Showing posts with label the evolution of self. Show all posts

Musings of a Mum: 11 months old









My dear child,
I have a few things I wanted to tell you about life.

First of all, I want you to know how much love was in our house before you came.  It's important to me that you keep in mind that your Dad and I were once children, college kids, newlyweds.  I need you to remember that we all start somewhere weak, feeble, wild, and young.  I want you to remember that we are first of all people, second of all husband/wife, and third - your parents.  That you understand your place in the family will inevitably lead to your deepest sense of security.   We were a family before you came, loving and safe.

Secondly, I want you to understand personal growth.

Yesterday, I read a passage in a memoir by Lidia Yuknavich about our former selves.  She was speaking about how her old troublesome youth-self was resistant to the new intellectual lady-self she had just discovered.  In fact, the embracing of this new self broke up her marriage.  I thought about how scary it is to evolve, about how there is zero guarantee that someone we were in the past will be compatible with who we are attempting to be in the future.  The life we construct in order to care for our past will no longer necessarily be conducive to our future.

It reminded me of the personal crisis of 2007, which in turn affected your dad.  I had started intense therapy and self-healing, and I realized that the structure of my marriage was such that Candace was broken, and Joel was the savior to her brokenness.  This was true, for many years.  His love undid much dysfunction and damage.  However, he had loved me into a new, healthy self.  This self didn't need saving by him anymore.  If Candace isn't in need of saving, how now was Joel to relate to me?  We figured it out, but it was so scary for a while.  We had no guarantees that we would remain compatible in that phase of personal growth.  I could have seriously wounded him, simply by my acceptance of a new Candace.  Many people can get hurt in the wake of personal evolution.

But many more can get hurt in the wake of the refusal to evolve.  If I had remained broken, I would have been, well...broken forever.  If my desire to remain married had trumped my desire to live an authentic, existentially happy life, I sincerely doubt my marriage or my person would have survived anyway.

The depression that belies the stubbornness to change is murderous.

People who walk this earth refusing to change out of fear, or those who steadfastly adhere to their stagnant ways, bad habits, dysfunctional relationships, narrow religious beliefs, marginalizing political stances, and who never even attempt to learn to like sushi, these people scare me.  Not because they never change, per say. They scare me because to refuse personal evolution is to refuse human nature.  (And how remarkable is evolution that we are sentient enough to choose something antithetical to our survival! Fascinating. But that is an entirely other topic).

A mother who manipulates her son with every breath for assurances of his love for her will never know the authenticity of his true love for her, and will continue to wound him and fuel the fire of her continued desperation to be love...and therefore manipulate more and more and more until there is no relationship left to manipulate.  Not unlike suicide or addictive behaviors, whenever a human recoils from that which is built into our DNA for survival...this is the ultimate tragedy.

What's worse is that this devolved person will be unintentionally hurting people.  At least when you accept responsibility for your changes, scary though they be, you are fully awake to them and who they may devastate. This is vastly better than flailing about life, wondering why everyone recoils from you...as you inflict pain with no awareness.

At the heart of any functioning human being is the ability to recognize erroneous directions and turn from it.  In essence, to say 'I am sorry' requires an understanding only evolved humans can embrace. Such as:

-"I am sorry I forgot to tell you about guy's night" - husband to me.
-"I am sorry I called you an idiot"- me to husband.
-"I am sorry I used to be flippant about human rights didn't exercise my own hard-fought-for right to vote" - me to feminism.
-"I am sorry that I used to care more about dogma than people" - me to the people.
-"I am sorry I used to hate your nose and called you nasty things behind your back" - me to self.

It's so hard to remember who we were, how lacking in compassion we used to be with people and ideas we now fully embrace. Even now, how we judge still what we are ignorant of! The only way to combat this is with education and a commitment to grow our souls.  This is scary, because as I said before, if we grow, we run the risk of outgrowing our old life, loves, selves.

That is to say, there will always be ignorance in ourselves to overcome, it's okay, be open and patient with it.  Once we feel we are fully enlightened, we couldn't be further from it.

"It is not easy to leave one self and embrace another.  Your freedoms will scar you.  Maybe even kill you.  Or one of your yous.  It's OK though. There are more." -Yuknavitch The Chronology of Water.

What does this have to do with me, you ask?  I'll tell you.

You of anyone I know have grown the most significantly this year.  When your father and I watch videos of you at 2, 4, or 6 months old, we both remark on how blob-like you seem compared to your animated self currently roaming our hallways.  You have no fear about becoming an upright, verbal, independent human being.  You were born to grow, born to struggle, born to fall so you can learn to walk. You don't fight it or fear that you will be unloved as you grow. You don't think of the battles you endured to gain weight as an infant or learn to sleep as a baby.  You simply take those old selves and wrap them into your new self and viola! Every day, a new Bowie.

I admire you for this; it's downright inspiring. You look up and decide to lift yourself on things you never saw before.  You fearlessly touch danger and never question your exploratory nature or judge yourself for your lack of progress.  

I suppose my point is this.  There are so many selves in one lifetime. Don't be afraid to let one go in favor of another. We don't need to be stingy with change.

And you, my dear, are a huge part of my current evolution.  You've given me new confidences in broken, shaken places.  You've taught me about difficult love, deep patience, and quick forgiveness. 

As far as I have dared explore the depths of my own soul, there my love for you has crept in.  You are everywhere inside of me.


PERSONALITY
This, perhaps more than any month thus far, I feel like you've cast off your baby self and become something so much more child-like.  This may be due to your will exerting itself more. I have to say that it's oddly adorable (depending on how much sleep I've had) when you display your, ahem, preferences.  You hate to have your diaper or clothes changed, and will cry like someone is sticking a needle in your eye...until I hand you any kind of distraction (remote control, lotion bottle, diaper cream tube) and you are rather suddenly sunshine-y once again. Ah, the bipolarity of babies.

Due to crawling, your personality has begun to blossom like all the spring flowers I stuff into your face to smell (which more looks like you licking them, but no matter). You have so many more opinions about things, so many more curiosities! Plants! Glass-wear! Outlets! Computer cords!  You always look back at me when I say no and you turn to your name and the pss-ch-ch of my family.  Joel and I have worked on trying to give you options instead of negating behaviors.  So, if you are standing in the bathtub, I try to say  "We sit in the tub" instead of "Sit down!".  Not sure why, but I read it somewhere and it feels more positive than always saying no, which I now exclaim no less than 30 times daily.

I admit I dreaded your crawling because it would inevitably mean more work for me, but I have to say that I am adjusting.  In the mornings, I used to set you down on your little play mat for independent time while I made coffee and wrote.  Now, I can only sit on the floor and play with you, and though it's more work, it's a nice new time to have together. I wake up slowly, sitting with you on the floor while you crawl circles around me.  That being said, I am happy that you still enjoy your bouncer so that I can at least go to the bathroom alone.

Every time any one of your fans walks into your presence, you grin like a fool.  Your toothy smile is so pure and easy to come by, even if you are in the middle of crying.  

DEVELOPMENT
You love to feed yourself, especially little cubes of cheese or shreds of turkey deli meat.  You are happy eating puffs (a newly-invented food since I was a child) and Cheerios.  You love your sippy cup and any other self-feeding receptacle.

You've begun to pull yourself up on coffee tables and couches, and love to play in the kitchen while I cook. You are ever so content banging spatulas against metal bowls.

You love to clap and sing. "Patty-Cake" is your newest favorite.

SLEEP
Sleep has been tricky this month, due to the crawling. It's hard to keep remembering that lessons must be taught to you over and over.  We went through sleep training once, and I think I assumed it would be the end of it.  As it turns out, with each new skill you'll go through a wonder week where you'll want to practice this skill 24/7...including in your sleep.  A few nights ago, you were crying and Dad went in to check your diaper.  You were on all fours, dead asleep, totally crying.  He picked you up and you stayed asleep, but were crying.  It's terribly, painfully cute. Since we had to assist you to sleep more than normal for the month, we have had to retrain you the last several nights...which means more crying than your usual none before bed and nap times.

OUTINGS AND EVENTS


Mother's Day - the very day you decided to crawl!  I was sleeping in and Dad caught it on video.  He then came in with you and woke me up to show me.  We are so proud.  Honestly, ever since then, we've both thought you look so grown up!


Meeting Kristen, who visited from Chicago. You loved your Asian.  When she woke up in the morning and came out of her room singing, you would stare at her deadpan for quite a while, but after a few days of that, she won your heart.  It seems to take you a while to warm up to people, which I completely understand.

Sunshine! We've enjoyed The Edible Plant Sale and a BBQ here at home, all with plenty of puppies and people to keep your attention for hours.  


Please keep your cheeks.  Thank you.

A Spring Clean of the Mind

This morning, entirely without the aid of my usual onslaught of supplements and bestowed upon me whilst dying my hair and sitting cross-legged in my pajamas, I stumbled into a pocket of softness.  I hate it when people say "This life is good, people.  Just look around you!" as an admonition to others, preaching that if only they were able to open their eyes, they could also see that this life is good. No.  Their lives may not be good.  So I say today that MY life is good, really good right now.

I say this while muzzling the temptation to caveat the happiness.  To tell you that my life is not without its hardships and deeply-rooted psychological angst, to assure you that I am still relatable.  To know and be comfortable with my born-in sadness, I have always strived.  To know and be comfortable with my newly-acquired happiness, I have never had practice.

I am a wayfarer for melancholy, after all.  I can shout from the mountaintop  "EMBRACE YOUR SADNESS; MELANCHOLY IS BEAUTIFUL; YOU CAN TRUST DEPRESSION."  I've been so long happy in the covering shade that I didn't realize how uncomfortable the sun actually felt.

You may therefore be able to imagine my surprise when my message drastically changed to "WTF, HAPPINESS!"



That aside, I believe that one of the reasons I stumbled into this soft soul-space this morning has everything to do with the fascinating and vulnerable conversations I've had with a few women, has everything to do with the gorgeous summer salads Joel and I have been eating, has everything to do with the easy pace of my days, has everything to do with the support I receive with Bowie, has everything to do with the rich and copious reading I'm doing or the satisfying pursuit of writing and writing culture, has everything to do with gorgeous new pair of Michael Kors boots I used a gift certificate to buy, has everything to do with a hormone rebalancing, yes.  All are true.

But more than that...this I stumbled upon a freewrite prompt in my mind that busted me wide open.  Eight pages later, and even though I had to stop writing to shower and attend to my progeny, a nonstop ticker of answers to this question have presented themselves.

The freewrite topic:
"I used to believe..."

I know from experience that the attempt to capture one's personal growth is one of the most difficult possible.  To chronicle how a human feels and thinks and knows herself from birth to death is THE noble feat to which I aspire, the goal that butters my existential biscuits.

Inner change is not only hard to write about because it's tricky to pinpoint, but honing in on personal transformation is vastly difficult because it requires me to refrain from judgment, to confess with vulnerability some very embarrassing and ignorant viewpoints, to cringe at the knowledge that much of what I say will make people I love either defensive or hurt their feelings deeply.  However, the best writing comes from the truest place, and every time I allow myself to be stifled by how I imagine my friends and family will receive these thoughts, I draw my mind's eye back to a scene that immediately serves perspective on my plate in big ol' southern portions.  I imagine myself dying, and imagine that I will deeply regret living my one life for a myriad of other faces that may or may not agree with me, and may or may not be compelled to pray for my back-slidden soul.  Writing down what I used to believe requires the courage to see words pour out of you that you have always known were there but never had a home outside of your brain, and DAMN it feels good to spring clean my mind.

It always feels good to say the thing you never want to say, even if it's only something you say to yourself.

So...what happens for you when you think (without thinking) about your answers to "I used to believe"?  Let me say that if you have no answers, that if you find yourself believing what you have always believed...you have stumbled into one of my greatest fears for humankind.

We must evolve and grow.  Even if that means all you can say is that you used to hate Lady Gaga, and now you appreciate her.

Hell, if that's one of your answers, you are way more evolved than I.

Softly,

unpacking the unhappiness


What did I expect it would be like?  I knew it would be hard, but I didn't realize that most of the time I would feel so isolated, annoyed, lonely, discouraged, conflicted, guilty, and wrought with self-pity.  

Oh but it's been such a hard week or so.  My resources are depleting from this new (non)sleep schedule Bowie has decided upon (which, of course I feel is somehow my fault - LOGIC, please kick in!).  This combined with Bowie needing more of me (teething, bored, frustrated, sick, separating) has made for a aching unhappiness in my soul.  It's so confusing being so glad to have a child and be entering this stage of my life and simultaneously unable to find pleasure in the work required by it.

Shouldn't I be enjoying this more?  Why can't I enjoy this more?  What is wrong with me?  I want to enjoy this time, I really, really do.  What factors can assist me in enjoying it more? More play-dates?  More exercise?  Going back to work?  Relinquishing myself entirely over to motherhood instead of going to the extreme trouble to find balance?  Should I write more?  Should I call my friends more?  Should I hire a nanny for a few hours a week?  Should I eat more greens? 

My being is racked with questions like these and friends, I am so tired.



It wasn't until I was rocking quietly with Bowie today, singing her a song as she contentedly sucked her thumb that I experienced a moment of clarity, finally able to get a small glimpse of the beauty of what is happening to me.  This ache of unhappiness is not discontent with life, but it is severe birthing pains.  I am becoming a mother, and the process of becoming feels more like the tearing I felt in childbirth than the gorgeous visual I saw in "Cosmos" depicting the evolution of the human race.  Where did I get the romantic notion that evolving is clean and contained?  It's so so messy inside of me right now, and millions of creatures have gone through millions of years of severe pains to become who they are today.  Like in childbirth, perhaps I will find some peace when I stop fighting the pain and begin to give myself over to its spiritual and important purpose.  I don't get to be who I once was.  What the hell am I fighting so hard for?  Why the hell is it breaking my heart so much?

I suppose a certain amount of melancholy is necessary when a chapter is over and a new one begins.
I suppose it's natural to feel this way.
I suppose many parents can relate.
I suppose I should be gentle with myself.

A few nothings:
(because if I don't tell someone they will fall into the ether of solitude and I'll question the reality of my existence)

I made a bitter cup of coffee today.  I'm toying with the new aeropress +Joel gave me for Christmas, and for the most part it is easy to pull a sweet shot.  I think the grind must have been too course because this cup is bitter and weak.

I cut my finger pretty badly last night while chopping parsley for our shrimp scampi.  The nail protected me from perhaps severing the tip of my pointer finger, but now I have a bruised nail.

Today, I would be happy to do several items on my list, but I think I will force myself to be satisfied with making banana bread and MAYBE writing a letter.

I've decided to be more consistent about daily walks.  Plus, it's sunny today.  We'll walk to get more coffee, as I have just depleted the last of my supply.

Bowie has graduated from a baby bath to the actual tub, and she loves it.  I love that she loves water.



On the problem of problem-solving

I am in a new stage of becoming Bowie's Mom.  It's so strange and empowering to look back over the pregnancy, birth, and first three months of her life and see how I survived what I never thought I would and learned and guided her in ways I was sure she'd never understand.  

In the beginning, I had little to gush about and a myriad of complaints of caring for a newborn.  I knew (in a place I had not yet accessed, but never doubted its existence) that I loved her, but I was not yet her Mom as much as a person in shock performing the hardest job of her life on the littlest sleep she's ever known.  However, in the last three weeks, I found myself newly in love with baby girl Bowie.  She's come alive to me, and not just because she is more alert, smiling, forming delicious rolls, sucking her thumb, and sleeping enough to get us both into good moods.  No.  

Candace has fallen for Bowie.  

My friend Leif (in a luminescent moment of encouragement where most people sigh, roll their eyes, and say 'well, I hope you're ready for the "joys" of parenting.'  Not that I judge them; we are not our most awesome selves when we do the hardest work ever known) told me that being a parent was like reliving that crush you had in college.  You totally adore this human, and yet you are petrified of that kind of powerful love.  You are terrified of the way it strips you bare and makes you vulnerable, for the wanting of it so badly.  I want things for Bowie I've never DARED have the audacity to dream for myself.  And I am both happy and relieved to say that where once I doubted my ability to feel this crush for my daughter, I am now completely and utterly normal.  I adore her.  I suffocate on my desire to see her daily.  My heart threatens halt when I imagine her in pain.

Going back to work has no doubt fanned the flame of this spark.  I have this bittersweet taste in my soul all day as I sift through copious and blinding amounts of tedious html.  Where I used to be relieved to have another pair of hands to assist me, I now urgently rush home to have the chance to swoop her up and put on her adorable footed pajamas and snuggle her and sing to her as we rock back and forth in a quiet house.  Where once that same quiet used to haunt my soul, it now feeds it.   Where once I doubted that she knew me from any other person, I now know she finds comfort in her mother.  I prolong her bedtime where once I counted down the moments.  I have such a privileged and blessed life that I get to have this baby and have very little else to worry about - a stark and jarring contrast to the resentment I felt that she was all I had to think about during the day.

So now, I guess I might say that I love being Bowie's mother.  That question used to confuse me, invalidate me.  But now - I can say most assuredly that I do enjoy it.

But here's the thing.  For all the things I like about being her mother, I seriously dislike how illogical motherhood makes me.  

Typically, I see a problem, and I can massage it into understanding via wisdom, experience, and logic.  In other words, I have mad problem-solving skills, yo.  I always thought this would be an asset in parenthood, but something new is emerging from the underbelly of my ability to fix things.

Perhaps I can best explain what I mean via an example.

I spent the last 5 weeks sleep-training Bowie.  She now has a predictable sleeping and eating schedule, and she and I are both happier for knowing what to expect from our days.  I don't want to 'brag,' but I do want to say that because I trained her so, she now sleeps totally in her own bed, comforts herself to sleep, and sleeps long and hard through the night, not to mention that she wakes up happy.  I go into her room at 6am every morning, and she is lying there - wide awake, sucking her thumb.  She grins like a fool when I greet her, and seeing her so happy is my thrill!  All of this work, all of the reading and doubting of myself as she cried in the other room even though I reassured her every 5, 10, or 15 minutes...all of this work has paid off and I feel not only proud of myself with fighting hard against myself for what would make her happiest, but also immensely proud of what SHE was able to accomplish with the slightest bit of nudging.  

But now.  Now! Where once I barely breathed for the anxiety of her waking up after sleeping only 45-minutes, NOW I feel panic that she is probably sleeping TOO MUCH.   Does this mean she is coming down with something? No doubt this nameless 'something' has been contracted BECAUSE I abandoned her by going back to work, and most assuredly this nameless 'something' is a terminal illness.

It's akin to knowing that Mac'N'Cheese is a nutrient-deficient meal, but smugly preparing an organic version of it, full-well knowing it's still nutrient-deficient, but HEY! At least it's ORGANIC.

No.
Illogical.

So it goes with Bowie and myself.  The illogicality of seeing a problem, fixing it, feeling a bit of satisfaction and then a new strain of panic - ie. then MAKING UP A NEW PROBLEM in its stead -  has me frustrated with the biology of mothering. So I think to myself that it may not be about that problem at all.  My concern with making sure Bowie gets enough sleep isn't addressing the true core of what's happening.  Yes, I saw that problem.  Yes, I addressed it by implementing a new system.  

But perhaps deeper than that is the hidden notion that I am not a good mother unless I am worrying about Bowie.  Or that if I can anticipate her maybe being sick, it will be less traumatic to me.  Or perhaps, worst of all, I am fearing a motherhood of sitting on my laurels, being too easily satisfied.  I am not quite sure I know what it is yet.

But I can tell you this.  As with life, motherhood presents roadblocks and extremely difficult-to-manage self-doubt.  I do not commit to fixing all of Bowie's problems or addressing all of her unknown ailments.  I commit only to the issue in front of me, to chewing on it, to ingesting it into my soul, and to finally letting it either resolve itself or make me into a more real and vulnerable version of myself.

Or (so say we all) both.

My favorite kind of human has always been the one that lets life evolve herself into something new.  I see it happening with my progeny daily.  I chose to follow her courageous example and morph into a more mature and capable me.

Baby girl, we will learn to walk together.


on the evolution of self

Last week during one of many recent migraines, I sat to meditate.  Using a mental picture I borrowed and morphed from Kelly, I place myself in an octagonal shaped room with 8 doors.  The room is filled with my thoughts, concerns, and other mental chatter.  One by one, I pick a thought, address it, and place it behind one of the doors and lock it.  Eventually, I am left with only an empty room and my deep breathing.

This particular session I noticed that each and every thought I seemed to address had something to do with pregnancy.  This combined with the hibernation and isolation that comes with the first trimester of pregnancy had me suddenly feeling suspicious of myself.  "Oh no! You are going to become a one-note mother that has no life or identity outside of her children!"  I have spent so many years working on knowing myself, doing the psychological and spiritual work that my soul deemed necessary before procreation was possible.  I was NOT (hear me say this!) working on extracting vice from myself pre-parenting so that I wouldn't fuck up my kids.  That was never my goal, and by the way, I think it's nigh impossible NOT to fuck up your children in some regard.  I am not aiming for personal perfection.  Instead, I wanted to understand myself better and better.  So I've done all this work to make sure I have a strong sense of self and now, at the prospect of pregnancy, child-birth, and child-rearing, I have no other thoughts?

Joel and I waited 9 years to have children, and it will be closer to 10 by the time this little sucker pops out.  My fears have all been addressed, and I doubt you will find a couple who has done more tenacious emotional work before becoming parents.  Sure, we have very minimal amount in savings, owe on credit, and don't own a house...but these things were never important to me.  Financial security comes and goes, it is emotional security that a child really needs and what we have spent our time investing in.

What scared me about this particular mediation's revelation was that I had seemingly ALREADY lost myself.  I didn't care to write or journal or nest or so much of anything else I loved.  Note: this was LARGELY due to the fact that I could barely move with fatigue and nausea.  But now that I am coming out of those symptoms (I hope!), I wonder what of my old hobbies and purposes will be recovered or if they will pale in comparison to the crazy thing happening inside of me, and here's the real question:

Should I let it?

Why do we want to hold on to previous versions of ourselves? Is it because it's what we know?  Is it fear that keeps us from accepting personal evolution?  I had determined to never lose myself when I became mother, but in the end, how many of us actually get to decide who we become?  Becoming a mother means a new evolution of Candace, and while she will certainly retain the core of herself, new things will birth.  Will I let myself be?  Or will I censure myself for becoming something I used to despise?

I've said on this blog several times that we are 10 different humans in any one lifetime.  While I have plenty of aspirations as to the mother I want to be, what I am beginning to realize is that it's never helpful to the soul to be suspicious of oneself, and that the best kind of mother I can be is one that can let go of ideals and learn to accept what the universe hands her...even if it's a terry-cloth jogging suit worn in public.  God help us.