sophia and I had had a very busy, very happy day with Esther and her kids; we spent the morning at the ranch playing and in the afternoon we baked a quadruple batch of pumpkin muffins, roasted a turkey, cleaned the house, and even though she had repeatedly mother-hen’ed me to “sit down and put your feet up!”, I hadn’t.

After Sophia fell asleep I mentioned the contractions to Davey but told him they were probably just fatigue contractions and would go away with rest and hydration. He went out to read on the computer and about an hour later around 9:30 I came out of our bedroom to tell him the contractions were pretty consistent and this just might be real labor. He said okay and returned his attention to the online New York Times. I wasn’t convinced it was real either. I’d been expecting to go into labor for so long and had said too often, “I bet today is the day!” Since my anticipation was always for naught, I had kind of quit expecting it to happen.

But, I called Billye anyway and told her I was having fairly consistent contractions but that they weren’t intense at all and yada yada. We decided I would go back to bed and call her later if it looked like the contractions were sticking around.

When I couldn’t fall asleep, I got out of bed, kicked Davey off the computer and good naturedly bossed him around for a while. Might as well prepare in case this was really it! One thing that must be captured for all of posterity is that during this time, Davey seriously pointed out this “one spot” on his shoulders that was killing him and repeatedly requested me to massage it for him. I kept laughing and declining without remorse, “Dude, I’m probably in labor and you want me to massage you?”

Of all the “prepare for labor” to-do list items, one thing I was adamant he had to do first. I had been asking him for weeks (maybe months?) to make me a stone necklace to wear during the birth. I wore his homemade stone pendant during Sophia’s labor and I wanted a new one to wear for this baby. My plan was to gift the necklaces to my children someday when they were having their first babies so that they (or their wives) could wear it during the labors of their own children. And so he headed off to the back of the house and made me and our new baby a stone pendant and cordage necklace to wear.

We called Matt Howard and he headed over to help Davey give me a blessing in preparation for the birth. (Which cracks me up, because we always forget that blessings of comfort (not healing) only need one person.) As we chit chatted with Matt it all felt kind of surreal, thinking that I was about to do something very, very difficult, but here we were just chatting about this and that. I don’t remember many specifics of what Davey said during the blessing, but I remember feeling somehow both peaceful and excited. I remember he spoke of God’s love for me, and that during this challenging experience I would grow to know God in the depths of my soul.

After Matt left, I got in the tub for the first time but got out soon after because honestly the contractions just weren’t intense and I felt like being up and about. I looked over to see Davey sitting in our rocker looking exhausted, and since it looked like this baby might be a long time coming, I told him he could go to bed if he wanted. He went straight to bed and fell fast asleep the second his head hit the pillow. As normal.

Of course I didn’t though, I wandered around the house in my sports bra and skirt - cleaning, brewing pregnancy tea, eating pumpkin muffins and turkey, and getting all the details in place - all the while rubbing my belly and smiling.

I was starting to believe this was really it and I was getting more and more excited. The house was dark and silent, and as I’d moan softly to myself through the contractions I felt motherly, calm and happy. Each time I’d walk past Davey’s sleeping form I’d smile and feel so benevolent and loving toward him. “Sleep well, my dear husband, soon you’ll be holding my hand and wiping my brow as I push out our new baby!”

The contractions were sometimes intense, sometimes barely noticeable. For a while they’d be every five minutes or so and then they’d spread out longer. Honestly I didn’t keep track of them too carefully, it was annoying to try to time them – I enjoyed working through them much more when I wasn’t staring at a clock. When I’d feel the tightening coming sometimes I’d lean over the table and sway my hips while moaning, or I really liked walking through them – that was a strange but good sensation, they felt very productive when I’d walk through them. I also liked to stand in front of the bathroom mirror so I could watch as my belly would get incredibly tight and unreal looking. I’d never seen such a thing – it was like all that was left of me was skin and baby. I couldn’t get enough of it - it made my jaw drop every time. I felt very happy and close to this new little spirit that was preparing to join our family.

When my bowels started loosening right on up, I decided I better call Billye. Maybe the uncomfortable diarrhea sensation kicked me out of my dream-like happy labor state. Honestly, I kind of forgot about needing to call her for a while there. It was about 1 AM when I called her and updated her, finishing with, “I’m feeling great, some contractions are intense, some aren’t, but I think if my water broke things might progress faster.” She practically jumped through the phone, I swear, “Oh my goodness Rachel, you should have called me earlier! I may not get there in time, but if I don’t - just know that everything will be okay. I’m throwing my contacts in and jumping in the car! I’ll be there as soon as I can, just tell Davey to get ready, ‘cause he may have to catch this baby!”

“Oh wow… well…maybe I should wake him up then???”

I had a little adrenaline rush during that conversation, that’s for sure. But I couldn’t imagine I was that close to delivering this baby, I mean everything felt so manageable and light. The grueling, intense part of labor that I knew would come eventually still seemed miles away. But I went in and woke up Davey and told him jokingly “You may need to catch this baby, so up and at ‘em!”. We started calling everyone and I got in the tub, hoping that it would slow down labor in case things did get intense too quick for the hour and a half drive Billye had ahead of her.

When Billye and Misti arrived little before 3 AM, I was still speaking easily and stretching and moving around the tub. They listened to the baby, set up all their gear, and then finally were ready to check my dilation. I was just itching to know if I was crying wolf like I had been for the last month, or if this was really happening. Honestly I wouldn’t have been surprised if I was still at a two.

I asked if it’d be easier to check me on the bed instead of the tub and since that was an affirmative I jumped out of the tub and headed to Sophia’s empty bed (she was asleep on her toddler mattress in our bedroom). I had to stop along the way to work through a contraction and it felt longer and stronger than any other I’d had. “Very exciting”, I said as soon as it passed.

After Billye listened to the heart rate again, I was very surprised and a bit concerned to see Misti putting the gloves on and preparing to check me. She had only attended maybe three of my prenatal visits and I knew she was at the beginning of the “hands on” part of her midwifery training. I had assumed she would only be observing during my labor since that is all she had done during the prenatal visits as well. It also surprised me that they didn’t ask, “Is it ok if Misti checks you instead?” But I brushed my concerns aside with a little inward pep talk of, “for the good of midwifery, Rachel!” and, “it’s ok to let her practice on you, everything is so chill and easy right now!”

And it was, it went fine and she deemed my dilation between a 7.5 and an 8. They were immediately gushing compliments – ooing and aweing my greatness and telling me how amazing I was doing. It was strange because I knew they were just doing their best at being encouraging. But I felt waves of discomfort. I felt all of a sudden very…self-aware. Like I felt this pressure to do fantastic, to be the strong wonder woman that everyone was telling me I was. I didn’t want to think about how amazing or strong or great I was or wasn't. I think part of the reason things were going so smoothly was because I hadn’t had to worry about how I was doing – I was just doing it. If that makes sense. Inside, I was wishing I was back alone with just the baby and I working together with Davey sleeping by our side.

I got back in the tub and tried to get out of my head. I was glad that the only light in the room was a tiny lamp in the corner - the darkness helped me feel safer. And things kept going well, the contractions were getting stronger and I was losing my sense of time and awareness. I no longer opened my eyes between contractions.

After a while (the notes say it was about 40 minutes after Misti checked me) I felt that familiar “this is too much” feeling starting to come at the height of each contraction. My moans were turning more wail-like and I remember calling out, “Check me Billye, check me – tell me if it feels like this because I could be pushing!” I had told her during prenatal visits that I had never felt the urge to start pushing with Sophia, but that once I had started pushing it had been my absolute favorite part of labor so it was very important to me that she help me figure out the very earliest that I could start.

I opened my eyes briefly and saw Misti, not Billye, leaning over the tub putting on gloves in preparation to check how dilated I was. “No, no, no.” was what I felt but I just shut my eyes and tried to breathe deep.

And then I felt pain like I can’t describe. Like my head was exploding. Like she was down there ripping my cervix open with a chain saw. Sorry for the graphic description, but there really is no way to describe the horrendousness of that feeling. I finally yelled, “Get out, get out, get out!” and then a desperate half sob, “What am I? Am I complete? Can I push?” And no answer came, just some mumbles of “Um…well...I’m not sure.” And I had lost it. My whole body was shaking and I was crying uncontrollably. I was hyperventilating, and I literally couldn't see straight.

Looking back on it I already feel compassion for Misti, I’m sure she was nervous and trying her absolute best in what I’m guessing was an awkward and unfamiliar angle for her in the birth tub. But at the tim,e although I was nowhere near able to process it into words, I was completely overwhelmed with anger and pain and a deep, deep sense of betrayal. This was an incredibly vulnerable moment and I had trusted Billye to be there when I needed her competence and experience and most. And really, I was upset at myself that I hadn't just said "No thank you" when I didn't feel comfortable with Misti in the first place. Billye was trying to tell me to “breathe”, or something to try and calm me I’m sure. I yelled, “Don’t talk to me!” and then turned toward Davey and begged him to hold me.

He held me tight with my face buried in his shoulder while I sobbed and shook and tried to breathe again. “Talk to me, tell me something”, I cried in his ear. And honestly I have no recollection of what he actually said, only feeling like I was holding on to him for dear life, and feeling a small sense of reprieve from the glare of everything. Over the next few minutes of hiding in his arms I slowly felt the intensity of the exploding in my head quiet and my breathing slow down. I asked for a tissue and tried to deal with the mass quantities of snot that was keeping me from breathing normally.

And then, my water broke. Billye said, “Why don’t you try pushing.” And she got no response from me because there was no other option - once that water broke my body was pushing without me. I was still facing the side of the tub with my arms around Davey and that felt terrible while pushing so I begged him help move me move quickly to a more squat, facing out position, with him supporting me under my arms.

It was strange pushing, so unlike with Sophia. I felt like I never got a break, and like I wasn’t working together with my body, no, instead my body was on a train ride that was screaming down the tracks at 100 miles an hour. I was quiet now, just low moans and deep breathing, no wailing or hyperventilating, but it wasn’t how it should be – that I could tell.

I had planned for Sophia to be there for the end of pushing and the birth. I remember feeling the baby moving down so much with each push and knowing it was coming fast, so I called out for Nathalie to bring Sophia in much sooner than I would have thought. She sat on Nathalie's lap on the rocking chair near the side of the tub. It was still impossible to open my eyes, but occasionally I would hear Sophia yawn loudly. I knew I would be smiling about that soon.

I only pushed for 16 minutes total and at 4:54 AM she was here. Misti pulled her up from the water to my chest and I held her and thanked God over and over that she was here.

We actually didn’t know what sex she was for a couple minutes at least, I just held my baby and felt the peace and the warmth push the panic, desperate feeling out of my heart.

Finally I remembered, and peeked between her legs, “She’s a girl, Davey! She’s a girl!”

He hung over my shoulder and hugged us and held her little hand.

As she slowly pinked up, we brought Sophia over and she sat on Davey’s lap while we loved on her, and the midwives did their checks.

After the cord stopped pulsing Sophia jumped up and down with excitement that she could help cut it. Davey helped her hands hold the scissors and she hasn't stopped talking about it yet.

“I thought it was a boy!” I remember her saying at some point. She also asked when the baby would start crawling.

My placenta was slower to come, even when I had already put her to my breast, so they had me give the baby to Davey and I tried moving around and different positions to help it speed up.

They gave me some bitter tasting herb liquid to drink that was supposed to help. About half an hour after she was born, Billye had Misti pull gently on the cord and the placenta finally came.

The midwife's helped me walk slowly to my bed, all the while assuring me that I probably wouldn’t have a tear since I had “just breathed that baby right out.” I remember lifting an eyebrow at that since it certainly had felt much different than then that to me. And when they checked me, I was right – there was what they described as a small tear and Billye felt it needed stitching. I had learned my lesson and very clearly told them that I wanted Billye to do it.

First though, they had Davey bring the baby in and let her latch and let me revel in her sweetness with Davey.

Heather, our birth photographer hadn’t arrived until after the placenta was already out. Poor woman ran out of gas and got lost. But I was so happy to see her taking lots of photos now. Even though she was friendly and unobtrusive, Sophia still gave her dirty looks and resisted any family photos with her in it. That’s our Sophia, I smiled and didn’t even care.

Misti gave the baby her newborn check while we all sat close and watched on. She weighed 7 lbs 4 oz and handled the checks without crying.

I ate a few bites of a grilled cheese sandwich that Jani made me, and then we had some time alone as a family to have a prayer with just us and Sophia. Then we sent Sophia out to make hot cocoa with Nathalie, and Davey held the baby in the other room while I got prepped for the stitches.

And here is where all the terrible adjectives want to come out again. I cannot believe how badly those stitches hurt. They assured me they had both sprayed a numbing agent and given me a numbing shot, but I tell you what I felt every single thing. I sobbed and sobbed and said “just get it over with” when they apologized that it shouldn’t be hurting. My face was a swollen mess and I felt like I was barely hanging on emotionally by the time they brought the baby back to me. My back had also gone into a terrible spasm while I tried to walk to the bathroom. It was like no other back pain I’d ever felt. Every single breath was…pain and more pain. I swallowed the max dosage of ibuprofen and cried inside.

I wanted to kiss the ground she walked on when Nathalie offered to take Sophia with her to her house. Sophia was already acting needy and on edge, and I felt a very heavy weight on my shoulders. All I wanted was to put my sweet baby to my breast and sleep for the next 20 hours.

This is what I wrote a couple weeks after the birth.

December 16th, 2010

The birth of this second daughter of mine was so different from the first. Most of the labor was much, much easier. For reasons that I'll have to write more about later, the end of it was much, much harder. I feel like I entered The World of Pain and Anguish during the last part of her birth and for the first couple days after she entered the world. This photo is hard for me to look at; a picture really is worth a thousand words.

The last stage of labor with Sophia was incredibly exhilarating. Wonderful. Satisfying. Fulfilling. And that feeling continued in full force for the first couple days after her birth.

I expected to find that zen, in-the-zone, time stops, "peace-in-the-midst-of-difficulty" that I felt with such intensity during the pushing stage of Sophia's labor. I expected to feel that most dramatic example of how God can consecrate any experience if I just give up my attempts to do it by myself.

But guess what? I didn't. And it sucked. Big time. I think I'd say I was more self-focused and miserable than I've ever been.

And I can't quite believe I'm saying this, but I'm already starting to appreciate the differences and she's only twelve days old. I thought it would take longer (much, much longer) but it's happening already - probably because this little gal is melting my heart.

In my day to day life, I'm always trying to figure out how to love where I'm at. How to feel grateful and peaceful in the midst of every experience God has allowed to cross my path, even the hard ones - whether the monotonous kind of hard or the dramatic kind of hard. I'm always upset at myself when I know I'm missing out on feeling God's grace because I'm too stubborn to receive it.

And when I saw these photos that were taken of the sunrise that came an hour after Joan entered this world, I realized what this labor, birth, and recovery has taught me.

If Sophia's birth taught me what it was like to lose myself in the service of another, then Joan's birth taught me that it's okay when I don't.

The sun will always rise.

Parenting with Confidence: a philosophy toward living 18 years of gratitude instead of rage and self-hatred

It's 1:00 PM on Saturday afternoon and she's knitting a pair of mittens with tinker toy sticks in her pajamas on our porch that is currently unwalkable (due to her craft supplies/toys strewn all over it). 

When she was a baby/toddler I remember telling people, "I still agree with all the advice I gave parents for all those years (while working for a child development/parent support organization), it's just that now I know how hard it is to actually do all those things I suggested.

These days I can't hardly believe "those" days were real. Like, they're surreal. I mean, was I SERIOUS? And the things is, I WAS. I was serious, and it's...ludicrous in a way that is hard to believe was my reality. Six years later and three kids under my belt and all I can say I know about raising kids is that it's a wild ride and that once you're on, your're on. That's it. That's all I know, dear children: I'm your mom and I won't leave you.

Last week in therapy I was actually doing an "empty chair" exercise where I stumbled upon that realization in a way that clicked for me. I was supposed to pretend Sophia was sitting in the empty chair and express to her her how I feel without worrying if it's developmentally appropriate/helpful, and that's where I sobbed out this: 

"I don't know what to do to help you, but I will never leave you."

And then I switched chairs, wiped my eyes, and pretended to be her responding to me and "she" said to me:

"Good! I hate it when you act like you know everything." And also, "What the hell, you're my mom, you're supposed to know everything. Hmph!"

And my therapist laughed and laughed.

I've been thinking about how unexpected his response was and also about how much I liked it. And how if I had to sum up my child rearing philosophy, maybe it would be all of that combined.

"Dear offspring, 

I don't know what's best, but I know I'll never leave you. And confidence in those two things means I get to cry and laugh a lot while I raise you, and that makes for a very rich life. So, thanks!"

Modesty is about revealing our dignity

I saved a post under my "to read later" list because I liked the tag line from it: "Modesty isn't about hiding ourselves. It's about revealing our dignity." It sounded like a great way to talk about modesty with my girls because it makes sense to explain that there are as many different ways a person could reveal their dignity as there are cultures and individuals in the world.

And then I read the actual article and it pissed me off.

What my daughters will be taught, and how I try to live my own life:

 "What others think of you is none of your business. Dress however helps your life feel full and rich and dignified and then don't give it another thought. Which by the way is the most "modest" way to treat those around you, because you know what is super, super IMmodest? Being critical of how someone else chooses to clothe their body. Yeah. That's a really UNdignified thing to do. So focus on you and realize that how you dress will change over time as you change, and as your relationship to your culture changes, but seriously - do not lose sleep over anyone who tries to make how you choose to cover your body THEIR business. Unless they're lobbying to change their nation's laws on dress, I guess. Then fine - THAT is a reasonable place to respond to them if you have the time, energy and interest."

Which made me laugh by the time I got to the end of that. So freaking ridiculous I can't even believe I'm still writing about it.

But you know why I am? Cause I saw this in my newsfeed the other day.

Leave the girls alone, self-righteous jerk faces. Just support them and love them and care about them and trust them or leave them ALONE. And now I'm sitting here wondering why I didn't include myself in that. My therapist always makes me re-word stuff like this too. So here is what I really want to say:

 "Leave US alone, self-righteous jerk faces. Just support us and love us and care about us and trust us or leave us ALONE."

And now i'll go take my own advice and move on with making choices that help me live a full, rich, dignified life. Whew...:p

nothing else left to impart

I'm crying my way through cleaning my house and thinking that if God is real then this is how I feel about him.

The only reason why I continue at all
Faith in reason, I wasted my life playing dumb
Signs and wonders: sea lion caves in the dark
Blind faith, God’s grace, nothing else left to impart

Do I care if I survive this, bury the dead where they’re found
In a veil of great surprises; hold to my head till I drown
Should I tear my eyes out now, before I see too much?
Should I tear my arms out now, I wanna feel your touch

Should I tear my eyes out now?
Everything I see returns to you somehow
Should I tear my heart out now?
Everything I feel returns to you somehow

Thank you, Oliver Sacks

From the piece I read in February http://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/19/opinion/oliver-sacks-on-learning-he-has-terminal-cancer.html by Oliver Sacks after he found out he was terminally ill:

"And yet, one line from Hume’s essay strikes me as especially true: “It is difficult,” he wrote, “to be more detached from life than I am at present.”

Over the last few days, I have been able to see my life as from a great altitude, as a sort of landscape, and with a deepening sense of the connection of all its parts. This does not mean I am finished with life.

On the contrary, I feel intensely alive, and I want and hope in the time that remains to deepen my friendships, to say farewell to those I love, to write more, to travel if I have the strength, to achieve new levels of understanding and insight.

This will involve audacity, clarity and plain speaking; trying to straighten my accounts with the world. But there will be time, too, for some fun (and even some silliness, as well).

I feel a sudden clear focus and perspective. There is no time for anything inessential. I must focus on myself, my work and my friends. I shall no longer look at “NewsHour” every night. I shall no longer pay any attention to politics or arguments about global warming.

This is not indifference but detachment — I still care deeply about the Middle East, about global warming, about growing inequality, but these are no longer my business; they belong to the future. I rejoice when I meet gifted young people — even the one who biopsied and diagnosed my metastases. I feel the future is in good hands."

I have thought a lot about that part about how detachment does not need to mean indifference, that it is still possible to care deeply about something without focusing on it. His words helped me see the serenity prayer in a new light and as such a clear definition of good boundaries, or maybe: "how to create a good life in three lines".

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference.

 

I'm not super great at it yet. But I'm getting better at it, and feeling gratitude for Oliver Sacks and writers like him for having a part in that. 

"Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure."