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Compassion, Empathy and ANGER

13 Monday Feb 2012

Posted by DoulaSummer in empathy, healing, miscarriage, miscarriage healing, Uncategorized

≈ 8 Comments

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“The human capacity to care for others isn’t something trivial or something to be taken for granted. Rather, it is something we should cherish. Compassion is a marvel of human nature, a precious inner resource, and the foundation of our well-being and the harmony of our societies. If we seek happiness for ourselves, we should practice compassion: and if we seek happiness for others, we should also practice compassion.”

The above was on a Facebook page and I thought it was an appropriate beginning to this post.  In the quote, I think that an element that is essential (and completely missing) involves compassion for the self.  If we do not, first and foremost, treat ourselves with empathy, kindness, love and compassion, how can we ever expect to give it to others?  At some point, we will reach the end of our giving “well”, so to speak, because we have forgotten to keep it full.  Or, as in my case, it may lead to almost irrevocable damage to relationships with hurt feelings that seemingly have no cause and most certainly are not the fault of the other person.  I’ve written a little about how I’m doing some “self” work and trying to really dig deep down.  I’m doing this for a whole slew of reasons, not the least of which has been the growing sense of unease with some recurring negativity that I seem completely unable to just “let go” of.

When I saw that quote, I immediately thought of anger.  Then, I thought of empathy.  These three words:  compassion, anger, empathy, are words that have been swirling in my head for the past year or so.  The compassion and the empathy have always been there, but the combination with anger is new.  In digging through my layers, these words and their accompanying feelings are lurking…they struggle to get up to the light, but I consistently push them back down under the skin of my “onion“.  I pushed them down so far and so often that I couldn’t even remember the source of them.  Until now.

When I suffered a miscarriage almost two years ago (has it really been that long?), I was devastated.  The strange part, though, is that the majority of my emotions surrounding the entire experience, from start to finish, involved someone else.  Looking back now, I think perhaps it was a safety mechanism my heart and brain put in place to protect me from the pain.  At the time, I thought I was feeling the emotions, working through them and just “moved on” really fast.  I didn’t, though, and instead have noticed a persistent underlying feeling ever since.

What does this have to do with the above quote or the mentioned emotions?  Everything!

Compassion is defined as:  sympathetic consciousness of others’ distress together with a desire to alleviate it

Empathy is defined as:  the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner

Anger is defined as:  a strong feeling of displeasure and usually of antagonism

I have often been told I have a strong empathy “button”, something that has (mostly) served me well.  I look at it as a gift, one that not only serves me well in my life’s work but also probably the driving force behind feeling *called* to pursue said work.  I also recognize that compassion, as defined above, is essential to the activism portion of this work.  My empathy for women/families leads to compassion which leads to activism.  What is wrong with that?  Nothing, except when I forget to have empathy (I know that, literally, I can not empathize with myself, but you know what I mean) and compassion for myself, which is exactly what I did when I had my miscarriage.  That’s where the anger comes in.
To fully understand, I have to take myself back to the beginning….before anything involving me directly even occurred.
In November of 2009, my dear friend’s in-utero baby died unexpectedly.  It was a terrible, dark and sad time for her and her family.  It was also the first time, in my adult life, that someone close to me experienced this.  I empathized with her, as I do, while she moved through the finding out, the waiting, the birth and all the other struggles, sadness and triumphs that went along during that time.  I cried for her, I cried with her, I worried about her, I thought about her…practically every day, for a long time.  I watched her move slowly away from eaten-alive-with-grief to surviving to, at times, genuine happiness.  I marveled at the strength and courage it took to keep going, not forgetting..never forgetting, but instead remembering, honoring and growing.
Soon, it was March and I found myself surprised by a positive pregnancy test.  My thoughts went wild…with and for her.  Not me, not my baby, but her and how it was really her “turn” to be the pregnant one, how hurt she would be, how unfair it was to her.  I felt guilty, I felt like I was taking something away from her.  I calculated the due month and realized it would be early November.  I toiled over when to say something to her (sooner or later?), how to say it and so on.  I even called her mom to get her opinion on how I should handle the situation with the least amount of pain to her.  {I want to interject here that I don’t think it was wrong to think of her and I like that I care enough about my friend to be concerned about her well-being.  The issue is/was that this was the *dominant* feeling…like I was removed and it was about her.}  After deliberating, I decided that sooner was better than later and that it was best to call her a few days before I was going to see her next.  I knew that if I saw her, I wouldn’t be able to hide it or lie, and it seemed like giving her some time to process it before we faced each other was a good idea.  So, I called her and told her that I was pregnant.  I can’t remember now if I told her then that I felt so guilty for being pregnant, but I’m pretty sure I did say that I felt like I had taken her “turn”.  She was gracious, never letting on how I believed she really felt.  I did hear a slight shift in her voice, almost unnoticeable…except to someone who knew her normal voice inflections.
When we saw each other a few days later, we had a nice chat followed by a hug that left me feeling a little better about the situation.  Maybe it would be okay and we would be okay and everything was going to work out okay.  And then one day: one minute, I was doing a yoga stretch, holding my hand over my already-growing-larger womb and the next, a feeling of something giving and a warm trickle signaled me that it wasn’t going to be okay.  I quietly rushed to the bathroom, my heart thumping loudly and my throat closing with the impending tears.  I pulled down my pants to reveal the bright red blood that I already knew was there.  That was it, I knew it.  My thoughts went wild again, as they had done when I saw the two lines on the pregnancy test.  And again, what they went wild with was concern for her.  How could I do this to her?  Now, not only had I taken her “turn”, but also her…what?…her tragedy?  I didn’t (and still don’t, really) have the right words for what it was I thought I had taken, but the feeling was there just the same.  It was like some bizarre and awful competition…not really, but that’s how I felt like she might feel, maybe like, “Sheesh!  Can’t I have this to myself?”  Yes, I know it’s dumb.  I could not stop the persistent feeling of hurting her though and how awfully upset she must be.
I know I was sad, somewhere, for me and for my baby, but not like I probably needed and wanted to be.  It didn’t feel justified.  I didn’t have the right to be upset about an idea of a baby, an idea I had only just gotten used to, when she had it so much worse.  She felt her baby move, felt him alive and growing inside her.  She gave birth to him, a baby, a real baby, where I had a tiny start of something.  I only had the few weeks of knowing, where she had months.  I just couldn’t allow myself to be as openly devastated as I felt.  I stuffed it down.  I didn’t deserve to be upset about such a tiny loss when there were people out there (people I knew well!) who had suffered so much worse than me.  On and on this inner dialogue went, until I was empty, hollow, a hole that I covered and smoothed over with easier-to-feel emotions.  I wrote this to her a few days later:
“It’s strange to me how I sat and cried a ton for you but can’t seem to muster as much for myself.  Some of that is because of the horrendous headache I had and now a head cold….it hurts (physically) too much to cry right now.  I almost feel like I’ve already grieved, except it wasn’t my baby and my body and my pregnancy…and then I feel stupid for thinking like that (but it’s not like I’m trying to!) because of course I wasn’t the one going through all that at that time so how could I possibly know anything or grieve anything??”
And so it went.  For a long time, I thought and told myself that I was just that “strong”, that I had been able to “get over it” quickly and that I must have processed some of the emotions previously.  I told myself that analytically there was probably something wrong, that it was for the best and all that other crap I would NEVER say to any mama experiencing loss.  My then-fiancè and I decided to plan our wedding, keeping my mind occupied, and life went on…
At some point, I got angry.  I don’t remember the exact time frame, but it’s definitely been there for a while.  What am I angry about?  Plenty!  I am angry that I allowed myself to feel guilty for circumstances I had very little or no control over and angry that I minimized my own pain.  Pain can’t be quantified, especially when experienced by two different people.  If both experiences had been my own, then maybe that would apply, but they weren’t.  My pain was no more or no less than hers, only different, because we are different people.  And HELLO!, there will *always* be someone who has it worse, just as there will *always* be someone who has it better.  I am angry that I didn’t heed the advice I would have given a doula client in my position and I’m angry that I didn’t ask for the support I needed.  I am angry that my “window” passed and even though I was hurting I kept saying, “I’m doing fine”, “I’m okay”, “It was so quick” and whatever other phrase minimized the pain, the guilt, the absolute sorrow I was feeling.  I’m angry that it’s taken me this long to figure out what my true feelings were and why they were there.  I’m angry that my friend’s baby died and my baby-start died.  I’m angry that so many baby-starts/babies die and we’re not talking about it!  I’m angry that so many mamas are in this stupid, sucky club.  It sucks!  It hurts!  It never goes away.
So, here I am.  Two years later, I’m finally recognizing and accepting that it doesn’t matter I was only “a little” pregnant, that I had only just begun to dream about what this baby would bring to our lives.  The only things that matter are that I was pregnant, I knew a baby was there and I felt that leave.  My heart remembers, aches for an unknown being.  My brain sometimes searches for a fifth child that doesn’t exist.  I wonder what might have been…

Being Real, or How to Avoid a “Mango Mama”

20 Sunday Nov 2011

Posted by DoulaSummer in motherhood, mothering, Uncategorized

≈ 16 Comments

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Back in the day, before every schmoe (like me!) had a blog, there was a “premier” mommy blogger.  She could be found in various attachment parenting forums and the like, sharing her wonderful life in Hawaii.  Her online name was Mango Mama and she was what any good, crunchy mom aspired to be.  Then one day, she disappeared.  Rumors flew and eventually she resurfaced via a new blog (no longer available), explaining what had happened.  Unfortunately, her presence on the web has been relegated to this remnant site and a few snarky posts about her downfall.  For those who want the cliff notes version, she basically gave everything she had to her children and forgot about herself, her marriage….anything her.  She subsequently ran away from home, had a mental breakdown, then slowly regained her sanity with a more “healthy” view.

I was introduced to her when my dear friend said something like, “I don’t want to go all Mango Mama on you!” while we were discussing how sometimes our children drive us batty (and this was when we had only two kids each!!).

Sometimes, I think about this woman.  I wonder if she knew how she could make other people feel.  I think about what it must have been like for her, how she probably wasn’t trying to be sanctimonious, but instead was simply trying to give a peek into her life.  She probably didn’t think it was okay to say that she had too much or that she was overwhelmed or that trying to do EVERYTHING the RIGHT way was just impossible.  I think about how she once described (in her after blog) her life as a circus act, where her “act” was juggling tons of plates.  At some point, she said, she realized that no one was paying any attention to her, so she let a plate drop.  When no one noticed that plate she dropped another, then another, and another, until they all dropped and she was left with only herself.  Or maybe she was just nuts.  Who knows!

What I do know is this:  I don’t want to be a “Mango Mama”.  I want to live my life out loud, real and true.  But what does that mean?   It means that I struggle with how much is okay to write, when to keep things to myself, how to be accurate and honest without telling every little detail or hurting the ones I love.  And then I struggle with whether it even matters because really, how many people read this anyway?  Does it matter whether I’m completely honest?  To me, it does.  I want people who read this (all 6 of them) to have a picture of me that represents who I really am, not just what I think should be read, what I aspire to be or what I wish I was .  If I don’t share the good with the bad, then what is the point?

In that spirit, here’s the out loud, real and true of today:

I had three cups of coffee before I could look at my kids with a genuine smile.  We ate marshmallows for a mid-morning snack.  The TV has been on since 7am and I doubt it will go off any time soon.  When I pulled the toddler off the baby (he was trying to ride him) for the fifth time, I had to hold him on my lap in a hug because if I didn’t I was going to hit him.  When my husband comes home from work this evening, I’m going to take a stupidly long shower without a second thought.

 

We all juggle our our plates.  Some juggle ten tiny plates, some juggle two large ones and others juggle four medium ones.  But we all. juggle. plates.  I want you to see mine, watch them spin, fall and me pick them up.  Likewise, I want to see yours, watch them spin, fall and help you pick them up.  Isn’t that what connection is all about, after all?

 

Getting Away is Taboo!

28 Tuesday Jun 2011

Posted by DoulaSummer in motherhood, mothering, parenting, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

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When I worked outside the home, I liked it.  Actually, I LOVED it. (And I feel the need to insert in here that I did sometimes miss my kids or wish I was home enjoying them or wonder if they were missing me.  But I shouldn’t have to because of course I missed my kids.) Just to be clear here, I didn’t have a high-paying, impressive or important job…I worked at our local video store.   Here are some of my favorite things about my old job:

Adult conversations, references, jokes, logic, etc.

Getting paid

Getting praised for a job well done, pay raises, promotions…

Not only being expected to complete a task from start to finish, but being given the uninterrupted time to do so!

Regular PAID breaks

Knowing what needed to be done and how to do it.  No wondering if I’d done it right or if in ten years my customers were going to be in therapy crying about how I didn’t do xyz enough or did abc too much.

Never getting the “Oh, you’re a mom.  Isn’t that *insert thinly veiled patronizing remark here*.”

Having an excuse/reason to wear nice clothes that didn’t have puke or poop on them, makeup and fix my hair.  And yes, I do know that I could do this now, but when the only people who see me all day are either under 4 foot tall or legally bound to be with me, what is the point?

Unruly customers could just be thrown out.

Did I mention I got paid?

Why is it that I could come home from an eight-hour day at the video store saying “Whew!  I’m glad I don’t have to go back for a few days” and people would nod in agreement, but if I were to say that about my current job (raising kids), people would be horrified?  Is it so difficult to believe (or unreasonable to expect) that a mother might need a break from her children (job) every now and then?  Why is it considered a job for me to get paid to raise someone else’s kids but when I’m raising my own (for free) it’s just what I “should” do…AND, I should love it, do it because of my unconditional love for them, and never, ever complain dammit!

Today I encountered an interesting post on one of the Facebook pages I “like”, Get Born Magazine, about getting away for a solo vacation and returning only to feel like getting away again.  I don’t usually post on fan pages, but this one got my attention.  I understand her sentiment completely and I responded so.  She remarked that immediately after posting, 2 fans removed themselves from her page and she must have touched on a taboo subject.  Yep.

If it’s taboo to admit you want a break from your precious little darlings, it’s beyond taboo to admit that after returning from said break you might miss it.  That’s right.  When it comes to children, at least for me, absence does NOT make the heart grow fonder.  Spending a week sleeping when I feel like it (and only waking up when my body says so), reading an entire book from start to finish, eating warm food that hasn’t been touched or picked over by everyone else, even just sitting in the silence doing nothing all sound like heaven, and heaven would be a hard place to come back from without missing it!  Even now, when it’s been two months since I had more than five minutes to myself and another several before I can reasonably expect to do so, I miss it.  (And again, I feel the need to say “This doesn’t mean I don’t love my kids” when duh, of course I love my kids)

If you feel differently, hoorah for you.  I, however, do not and refuse to pretend that every day is roses and I never wish I was in the Calgon commercial.  Why aren’t we honest with each other?  We HAVE to find the balance and be able to be supported in our real selves or everything we do to raise conscientious, honest children is for naught.

Shades of Gray

08 Wednesday Jun 2011

Posted by DoulaSummer in baby blues, birth, depression, motherhood, mothering, postpartum, Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

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“Everything’s just gray right now.”

This is what my husband said to me a couple weeks ago after a frank discussion on some feelings I’d been harboring.  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but I knew that it was a very accurate description of our life at that moment.  I laid awake listening to the storm, thinking about the color gray and what it meant for me.

Almost eight weeks ago, I had a pretty perfect home birth that produced a beautiful baby boy (here’s the story).  I had a bit of bleeding afterwards, but that was taken care of quickly by my wonderful midwives.  I was well supported that first week, basically getting out of bed only to go to the bathroom.  In the weeks that followed, I had delicious food, a loving husband, friends and midwives at my beck & call, but it wasn’t enough.

At some point, I realized that I was afraid to leave my house, afraid to be alone with all my children, afraid my baby would cry and I wouldn’t be able to help him stop, afraid my toddler would need something I couldn’t do…the list went on and on.  I tried to do my normal activities (to a lesser degree, respecting the fact I’d just had a baby), but it didn’t work.  I didn’t feel like talking on the phone, I didn’t want to cook or clean, I didn’t want to really do anything.  What I did feel was anxious, overwhelmed and constantly on the verge of tears.

I couldn’t remember feeling this way after the other three children were born and I couldn’t decipher if this was “normal” or something worse.  I could barely articulate what I was feeling, let alone pinpoint the cause and a diagnosis.  I just didn’t get it.  Why would I feel so uneasy?  Why was it so hard to say how I was feeling?  Why couldn’t I ask for help?

It really did seem as though the many colors of my life were gone, leaving in their wake only shades of gray…

Many Blessings to Me

28 Monday Mar 2011

Posted by DoulaSummer in blessingways, mother blessings, motherhood, pregnancy, preparing for birth, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

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I’ve blogged before about Mother Blessings, so I won’t go into great detail about the workings of them.  Instead, I want to gush about how wonderful my friends are to put one on for me and what it meant to me.  🙂

I deeply desired to have one with my first two children, as baby showers just didn’t cut it for me.  Yes, I enjoyed the practicality of it, but it felt like something was missing….more meaning and reverence for what was about to take place.  Unfortunately, I did not have the circle of friends then that I do now (no offense to my friends back then, we were young!). 

When I got pregnant with my last child, one of my first thoughts revolved around finally getting to have that Mother Blessing I’d so wanted!  I looked forward to it my entire pregnancy and was delighted that my dear friend, T, put it on for me.  When the day came, I desperately needed a little sanctuary from what was then a very stressful time (both my grandmother and my mom fell ill during the end of my pregnancy).  That ceremony was wonderful, even though my mom showed up at the last-minute and made a mockery.

This pregnancy, I again looked forward to having this time with my nearest and dearest.  What made it doubly special (and somewhat bittersweet) was the knowledge that it would be my last one.  Sure, we’ll probably have other forms of blessingways as we go through life, but the chapter concerning pregnancy and birth for me is closing, and that gave this ceremony a whole new perspective.  In my previous post, I talked about inviting only certain people, and I followed my own advice this time.  I invited only the women in my life I feel closest to, those who affect me on a near daily basis.  I am fortunate to have a TON of women in my life that I love, so narrowing down my list proved to be slightly difficult. 

I love everything about Mother Blessings; the music, the energy, the pampering, you name it, I LOVE it!  One of my favorite parts, though, is the honoring.  Yes, I know how egocentric that sounds, but I’m just being honest.  In our society today, it’s rare to take the opportunity to tell each other just how amazing we think we are or how much we are loved.  Hearing it is always nice, but feeling it is even better.  The love that flows during this time from woman to woman is quite powerful and can sustain us through even the most difficult times.  Often times, we find out about an endearing quality that we didn’t even know we had.  Other times, the qualities we have been striving for are reaffirmed.  That’s what I took away from this particular ceremony.  What higher compliment can there be?

Feeling the love

   

Adornment in the form of a henna belly

I can not say enough how important I think Mother Blessings are to the modern woman and how much of an effect they can have on all of us.   To feel such love and support, even if only for a few hours, is the true blessing. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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Midwives, Doulas, Home Birth, OH MY!

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