To My Friend that is Struggling with Heartbreak

To My Friend that is Struggling with Heartbreak,

I see your pain. I see the broken pieces of your heart that you are so desperately trying to mend. I see you putting up barriers so that broken heart of yours does not hurt again. I may not have gone through the same experiences you have, but I’ve felt a broken heart and I’ve built my own walls too.

 Sometimes the people in our lives that we love the most are the ones that do the most damage to our hearts. We thought we could be vulnerable around them, share with them the things that we’d never tell anyone else. Then one day they break that trust. Our heart breaks. We mend it as best we can, we put up barriers, and then another someone comes along, and the cycle repeats itself. Round and round the merry-go-round of heart break we go till we say no more. Till we are convinced that everyone that ever gets close to us will eventually hurt us, thus there is no point in being close to anyone at all. Everyone must now be kept at a safe distance because our hearts cannot take another blow.

Am I somewhere in the ball park of what you’re feeling right now?

Let me tell you something about heartbreak though, as painful and horrible as it feels, it teaches you. It either teaches you how to weed out the unhealthy people in your life and find the good, or it 

teaches you to become bitter and see everyone as an enemy. 

If the latter is what your heart break has taught you, it is one way to keep you from heart ache. Yet it also keeps you from seeing the good in people and in life.

I’ll let you in on a secret though. There’s always that one random person. That one person who wasn’t the closest friend, but who didn’t completely fall out of touch, and they don’t seem to mind that you haven’t talked in a while. They don’t mind how you’ve treated them in the past. They don’t think you’re a terrible friend. They just want to know what you’ve been up to and how you’re doing. From personal experience, I can say that those kinds of random people, they are the good ones. And you will know they are the good ones, because they don’t share the red flag qualities of the people that have hurt you. Don’t get me wrong, they’re human and may say or do something stupid that may cause you grief, but they are going to be the kind of person who will recognize their mistake as long as you tell them that it hurt you.

You may think that I’m assuming things. That’s fair. But I’ve gone the route of viewing everyone as my enemy. All I ended up with was feeling more alone, and treating people in a way that made me feel worse. It took a lot of soul searching, but I learned that there are ways to preventing yourself from getting hurt without sacrificing the good relationships you have.

My answer was cutting out the negative people in my life. Now some of those people are my own family. And since I cannot avoid family forever, I set boundaries. I gave myself permission that if I sensed that an argument, guilt fest, or any other negative thing was going to start, I was allowed to leave. I didn’t have to sit and take it. Their behavior at that point did not warrant my attention and thus I didn’t have to give it to them.

Here is my advice. Give yourself time to grieve for the relationship you lost. Give yourself permission to set boundaries so you don’t get manipulated into the negative cycle again. Most importantly, give your good friends the opportunity to really be a friend.  In time, you will heal. Until then, know that I’m here for you.

Love,

Your friend. 

I Hate Christmas

Hi I’m Daria and I hate Christmas.

Well, hate isn’t really quite the right word. Disdain… defy… dread… those probably would work better than hate. But to simplify when it comes to the three major holidays all smack dab close together from November to January, It’s easiest to say I hate Christmas.

 I didn’t hate Christmas as a kid. I mean I was always excited to help my mom decorate our tiny tree that was as big as I was and setting up the little winter wonderland landscape that my mom’s teddy bears occupied beneath it. We would listen to the forgotten carols and take tours of the lights at temple square because it was literally a block away.

However, I do remember a few things that never quite made sense. My mom didn’t like the season at all. I mean, we only put up the tree the week of Christmas at the earliest, and on Christmas Eve at the latest. Mom still tried her best, but me being the oldest child I just always knew that there was something off with mom during the holiday season.

Christmas morning was probably the best part of the year- because it was presents and parents smiling and my sisters and I getting along for a good hour. But after everything was unwrapped and my sisters and I acting like kids and playing with our new toys, the strangest thing would occur- my dad would be angry. How could my dad be angry when I gave him something I painted, glued, and put together myself just for him? How could my dad be angry when none of us showed disappointment at our gifts? We were always grateful, we remembered to say thank you. Why was he so mad?

Even as a young kid, I knew that my family and I were poor. My parents both worked two jobs for a while. Then mom stayed home. Then dad lost his job because of health issues. We moved several times. It was my grandparents who took me and my sisters school clothes shopping. It was my aunts who gave us school supplies for my birthday, which is in late August. I knew we didn’t have much and I was always so excited to see the actual brand new things that came on the day all about presents.

As a teenager, I finally got to see more and more of the reality of our situation. So I did my best to not add to the stress of pleasing me with gifts. One year all I wanted was a whiteboard and notebooks in hopes that they could spend more on my siblings. I thought that maybe if I did the decorating, so mom didn’t have to help. If I made or bought presents for everyone then maybe that year’s Christmas would be different. I’d lock myself in my room and blast Christmas music hoping that I could give fill my gifts with the magic they promised was in the year- the power of love and cheer and family time. But the outcome was always the same. Mom was off and dad would get angry after all the presents were unwrapped.

When the next signs of Christmas season were springing up in October I would cringe. I thought people were sick for even mentioning the holiday. When I went into stores in early November and they’d be playing Christmas music it would make me cringe and turn into a Grinch. At that point, Christmas felt like one big lie to me. The season of “giving” and “good will towards men” just seemed so fake and unrealistic. Wanting to celebrate it for any longer than the day itself just sounded cheap. Where was the Christ in Christmas? I didn’t see it. All I saw were bright colored lights, the need for presents, and the echo of “most wonderful time of the year” haunting me everywhere I went.

I learned in my final year of high school why my dad was always angry on Christmas- because he felt lacking. That he wished he could give us more because most of our presents came from secret Santas and family members.

As an adult, I can understand that. But as a teen I thought it was ridiculous. Couldn’t he just be happy with the fact that we even got presents and liked them? Couldn’t he just laugh with the rest of us when someone continued to designate presents for Andrea (which is the middle name of my youngest sister)? Couldn’t he just let go of his macho “I need to provide everything” pride and just see that all we really wanted was for him to relax and enjoy the day with us?

It wasn’t until this year when my mom finally told me why she didn’t like Christmas, or her birthday for that matter. To be honest, if I had been treated like she had been when she was young, I’d hate really hate Christmas and my birthday too. I don’t blame her at all for not enjoying the season. Childhood memories and pain are hard things to overcome.

For me, I still associate Christmas with an emotionally off mother and an angry dad. To this day I still can’t stand Christmas music because to me, the music of the season is what brings on the memories and the “fakeness” more than anything else- be it carols, hymns, or jingles. When my neighbors started blasting their Christmas music this year on November first, I simply blasted my dance party music. Thank you, Oingo Boingo for “Dead Man’s Party”.

I respect others and their need to celebrate a holiday that brings them joy. They have not been through my experiences. Lucky for me, I can hide their facebook posts about trees, Santa, elf on the shelf, and other Christmas paraphernalia. Lucky for me, I’m in a home of my own with a husband who understands why I feel the way I do about Christmas. He totally supports me and my strange ideas about how I want to celebrate it as a family, especially with our little one who is due in January.  

So in the end… do I hate Christmas, celebrating the day of Christ’s birth? No. Because I’m a Christian and his birth is an important part of his role in my life.

I hate the American Christmas culture- that’s where I’m the Grinch, the Scrooge, the full on hater. Let all the lights, gift wrap, and song medleys flee far from me! I am a woman who would like to simply enjoy December for what it is, a month of snow that makes the mountains look pretty, a time to snuggle with my warm hubby and enjoy hot chocolate, and the wonderful peace of mind knowing that the school semester is almost over.

So if I’m the off one during the season, that’s why. It’s my own childhood problem to work through and nothing more. I didn’t write this to receive pity or apologies. I wrote this in order for me to really identify why I feel the way I feel, to come to terms with my view of such an important holiday within my life.  This is my chance to find clarity so I can find joy in the years to come, instead of letting it me grow bitterer every year and eventually becoming the female Scrooge. That would be an interesting story though… now I’ve got a short story idea too. Hey look, something positive already.  

My Thoughts Regarding the LDS Church’s New Policy for Children of Same-Sex Couples

First and foremost- I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I have been since I was baptized when I was eight years old. I believe the Church to be true and that it is led by a loving Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ through a living prophet today.

When the leaders of the Church have put out their standings on issues, I haven’t always agreed, but I know that when I ask why, I will receive answers. Yesterday, when I first read the click bait headlines about the Church’s new policy about denying baby blessing and baptism to Children of Same- Sex couples, I was deeply concerned. However, after reading through the articles, I have personally found why such a policy has been made and why Heavenly Father would have church leaders put such a policy in place.

Here is my understanding:

All of the ordinances that members receive within the Church are part of the formal adoption process into Heavenly Father’s family. Yes, we are all children of God, but at the age of eight we are allowed to choose for ourselves if we wish to be baptized and make a covenant with Heavenly Father to be a part of his family.

Those promises we make at baptism can be found in Mosiah 18:9- 10: “Yeah, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God, and be numbered with those of the first resurrection, that ye may have eternal life-

Now I say unto you, if this be the desire of your hearts, what have you against being baptized in the name of the Lord, as a witness before him that ye have entered into a covenant with him, that ye will serve him and keep his commandments, that he may pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon you?”

Being baptized is not just “Hey look! I’m a member of the church now!” It’s a promise that we will obey commandments and follow the example of Christ. Baptism, on the surface, does not seem like something to deny to a child of same-sex parents. However, we need to understand all of God’s commandments in order to fully understand why having same-sex parents is a concern.

The first commandment ever given to man is stated in Genesis, and also reiterated in The Family: A Proclamation to the World: “We declare that God’s commandment to multiply and replenish the earth remains in force. We further declare that God has commanded that the sacred powers of procreation are to be employed only between man and woman, lawfully wedded as husband and wife… Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and their children. ‘Children are and heritage of the Lord’. Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs, and teach them to love and serve one another, observe the commandments of God, and be law-abiding citizens wherever they live. Husbands and wives- mothers and father- will be held accountable before God for the discharge of these obligations.”

That’s quite a load of responsibility for any parent to be accountable for. How hard would it be for a same-sex couple to teach their children to live all of the commandments, if they themselves are not observing the commandment of marriage between a man and a woman? That child would have a model of a happily married couple at home, but would also know that marriage should only be between a man and a woman. For a child, that would be confusing. How could both their parents and the teachings of the Church be right?

The Church’s policy on denying children baptism into the church is one that is made out of love for these individuals. Love for children who love their parents and the Lord. It is better for a child to grow up not being accountable for decisions that were influenced by teachings of their parents, than to be held responsible for their own choices they make that are a result of those teachings.

The denial of a baby blessing is a sad one. But when a baby is named and given a blessing, their name will appear on church records and then there will be the expectations that they will one day become a full member of the church when they choose to be baptized. So again, it is not the denial that baby can be blessed or not. It’s the denial of setting that child up for the heartache of issues that they may not fully understand later.

I do not hate homosexuals, nor do I think that they are evil or terrible people. They are lovable, kind, and just as human as the rest of us. They are wonderful parents who love their children.

Is it sad that they cannot receive all the blessings that are available through the ordinances of the Gospel? Yes!

But then again anyone who does not live up to the covenants and standards of the Gospel can’t receive those blessings either. God loves everyone but that doesn’t mean that there are exceptions to his laws and commandments.

Again, this is my understanding both of the Gospel, and this new ruling. Feel free to share your thoughts and understandings. All I ask is that you keep them respectful. 

A Study In People Watching

Its days like today where I feel like my heart is on my sleeve and the littlest things bother or intrigue me. My “ooOOOooo look shiny!” senses are heightened and the people around me are movie stars that I get to sit in watch in 3-D.

Today I overheard  a few girls talking today about one of their roommates ( technically it’s hard not to overhear them because they talk loud enough for the whole second floor of the building to hear, but I digress). Now I’ve listened to these girls before, their conversations fascinate me because of how differently they see the world than I do. One is a girl who I would have loathed in Jr. High and high school – she’s the girl who does everything right the first time and has never been in an awkward situations ever, at least that’s how she presents herself to her friends and her mother (who she has wonderful long conversations with at full volume on her end once a week). The other girls were sisters- one of course took the dominate role and the other was the rebellious “I do whatever the flip I want” sibling.

Usually their conversations are about typical college life- boys, classes, and roommates. But as they discussed roommate woes, they started nitpicking at one specifically. It was more than just impolite and annoying occurrences that are typical of living with strangers though. They were tearing her down, piece by piece.

Something in my heart twinged with anger as they discussed the problems of this roommates life- her hard time understanding material for a class, her frustration of studying hard and still bombing a test, her having a hard time making it to class when she feels like a failure, and talking about how all of those feelings were just her being lazy.  I was angry at them for not only dismissing their roommate’s feelings, but treating them as if they were but silly little things that everyone should just suck it up and deal with. I was angry because once upon a time- I was that roommate.  

Not that long ago I was a student who had a hard time motivating herself to get out of bed and face hard classes, long hours of studying, and dreading to see my score on tests because I knew I didn’t do well. I was too scared and shy at that point to reach out for help.  I didn’t believe anyone would want to help someone who on the outside looked lazy to everyone around her. So I failed. And it took me two years to find the motivation to come back. I still have a hard time getting out of bed and going to class, but I’ve found my support system and resources to help me.  My only regret is that I didn’t try to find that support sooner.

I admit, I wanted to stand up and tell those girls to shut up. I wanted to tell them how they were the worst roommates because they couldn’t have a shred of decency to see their roommate was in need of some help- not ridicule for handling her academic life differently than they do. But I kept my mouth shut because sadly, I don’t know this roommate.  I don’t really know if how she was being described by these girls (who I admit, I am rather biased against) is true or not.

What I do know is that I have learned that I really don’t like it when people dismiss another person’s worries, fears, anxieties or other stressors, simply because they know to handle those things. It makes me sad to see people believing that everyone should be able to learn, understand, and act the same way that they do.

Sometimes people watching is a heart wrenching exercise that rubs you wrong. But in the end, it’s good to know that these girls do not see the world the way I see it, because then that means that someday I’ll learn why they feel comfortable talking loud enough for everyone to hear no matter the topic. Perhaps I’ll learn why “little miss perfect” feels the need to show off how good she is to her friends and why I find her so irritating. 

Until then, it's just me and my view of the world.

Life's Just Peachy

When it comes to the things I have to go through as a woman, I admit that there are days (months currently) where I wish I was a man. Being a woman is tough, and I could go on a feminist like rant, but I spent most of my energy writing the rest of this post. I’ll save feminism for another day. Today I’m letting the world know why I personally hate this “beautiful” thing called the miracle of life.  

Why I hate being pregnant:

Eating feels like a chore. What was once something that I loved to do, because I enjoyed cooking, has now turned into something I have to do if I don’t want to pass out, or, you know, mess up my fetus.  

Prego nose. I get the whole, hating the smell of something keeps you from eating things that could hurt your baby. It’s like being a dog, but instead of getting excited and investigating I need to puke and run in the other direction.

Feeling like I’m on the verge of vomiting at any moment. No joke. I’m on the strongest anti-nausea medication they’ve got, and I still have to deal with the whole- “is it a burp or am I going to really lose the lunch I just barely coaxed into this ungrateful thing called a stomach?” To all those who want to offer advice… the best advice I stick to is eat what you don’t throw up. Everything else that people recommend, I immediately shove out the other ear. Congratulations to you wonderful mothers out there who feel fine… I’d like to trade places and I’ll have the happy pregnancy, and you can have this one.

No energy. Don’t matter if I’ve actually eaten a real meal, sipped all the water in the world, and got a good night’s sleep- this baby sucks my energy like Jim Butcher’s White Court Vampires. When I do have energy- I use it up on stupid things… like putting on clothes so I can run to the bathroom to pee (why can't my cabin at scout camp have a built in bathroom?).

Speaking of bathrooms….

Constipation. Is. The. Worst. Think about it people, stepping on a lego as a curse for your worst enemy? Please! Stepping on a lego hurts for minute and then you kick that sucker away from you like it has the plague and you move on with life. Constipation? Constipation is sitting on the toilet for an HOUR trying to squeeze something, anything out of you, and being convinced that you will pass out from the strain, only to wake up and find that NOTHING HAPPENED. Then add the pain of sitting after your little trip to the bathroom. It now ranks number 1 on my list of things to curse people with. It doesn’t help that my prenatal vitamins, the antibiotics I’m on, oh and that wonderful stuff that keeps me from dying (anti-nausea), all cause this wonderful bodily experience. I hate things that are supposed to make me feel functional only mess me up more.

Clothes are evil. Too hot, too cold… and pants! Why do you have these awful zipper and button contraptions? If I button you, you’re too tight and my stomach screams at me. If I use the hair tie trick, I get pantsed by my pants! So I sit here like a slob in the same sweat pants I’ve worn all week, happy that something will sit low on my hips so this fetus can continue to grow. By the way did I mention bras? They’re just mean in general… but once your breasts get bigger, they are super sensitive bricks disguised as balloons that coincidentally have feelings that come across as: “OW! Why did you put me in these boob pockets?” which then turns into “OW! Why did you take me out of the boob pockets?”  

Nobody treats me like a person anymore. I am now “The Prego Lady” which leads to one of three conversations (with word variation of course) 1) “How are you feeling?” 2) “Parenting advice/look at all my grandchildren” or 3) “Let’s talk about MY pregnancy!” I now become the recipient of the pity pats on the head if dealing with conversation one, followed by a “You’ll be happy when it’s over/when baby’s here/it’s the most wonderful experience, embrace it.”  Conversation two is even more fun, because then I get to be told all about how to raise my children so they don’t become spoiled/lazy/overactive/or become a clown that puts on magic shows in Texas. If I’m talking to the older ladies and gents, they automatically assume that I want to hear about all their grandchildren and see how cute they are. Nope. No I don’t. While I think you’re a nice person, this whole time you’ve been talking, I’ve been praying that my gag reflex would kick in(when it’s actually convenient) so I could excuse myself from this lovely little chat. Conversation three is my absolute favorite, because it’s all about you! Yep, because I totally want to hear about how you had no pain/nausea/food aversions, you little perfect angel you. So glad you can, you know, share your infinite pregnancy wisdom upon such a humble person such as myself.  Basically when I became pregnant, it was basically: “you must sit down, shut up, and let everyone else do the talking.” I don’t remember the last time anyone asked me what my favorite book was, or what I’m studying in college, or why I dyed my hair lavender.

Pregnancy Cramps. Okay girls. You know cramping? When your uterus is telling you in the most evil way possible “thanks for not appreciating this egg I worked so hard to make just right for you.”? Yeah… now think about that uterus of yours getting bigger and slowly pulling your abs apart so it can make room for a baby that will only make it worse. Yup. Cramps are just prep for worse cramps. Thank you Mother Nature… you’re just… so… wonderful for preparing me for the worst experience ever.

Personally, I want to call it quits. I really am done being pregnant. I don’t care what people say about “don’t let the baby hear that” or “you’ll forget all about it once you’re holding your baby”. First, everything I say to my baby probably sounds like garble. He/she can probably only hear its own heartbeat right now. Second, yeah… once I’m holding my baby sure, I’ll be happy. But you forgot to mention the six weeks or so it takes to physically recover from birthing that baby, accompanied with taking care of that baby at the same time. Lack of sleep, crying, having my body actually produce a liquid I find repugnant above all others and feeding that liquid to said child, and changing all those diapers and being in a diaper myself? That’s supposed to make me feel better about the Hell I’m going through? Gee thanks people! You sure sugar coat mothering with the foggiest rose colored glasses I’ve ever seen.  

I love kids, I do. I just don’t enjoy growing them. To put it simply MY pregnancy feels like having the flu while on my period while gaining weight because of a vindictive parasite that enjoys making me cry. I basically live in bed or in a bathroom feeling like death. Life’s just peachy.

A Confession and Some Awesome News :)

For a while, I’ve lived with something I couldn’t explain. There were days (on rare occasions) where I couldn’t make myself leave my bedroom because of some unreasonable fear. A fear of something ridiculous, but I knew that I couldn’t handle whatever task I was supposed to accomplish outside of the house. Fears like: I didn’t want someone analyzing me while I was dancing because I couldn’t handle the criticism, I couldn’t talk with friends because I didn’t feel like putting on a smile and pretend that everything was right in the world (though nothing was particularly wrong), I couldn’t handle being surrounded by huge groups of family because I couldn’t handle being under scrutiny for not being as happy or as together as I should be. I hate calling people on the telephone unless they’re my parents or my siblings, and a very selective few friends. Why? Because I hate feeling like a bother to people, because I have a fear I’ll call someone, talk like a complete idiot and jumble up words – ending up not accomplishing anything, and having people angry at me.

It isn’t logical, it doesn’t make sense to anyone, not even myself.

Yesterday, I finally put two and two together and realized that I have a form of social anxiety. It’s small, it’s not huge. My panic attacks are minimal compared to people with serious conditions of depression and even more real anxiety. But I have it nonetheless.

I realized that I had a panic attack before I got married because everyone kept asking me questions. I had people questioning why I was getting married and saying mean things. People kept asking me things I didn’t know the answer to. I hated the first planning meeting because everyone was staring at me, expecting me to just have everything in perfect order, but I only knew minor details and in the back of my mind I was screaming about how I was going to pay for everything. I hated planning my wedding. At one point when I broke, and told my husband (my fiancé at the time) and my Aunt to just call off the reception.  My aunt told me I loved my wedding stress and I needed to love my wedding. I did love my wedding because the most important part didn’t cost money- just the time it took to be sealed to the man of my dreams. Everything outside of the temple meant pleasing people, entertaining people, greeting people, and listening to questions I wasn’t ready to answer yet.

I freaked out at my sister (who was ten at the time) who asked me about kids only a week after I got engaged, and frankly told her to shut up. Because I feared that everyone would just assume that if I got married, then I would just immediately become a mom- and that meant more questions, more unwanted advice, and having to please more people. I’m a loud talker about doing what you want, how you want, but part of me caves when I’m bombarded with questions and I second guess myself often. I can’t explain why I care so much, but I do.

When I lost a friend to suicide, I realized that I have feelings that could be destructive if I didn’t let people know what was going on. My family has a history of depression, and sometimes when I have my lows (not very common, but they are lows) I find myself wishing to hide from the world and just enjoy the darkness. So I made a personal commitment to being honest when people ask how I’m doing. It might be considered too much information, but I fear that if I don’t tell everyone, then who will catch me when I’m slipping?

Onto my news! 

Because all parasites look like worms right?

The sun is saying "Hi Daria!" because our favorite star really loves me. :)

I don't know why Richard looks so babyish. Oh well. He's still super cute. :)

*note: that is my baby's umbilical cord and NO! I DO NOT KNOW THE GENDER YET!*

I am going to be a mom!

Even though I was freaking out about it for a while, I’ve come to terms with being a mom, and I’m okay with it, and all the close family that I’ve told have been extremely supportive. But as the weeks of progressed, so have the hellish pains and misfortunes of pregnancy. Morning sickness has made it so I have to carry around a bucket. Pregnancy cramps feel worse than period cramps. And I feel like walking death. It’s hard, and my sense of humor has turned to biting sarcasm because of it. I didn’t want to share with the whole world until after the first trimester (which is coming up soon, thankfully), not because it’s the advice I was given, but because my anxiety has made me worry about all the questions people are going to ask (that of course I don’t know the answer to), the assumption that because I’m pregnant, that I’m going to categorized as a mom who gave up her hopes and dreams because she had kids, and that the only person interesting to talk to at family functions now, will be my husband.

Some family came and visited the scout camp hubby and I work at. They talked specifically to me 

about pregnancy for a little bit, told me that this will give me experience with boys, told me about how this child growing inside me is going to be a boy, and then proceeded to talk to Richard the rest of the time. It was as if my life is now on hold until I’m old and gray and all my children are grown before I become something more than just “pregnant”, something more than just a “mom”. Because I’m still Daria, no matter what my titles are.

I’m not saying that being a mom is a terrible job. I’m not saying that I’m not excited to be a mom. But I will say this now- I’m not going to be a stay at home mom. For my sanity, pray that I’m not a stay at home mom. I fully intend to continue my schooling until I get my degree, even if that means taking my newborn around campus with me. I’m not putting my education on hold because if I stop, I may never start up again. My child deserves a mom who has a degree, and is licensed to teach. I fully intend to become a teacher because it makes me happy. And you know what? Richard supports me fully in this hope and dream, just like I support him in his goal to become a seminary teacher and a novelist. We will figure things out and make things work- because that’s what family does.

As I was saying before, my anxiety has kept me from sharing this news with the world because I can’t handle criticism right now. This pregnancy is miserable enough as it is, I already struggle with finding the happy when I’m just trying to make it through the day and my job requires dealing with stupid teenage boys all day. It’s pretty hard. So to you friends who have a strong opinion that is anything less than supportive, I ask that you keep it to yourself. Like the saying goes, if you can’t say anything nice, than don’t say anything at all. You’re entitled to your opinion, but this is my body, my family and my child. If you don’t approve, and you’d rather nitpick and judge- then please remove me as a friend. I cannot emotionally or logically handle your cruel comments right now.  

Because this is how I'm always feeling:

Stomach Craving saying: "Get me some chips and pickles, oh and... juice..."

vs  Morning Sickness saying: "I didn't order ANY of this! Send it back at once! I have a refined pallet!"  

Tribute to My Mother

Yesterday was the most amazing woman in the world's birthday! 

She doesn't see herself as the perfect mom, because the house is rarely ever spotless, there's always a load of laundry to be done, and dishes will forever be piling up. But she was the one who taught me how to scrub the floor, do my own laundry, and how to wash dishes by hand. 

My mom never has baked cookies for you right when you open the door. Her hair is never a neat and beautiful sculpture to be admired. She also was never one to have everything organized so anyone could find anything. But my mom always has a fun story to tell whenever I visit. She is always working on a beautiful art project that shows just how wonderful her mind and her soul is. She also will know exactly that strange feeling you get, whatever it is, and understand what you're talking about, even if you're still trying to figure it out. 

You see, my mom is the best mom for me and my siblings. Because we need a mom who makes up stories about the fairies that live all around the house and get very upset when we leave big messes. I need a mom who isn't afraid to answer any awkward question I have about life and it's mysteries, so I can learn to be open. I need a mom who will call me when I'm all alone and sick to my stomach, so she can read one of my favorite books to make me feel better. 

I am eternally grateful for the sacrifices my mother made for me, my siblings, and our family. She was sick throughout every single pregnancy. She had to put of with our fights, chickenpox, the stubborn child like myself who literally had to be dragged to school. She would let me snuggle with her when I had nightmares. She would tell me how to improve my artwork even though all I wanted to hear was "good job". My mom taught me the beauty of nature, of the natural body, and how to appreciate how other people see the world. My mom taught me that it's perfectly acceptable to sing at the top of your lungs while washing dishes, or other awful chores.

My mom is the kind of mom who never has the same favorite song, because she finds a new one that makes her soul happy and will listen to it on end. She's the kind of mom who can watch her favorite movie over and over again while she draws because it lets her hands do the art, while her brain is busy enjoying the dialogue. My mom is the kind of mom who get's excited when a new idea for her stories make everything come together! My mom is the kind of mom who likes to play World of Warcraft so she can do pet battles and get all the cute (or scary) creatures so she can give them creative names. My mom is the kind of mom that squeals with delight when I give her Star Wars Squinkies for Christmas (and the next year, proceeds to make them into ornaments). 

Because my mom is the mom that finds the fun first, and does the boring everyday chores second. "A Spoonful of Sugar" and "When We're Helping We're Happy" and "Have I Done Any Good in the World Today" were songs that I remember most while we had to do the boring things.  

My mom is also the kind of mom who, for as long as I've known her, has never liked her birthday, or other holidays for that matter. That's okay. I understand that her childhood wasn't fun, and things that happen when your young can leave lasting scars. That is why this tribute to her has come today, rather than yesterday. 

You see, I'm glad my mother came to this earth. I'm glad that even though it was painful, she has gotten to experience life, with all it's laughter and sorrow, that she brought me and my siblings into this world.

My mother doesn't have things easy. She fights with bipolar 2 and her meds are never quite right. She can't handle crowds. There was a long moment where she believed that no one would miss her, and walked out to Antelope island on her own with the intention to leave this world behind.

But don't think for a moment that my mother is anything else but strong. Because she's still here. She still puts up a fight. She still get's mad that her brain doesn't want to work right, instead of giving into the darkness that tries to consume her. She still tries to give what she can, like a phone call to give me support when my day sucks. My mother is a fighter, a dreamer, a singer who's off key cause it's funny, and best of all, MY mother.

I love you mom. 

The big scary word called Vaccines

We are all allowed the think and feel how we do. I want to clarify this right now, so when I go off about my own thoughts on a subject that is a land mine to some people, I just want you to know that I respect your beliefs even if they do not agree with my own. We got that cleared up? Good.

Let's talk about Vaccination. 

During my childhood, vaccines were the things that doctors gave you before you got a lollipop and were given the all clear to go to school in the fall. I mean, I hated being poked, but what kid doesn't? 

As I learned, through reading, watching historical documentaries (yes I was one of those kids), and learning about the scientific method in my 7th grade science classes, I got to learn why those pokes were important. Now, I know that some of the information that they taught me in school were facts that weren't disproved yet, and some of the things they taught were how people thought about germs, bacteria, and viruses in the "good old days".

My favorite historical misconception was that people used to believe that flies were born from rotting meat. It wasn't until someone did an experiment to prove this belief wrong. A guy put some meat in a jar and left some meat out in the open then wrote down what happened. Obviously the meat in the jar didn't grow flies, because flies weren't able to lay eggs and grow baby flies. Tada! 

I think that science is neat like that. Taking what people believed was the truth and testing it to make sure it is the truth. I personally don't think that science is evil, it's the process of discovery and making sure that facts are facts. 

Now, as I've mentioned, I'm a history buff. I love learning about what people did in the past. It's sad at times. Learning that people, not just children, were so commonly ill, and died from terrible illnesses. It was rare to see people older than 50, or 60, or 70 depending on where you were and how sick the population was. What was also fun about history, is learning these people's cures for ailments. In ancient Greece if you had a cough you were violently shaken until you stopped. Or if you were ill (from the dark ages until the victorian era) they would put leeches on you to remove "bad blood". Tuberculosis patients smoked as a cure for their lungs. I know that to some people, a vial full of disease seems just as ridiculous as a cure as the ones I just mentioned. 

I know a lot about the controversy about vaccines. How people believe they are evil, that they cause autism, that it just gives you the disease. If you believe that. Okay. 

But I thought about it the other day, as I looked at a sight that claimed it had 99 plus studies that proved that vaccines cause autism. Now I was taught to think for myself, to do research, and not take everything at face value. So I read the studies to see if they really were proof, giving the friend that posted the material the benefit of the doubt. Now I didn't read the whole thing, but from the 10 studies or so that I did read up on- the children they were testing for already had prior issues, the study excluded exactly which vaccines they were studying the effects of, and the statistics were skewed, with most of the studies saying that more tests would be needed to be conclusive. If they weren't conclusive, that's not a guarantee that their study was right or wrong. It just means they need more information.

Also, I asked myself a question. Which vaccine is it exactly that causes autism, if vaccines really do cause it? 

Okay, so when a vaccine that causes autism is found, wouldn't that ONE vaccine simply be removed from the list that children are supposed to get? How is it that every single vaccine on the market could possibly cause every single child autism? I don't think the vaccine itself would then be a cause. It would have to be something else, like needle contact, or the plastic/glass that holds the vaccines. If we are still going to blame a vaccine for causing autism. Okay. So if it's the way it's administered wouldn't doctors have changed the way that vaccines were administered by now? 

Also, I can't exclude the fact that Dr. Andrew Wakefield who first claimed that vaccines caused autism was convicted of fraud and is no longer a practicing doctor. 

 

Blaming all of vaccines for causing a neurodevelopment disorder is too broad a statement for me to be taken as truth just yet. 

If those of you reading want to know my position on the issue, I'm going to be honest, and say that I am on the side of vaccines. But I also know that vaccines don't solve issues like the common cold, allergies, and a lot of other things. I know that sometimes home remedies work just as well as prescriptions from a doctor. 

To the people that disagree with me, you are welcome to your opinions. To the parent's reading this, you know your children and their needs better than anyone. I'm glad you are a concerned parent. It's not  my place to tell you what to do. In the end, I simply hope that my perspective on the issue, brings you more clarity of your thoughts and feelings. 

Grieving for a Friend

It's been a few days since I received the news of my friend.

She died by her own hand.

As I mourn for her, I find that I am angry. Angry that she put on a brave face, too brave to tell anyone that her world was so dark and scary. This hidden world that she would rather face alone because sharing the realities of her broken heart, her struggle to find inner peace, the frustration of  her brain that told her the pain was beyond anyone's help and her need to be free. I am angry because she lied. Lied well enough to give the friends closest to her a sense of security that she was fine, only to sneak out and finish what she was determined to do all along.

And I am angry because I'm sad, and it's easier to be mad then it is to shed tears and cry because I'm sad that I couldn't have done anything to stop her. I could have taken her to a safe place, a place that deals with suicidal people everyday. I could have told her how I understood why she wanted to end the pain, because my mom had attempted to do the same thing only a few weeks ago. I would have held her and told her that she didn't need to be so brave. That I wouldn't judge her for actually crying, or yelling, or screaming, or anything she wanted to tell me about the darkness that haunted her for so long. I would have told her that burdens were meant to be shared, and that keeping them to yourself is selfish. I would have told her that I understood her more than she believed.

This pain I feel for her loss makes me wonder if all my friends lie to me.

I'm an honest and very blunt person around my friends. I own my emotions and perhaps share them so often that they believe that I only focus on my own problems. But that's not true. I tell everyone everything because I believe in being real. I am human for pity's sake. I get angry, I get sad, I get hyper and giggly to the point I don't make sense anymore. I don't hide these moments of emotion because it would eat me up inside. How could my friends help me laugh about silly things if I didn't tell them? How could my friends be real friends if I didn't let them know that I felt overwhelmed and needed a break from the monotony?

But I wonder if owning up to my emotions comes across as being self centered. Sadly, I only live in my skin, so I can only see the world through my eyes. But I can learn how others see the world. That is why I love my friends. I love my friends who come from different backgrounds then I do, who have different personalities, lifestyles, and goals. Because I love them for who they are.

I wanted to share this because I want my friends to know that I am real and I love them. I am here for you. I will drive four hours at all hours of the night to hold you while you cry. I will send you cards to brighten your day. I will pray for you. I'd make you soup if you were sick, or babysit your children so you could have a date with hubby. You can call me at any time to tell me anything, I will listen because I love you. But I can't help you if don't allow me to.

That to me is the biggest act of betrayal. When my friends don't allow me to be a friend.

So yes, part of my grieving is the fact that I feel betrayed. Betrayed that a friend wasn't real with me.

Dear friends, whatever you're going through, whatever your circumstances, know that I love you. I do. We're all human, and life is a lot better with friends.