Diary of Shame

I was late picking up my daughter and her friend from preschool. It was 12:11. I said "I'm sorry I'm late, I should have left earlier" (taking a cue from an article I'd just read about excuses versus explanations and blame versus accountability--yay me!) Teacher said "Is there something that makes it hard for you to get here on time?"

I felt a warm flush crawling up my face and my heart sinking until its place in my chest was replaced with a hollowness. I thought, "she hates me, I'm so broken I can't even pick up my daughter on time." And then I wondered if I've ever been on time...I know I'm not usually the first and not always the last. I thought, I'm usually pulling up at 12:05 and if ever I'm later that 12:10, I pay the late fee as stipulated in the disclosure document, which I hate to admit has happened about once a month.

Teacher suggests maybe I could set an alarm or something, "so I don't have to wait for you."

I fake a smile through my dilated pupils. Guilt realizes I never thought about her waiting for me and Shame seizes the opportunity: I cannot resist the weight of my head hanging in Shame; my shoulders follow like "good obedient" children; my hands slither into my pockets. I mumble something about having to try that, while my tunnel vision locks on the doorknob and the escape alarm sounds.

"She won't let us come back next year" Fear says. I feel myself being pulled apart. I try to hold myself together with Guilt seeking some explanation I can use to find a solution to my tardiness problem. I was enjoying myself too much, I have a hard time pulling myself away--hyper-focused, how can I manage that better? "Damn it!" Blame interjects. "If you weren't so sensitive and deprived from childhood you would be a better adjusted adult."

Right now all I know is I need a shower. The greasiness of shame apparent on my hair. The hollow of my heart apparent in my dull complexion.

I also know I need to tell someone. My training tells me Shame cannot survive in the light. Shame wonders who could understand the paradox of my feelings, the "mountains out of molehills" my mother called them. "Why are you so sensitive?" Shame taunts me.

I think of my best friend, I know she'll listen, but Shame reminds me she's always there, on time, for her kids...I know that's not true and yet I wonder who else I have in my Empathy Seat. I have recently been trying out my husband for this role with pleasing success...but tardiness is a pet peeve of his and a source of past frustration between us Shame reminds me again. "But!" I say, I can tell him I just need him to listen without judgement and I don't even want a response. So there!"

Shame switches to distract mode with "you should text the teacher a groveling excuse. Maybe she'll feel sorry for you." 

"Grrrr. I'm not falling for your hustling for worthiness tactics, Shame." I think of another friend, a self-professed sister tardier, I could text her to sit in my empathy seat... It's better in writing anyway...I'd hate to leave anything out. I imagine any number of people in my Empathy Seat, a previously lonely enterprise, but now that I believe I am worthy of love and belonging, the exercise has served its purpose and Shame regresses to its corner. Like a shadow Shame is always there and I cannot get rid of it, but knowing where it stands, I can turn away from it to face the sun.

Circles

At time of publishing I am 20 weeks pregnant and currently no longer experiencing the relentlessness of pregnancy and nausea I was under at 6 weeks when I wrote this, however, I am still holding to my commitment in the last paragraph and that is making all the difference this time around. 


Written at 6 weeks gestation:


I'm pregnant.

*sigh*


It's not that I'm disappointed or ungrateful. It's just. A. Heavy. Load.

You see, it's my sixth pregnancy. And pregnancy is, well, I don't think I really have to tell you, but pregnancy is emotional duh! And while each one is unique, each one also carries all of the emotions of the previous ones. So instead of feeling just one pregnant, I feel pregnant six. times. over. Six times happier, six times scared, six times delusional, hopeful, regretful, painful, anxious, powerful...

Psychology tells me that's my "emotion mind," which in my "normal" state is already a little hyper-vigilant and now in my "heightened" state it thinks it's the Supreme Ruler. Can someone just carry me around in one of those shoulder taxis for nine months please? The Supreme Ruler thinks time stands still until this tiny being growing inside me becomes a fully developed human being growing outside me. For nine months, (eight now I guess) it consumes me. I want the beginning, the end, and all the emotions of the past five pregnancies to culminate and converge on this one moment in time, when it will all be done. Finished. Checked off the list. Behind me. Perfect. Then I can move on with life, as if creating life is far from living life. Do you ever feel like that?

I suspect I have a control issue. Oh and I have a resistance to change. Change. The only constant. The unrelenting constant when it comes to pregnancy that perpetuates itself every 24,192,000 seconds of gestation. 24,192,000 seconds of dividing cells, growing tissue, splitting hairs, pumping blood, beating hearts.

Two hearts. From two bodies becoming one, to one body becoming two.
Cycles. Life cycles.
Circle of Life. Circles.
Life.
Always traveling in a different direction, always to continue on the same path.

So the planets, the moon, and me, going in circles. I wish I could get to the center. Sun envy I guess you could call it. Where the universe, or at least a solar system, do revolve around me for once. Don't judge. For most of my life I have been selfless to a fault. I have taken care of  those who should have taken care of me. I have taken blame for things I could not control. I have taken light from that God given part of myself to please others. But in taking things that weren't mine, I have actually been selfish. Selfishly putting myself at the center of the universe trying to control what wasn't mine to control in the first place. And now I realize the truly selfless are those that neither take nor give, but just be. Be what God made them to be.

So as I begin this journey for the sixth time over, I pray for being. Being one with this changing body. Being one whole. One whole being. Becoming two. So, dear baby, I will not give myself to you. I wish I could be enough for the both of us, I wish I could be your sun and you my universe, but you deserve a whole start, not some orphaned piece of my fractured soul. So no, I will not give my self to you, but I will let you make your self whole within me.

Grit

"We clap for the truth." --Brene Brown

I thought it was not my best performance.

And people said it was wonderful.

I wondered what I had missed.
What was IT,
Beyond my tied tongue,
Beyond my vacant stares,
Beyond my incoherent ramblings,
Beyond my sweat drenched shirt?

And if I asked, people said it was
The silence,
The introspection,
The truth,
The raw truth.

People said no one noticed those other things.
And I thought it wouldn't have been wonderful if they didn't.

1 Corinthians: 1:27-31 

But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are: That no flesh should glory in his presence. But of him are ye in Christ Jesus, who of God is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption: That, according as it is written, He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.

The Middle Path

                                                                                                                                                         

Foundations

Disclaimer: I must attribute the analogy and dedicate this post to my insightful, patient husband, to whom I am happily married. The conditions of my unhappiness lie squarely in the realm of Depression as the result of perceived threats to my fragile emotional self from a lifetime of emotionally complicated experiences. A.K.A. I have major trust and shame issues.

"I am not happy in my marriage." For years the thought kept popping through my mind. For the last few months, the thought haunted my heart. And for the last few weeks, the thought crushed my soul.

I checked the facts. There was no one to blame.

How could I think and feel this way while in an otherwise healthy relationship? Sure, we are as different as night and day. I am the tortoise, he is the hare. He is the bird, I am the fish. But we have a common Goal, and I thought we were supposed to be Happy and agreeable and understanding and want to be with each other, Always.

And there it is. This black or white thinking that tries to confine the messiness of life to either end of the spectrum at the expense of all the colors and variations thereof that lie in between. This black or white thinking that says if I am sad I cannot be happy. This black or white thinking that says if this is not working, this is never working. This black or white thinking that says if I am not happy in my marriage, my marriage must fail, eventually.

But I am also stubborn. And though it doesn't seem like much, it all started with accepting. Accepting that I am not happy in my marriage AND I do not want to fail in marriage.

AND. Such a small word. Such a powerful word. Salt AND pepper. Black AND white. Virtue AND vice. Time AND all eternity.

"I need some space. It's complicated..." I confessed. Throughout my life, I have lost my whole Self to Pleasing others: I should be a good daughter. I should be a good student. I should be a good wife. I should be a good mother. I should be a good person. I. should. be. good.

A beautiful, beloved and sacred building was recently remodeled and rededicated. Did it's need to be remodeled distract from its original beauty? Did it's need to be rebuilt negate its intended purpose? Did it's need for closure and rededication undo all the progress that had been made? No. Nor was this the first of its kind. Many holy establishments of its kind, both temporal and spiritual, have been and will continue to be reduced, even to their walls, foundations, footings or merely the ground they sit upon, so that they can be rebuilt on new foundations, surer foundations, stronger foundations, deeper foundations. (See Provo City Center, Logan, Vernal, Nauvoo and Salt Lake temples, to name a few.)

Sometimes I need help seeing that everything I think should be, already is. I am a good person, a daughter of God even, I am enough. And what already is, can be gloriously more. (See Moroni 10:32.) It often isn't necessary to uproot and change locations just because we don't like what we've built. If we are willing to re-evaluate what we have built and renovate what isn't working, if we are willing to go to work, getting our hands dirty along the way, we can rise out of the rumble, together.

"I understand, sometimes we have to rebuild our relationships because we don't like the foundations they are built upon," he said. (I love this guy!)

The Day I Stopped Apologizing

My son had slept in unusually late. I hate being awoken and hate doing the awakening. Something about it is wholly violating to me... I was helping my oldest daughter with some last minute math anyway and only had time to run down and see him waking on his own with 5 minutes to go. "I'm sorry it's so late" I wanted to say. But my voice inside me said "No, don't. It's not your fault."

You see, I have this guilt complex, well, it's really more of a shame complex. Guilt is the feeling that let's us know we may have done something bad; Shame is the feeling I am bad/disappointing/unloved/etc. And for some reason, the connection inside my brain between the two is like a lightning rod to the ground. It happens so fast I don't know it until it's over and the house where my emotional self lives is on fire...
So I'm in therapy. Dialectical Behavior Therapy to be exact. And it is a.m.a.z.i.n.g.
H.A.R.D....
And Amazing.

No over apologizing, I remembered. When did apologizing replace validating anyway?  As if in taking part of the blame we could lessen the pain? Who benefits from that exactly? Certainly not the person taking the blame, now they just feel bad about themselves because now there is this impossible belief that they should have somehow been able to prevent the other person's suffering. And sure the other person maybe feels a little bit less guilty and a little bit better, at first, but now their Happiness is dependant on someone else, and so is their Suffering. None of this happens on purpose, of course. And maybe its just the way my brain is wired, but there it is anyway, little synapses, connecting me to your pain and you to my pain all the while giving both of us an Entitled Victim Savior Complex. Really! No really, I just made that up. So while waiting for someone or something else to make us Happy, we try, very unsuccessfully I might add, to take away other people's suffering. But the thing is, Jesus already did that. The Savior already took upon Himself all of my suffering and all of your suffering. So really there is nothing left to take except the experience of it all, and if you take that, like we often inadvertently do with our Sympathies, then you destroy the soul. And we are certainly in no position to do what Christ did for other people. "So stop it", my inner voice says to me. Stop stealing other people's suffering. Stop blaming other people for my suffering. Stop stealing the very thing that binds them/me to God. Stop cutting Him out. Stop. right. now.

Oh validation. Right. I can't change the time, control other people's behavior, emotions, or perceptions. I can't take away someone else's suffering. But I can help shine light on it and acknowledge it is there. And that, really, is enough. I dig for Empathy, make a miserable face, and gently pat his back. "I know it's hard to wake up late and have to jump out of bed," I say.

Birth Story #3

The thought of undergoing a surgical delivery again--with all its sights, sounds, smells and feelings--filled me with nausea and fear.  I knew it was time for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean).  But a VBAC after one cesarean makes many doctors uneasy, and a VBAC after two cesareans is. not. done. So I went to a large mid wife practice that has also managed to partner with a few doctors and met with a mid wife who seemed open.  She suggested I meet with the senior doctor to be sure.  As he put it, being at the end of his career and understanding the honest facts about cesareans and VBACs, he didn't think either of us "have that much to lose."*

The other doctor "questioned" my choice, my husband questioned the risks/benefits, I questioned my resolve, but I felt nothing but peace--the kind that only comes from a loving Heavenly Father.
---
It was a busy day. I stood in the dollar spot at Target around 8:30 AM comparing notes with another expectant mother; she was being induced the next day, the 6 and 3 year-olds in my behemoth cart were the only induction I could afford. Curiously, after a couple laps around the store to find a birthday present for a friend I began to feel twinges in my abdomen.  We headed to a picnic in the park with some other friends, and then the birthday party, which I spontaneously chaperoned. After making dinner and putting the kids to bed, my husband found me scrubbing the toilet at 11:00 PM. When the toilet was clean we went to sleep.

It seemed like I had scarcely been asleep when I was awakened by a *pop* which simultaneously expelled me from the bed, where I immediately felt very wet.  I waddled to the bathroom faster than a pregnant woman and sat and waited. A minute later my husband became vaguely aware of my being in the bathroom at 1:12 AM with the light on. "I think my water broke" I said.
"Are you sure?"
"Um. Yeah. I'm pretty sure." (Suffice it to say, I've never, not even in my pre-pregnant uncompromised bladder at full capacity state, seen that much liquid come out of me.)

Fifteen minutes and three contractions later, I notified the doctor and began cleaning, packing, and making up the guest bed, pausing for contractions along the way. My sister-in-law arrived with her pillow and my husband and I left for the hospital. I called my mom from the car, but told her not to worry about us until the morning. At 3:00 AM and 3 centimeters I sat in the hospital bed, waiting for the doctor, listening to the monitors and answering questions from the nurses.  I have group B strep and need my shots.  If I want an epidural, I will ask for it. The doctor appeared and the monitor lied about my contractions; "Get some sleep" he told me, "and well see what we can do to really get your labor going when the sun comes up..."  I stifled my daggers and waited for everyone to leave.  Trusting my body and my instincts, I assumed the hands and knees position, letting gravity take the brunt of my belly and contractions and help put my baby in the anterior position. Two hours and 2 centimeters later the doctor found me very awake and the monitors changed their story.  Under his orders I sank back into the bed and my belly and contractions sunk into my back. Then like a breath of fresh air the mid wife entered the room, pushed on my knees, and all was right in the world again.

The next two centimeters are a blur, there was heaving and bending and a brief debacle with a ball. Then 7 centimeters. In perfect timing the mid wife drew a warm bath. Curled up on my side in the cozy warm tub while my husband showered my abdomen, I slipped into a trance. I hear the water and my breath, I feel the wrenching and the warmth--like under water ocean waves during a storm, at once beautiful and terrifying.

And then it's gone. The urge to push gave my legs strength and I got out. I felt no more "pain" from the contractions just immense pressure. Again it's a blur of turning and lifting, my body knew what to do and I just had to let it. I was unable to speak and only remember mentally blessing the mid wife when she explained to my mom that often laboring women go into a deep state of meditation and are unable to respond to questions, but will let you know if there's something they don't like.

Two hours later, when meditation gave way to exhaustion, I cried with each break and grunted "Get it out!" with each contraction.  The baby was crowning but I was not stretching enough for the soon to be 9 pound 1 ounce child. Her heart rate started faltering and the midwife had no choice but to perform an episiotomy with no time for anesthesia. My husband winced. I felt the pressure's warm relief and the shaking sobs that ensued. I. gave. birth. The room erupted with movement. There were lots of irritating things to be done after the birth, and frankly after 9 months of pregnancy and 12 hours of labor I wanted nothing more than to be alone. But when we were all buttoned up, the nurse brought me a fruit juice cocktail that was like the nectar of the gods and both my baby and I drank to our new life together.

*In a nutshell: Uterine rupture is the number one risk in a VBAC that may result hemorrhaging, hysterectomy, infant brain damage, or death of the infant and/or mother. The risk of uterine rupture is <1% with 1 previous cesarean and <2% with 2 or more prior cesareans. Induction or augmentation of labor with drugs (Pitocin) increases the risk to 7% and is generally not allowed (good riddance). What the doctors do not tell you is that a cesarean also has similar and equally severe risks.